A Week Later

Irene had not appeared before him for nearly a week.__

Ever since the moment her figure had vanished from view outside the dungeon, he had harbored a quiet fear that some invisible wound might be festering within her. But...__

“Irene?”__

Michael’s voice cracked with a panic he could not quite conceal. He had never faltered so badly when addressing her, not even in battle, and yet now the mere sound of her name left his tongue stumbling. He called her again, voice low and uncertain.__

“Is there something amiss?”__

Irene’s face was pale and hollow, like a woman who had lain ill for days. Her skin, already porcelain-white, now seemed almost translucent, as though all color had drained away. But what truly unsettled Michael was the way she looked at him.__

He had sharp senses; the faintest flicker of demonic energy never escaped them. Therefore he could not have missed the steady, unblinking gaze Irene had always directed at him. It had never wavered. It had never faltered. Even when he stood still in the middle of a fight, that gaze remained locked upon him.__

At first the intensity had made him uneasy. Their eyes would meet and he would instinctively turn his head, not wanting to linger on the strange warmth blooming in his chest. Yet he had never found it unpleasant.__

‘It was nothing like Cecilia’s.’__

Of course others stared at him—Cecilia included. Her gaze had always felt slick and lingering, as though she were tasting him with her eyes. Michael had always found that suffocating. Irene’s gaze was different. It was steady, warm, and unbearably gentle. It had made him feel seen for the first time in years.__

He had never minded it. In fact, the moment they left the dungeon and he could no longer feel that gaze, he felt strangely empty.__

But now... now Irene was the one turning away first.__

Cecilia, watching from the side, smiled brightly and rose to her feet.__

“I shall take my leave, then.”__

The casual offer to withdraw for the sake of their private conversation had surprised Michael. Cecilia never yielded her position so easily. Before stepping out, she cast one long, measuring glance at the distant figure of Irene, then disappeared through the doorway.__

Irene remained exactly where she stood, head bowed as though she had committed some grave sin.__

“I will prepare the tea.”__

The maid who had spoken turned to go. The moment she left, the two of them were alone. The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.__

In the old days he would have asked at once what business had brought her here. Today he could not. Irene stood there, shifting uncomfortably, offering no words at all. The realization that she had not even greeted him properly left Michael strangely flustered. He spoke first, voice carefully measured.__

“Have you been ill? If you are not feeling well, I can send a healer... to examine you.”__

The moment the thought crossed his mind that she might be suffering, his voice slipped into something raw and urgent. He had not meant to let it show.__

“No,” Irene said quickly, shaking her head. “I am already better. There is no need.”__

She would not meet his eyes even now. Instead she clutched the edge of her sleeve and asked the question she clearly disliked asking.__

“But... what brings you here?”__

Michael realized she was trying to keep her distance. He had come prepared with the perfect reason.__

“It is about the distribution of dungeon spoils.”__

No other excuse existed. He had searched his mind endlessly since their last meeting, but nothing else made sense. He had always assumed Irene understood the practicalities of their shared life. Yet the moment he saw her face, he knew she had never accepted it. The thought struck him like a cold blade.__

He was her partner. She was supposed to be his. Why did she insist on treating their reunion as something that required explanation?__

“Oh... the distribution...”__

Irene gave a small, bitter smile and lowered her head.__

“You did not need to come all this way. I apologize for the trouble. From now on, perhaps it would be simpler if you spoke with the fortress staff.”__

She bowed deeply, the movement so quick it seemed she could not bear to stay a second longer. Michael was momentarily at a loss.__

Irene had never been particularly greedy about rewards, even when the topic had come up before. Other purifiers and knights spoke of her without restraint, and money was always mentioned. She had always listened with a modest blush and a quiet “That is too generous.” Yet today she spoke of leaving as though the very sight of him repelled her. Why had her attitude changed so suddenly?__

The question pushed him forward without permission. He took one involuntary step toward her. Irene startled, stumbling backward a full step. The sight hit Michael like a physical blow. A chill spread through his chest.__

This had not been the case before. What had happened to her?__

Irene had not even noticed she had retreated. Her expression was filled with a sorrow Michael could not name. But the truth was clear: she did not welcome his visit. She did not want him here.__

The realization made the tips of his fingers go numb. Had he done something wrong? Was there something wrong with her life? Questions he had never considered before now crowded in, each one more urgent than the last.__

“Then I shall take my leave.”__

Irene spoke quickly, as though eager to escape. She bowed once more and turned to go. Michael stood motionless in the empty parlor, watching the door close behind her.__

A moment later the maid returned, startled to find him still alone. She asked where the tea was to be placed. Michael understood at once. Irene had not waited for him to drink it. She had left without a single glance in his direction.__

After that day, Michael lived through the same routine as always. He rose at dawn, prayed to the goddess, cleansed his body, and set out to hunt dungeons. When the work was done, he checked on other sites that needed aid, instructed the fortress staff to deliver the spoils to the temple, and returned home. There he trained, bathed, prayed, and lay down to sleep. It had always been enough. Until it was not.__

“Uhn... ah...”__

At some point, his days had been invaded by something lewd and shameless. He found himself trapped in the deepest part of the prayer hall, swallowing the goddess’s name as he clutched the most private parts of his body. The more he hid it, the more frantic he became. It was as though the longer he had practiced theft, the more he had begun to steal. This was exactly how he felt now. The pleasure he had first tasted with his own hands ruled his mind completely. The sensation of his brain melting into nothing drove him to keep moving, over and over. Colleagues had once told him that after a few days he would grow tired and stop. But he had never stopped. How much filth had accumulated inside him? The sticky desire poured out without end, until his hands grew slick and his body trembled. He lay on the cold stone floor, staring at the mess he had made.__

“...”__

He could not bring himself to look at his own hands. In the beginning he had feared the goddess’s wrath would strike him the instant he lifted his head. Yet nothing had changed. The goddess had not sent lightning. She had not sent plague. She had simply... not noticed. As though his act had never been a sin.