In the penthouse suite atop an inn in Garden Town, the air hung so thick with tension it felt like escape velocity had spiked tenfold.
A girl sat motionless in the room’s center, arms crossed, head bowed, face unreadable. Barely sixteen, she had shoulder-length ash-gray hair and downcast pale blue eyes. A faint bruise marred her pale cheek; her clothes bore clear signs of tearing.
Surrounding her were several girls aged fifteen to early twenties, their stares sharp as if judging a criminal. Two stood out in hostility: the short purple-haired girl yanked Milora’s hair without mercy, while the long green-haired one gripped her chin.
“You~ really realize your mistake?”
“The captain left because of you!”
“You got her hurt! Ruined our whole hunt!”
“How will you fix it? Can you even?”
“Useless in battle, can’t even handle chores!”
“Just leave already? Huh? Get out!”
“Stop dragging us down and embarrassing everyone!!”
Their words were textbook henchman taunts. Milora showed no outward reaction—but a cold glint never left her eyes.
Suddenly, she spoke:
“So desperate to wag your tails for your master?”
“…Huh?”
“What did you say?!”
“You two… followed Torina Dewell to form this team just to cozy up and ride her coattails, didn’t you?”
Marianne and Lilia erupted. Marianne slapped her hard; Lilia spat insults: “What would a commoner know?” “Go beg in your village, bumpkin!” “Insolent stray dog!”—all classic villain lines.
Others watched coldly. One girl in dark red leather armor, golden-red waves cascading over her shoulders, leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes blazing with open disdain.
“Milora Sistem! I’m saying it plainly—if you have *any* self-awareness, quit the team yourself!”
“When the captain returns, you’re finished! You caused her injury!”
As Marianne and Lilia delivered their final threats, Milora stayed silent—until—
“Wait!”
Torina burst through the door.
“Huh?” “Senior Torina!”
Marianne and Lilia scrambled over like eager puppies—then froze at her disheveled state. Dust-streaked, hair messy, clothes rumpled. They’d never seen the impeccably dressed noble girl look so bedraggled.
“…New fashion trend?”
“Is ‘street-thug chic’ in now?”
“Those horses were too fast… *cough!* Anyway—I’m back! Fully healed!”
“Welcome back, senpai! We’re handling the culprit!”
“She abandoned her post! The griffin escaped! She hurt you! She’s dead weight!”
Others nodded silently.
Torina’s mind screamed:
*(Too late!! Look what you’ve done!?)*
Two of the three canon triggers for the protagonist’s departure had already happened. Was there still time to fix this?
“…If that’s all, I’ll return to my room.”
Milora clearly wanted no space shared with Torina. She covered the lingering bruise and tried to slip past—but Torina grabbed her wrist.
“Wait! I didn’t say you could leave!”
Torina meant: *I’m not kicking you out.*
But Milora—and everyone else—heard: *Trying to run? Did I give you permission?*
Hostility flashed in Milora’s eyes. She yanked free, spine straight, voice slow, sharp, and unshakable:
“Thirty years on the river’s east, thirty on the west—never scorn a girl for her poverty!”
She turned and strode away without looking back.
Torina’s face flushed crimson, then pale. Her followers assumed rage and swarmed to trash-talk Milora. Only Torina knew—she wasn’t angry. She was *painfully* awkward. So awkward her back ached, legs numbed, feet cramped.
*Don’t deliver such a legendary line with that dead-serious face!*
——————————
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Downstairs in the bathhouse, Torina drifted in thought. Before the full-length mirror, she admired herself: raven-black waterfall hair, blood-crimson eyes, perfectly full cherry lips, a bosom generous enough to feed seven children, a willow-thin waist, hips, legs, feet… a figure far too mature for seventeen.
“I truly am beautiful.”
A sincere sigh.
The two bath attendants scrubbing her back exchanged startled glances.
*(Is she okay…?)*
*(Narcissist? Kinda creepy…)*
“Shampoo my hair.”
““As you wish.””
“Serve well—I’ll reward you.”
““Yay!””
They worked harder. Torina heard their whispers but shrugged. *Who wouldn’t adore a face this flawless?*
“…Sigh.”
Enough mirror-gazing. Face reality.
If the plot continued, Milora would quit soon, then return later with cheat skills to *literally* massacre them—limbs flying, heads rolling.
Reconciliation? Doubtful. Milora hated most of the team; they hated her back. No middle ground.
What to do…
What to do…
What—*ah!*
She slapped her own fair, plump, smooth, bouncy thigh.
*(Disband the team!)*
No team, no scattered members, no clear revenge target. Plot stalls.
And she—Torina Dewell, noble daughter—why slay monsters in the wild? Return home to luxury! The team was just for academy credits… which she frankly didn’t need.
Her mood lifted. After the attendants rinsed her hair, she sank into the warm water, tipping generously. Money was nice—booking the town’s finest bathhouse was effortless. (Still nowhere near her estate…) *Can’t wait to go home~ Tomorrow: feast the team, announce disbandment!*
Just then—
A girl wrapped in a towel entered. Voluminous golden-red curls, fiery orange-red eyes, apricot skin glowing in the steam, a figure rivaling Torina’s own.
“Ah, Annawiel.”
“Torina… Tch.”
This strong-willed vice-captain of the team—Annawiel Alpharith, merchant-house heiress—radiated arrogance. Wealth-wise, even Torina conceded. They’d known each other at Central United Academy for years, yet Annawiel always opposed her. She’d forced her way onto the team, buying the vice-captain spot with cash… *Why?*
“What do you want?”
“Bathing.”
“I reserved this space.”
“I’ll pay double.”
“No need…”
Torina soaked, observing. *Terrible personality… but undeniably stunning.*
*(In the original story… Annawiel maps to Ankwell, right? That dangerous canon obstacle…)*
Ankwell was a plot device—parachuted in with absurd lore to raise difficulty for the revenge arc. Honestly, most teammates were like this: names recycled from the author’s old works (*lazy dog couldn’t brainstorm new ones*), forced backstories (*lazy dog couldn’t be bothered to justify*). None were pushovers.
*So what?*
Torina had already decided: disband. Skip school. Let everyone scatter.
“Hey.” Annawiel broke the silence.
“What? Captivated by my beauty?”
“Y-you! What nonsense! Since when so narcissistic?!”
“So… what is it?”
“Milora. When will you kick out that useless deadweight?”
“Oh? Her negligence hurt me—so you’re defending me?”
Torina joked. Annawiel’s face flushed crimson.
“Never! Don’t flatter yourself! I just hate clueless weaklings!”
“Alright…”
*Hmph. Misread her. Thought she was a tsundere lesbian with a hidden soft spot.*
Torina stepped out, drying off.
“By the way—letter for you. From your family.”
“A letter?”
She dressed, retrieved it at the front desk: gold-embossed envelope, sealed with House Dewell’s crest (crossed sword and staff ringed by runes). *Parents checking in? Sending allowance?* Humming lightly, she opened it—
[Your brother and sister strive tirelessly beyond these walls. You accomplish nothing. As a daughter of House Dewell, are you not ashamed!? Fail to achieve distinction within one year, and you forfeit your inheritance!]
…
…
…
Wait… what?!
