“He chooses to forget?”
But external mental interference should be impossible.
Even with the Saint’s relentless probing, he couldn’t find a single crack in Fabio’s mental defenses.
It must be coming from within... or maybe another Watched One is causing this.
So, I’m the one who’s still unsure about our ‘relationship’? Is that what you’re getting at?
Geez, this is ridiculous. Just a few days ago, I was loudly proclaiming to Adna and Ter, “Homosexuality? Me? Absolutely not, couldn’t be me!” And now, all of a sudden, I’m supposed to be Athanas’s fated lover?
Eventually, I had to prove to Adna I could handle eating by myself, even going as far as scraping the bowl clean right in front of her.
“But... if there’s a victim, doesn’t that mean someone must be the perpetrator? Whoever committed the crime surely bears the heavier sin. So why weren’t they punished?”
…What the hell?
These memories belong to someone who died. How could they possibly break through Oblivion?
And more importantly... why was Oblivion used on her at all?
Adna, of all people, had the audacity to say that?
If anyone deserves a lifetime achievement award in emotional cluelessness, it’s her. She’d sweep the Emotional Ignorance Olympics without breaking a sweat.
The dense wall of text vanished, leaving only a hazy afterimage that clouded my thoughts. I struggled to process what had just happened.
Ultimate HappyHappy?
Why? How? How the hell did Happy God manage to—?
Adna had already smashed my door down with an axe once before, so the second the knocking started again, I rushed to open it. Better that than hearing it turn into splintering wood.
I felt a twinge of guilt as I lied. “…Just thinking how unsettling it is not knowing who might be a Watched One.”
The possibility that Nyapoleon or Insanity could be wandering the Cathedral halls right now was concerning.
My eyes fluttered open, and there he was… Athanas, gazing at me in silence as he lay beside me. Still groggy from sleep, I blinked a few times trying to make sense of the situation.
When I blinked awake, the room was bathed in the soft, golden glow of morning light.
What the hell?
Did I really just fall asleep like that?
My headache was gone, and I felt oddly refreshed, which honestly only made me more uneasy.
“This is the Holy Cathedral, and you’re under the Saint’s protection. If you truly felt threatened by Marcello Teres, you could have requested judgment against him. But you didn’t.” Athanas’s words struck like acid rain, eating through my already paper-thin defense.