Lovesickness
"Hehe, hehehe," Seron giggled like an idiot.
"Sigh..." then she exhaled a deep sigh.
"Hmph." And then she hummed a cheerful tune.
I had no idea how many times her mood swung in a single day. Just watching her was exhausting. But Seron herself showed no signs of tiring. Amidst her wildly fluctuating emotions, she looked consistently, blissfully happy.
"Seron."
"Sigh..."
"Hey."
"Hehehe."
"Forehead."
No matter what I called her, she didn't even register my voice.
"What is wrong with Seron?" Isabel asked, staring at her with a deeply bewildered expression. Even to her, Seron's behavior was far from normal.
"No idea. Why don't you ask her yourself?" I replied.
I had absolutely no desire to get involved. Isabel shot me a subtle, questioning look before sliding onto the bench next to Seron.
"Seron," Isabel called out, lightly tapping her shoulder. That finally seemed to bring Seron back to reality, if only a little.
"Did something happen? Why are you acting like this?"
At Isabel's question, Seron's face went blank for a moment. Then, with a dazed, spellbound look, she gazed out the window.
"Ah..." She let out yet another long sigh. "Bel, I saw my Prince."
"...I'm fairly certain there are no actual princes enrolled at Jerion Academy?"
"No, it's not like that. Sigh... You wouldn't understand, Bel."
Seron looked at her with a pitying expression, as if to say, I feel so sorry for you because you don't know what love is. Isabel stared back at her for a moment before quietly backing away.
"...You talk to her," Isabel muttered, nudging me.
"Just leave her be."
They say there is no cure for lovesickness. The only option was to leave her alone until she eventually forgot about me.
"With that attitude, it almost seems like you know something," Isabel said, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"I know absolutely nothing."
And I didn't want to know. Under Isabel's suspicious gaze, the days continued to pass.
Entering this new scenario had presented me with several new challenges.
First was my regular visits to the girls' dormitory to ensure Iris's peaceful sleep. Iris's nightmares were a critical factor in the plot. At least once a week, without fail, I had to go and sleep beside her. Iris wanted me to come every single day, but I simply didn't have the stamina for that. Slipping into the girls' dorm was a nerve-wracking ordeal every time; the glares from the maids were terrifying enough to shave years off my life.
Second was shaking off Isabel. She had taken to practically tailing me, trying to fuss over and take care of me. I had severely underestimated her sheer tenacity. She was absolutely desperate to restore me to my original state. It had gotten to the point where people around us assumed we had officially reconciled. Eventually, I resorted to actively avoiding her. The more I ran, the more frustrated and relentless she became, but as a seasoned loner, I was highly skilled at finding obscure hiding spots where an extrovert like her would never think to look. Extroverts simply don't understand that introverts need their solitary time.
Third was Seron. She had promised me she wouldn't participate in the boycott. Since the request had come from the very person she was infatuated with, she followed it faithfully. However, as time went on, she grew visibly gaunt. The frequency of her sighs only increased. She was a walking textbook definition of severe lovesickness.
The Last Leaf. She looked so melancholy that the classic story actually crossed my mind. Her behavior became subdued, and she spoke far less. Honestly, it was getting to the point where I couldn't just ignore it anymore.
"Lovesickness isn't called a sickness for nothing. It's an illness of the heart, and it literally rots you from the inside out," Card remarked, clicking his tongue as he observed Seron. As someone with an extensive, self-proclaimed expertise in women, he shook his head. "She's going to collapse at this rate."
And sure enough, it didn't take long for that prediction to come true.
It happened during our regular combat training. It was a mock battle where students were paired up to fight. Seron, completely spaced out, failed to evade a critical strike from her opponent.
Crash!
She was sent flying through the air and tumbled hard across the dirt floor.
"Wait, what?" Her opponent stared in sheer panic, looking back and forth between his training sword and the fallen girl. Under normal circumstances, Seron would have easily dodged an attack of that caliber. He had thrown the strike knowing she could handle it, but instead of parrying or evading, she had taken the hit full-on.
Seron lay sprawled on the ground, showing no signs of getting back up. The surrounding students watched in stunned silence. As I instinctively stood up from my seat, Professor Beganor rushed over to check on her. Fortunately, the tense worry on the professor's face quickly relaxed back into her usual blunt expression.
"Hanon."
At Professor Beganor's call, I quickly hurried over.
"Yes, Professor."
Without hesitation, she practically dumped Seron into my arms.
"Carry this idiot to the infirmary. Tell them to give her a nutrient shot."
A nutrient shot. Hearing those words, I stared down at Seron in utter disbelief. Her severe lovesickness had led to sleep deprivation and skipped meals, culminating in straight-up malnutrition.
Is this girl actually brain-dead?
Following the professor's orders, I had no choice but to hoist Seron onto my back. With the eyes of the entire class on me, I carried her out of the training grounds. Seron was completely out cold, her head lolling limply against my shoulder. I glanced at her and let out a quiet sigh.
We had only shared a brief conversation. How could a single, fleeting encounter reduce a person to this state? It was entirely beyond my comprehension.
I carried her down the quiet hallway toward the infirmary, the warm afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows and casting long shadows on the floor.
"Seron," I murmured to her unconscious form. "What is it about that guy that you like so much?"
I knew she liked his face. But to fall so deeply ill over a handsome face alone seemed absurd to me.
"It's just a face. What's the big deal?"
I didn't actually know much about Seron. The only thing I knew for certain was that she was born under an incredibly unlucky star. Misfortune followed her everywhere. Whenever something important was about to happen, she would inevitably get a stomachache or injure herself. If she spent weeks meticulously preparing for something, the entire plan would fall through in the most ridiculous way. Because of this, she had earned the nickname "Child of Misfortune." Her sharp, prickly personality was largely a defense mechanism against this constant bad luck. When absolutely nothing in your life goes the way you want, it's impossible not to become a bit bitter.
Slide—
Opening the door, the sharp, sterile scent of disinfectant washed over me. The school nurse seemed to be temporarily away from her desk.
She'll probably be back soon.
I gently laid Seron down on one of the infirmary beds. After slipping off her shoes, I pulled the blanket up to her chest.
"Ugh... mm..." Seron groaned softly, still drifting in and out of consciousness.
"My... Prince..."
Yeah, yeah. Your Prince is right here.
Her complexion was noticeably pale. Staring down at her, I slowly brushed her bangs away from her forehead.
"Tsk."
Clicking my tongue, I drew the privacy curtains shut around the bed. Then, I reached up and unfastened the Bandage of the Veil.
Instantly, my frame began to stretch, growing taller, and my dark hair bled into a brilliant, stark white. The disguise of Hanon Airey dissolved, reverting back to the form of Vikamon Niflheim.
Once the transformation was complete, I pulled up a chair and sat down beside her bed. I reached out and gently stroked her forehead. It was still as smooth and well-kept as ever. Feeling the warm touch, the tension in Seron's face eased slightly. At the same time, her eyelids fluttered, slowly blinking open.
She blinked a few times to clear her blurry vision. The moment her eyes locked onto mine, they went wide with shock.
"P-Prince!?" Seron shrieked, her voice cracking. She tried to bolt upright, but the lingering pain from the blow she had taken in training made her wince and curl back inward with a groan.
I watched her quietly before leaning back in my chair.
"Seron Parmia."
At the sound of her name leaving my lips, her shoulders flinched. She stared at me with wide, round eyes, clearly wondering how on earth I knew who she was.
"I heard about you from an acquaintance," I said smoothly. "They told me you've been looking terribly gaunt and unwell lately."
Seron flinched again. She bit her lip, looking incredibly flustered.
"They also mentioned that you seemed to be searching for me."
Her head dropped, her chin pressing against her chest as her ears flushed a brilliant crimson. Watching her reaction, I pressed further.
"Why were you looking for me? I didn't think there was any connection between us."
At that, Seron stiffened. Her hands clenched into tight fists, and a delicate tremor ran through her entire body. When she finally looked up, her eyes were trembling with a profound, heartbreaking sorrow.
I frowned slightly. The expression on her face was one of pure, unadulterated hurt.
"...Right. I figured you wouldn't remember me," Seron said, offering a weak, melancholic smile.
Seeing that smile, my eyes widened slightly.
I had assumed she was just a shallow girl who had fallen for my looks. But that wasn't it at all.
...Was there a past connection between Vikamon and Seron that I didn't know about?
Vikamon Niflheim, the third-rate villain. Seron Parmia, the child of misfortune. Both were minor, extra characters in the Flame Butterfly Chapter. Naturally, information on them was scarce. Just like in any game, it was impossible for the developers to flesh out the detailed backstories of every single minor extra. They were simply meant to be passing faces in the grand narrative.
But now, a hidden history between these two extras was unfolding right in front of me.
Because I had been living as Hanon Airey, I hadn't given much thought to Vikamon's personal relationships. And that oversight had led to this completely unexpected complication.
But still...
Seron didn't even seem to know my actual name. Could you really call that a meaningful connection?
"...I apologize. My memory isn't the best," I said softly. "If something happened between us in the past, would you mind explaining it to me?"
If they didn't even know each other's names, the connection couldn't have been that deep. That meant I still had room to maneuver out of this.
At my question, Seron looked down shyly, as if lost in a fond memory.
"It was the night of a party hosted by a certain noble lady," she began softly.
Nobles frequently threw lavish parties for socializing. At the time, it was Seron's very first debut into high society. For her grand debut, Seron had dressed up with utmost care. She had prepared a beautiful gift for the host and meticulously memorized every rule of noble etiquette. But Seron was a child of misfortune.
On the day of the party, just as she was arriving, a carriage collision occurred on the bridge ahead, completely blocking the path. The bridge was a narrow, one-way road, forcing her to wait inside her carriage for hours. By the time the accident was cleared and her carriage finally crossed into the estate where the party was being held, the sky opened up.
A torrential downpour began to fall, showing no signs of stopping, turning the dirt roads into thick, heavy mud. Before long, her carriage wheels sank deep into a muddy patch near a construction site, rendering the vehicle completely immobile. Ultimately, Seron had to step out into the rain, navigating the muddy path on foot while her maid desperately tried to shield her with an umbrella.
But no matter how hard they tried, the wind blew the rain sideways. Her beautifully polished shoes were ruined by the thick mud, and the hem of her gorgeous dress was splattered with filthy rainwater. She looked utterly pathetic—nothing like a noble lady attending a high society debut. Clutching her damp gift box to her chest, she arrived at the venue, desperately holding back her tears.
By then, the party was already drawing to a close. Her maid did her best to wipe down her dress and shoes, but she was in no condition to step into the ballroom. In the end, Seron retreated to the terrace, sitting alone in her ruined state.
And as if to mock her, the moment she sat down, the rain miraculously stopped.
She truly had the worst luck imaginable. She had begged her father for a new dress, gotten her makeup professionally done, and personally selected the perfect gift, all for her grand debut—yet absolutely nothing had gone right. Her life was a constant series of these minor, frustratingly unlucky events. It wasn't grand enough to warrant dramatic pity, but it was just miserable enough to leave her constantly bitter.
As Seron sat on the terrace, thoroughly dejected, a voice called out to her.
"Hello."
Through the parting storm clouds, the moonlight spilled down, illuminating a boy with brilliant white hair that seemed to glow under the silver light.
"Isn't the moonlight beautiful?"
And there, amidst the ruins of her ruined debut, she had met her Prince for the very first time.