Chapter 53: Is It Boring Only Being A Yandere?
John led them upstairs to a small study off the main hallway, a room clearly not meant for guests. The walls were lined with old books, and a single window looked out over the backyard, where the training room’s hidden entrance sat disguised as a garden shed.
He closed the door behind them and gestured toward a pair of worn leather chairs facing an old desk.
"We’ll stand," Ronan said.
"Suit yourself."
John settled into the chair behind the desk with the ease of someone who’d spent decades in that exact spot. His reading glasses were still pushed up on his forehead, but his expression had shifted.
More serious and focused now.
"I’ll explain everything. But first, I need to confirm something."
His gaze settled on Sarael, not on her shadows, her violet eyes, or the bite mark visible above her collar, but through her, as if he were trying to see past the physical form she’d chosen.
"Your grandmother," he said, turning to Ronan. "Was her name Clara?"
Ronan nodded, keeping his emotions hidden behind the white mask.
"Then this is an interesting coincidence." John let out a short laugh. "The grandson of the woman who saved my life is now tutoring my daughter."
Ronan’s eyes narrowed behind his mask.
"What are you talking about?"
"Well... after a failed S-Rank gate expedition, my team and I attempted a last-minute retreat using a teleportation spell. It failed, and I found myself alone in a rural mountain, covered in wounds."
Ronan snorted.
"And let me guess, my grandmother brought you home and nursed you back to health while praying to some goddess...?"
"You really knew her well, huh?"
"She helped raise me along with my parents. That’s a given."
John rose from the chair and reached into one of the desk drawers, pulling out an amulet engraved with Sarael’s symbol. The same crescent moon pierced by three vertical lines that Ronan had seen above the shrine in Tartarus-B.
Even more surprising was the mana it held, dense enough to rival an S-Rank item.
"A gift from her when I finally recovered. I kept it all these years, but it never did anything. Just sat in my drawer, inert."
He tossed the amulet toward Sarael. Her shadows caught it before her hands did, cradling it gently in the darkness.
"Until now," John finished. "Until the Shadow Porter came back from Tartarus-B."
Sarael stared down at the amulet. Her fingers closed around it, and the shadows in the room shivered.
"It’s..."
[Evolving]
[Status: Dormant Deity (Lesser Godly Spirit)] -> [Status: Active Deity (Lesser Godly Spirit)]
The notification flickered across Ronan’s vision. Then divine power rolled through the study in a slow, steady wave. The floor gave a faint tremor. The books on the shelves rustled as if caught in a breeze that didn’t exist.
"It’s wonderful..."
Sarael’s voice came out soft. Almost reverent. Which made sense, considering what she was holding.
John stood perfectly still through the tremor. For an S-Rank, something that minor barely registered. But the look in his eyes had shifted again. Less serious now. More... satisfied.
"That’s good to hear."
He placed both palms flat on the desk and leaned forward.
"You two... you’re the ones the Association is hunting, aren’t you?"
Ronan’s fist clenched. Sebastian materialized from the shadows beside him without a word, the chain whip already coiled in his grip. The same whip Ronan had used in Tartarus-B, now held by a dead man with violet eyes and absolute loyalty.
Ronan’s own weapon appeared in his hand a heartbeat later. A C-Rank mace. Nothing special. But with his strength stat, it didn’t need to be.
"And what do you plan to do with that information?"
"Nothing."
John didn’t flinch at the weapons. Didn’t even look at them.
"I have nothing against either of you. I’m not part of the Association anymore, remember?"
He spread his hands.
"In fact, let me help you. Think of it as repaying the life your grandmother saved."
He straightened up, and his expression sharpened into something more serious. The look of a man who’d made a decision and wasn’t going to walk it back.
"I’ll handle your identities. Forge documents, create a paper trail, the works. I’ll list you both as distant relatives under my family name. It won’t hold up to deep scrutiny, but it’ll be enough to keep local authorities off your backs. How does that sound?"
✧ ✦ ✧
It took John an hour to walk Ronan through the details, and by the end of it, Ronan could tell the old man still had more to explain. The conversation could’ve gone twice as long without covering everything.
But Sarael had already left the room.
She’d excused herself partway through, saying she wanted to leave the talking to her "reliable husband" while she went to test the dinner John had mentioned earlier. The words had been casual, but Ronan caught the way she’d hesitated at the door.
The way she’d looked back at him, just for a second, before stepping out.
She was detaching.
Voluntarily.
Leaving him alone in a room with a stranger because she trusted him to handle it.
And Ronan had given her a genuine smile for it. And he knew, without a doubt, that Sarael would file that smile away in her memory for eternity.
Independence and possessiveness weren’t mutually exclusive.
Especially for her.
Downstairs, Sarael made her way toward the dining room, humming a tune she’d picked up from somewhere. She wasn’t sure where. Maybe the convenience store. Maybe one of the romance novels she’d been reading on Ronan’s phone.
The barbecue had been amazing. The convenience store snacks had been a revelation. But food from a literal multi-millionaire? An S-Rank hunter who’d retired with what she could only assume was a small fortune?
She was going to be ecstatic.
When she reached the end of the hall and stepped into the dining room, Anastasia was already there. Slumped in her chair, scrolling through her phone, looking particularly bored and particularly hungry.
The table in front of her was covered with food. Roasted meat, fresh vegetables, some kind of soup steaming in a porcelain bowl. None of it had been touched.
"Where’s father and... um, GodBound?"
Anastasia looked up, her tone caught somewhere between irritation and relief that someone had finally arrived.
"Talking about important things," Sarael said, pulling out a chair. "I left them to it so I could eat first."
Anastasia stared at her. "You’re telling me I sat here starving for nothing?"
"Mhm."
A long groan escaped Anastasia’s throat. She slumped even further back in her chair, arms crossed tight over her chest.
"Great. So I waited all this time while my father and your husband have some secret man-to-man talk upstairs."
"They’ll be done soon."
Sarael’s eyes were already scanning the spread on the table. It smelled incredible. Better than anything she’d encountered so far, and she’d been systematically working her way through every food option the city had to offer.
"But we don’t have to wait for them."
Anastasia hesitated.
"I’m not eating without my father. That’s rude."
"Is it? He’s the one who’s late."
Anastasia opened her mouth. Closed it. Her stomach growled audibly, and her cheeks flushed pink almost instantly.
She’d been waiting for an hour now. Surely her father didn’t expect her to wait for that long, right?
"...You’re right."
They ate in awkward silence for the first few minutes. Anastasia kept glancing at her with the same expression she’d worn during their sparring match. Like she was trying to figure out a puzzle that didn’t quite make sense.
"You don’t really act human, y’know?" she said finally.
Sarael paused mid-bite and set her spoon down. "Why do you think that?"
"I don’t know. You seem overly formal, I guess? And you don’t really have any interesting quirks. Beyond being a good wife, I mean."
Anastasia shrugged.
"It makes you kind of boring. And I’m saying that woman-to-woman. As dating advice."
Sarael sat very still.
Boring.
The word echoed in her head longer than it should have. She’d killed people for less than that. She’d nearly killed Ronan for saying he loved a bow.
And now this girl, this S-Rank’s daughter who’d spent the last two hours losing to her in a sparring match, was calling her boring?
But she wasn’t trying to insult her. That much was clear. Anastasia’s tone hadn’t been mocking. It had been... observational. Like she genuinely wanted to understand.
Sarael thought about it. Compared to Ronan’s grandmother, was she boring? The old woman had spent decades praying to a forgotten goddess while raising her grandson and healing wounded hunters.
That was interesting.
That was a life full of purpose and sacrifice and quiet strength.
But Sarael had killed people. She’d almost killed Ronan. She’d disassembled a flesh golem and choked a fixer nearly to death and left a permanent scar on her husband’s shoulder.
She was more devoted than any woman in the village his grandmother had ever met. More intense. More dangerous. More everything.
There was no way Anastasia could be right.
"I disagree," she said.
Anastasia tilted her head.
"Hmm, who’s to say? The two of us barely know each other, so I’m probably jumping to conclusions."
She set her phone down and leaned forward, her gold eyes narrowing slightly.
"So why don’t we fix that?"
"Fix it?"
"Get to know each other. You’re always looking at your husband, and that’s fine, but I’m curious if there’s anything else interesting about you."
Anastasia shrugged.
"If you’re going to be my trainer and under my dad’s payroll, it’s the least you could do."
Sarael listened. And found herself agreeing, specifically to the last part. Right now, she wasn’t just here for herself. She was affecting Ronan’s reputation, his earnings, his professional standing. Every interaction she had with Anastasia reflected back on him.
If making a connection with this girl could help his job, then she’d do it.
Especially if it gave her another chance to receive praise from her hubbie.
"Alright," Sarael said. "What do you want to know?"
Comments