Alice moved down the orphanage corridor with a basket on her arm.
The disguise artifact Professor Catherine had given her made her look like a human.
Without it she would have a hard time moving without attracting attention.
Right now, she was completing one of the requirements of her S-rank Holy Priestess Class: helping one thousand people.
The dining room smelled of hot bread and stew.
Children lined up with the casual disorder of a small storm.
Elbows, laughter and the occasional tug-of-war over spoons went on.
Alice moved through them handing out bowls and bread.
She watched a boy with one front tooth missing grin at her, then duck his head and press a folded drawing into her palm.
His cheeks went pink the moment her fingers closed around the paper.
"F-For you," he mumbled.
Alice took the picture without changing her expression.
She patted his head the same way the orphanage director did when she wanted to reassure someone and didn’t want to ruffle their pride.
"Thank you," she said.
Her voice was small and plain. Despite the disguise, her appearance was beautiful.
The boy beamed, convinced she was the sun.
Another group of boys hovered nearby, embarrassed, wrapping a crude bracelet in cloth.
They shoved it into her hands and shuffled their feet; one nearly tripped over his own courage.
They all looked at her as if she’d broken some secret by standing there, as if touching her might make a legend real.
She accepted the gifts the way she accepted the bowls and the looks and the whispered thanks with neutral courtesy.
She kept the artifact’s smile steady so the children wouldn’t worry about the oddness under it.
When they offered their treasures she patted each head, and they lit up and ran back to their games.
The little girls offered flowers.
They pressed stems into her palms.
The stems were tiny, battered blooms and one perfect white blossom that smelled faintly of soap.
Alice set them in the folds of her cloak, arranging them without making a show of it.
It should have felt strange, she thought.
For most of her life she had been a spectator to human choreography; she learned patterns and practiced smiles alone.
Introversion wasn’t only shyness.
It was a calculation she ran until her head hurt:
How will they think of me if I do this? If I say that? If I laugh too loud?
The tally never ended.
In the end, she decided it was better to keep distance, and better to be alone, where there were no eyes waiting for her to misstep.
That was when she stopped smiling for others sake.
Children were different.
They didn’t weigh intentions or place judgments on hesitation.
When a child handed her a ribbon, it was a ribbon, not a verdict. They gave it her with pure intentions.
That knowledge made it easier to be near them, and because she knew she would not be measured so harshly, she could stay with them and feel, for the minutes between passing out stew and sweeping crumbs, almost ordinary.
She finished her round and set the empty basket down beside the director’s desk.
The director — a broad woman who smelled faintly of peppermint and paperwork — folded her hands and offered a tired, genuine smile.
"Thank you, Alice. Your presence made the children quite happy."
"Meeting them was a pleasure for me too." Alice inclined her head. "I should hurry. I have other orphanages to visit."
The director squeezed her hand. "You’re doing well. The children will remember tonight."
Alice left without saying more.
Outside, the night was in full swing.
The orphanage gate creaked as she pushed it open, and she almost missed the figure waiting on the far side.
Isaac stood with his back to the iron rail, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, as if he had planted himself there and was waiting for the sun to come up.
For a second, her world reduced to the simple fact of him being there.
Her feet hesitated.
She had indicated she didn’t want to meet him.
For the time she knew him, he had always acted distant towards others.
If someone told him to stay away, he wouldn’t worry why they said that. He would simply step away.
It was as if he had accepted people wouldn’t want to be with him. Or perhaps he didn’t care if others left him.
He had always been distant like that.
Yet there he was.
Coming for her despite her trying to tell him to stay away.
"How did you—"
Her steps set themselves forward anyway.
She crossed the yard and he came with her, matching her pace so that the exchange of motion filled the silence between them.
They walked side by side for a stretch without speaking.
The city hummed on the other side of the gate, indifferent.
Isaac watched her patiently.
He was waiting for her to give an explanation.
When she didn’t, he finally asked, "What happened?"
"Nothing," she lied.
Isaac’s mouth tightened into a soft half-smile.
He was not fooled by that answer.
He looked at her and checked her status.
[Status 2: Doesn’t want to meet you before she can get her Class.]
[Status 3: Happy that you came to find her.]
Isaac inwardly raised a brow at that status.
’Is there a problem with her Class?’ he wondered.
"Let’s go home today. You can finish the Class requirements tomorrow."
Alice kept her face composed.
She was already thinking of reasons to refuse.
There were two more orphanages on her list and—
She stopped.
A dark cloud coalesced in the air just ahead of them.
’Huh?’
’That’s Celia’s skill.’
She looked around quickly. No sign of Celia anywhere. The street was empty but for them.
’Who used that skill?’
The thought arrived as a small, disbelieving chill along her spine.
Isaac’s hand closed on hers and he pulled her into the cloud.
One breath and they were no longer standing beneath the iron gate.
They arrived at the polished corridor of the Sanctum of Masters’ teleporter hub, and then, the moved to the Fortified City 89, and the next instant they stood in their bedroom.
Alice steadied herself against the suddenness.
Her head felt lodged with cotton.
The thought of the Class evaporated like steam.
Something else pushed its way into focus.
’Isaac used Celia’s skill?’
A thin, shuddering fact threaded through her: Isaac could copy the skills of women he slept with.
"Alice," Isaac began. "Now tell me why you were—"
His sentence didn’t finish.
A fist hit him square in the face.
The impact sent him flying backward.
He would have smashed into the wall if not for something broad and reverent opening behind him.
Wings.
They beat invisible drafts of air that slowed his fall.
Isaac rubbed at his nose, and looked at her with a small, wry smile.
Alice’s chest was hot with something she did not want to analyze.
She had activated Solar Dominion; gold flame licked the air around her like a halo seen through heat.
"You bastard," she said. "You acted like a saint when you were with Emily, and I wanted to be with you. You kept pushing me away, like you were above it all. And now you sleep with another woman the first chance you get?"
She took a step and threw another punch with full force.
"I’m going to beat you up and kill that bitch—"
"No, one is killing anyone."
Isaac said it as he moved.
He caught her wrist easily and diverted the swing without much effort.
In the time it took Alice to notice, the world settled into a ridiculous intimacy: Isaac sat on the bed; Alice found herself pulled down, her thighs pressed against his knees.
His hands were steady on either side of her.
"Let me go, bastard," Alice hissed, her fingers clawing at his arm as if to tear herself free. "I’m going to kill that bitch."
She tried to twist out of his grip, but Isaac didn’t let her. His right arm was locked tightly around her waist, holding her in place, while his left hand cupped her face.
"Alice," he said, his tone calm but firm. "Calm down. Let’s talk first."
"Go to hell with you and your calm down," she snapped, jerking against him again.
Isaac exhaled, trying not to smile. Her words hit hard, but seeing her this furious almost felt surreal. The Saintess, the woman people bowed to with reverence, was now spitting curses like a sailor.
She really didn’t look like a saintess right now.
’She’s pretty pissed,’ he thought.
He opened her status window quietly, searching for something—anything—that could help. His eyes stopped when he saw her [Status 1].
’I hope this works.’
Before she could struggle again, he leaned in and kissed her.
Her body froze in shock. "Stop! Chuap... you bastard... chuap... you think you can weasel out of this... chuap..."
Her voice faded between the muffled sounds of the kiss. Her hands, once clawing at him, slowly loosened.
Isaac could feel the change. The tension left her shoulders, her breathing slowed, and her heartbeat quickened for a different reason.
Her lips trembled before moving on their own. She kissed him back, her tongue brushing against his, then wrapping around it.
It didn’t take long before her arms were around his neck, pulling him closer.
’...?’
Isaac blinked, his mind catching up a few seconds too late.
’Wasn’t this too easy? I thought she’d fight me off or slap me.’
Then it hit him.
When he had kissed Celia before, her saliva had caused his lust to spike unnaturally. Now that he had inherited Celia’s physique, didn’t that mean Alice’s emotions—and her body—were reacting the same way?
’Ah, shit.’
Before he could stop, Alice pushed him down instead.
He landed on the bed with a soft thud.
"You horny bastard," she said, glaring at him. But her flushed face, half-lidded eyes, and the way her breath hitched every few seconds made the anger look... unconvincing.
Isaac watched her as she wiped her mouth, then brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
"It was my fault," she said suddenly.
"What was?"
"That I ignored the signs before. I should’ve just made sure you didn’t go after other bitches."
Isaac frowned. "What do you mean—"
His words died when Alice grabbed him between his legs.
He froze, eyes widening.
"It’s this thing’s fault, isn’t it?" she said, squeezing lightly, her voice laced with anger and something else entirely. "I’m going to wring it dry every day from now on. Then I won’t have to worry about it looking for anything outside the house—Kya!!"
Isaac flipped her before she could finish, his hand catching her wrist and pinning her down. Now, he was on top of her.
"I love my wife when she speaks so confidently," he said, smirking. "But I like being on top."
Alice’s breath caught.
Her eyes flickered with surprise when she heard the word wife.
"You think you can just use sweet words to dodge the problem every time?"
"Why are you talking like I’m doing something wrong by calling my sweet wife my wife?" Isaac said softly, leaning closer until his breath brushed against her ear.
Alice shuddered when he kissed the side of her neck. A faint gasp escaped her lips before she could stop it.
She clenched her fists against the sheets and tried to speak through the heat rising in her chest. "That’s not what we were talking about—"
Her sentence broke off when Isaac kissed her again.
This one wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate either. It was slower, deeper, the kind of kiss that pulled the breath out of both of them.
When he finally pulled away, Alice didn’t say anything. She just stared up at him, her chest rising and falling quickly.
Between anger and lust, her emotions that were on the verge of exploding finally calmed down a little.
Isaac brushed a strand of hair off her face. "I love you, Alice."
Her eyes twitched. "What does—"
"And I love Emily and Celia too."
Alice’s mouth shut instantly.
He didn’t flinch, or try to soften it. He just looked at her and said it plainly, as if it were the most natural truth in the world.
"I love all three of you."
"...Leave Celia."
"I can’t."
Her brows furrowed. "What do you mean you can’t ? Or do you love her more than me?"
"That’s not the right question," Isaac said quietly. "You can’t rank people by how much you love them."
"You can—"
"Then who do you love more," he cut in gently, "your sister or me?"
Alice’s words caught in her throat.
She opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out.
Isaac smiled faintly. "You see? Love doesn’t work like that. It’s not a competition. I love you. I love her. Both are true."
He caressed her cheek with his thumb, feeling her skin tremble under his touch.
"I trust you, Alice," he said softly. "That’s why I want you to protect our family, not harm them."
Her eyes met his, searching for something—perhaps doubt, perhaps guilt—but he didn’t look away.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioning and the quiet rhythm of their breathing.
Isaac finally sighed.
He knew she wouldn’t just accept Celia overnight. That wasn’t who Alice was. But at least now, she wasn’t screaming about killing her anymore. That was progress.
Alice bit her lip, her expression softening. The cold mask she always wore cracked. "...Isaac, do you not love me anymore?"
He looked almost hurt that she’d ask. "Of course I do. I’ll always love you. I love you so much I can’t spend a single day without you."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Then why did you bring Celia?"
"You know that’s a different thing."
"I don’t like her," Alice muttered.
"That’s fine," Isaac said. "You don’t have to like her now. You’ll come around eventually."
Her eyes narrowed. "Don’t tell me what I’ll feel."
Isaac chuckled lightly. "Alright, fine. Then just promise me one thing."
"What?"
"That you won’t harm her."
Alice glared. "Bastard."
"I’ll take that as a maybe."
"..."
"Come on, Alice."
"...I won’t try to kill her," she finally muttered under her breath.
Isaac smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing for the first time since this started. "Thank you."
"Bastard," she repeated, though her voice didn’t carry the same fire anymore.
He leaned down and kissed her again.
This time, it wasn’t to distract or coax her. It was just a kiss. Soft, and slow.
Her arms lifted, wrapping around his neck again, pulling him close. Her lips moved in rhythm with his, no longer fighting, or resisting.
When they finally broke apart, Alice exhaled, her head resting on his shoulder.
"Don’t think this means I forgive you," she murmured.
"I know."
"I still don’t like her."
"I figured."