Scornful laughter grated on the ears.

Angela shot back without flinching: "Catherine, did your brother ask your permission before becoming a die-hard ‘Azure Blue’ fan?"

"You fucking bitch, say that again!"

"Easy now."

Angela sat unmoved, seemingly unafraid Catherine would lunge to claw her face. "I know you’re eager, but don’t rush… Let’s guess what your sweet brother’s up to. Sneaking out to my Sunday handshake event? Or plastering his room with my posters, jerking off to my enviable face? You truly have a *promising* little brother, Catherine…"

Critical hits everywhere!

Angela had clearly learned Lerna’s essence—even her sarcasm turned vicious and razor-sharp.

Catherine’s face flushed red then pale; only her friends’ support kept her fury barely in check as she met Angela’s gaze.

"You’re all talk! Bishop Anthony just pledged his vote to me. Your chance is gone!"

"Is that so? How unexpected."

"Faking calm? Need a trash can to crawl into and hide from reality? Hahaha!"

The trio burst into raucous laughter.

Angela watched them coolly, instantly realizing their tactics were nowhere near Lerna’s level.

Childish squabbling—no comparison to Lerna.

Her indifference only infuriated Catherine more.

They’d clashed before, usually ending with Catherine triumphant and Angela yielding. But this fierce fight was a first—and Catherine felt herself losing ground.

"Angela Cavendish!!" Catherine roared helplessly, her desperation laid bare.

"What else?"

Angela remained perfectly poised, eyebrows arched. "Speak fast. I have prayers, vocal drills, and dance rehearsals next. My time’s precious—unlike yours, wasted daily flirting with the Holy Orchestra and choir singers."

"Stop slandering me!"

Catherine’s face twisted, caught off guard.

"I’ll ask you straight! Is it true Lerna Falmouth is keeping you? That man-eater everyone avoids—Professor Agnes said you’re dating yesterday. I’ve lost sleep wondering what she possibly sees in you."

The official story was a Cavendish-Falmore alliance: marriage, sponsorship, backing Angela for Holy Maiden. Another formidable rival born.

All that effort hiring a Necromancer to curse her—only to accidentally boost Angela’s rise.

Careless!

Damn Angela, with such undeserved luck to win *her* favor!

Catherine bit her nails, seething inwardly.

Her envy burned so fiercely it felt like her eyes might bleed.

Months of fawning over the choir, throwing herself at singers, batting eyelashes—all undone because Angela swayed her hips once and stole the spotlight.

Who could stomach this mockery?!

Despicable!

"Well…" Angela paused deliberately, flashing her signature innocent smile. "Maybe I’m just prettier. I’m young, talented. Noble families choose wisely—the best partner for them. Don’t you agree?"

Pure on the surface, catty underneath.

Fight scum with scum—that was Angela’s strategy.

Thanks to Lerna, Angela had matured overnight. Her words cut deep, magically shattering defenses, forcing Catherine into retreat.

"You win this round!"

Catherine choked on rage, speechless.

Her tongue felt sealed; blood pounded in her skull. All she craved was a blade to slash that adored face before her.

But she didn’t dare.

Lerna Falmouth’s name shook the Imperial City. The Falmore Family’s power could level empires. Catherine lacked the guts to provoke them—let alone Angela, newly under Lerna’s wing.

From now on, she’d weigh every word with Angela…

Catherine waved dismissively. "Let’s go!"

She stormed off with her friends, desperate to escape this woman.

Angela might twist the story to Lerna, igniting worse trouble.

Lerna’s wrath would crush small nobles like them!

......

"Catherine, what’s wrong?"

A petite nun stepped forward, but a tall, short-haired one yanked her back.

"Damn it, didn’t you hear? Angela’s latched onto a big shot. Distance ourselves—times are changing."

"Ah! Then what about us…?"

The sisters exchanged glances and halted together.

They weighed switching allegiances.

Angela was the better prospect now, but Catherine held Bishop Anthony’s vote. They’d called her "sister" for months—if they defected now, their fate was uncertain…

"Why stop?" Catherine spun around, frowning. "Emma, Alice—you’re not betraying me, are you?"

Emma: "I… actually…"

Alice: "No…"

"Fine! Ungrateful wolves—go grovel at Angela Cavendish’s feet! Don’t come begging when I win!"

Catherine cut them off, whirling away in fury.

She longed to tear Angela apart.

Emma turned to Alice, whispering, "Catherine’s gone too. What now…?"

"Back to the convent. Talk to Angela." Alice gritted her teeth. "We’ve no choice but to join her. Hope she forgives our past arrogance with Catherine…"

"Are we just fence-sitters?"

"So what? Who says you must serve one master forever? Did Catherine ever truly see us when we were her lapdogs?"

"......"

"We’re dogs. Adapt or be slaughtered." Alice forced a smile. "Wrong master? We’ll retreat cleanly and find a better circle."

"Mm. I trust you."

As always, Emma followed Alice’s lead. Hand in hand, they returned to the convent.

Moonlight bathed the scene.

Summer insects hummed softly from dense bushes.

Alice spotted Angela in the distance. The idol once treasured by fans now covered her mouth, slender body curled against a gray-clad figure. Her expression mixed pain with reluctant pleasure.

"Shh…"

Lerna raised a finger in a hush gesture, whispering, "Someone’s watching."

A tingling numbness locked Angela’s waist. "Why come now… no warning… hnn~"

This embrace was intoxicating to the bone.

Hugged from behind, soft breasts pressed rhythmically against her back like squishy snow-skin cakes.

Hard to admit—but Angela truly reacted.

Hardened.

Fists hardened.