“Why were you so quiet just now?” Walking side by side, Lenna glanced at Morris’s slightly dejected face and asked softly, “Aren’t villains supposed to say something like, ‘Get stronger—strong enough to defeat me’ at this point?”

“Don’t go imagining people as weird characters,” Morris sighed, reaching out to ruffle Lenna’s hair. “Besides, villains who spout cliché lines and set death flags always end up getting punched in the face by the hero.”

Though Lenna didn’t grasp what “setting a death flag” meant, she nodded thoughtfully. “But you’re not happy.”

She studied Morris’s profile. “It’s *them* who should be unhappy.”

“…How to put it? You probably still don’t get it,” Morris said with a dry chuckle. “I *did* imagine returning in glory once. Arriving in a palanquin carried by guards, surrounded by thousands of believers and hundreds of lovely maidens. I’d have them knock on the door, then strut arrogantly before those scumbags—make everyone who looked down on me realize *instantly* who’s truly head of the family. Make them regret not groveling at my feet earlier, wailing as they returned every single one of my ten years’ worth of creamy sturgeon dried milk cakes. Then, with utter disdain, I’d shove it all away and say, ‘What you owe me can’t be bought back.’ Imagine how cool that’d be… But never like *this*.”

He scratched his head. “Anyway… it’s not as joyful as I pictured.”

Lenna’s eyes softened with understanding.

Rain pattered crisply from the corridor eaves. Ripples spread across the courtyard pond. Morris halted—Yieta stood at the far end of the walkway.

“Haven’t seen you all night. Surprised you look so energetic?” Yieta flashed a playful gesture, not a trace of fear in her smile.

“No, I feel awful,” Morris waved a hand helplessly. “Just… seeing you, Sister Yieta—the one I wanted most—lifted my mood a little.”

“Ara~ ara ara ara~ Morris praising me like this?” Yieta cupped her flushed cheeks, beaming. “I’m so happy!”

“Lenna.” Morris nodded toward the girl beside him. She gave a silent nod, walked past them down the corridor, and gently tugged away Sif, who’d been peeking from beside the door.

“So we’re alone now?” Yieta stepped closer, smiling. “Anything you’d like to tell me directly?”

“Nothing at all.” Morris reached out, gave her hand a slight, firm squeeze, and met her gaze. “I just want to complain—aren’t we childhood friends? Pushing me into the fire *twice* is way too cruel.”

“Heh, didn’t expect you to care this much.” Yieta covered her mouth, giggling. “But honestly… you must’ve felt *a tiny bit* of attraction toward me, right?”

Morris’s ears shot up. *Tricked twice. Never again.* He recalled those overbearing CEOs from past-life dramas. The young Pope let out a cold, disdainful laugh, flipped his ash-blue hair, and leaned against the pillar. “Don’t fantasize. How could I possibly feel anything for you—*woman*.”

He’d nailed seventy percent of the cult-leader tone. Almost added, *“I don’t care what you think—I care what I think.”*

Just as he basked in pride, Yieta’s smile faded. Her eyes lowered; her bangs shadowed her gaze. Morris froze—*Did I go too far?* As he hesitated whether to blurt “Nao Tai Tao!” to lighten the mood, Yieta lifted her head, grinning exaggeratedly. “Fooled again, huh? Silly Morris!”

“Y-you mind your own business!” Morris retorted, twisting a strand of hair near his ear, gaze darting to the rain-slick courtyard.

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” Yieta murmured, sidling closer with a grin. “Don’t worry. Father said last night was nothing—he ran with gangs in his youth, seen it all. Called it ‘just a little dessert.’ Told me to visit you early today…”

“Th-thank you for Uncle’s concern—” Morris genuinely appreciated Lord Croft’s thick-skinned calm, even if he questioned the “dessert” definition.

“Oh, and he casually asked if *I* could be the primary wife, with Lenna as concubine.”

Morris nearly choked. He slammed the railing. “NO! *You* tricked me—I’m the victim!”

“Then… would you rather see me marry your cousin Aidelen?” Yieta asked softly.

Morris’s words faltered. “No… He doesn’t deserve you. *None* of House Lawless does. They’re all… just way too messed up…”

Yieta smiled, tiptoed, and patted his head. “Kidding. Father already rejected the proposal.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because *this* young lady dislikes it.” Yieta planted hands on hips, feigning icy aloofness. “Problem?”

“YES! Truly Miss Croft! I surrender!” Morris clapped eagerly.

“So… when do you leave?” Yieta leaned on the railing, tongue peeking out playfully. “Now that Lenna caught you… heading back to Macedon soon?”

“Tomorrow.” Morris watched raindrops splash the pond. “Got a few things to handle tonight.”

“You’ve worked hard, little brother.” Yieta turned, voice softening. “Never thought I’d need to tiptoe to pat your head now… when it used to be the other way around.”

Morris leaned back with a grin. “Being ‘older sister’ too long? Can’t handle the reversal?”

“Yeah,” Yieta whispered. “Really… can’t get used to it.”

Time slipped away with the rain. Yieta left quietly. After lunch with Sif, Lenna, and Uncle, Morris gently steered Lenna out—he desperately needed a nap. During the three-day journey, he’d booked three rooms nightly, locked doors… yet woke each dawn with the Holy Maiden in his arms and a broken lock beside his pillow.

This dream felt normal. Sif wore Lenna’s white dress, swinging her slender legs on the edge of his Church of Lunhai bedroom bed, smiling brightly.

“Why wear Lenna’s dress?” Morris stepped in, grinning playfully.

“If we chase thrills, go all the way,” Sif replied with a bewitching smile—innocence twisted into subtle allure.

Morris’s heart leaped. Just as he prepared his iconic line—a faint *scritch* echoed. He turned. A hole gaped in the wall. A blood-red eye glowed from the dark.

He jolted awake, gasping. A sweet, feminine scent filled the air. Annoyed, he scanned for Lenna to scold—but froze.

Sif, halfway out of black leggings and into a white clerical robe, stared back, wide-eyed.

“…Mm.” Morris calmly closed his eyes and lay down. “Good. Still dreaming.”

“IT’S NOT A DREAM!!!”

He shot upright, face burning. “If you’re shy, DON’T CHANGE IN A MAN’S ROOM!!!”

Dusk settled.

After learning Sif merely wished to try a robe—grateful, planning to join the Church of Lunhai post-incident—Morris facepalmed. *Too reckless.*

“So?” He sighed deeply, looking up. “How does it feel?”

“Um… okay?” Kneeling, Sif tugged the collar. Her breath hitched. “But… weird somehow…”

Morris rubbed his eyes. Something felt *off*.

Sif stood blankly, circling him.

*Hmm. Very white. Very… large…*

A choked “What the—!” nearly escaped.

Though fleeting, the bold words **“Eat Me”** seared into his mind. Hands trembling, he stammered, “Q-quick… take it off…”

“Eep?! Mr. Morris, wh-what are you—?!”

Just then, Uncle’s voice boomed outside: “Morris! Healing spring’s ready. When do you—”

The door swung open. Uncle Gawain saw Sif clutching her chest and waist, Morris frantically tugging the robe, utterly bewildered.

“…You avoided daytime mischief per my advice,” Uncle stroked his beard with a heavy sigh, “but Gawain can’t call *this* progress…”

“WAIT, UNCLE, LET ME EXPLAIN!!!”

“I’ll go ahead. You and Miss Sif head to the back mountain later.”

“JUST *LISTEN* TO MY EXPLANATION!!!”