The Inevitable Romance Fantasy Event – "I'm Losing My Mind"
'I'm going insane for real.'
At first, I thought it was just a coincidence that we ended up sitting near each other. But after observing her out of the corner of my eye...
The pattern was way too obvious.
—Flip!
Arina was flipping through the pages at a furious pace, pretending to read her book. The problem was how ridiculously fast she was going. Plus, the book's cover was blatantly angled so I could see it perfectly.
The author? Professor Hampton's book.
'Anyone can tell she's doing that to get my attention.'
Arina's side of the table was piled high with more of the professor's books.
'...This is that thing.'
The classic loner otaku move. She wants to bond over shared interests but is too shy to speak up, so she drops hints hoping I'll say, "Oh? You like this too?" and start the conversation. Don't ask how I know it so well. Please. It's definitely not because I have some embarrassing middle school black history like that. For real.
...Anyway.
Sure, I get it if some chuunibyou otaku is doing it to make friends. The issue is that the person pulling this stunt is a saintess.
Not some middle school boy fangirling—no, the empire's top-tier celebrity saintess is acting like a giant capital I introvert.
Ah. My head hurts. How do I escape this?
This girl's MBTI is probably double capital I and F. Her ears are beet red, so if I draw a cold line here, she'll get massively hurt, go back to her dorm, and cry her eyes out.
Then someone would obviously ask—
— "What heartless heretic made our saintess cry like this?!"
— "Oh, that vile scum Ian Ashy."
— "Grrrr! That bastard! As an inquisitor sworn to the saintess, I'll rip every tooth from that heretic's mouth!"
Aaaah. Bad end. The worst kind of witch hunt—burning at the stake!
"Haah..."
I had to reject her without making her cry. But how do you turn down a delicate girl like that without tears?
Right then, a memory flashed through my mind—not mine from second year middle school, but a friend's story.
The solution was simple.
—Scribble. Scribble.
Pretend to be busy. Act like you don't notice. Shy types back off. If there's no opening in the vibe, they give up on their own.
And honestly, I was busy. I still had revisions left on my contest manuscript.
Of course, the first draft was done, and revisions were mostly finished. I'd squeezed it in between drawing ero-manga of my childhood friend.
What I was writing now was basically meaningless doodling. But so what? It's not the content that matters—it's the attitude.
I moved my pen across the paper with a face that screamed "Don't talk to me right now."
Scratch. Scratch.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the saintess flinch. Good. Stew on it. Then give up.
I doubled down, scribbling nonsense with an even more serious expression.
A moment later—
Screeech— The sound of a chair scraping back made my hopes rise. She's leaving now, right? It's late anyway. Wise choice, Saintess. Take care.
But then.
"Ugh... Eut."
A tiny, weird noise came from right next to me. What the hell? I rolled my eyes sideways and saw—
Drag—
—the saintess sliding into the seat beside me.
'...I'm seriously gonna lose it.'
Why advance instead of retreat?!
Arina sat rigidly next to me, half her face hidden behind her book. Her silver eyelashes trembled, ears still red.
I gritted my teeth and stared back down at my paper.
Please leave. Pleaseleavepleaseleavepleaseleave.
Right then.
"Ian Ashy-nim."
Salvation. Literal salvation in the form of a voice.
I snapped my head up on reflex. It was the editor from Salon Valenti. Neat suit. Rapid-fire speech.
Aaah. Are you truly the saintess who saves me from another saintess?
"Have you finished the entire manuscript?"
I felt Arina jolt beside me. Her book rose higher, face buried deeper.
I seized the moment, quickly gathering my papers and handing them over.
"Yes. I've written everything I planned."
The editor took the manuscript, eyes widening.
"Really? I was worried when you said it'd only take two days, but this speed is unbelievable."
She clicked her tongue but skimmed through it rapidly. Her expression shifted subtly as she read—surprise, interest, then certainty.
Pros recognize pros.
"...Truly unbelievable."
"The prize is ten million krone."
"Very pure motivation."
"Money's best when it's pure. Preferably solid gold."
The editor chuckled. Good. Conversation flowing well. She'll slip away now, right, Saintess?
That's what I thought—until my eyes caught the saintess next to me.
...Still here. Fidgeting nervously.
Yet her perked-up ears were clearly eavesdropping.
'...No choice.'
Sorry, Saintess. About to commit the ultimate sin against an I-type: introducing her to a stranger!
"Oh. Arina-nim, you're here too."
"Ueek?!"
She let out a dumb squeak when I suddenly addressed her.
For my survival, I smoothly shoved her toward the editor.
"Editor-nim, she's really into literature too. Quite knowledgeable."
Arina froze solid. Like actual ice magic had hit her.
The editor's gaze turned to her. Arina slowly lowered her book, revealing her flushed face.
The editor recognized her, eyes widening briefly, then flashed a professional smile.
"If you're interested in literature, does the contest intrigue you as well?"
"Uh... Ah... I..."
The editor continued gently.
"Short essays are fine. No need to be a pro writer. As long as it's heartfelt, it has value. Would you consider submitting?"
Wow. Impressed. Is this editor reeling in the saintess to boost contest hype? Pros gonna pro.
"I-I..."
Arina's eyes wavered. Her fingers clutching the book trembled.
Then, finally—
"S-Sorry!"
Whoosh. She bolted up, grabbed her stack of books in a panic, bowed her head deeply, and fled the library like it was on fire.
The editor watched her go, then turned to me.
"...Did I say something wrong?"
I paused briefly. Silently crossed myself in my mind.
Sorry, Saintess. Truly.
"She's just very shy by nature."
"Hmm. That introduction didn't seem particularly kind."
"I had my reasons."
"What reasons?"
I said very seriously,
"My survival."
The editor stared at me, then sighed.
"...Writer-nim, sometimes it's hard to tell if you're joking or serious."
No, this time I was pretty damn serious.
Arina Saint didn't stop running until she reached the end of the library corridor.
Her heart pounded wildly. Breath ragged, fingertips burning hot.
She leaned against the wall, clutching her books tighter.
It wasn't a big deal, really. She just wanted to talk to that guy, Ian Ashy, once.
That's why she'd grabbed Professor Hampton's books on purpose.
'If we're reading the same book, liking the same author, maybe I can naturally strike up a conversation.'
That was the plan.
"I'm such an idiot..."
But face-to-face, her mind went blank.
Ian Ashy looked so busy writing his manuscript. Would she be bothering him? A nuisance?
But there was no other chance to talk!
She'd tailed him for days, mustered her courage—
All those thoughts crashed in at once.
Arina resented her own personality. Why was she always like this? Why couldn't she say what she wanted?
Being this timid meant she'd never grab what she desired.
Still, she wanted to change. At least to get close to him.
So she gathered her courage. Stood up. Tried to speak.
— "Ugh... Eut."
But out came a weird grunt, not words. Panicking, she plopped down—in the seat next to him!
Oh no. Sitting right beside him, she could feel his warmth, even swear she heard his heartbeat.
Ah. Maybe it's mine.
She panicked in a daze for a bit.
— "Ian Ashy-nim."
Then the editor appeared.
And Arina watched as Ian handled it smoothly, even briefly. Busy, skilled, confident.
...Cool.
Mentally adrift, he suddenly introduced her.
As someone deeply into literature. Like recommending her to the editor.
"Th-That was too much to bear."
Embarrassment flooded her; she had to flee.
And yet.
"...Heehee."
Stopped in the corridor, a smile crept onto Arina's lips.
Because Ian Ashy—a guy who knew literature so well, with an editor hanging on him—had introduced her to the editor.
As someone sincere about literature.
'He acknowledges me.'
For no reason. Really, no reason.
Heehee. A small laugh slipped out.
Sometimes, shocking things happen in the dumbest ways.
"Ian Ashy-nim. A telegram has arrived."
Some guy appeared out of nowhere (probably an admin staffer) and handed me a slip of paper. Checking it, I had to head home.
At the estate's front gate, I straightened my clothes without thinking.
Can't blame me.
"...You've finally arrived."
Estelle stood there, radiating icy winds. Felt like sub-zero temps. Spine chilled.
"D-Did I do something wrong?"
Stammering, she replied without twitching.
"Many wrongs. Starting with how many days it's been since you last came home."
"W-Well, I've been busy."
"No excuses. Come in."
Chilling. Even opening the door, her expression didn't soften. Something serious had gone down.
"What's wrong?"
"The family head is looking for you."
"Big trouble?"
"Yes."
"...How big?"
Estelle eyed me, then said lowly,
"It'll be hard, but refuse."
"Refuse what?"
"Refuse."
"No, refuse what exactly."
She said no more.
Then Chloe appeared from the end of the hall.
My sister snorted openly upon seeing me. "Hmph."
"What's your deal?"
Arms crossed, she scanned me up and down, then turned away sharply.
"Whatever. Just leave or something, idiot."
"Leave? Where?"
"Great. At least it'll help the family finances."
"What will?"
"Hmph."
Whoosh.
I stared dumbfounded, but she was already stomping off.
Why's she pissed?
Feeling increasingly uneasy, I stood before the family head's room.
Knock knock.
"Come in."
Dad, Albert Ashy, sat in his chair. But his face was off—not his usual carefree vibe, but genuinely troubled. Rare sight.
Am I seriously being sold off? The army again? Making me reenlist?!
"No, Dad! Not the army! No matter how broke we are!"
I blurted without thinking. Dad waved frantically.
"No, not that! The army?!"
"Then what? Why's it feel like you're shipping me off somewhere?"
"Ahem."
Dad cleared his throat awkwardly. Stop dragging it out. You're scaring me more.
A moment later, he spoke.
"Listen well, Ian."
"Yes."
"We've received a marriage proposal."
...Huh?