Morris had a nightmare.

In the dream, Leviathan—having broken her seal once again and escaped the abyss—came hunting him. The gray-haired, busty woman coiled her tentacles around Morris’s limbs, then stepped forward with a sly smirk and gently pulled him into her arms. Morris initially thought he was about to be… well, *taken advantage of*. After surviving that traumatic spectacle with the rich lady and her three burly men, he never expected to face such intense tentacle play. Strangely, gazing at the writhing mass behind her, a faint flicker of anticipation stirred in his chest. Just as his heart began to race with secret longing—Leviathan suddenly tightened her grip. The unlucky Pope nearly coughed up blood on the spot. He gasped, coughed violently, and tears of injustice welled in his eyes. *I was all ready to give myself to you… and you actually wanted to kill me?!*

Leviathan ignored his distress. Her ample bosom pressed firmly against his cheeks, distorting his face. Morris couldn’t enjoy it—he could barely breathe. Just as the young Pope felt he was about to suffocate and die young—

He woke up.

Morris looked down at the two arms wrapped snugly around his neck, then up. Lenna had somehow ended up lying face-to-face with him. Her sleeping expression was serene and sweet, a complete contrast to her usual icy demeanor. She murmured softly in her sleep, clearly having enjoyed a peaceful rest—but Morris’s dream had been anything but peaceful.

Recalling the dream’s sensations, he hesitated. His gaze drifted toward Lenna’s chest. After a long, serious internal debate, Morris gritted his teeth and slowly leaned closer—

*Knock. Knock.*

He jerked backward. *What was I even doing?!*

“Mr. Morris? Awake?” Sif knocked again. “Uncle says breakfast is ready. I’ve eaten already—they’re waiting for you.”

“Yes, yes, right away!” Morris patted his chest, heart still pounding. *Almost made a huge mistake. My discipline still needs work.*

Sif’s footsteps faded. Morris sighed, sitting beside Lenna. How to wake her? He gently poked her cheek—his fingertip sinking into skin so smooth it felt unreal. Her cherry-tinted lips glistened softly. He smiled.

Just as he pulled back—crimson eyes snapped open. Lenna seized his wrist, yanked his head into her chest.

“Comfortable?” she murmured, stroking his hair. “You looked like you really wanted to.”

“Since when were you awake?!” Morris sputtered, lifting his face in shock.

“Since an hour ago… when you whispered in your sleep: *‘Onii-chan, please don’t do this to me… nē, be a little yasashii, okay?’*”

“Liar! No way I said that!”

Lenna’s smile softened. She drew him close again—gentler this time—and whispered, “You kept saying ‘I’m sorry’ in your dream. I don’t know who you were apologizing to… but you looked so pained.”

Morris’s eyes dimmed for a heartbeat. Then he gently pulled away, scratched his head with a faint smile. “You’ve had a hard time of it.”

Before Lenna could reply, he tilted his neck—*crack, crack*—and thought, *Yeah, sleeping with arms around your neck isn’t ideal.* “Let’s go. Breakfast.”

Only eight o’clock.

Stepping into the hallway with Lenna, Morris sensed the shift in the air. Clansmen hastily parted as he passed—but their eyes held not reverence, only deep fear. Cousin Bolck, spotting Morris in the corridor, flinched at his wave, stiffened, and hurried away without a backward glance. Even Aelia—the girl who’d once loudly declared “Cousin Morris’ll never get a girl!”—peeked from afar, then scrambled off in panic when Morris offered a small smile.

*So I’ve become this terrifying?* Morris scratched his head.

In the dining hall, Uncle Gauvin wiped his brow with a napkin, relief flashing in his eyes. “You’re here, Morris. Please, sit.”

The table could seat twenty. Only three waited: Uncle, Aunt (head bowed, trembling slightly), and their son Nova. Morris led Lenna to a corner without greeting her.

Before him lay a feast: golden-grilled steak cubes, sea-salt bacon sizzling in butter, onsen eggs pooling delicately on the plate. He lifted the central bread basket—warm, soft, *freshly baked*.

“Morris,” Uncle said, voice tight, “no one else is here. Sit beside me. With your fiancée.”

As a prominent Hammer County gentry family, only the most outstanding juniors dined with Clan Head Gauvin Lawless.

Morris shook his head. “I’m used to this.”

Uncle’s smile faltered but nodded.

Silence filled the room—broken only by Morris happily devouring meat. He’d barely eaten yesterday: harassed during family meals, too awkward to touch his fork at the banquet, swallowing only what Yieta forced into his mouth. Now, each swallow sounded deeply satisfying. The creamy mushroom soup, paired with crisp crackers, tasted refined beyond expectation. *This meal could host a lord without shame.*

He wiped his mouth. Uncle and Aunt’s plates remained nearly full. Lenna, after a few bites of bread and bacon, murmured she was full. Morris took her plate. Moments later, his eating resumed—but now with Papal precision: posture straight, movements measured. *Post-meal prayers? Honestly…*

Finally, Uncle spoke softly: “The Corridor Healing Spring… can be opened tonight.”

“Good news,” Morris nodded, glancing at Aunt. “Your thoughts?”

“She has none,” Uncle smiled weakly. Aunt nodded frantically. Nova stared, confused by his mother’s sudden change.

“Thank you, Uncle, Aunt,” Morris said quietly. “Write anytime. This visit wasn’t just for the spring… I came home to see family.”

Uncle’s voice thickened. “You’re like your father. Never forgets his roots…”

Morris nodded. Lenna silently sipped her sparkling wine.

The silence stretched.

“After tonight,” Morris said, finishing the last of Lenna’s food, “I’ll leave. Many duties await.”

*A Saint who can’t control the [Cause of Apocalypse]… is a disaster for humanity.*

Aunt visibly exhaled. “N-nothing! Just… do your best, nephew. Even having a child… I’ll never match your mother…”

Morris nodded.

Suddenly, Nova darted over, rummaged in Morris’s pocket, snatched something, and bolted—only to crash into Lenna’s waist. He tumbled back. Black crystal shards scattered across the floor.

Aunt’s face tightened with anger, then shame. She hurried to lift Nova. Uncle stared at the shards, thoughtful.

Morris raised a hand. The crystals swirled back into the pouch like water drawn by a whale. He tied it shut.

“Those test Arcanum levels… right?” Uncle asked.

“…You’re mistaken,” Morris murmured, eyes lowered.

“Is that so.” Uncle nodded slowly, shoulders slumping as if aged decades. “I see.”

“Mom! You said we could take his things!” Nova cried.

Aunt clutched him, glaring at Morris through gritted teeth: “If only you’d never existed.”

Uncle jolted upright. Morris remained still. He placed a worn book on the table—*Introduction to Arcane Source Wizards*—and left with Lenna.

The moment the door closed, they all understood: this was likely Morris’s final farewell.

Uncle approached the table. The book’s cover was faded, pages frayed from use—more valuable than any academy scrolls his wife had bought. He looked at Nova, weeping from confusion and hurt. A hollow chill settled in his chest.

*The family drove away the very child who could have led us into the light.*

If regret-removing pills existed, Gauvin Lawless would sell everything to buy one.

Alas.

Too late.