The Saintess's Jealous Flames

The extra lady, Seren Blandiche, shot us a gaze laced with jealousy and chill, but mindful of the eyes around her, she soon quietly took a seat at the back of the lecture hall.

Even after sitting down, Yuria didn't forget to send us cold glares, and a freezing aura hung around her like it could frost the air itself.

But amid that icy tension, Seren gazed only at me, oblivious even to the sharp, piercing stare directed her way.

True to her emotionally expressive nature, a whirlwind of feelings flashed across Seren's face—excitement, hope, desperate eagerness to confirm if I was a possessor like her.

With a trembling voice, she whispered so only I could hear.

"Y-You're a possessor too, right, Your Grace…?"

I gave a light nod, and She teared up with emotion, clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle a joyful scream.

I whispered back, just for her ears.

"As fellow possessors, we should help each other out. I won't stop you if you want to stay an extra, but if you want to survive in this world, join hands with me."

Seren nodded vigorously, beaming as she blurted things like, "Of course I'd grab Your Grace's hand!"

True to her words, she grabbed my hand and grinned like an idiot, but even without a swordsman's keen senses, I could feel the prickly killing intent radiating from the back of the room.

Gone was her earlier delicate demeanor—Yuria gripped the desk so hard her knuckles turned white, alternating glares between our clasped hands and faces, radiating chilling fury.

Though it was just a whisper, Yuria's cold murmur of 'Disgusting' pierced my ears.

Of course, oblivious Seren beside me was still grinning like a fool.

'Even I, the saintess, was only used and discarded by Kardel over and over… and now some nameless baron's daughter is holding his hand and smiling.'

Whether that fact was more unbearable than the torment Kardel had inflicted across her five lives, Yuria bit her lip until it bled.

What? We just met—there's no way.

But Kardel was the type to judge people by their utility, so I could understand why she'd jump to that conclusion.

Sure ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠enough, the moment history class ended, Yuria called out to me.

"Your Grace… Surely that frivolous… lady isn't to your taste, is she?"

Jealousy burned plainly in Yuria's sky-blue eyes, though she herself remained oblivious, dismissing it as mere displeasure and confusion.

"I have no idea what you're misunderstanding, but she's just a friend I can talk to."

"A friend… I never thought I'd hear Your Grace use that word."

A faint relief colored ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her voice, but her jealousy flared even hotter. Not only had this lowly baron's daughter snatched the 'friend' position she'd never reached despite being treated as a tool, but she'd even earned the overly generous praise of 'someone I can talk to.'

And above all, what shook her was a deeper fear than mere demotion to tool—a subconscious dread that my attention had shifted entirely to Seren, erasing her existence from my memory forever.

"If that's all, I'll be going."

As we left the lecture hall, Seren matched my stride as if it were the most natural thing, already linking arms with me despite us having just met.

"Your Grace, what was that with Yuria?"

"Nothing worth worrying about."

"Really? Oh, but Your Grace, I have a question…"

Seren leaned in close with a grin, whispering in my ear—

"Your Grace, how can you…! Let that lady act so rudely without doing anything?!"

It was practically a scream. Her raw fury was palpable enough for even Seren to sense. Yuria approached us swiftly, her hostility toward Seren unmasked and laced with frost.

Under that icy glare, Seren yelped "Eek!" and clutched my clothes, ducking behind my back.

Yuria eyed the fabric Seren had grabbed as if it were soiled, her gaze dripping with disgust.

"Enough, Yuria."

I gently grasped Yuria's wrist as she drew near. Caught off guard, her shoulders flinched, breath halting for a moment.

The chill emanating from her dissipated the instant she felt my warmth, but she still looked up at me with resentful eyes.

"Your Grace… Are you stopping me? For her?"

"Not stopping you—I'm just calming you down because you're not acting like yourself."

Then, whispering secretly into her ear so only she could hear:

"You look jealous. What if rumors spread?"

Her face flushed crimson at the word 'jealousy,' lips parting in fluster—but only briefly. Overcoming her shame, Yuria yanked my arm and hugged it tight, mirroring how Seren had clung to me. As if she deserved everything I'd given Seren.

"That's because you started it, Your Grace! You just patted my head… said I'd endured so much…!"

She clung desperately to my arm, gazing up with eyes brimming with imminent tears, pleading.

Not her usual saintess poise, nor the icy hatred she harbored for Kardel—just clumsy whining, begging for my attention.

"You were kind to me first. You turned my heart upside down… smiling at another girl like that is too cruel…"

Her teary sky-blue eyes and pouting lips evoked a girl lost in jealousy.

But before I could respond, onlookers began gathering at the shocking sight of 'the saintess hanging on the Grand Duke's arm.'

The murmurs snapped her back to reality; after pouring out her emotions, embarrassment and shame flooded her eyes anew.

She quickly released my arm, but her gaze lingered on the spot Seren had grabbed—and my hand.

"…It's filthy."

Muttering in disgust, Yuria channeled Holy Power onto the fabric and my hand where Seren's trace remained.

"…I can't bear the thought of frivolous ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠energy staining Your Grace."

Once the purification magic was complete, she shot me a reproachful look and spun away.

But glancing back at Seren still by my side, a fleeting expression of abandonment crossed her face.

"Yuria, we still need to—"

"I don't care! You're so mean…!"

Her shout without turning back carried petulant grievance rather than hatred.

She fled like she was escaping, but even from afar, I caught her ears burning red with shame.

With Yuria gone, the students dispersed now that the spectacle was over, and Seren finally peeked out from behind me.

"Whoa… I thought I was gonna die the second I possessed this body! I swear, I thought the saintess was about to blast me with magic!"

Her earlier cheerfulness vanished; clutching her chest with trembling hands, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she embodied the pathos of an extra caught between protagonists.

"In the game, the saintess was super cold—how did you make her throw such a tantrum? Did you already clear her route?"

"…Beats me. I just patted her head."

"Huh, really?"

Seren fiddled with her beret, blinking in disbelief, but since that was all I'd done, she had nothing to say.

She eyed me suspiciously, but took my nonchalant response as composure, awe dawning in her eyes.

"Anyway…! I really don't wanna die at the saintess's hands, okay? You'll take responsibility to the end, right? Promise me!"

Like a puppy terrified of abandonment, she widened her eyes and locked gazes with me. With a small sigh, I headed to the next lecture hall.