Kroso clutched his head with both hands, drowning in remorse and anguish, utterly lost on how to handle this thorny situation.

If she were just an ordinary girl, he might’ve taken responsibility and proposed on his knees right then. But…

The Archangel had sworn before countless witnesses to remain eternally pure and benevolent. If that purity were lost, not only would *he* face the Church’s gallows—he’d drag the Archangel down too, stripped of her title in an instant.

True, his imperial status might let him sweep it under the rug. But those sinister, ruthless old bastards in the Church? They’d subject the gentle Archangel to unspeakable horrors. He couldn’t bear that thought.

What to do? What to do?

He’d never felt this frantic. Kroso desperately wished he could rewind time to undo his mistake.

“Eh…?”

Just then, the girl on the ground let out a soft whimper—freezing the already tense Kroso solid.

*Where am I?*

Groggy and disoriented, Sylvia slowly opened her eyes.

“Eep!”

Waking to a shadowy figure kneeling nearby, head buried in hands, she shrieked instinctively. Like a startled rabbit, she hopped back, arms crossed protectively.

Only when her back hit the cave wall did the shaken Sylvia recognize him.

“H-Hero…?”

Since Kroso hadn’t moved or spoken, she’d feared she was still trapped in the Demon Lord’s grasp. No wonder she was terrified—the last memory before blacking out had been pure horror.

“Archangel…”

Kroso stared, stunned. He opened his mouth, but words failed him. How could he possibly explain *this*?

“Hero… Why were you so still just now? I thought the Demon Lord dragged me to his Abyssal lair! I was so scared…”

Hearing that familiar voice, Sylvia finally exhaled in relief.

“Archangel, I… I…”

Seeing her relaxed expression—clearly remembering nothing of last night—Kroso’s anxiety spiked.

“Hero? What’s wrong?”

Noticing his intense, speechless stare, Sylvia’s heart skipped. Something felt off.

Following his gaze, she checked herself—and spotted the small, vivid bloodstain on her skirt hem.

*What is this?*

Confused, she touched it. Damp. Fresh.

She shifted slightly—her inner thighs felt sticky too.

A thought struck her. Her expression froze.

*This feeling…*

Watching her stunned disbelief, Kroso’s heart sank. He wanted to comfort her, but dared not speak or move. Slowly, he covered his face with a hand.

From that look alone, he knew she remembered. He couldn’t imagine her pain.

“Um…”

Realization dawned. Sylvia’s face flushed crimson. *How utterly embarrassing…*

What on earth? Could her Body of Holy Spirit really not heal such a tiny “injury”?

And that “Bleeding status” on her panel—was it *this*?

Clutching the spot tightly, she burned with awkwardness.

Less than a day as a girl, and she was already tasting the full “joy” of this bleeding debuff. Worse—another man had *seen* her like this!

No wonder the Hero looked so strange. Did he think his faith shattered realizing even the mighty Archangel dealt with monthly bleeding like any ordinary girl?

How could she ever face anyone again?

“I’m sorry, Archangel! I…”

Seeing her flustered face, hands clamped over her skirt, legs pressed tight, Kroso’s chest ached. He apologized instantly—though he knew it changed nothing.

Hearing his frantic tone, Sylvia shot him an annoyed glance… only to find genuine worry and sympathy in his eyes. *Did he think she’d crumble from embarrassment?*

Ugh! Don’t underestimate me, jerk!

“Hero, I’m fine.”

She shook her head firmly. Though her hands stayed put, she steadied her voice.

Kroso’s eyes widened. *How could she be fine?!*

Was she planning to shoulder all the blame alone? Of course—her selfless kindness made it possible.

Heat surged through him. He wasn’t the kind of scum who’d dodge blame the moment escape appeared!

“Hero!”

Just as Kroso opened his mouth to confess, Sylvia spoke again.

Kroso’s brow furrowed, waiting.

“I know what you want to say. Thank you for saving me. But my heart isn’t as fragile as you think. This won’t shake me. I won’t blame you—you did nothing wrong. It’s just… my body’s condition.”

Seeing his lingering worry, Sylvia felt it was time to change how people saw her.

She wasn’t some glass-hearted porcelain doll needing constant coddling.

Yes, it was awkward. But she’d own it. She wasn’t a native-born girl—no need to dwell on minor physiological quirks.

Kroso fell silent.

He’d imagined many reactions.

Never this—this calm dismissal, as if his grave sin meant nothing.

Was she even trying to absolve *him*?

What boundless love. What selflessness.

Wait.

This forced calm…

*Could she have already given up on life?*

Kroso snapped his head up.

Calm. Serene. Unnervingly still.

Oh no…

He’d seen this exact expression on the empire’s suicide soldiers. His heart skipped a beat.

He would *never* let this happen.