CHAPTER 65: A DIFFERENT MAN

"Uhm... Goddess, what do you think men his age like?" I muttered as I tore through my wardrobe, flinging clothes onto the bed in a growing pile of fabric chaos.

It was useless... How much shit did I buy? Why is it so hard to find modest looking clothes? It’s only been a year since I regressed.

In my first life, this sight would have been impossible.

Back then, we were poor — scraping by because Mom’s illness scared customers away from our stall.

Half the time, my clothes were patched in so many places that the original fabric barely showed through.

I had been ashamed, but I hid it, after all doing good was what I could do best.

I had worked extra jobs for a little bit of Ares and suffered, even though no man touched me, the gazes of lecherous men felt like they were unraveling my clothes each time they glanced at my body.

It was fucking uncomfortable but I persevered... Because those were the traits of a good person.

Now? Now we were well-off enough that I actually had a wardrobe to make a mess of.

And apparently, I’d filled it with revealing clothes — lace-trimmed tops, skirts too short for public decency, and dresses that clung like second skin.

I cursed myself for that.

I just didn’t want to look anything like I did in my past life, it haunted me in my dreams.

Then cursed him for not being the kind of man who liked these clothes like all the others.

Because men were the same, weren’t they?

They’d smile and pretend, but in the end, they’d just want to bury their faces in your breasts, use you to satisfy their lust, and toss you aside when they’d had their fill.

That was how problematic they were.

[Using your ex-lover as the basis for all men is feminist in the worst way. As a Saintess chosen by me, you should hold yourself to a standard of equality.]

I rolled my eyes.

"Easy for you to say," I muttered, pulling a silky crimson top out of the pile before throwing it back. "You didn’t have to watch him destroy everything we fought for in the future."

Because Reinhardt — my so-called hero, my lover, the man who swore to protect me hadn’t just betrayed me.

He’d let them accuse me of heresy. He’d let them burn me alive.

And that was after I’d bled for him through three calamities.

I would never forget.

Never forgive.

If he had a thousand people hating him, I would be among them... If he had a hundred... I would be among them... If he had ten... I would be one of them... If he had one... That would be me.

And if there were none? That meant I had died.

Still...

"Anyway..." I muttered, finally fishing out something I would have worn back then — a pale cream blouse and a loose skirt.

I held them up with a sigh. I hated these kinds of clothes now.

They reminded me of my past self — the girl who’d smiled even as the people she loved were used up and discarded.

Even the me at the church were no different from Reinhardt, they were all pretending to be Saints.

But... for the sake of the new hero I intended to raise, I’d make an exception.

Just this once.

I stripped down until I stood in only a black bra and matching panties.

My reflection stared back at me from the mirror, the light catching on pale skin free of the marks Reinhardt used to leave on me like ownership stamps.

I looked... different now.

Whole.

Untouched.

And I intended to keep it that way.

But the girl in the mirror still carried the same eyes — the ones that had watched friends burn.

I dressed quickly, the blouse hanging loose enough to hide my figure but not so shapeless it erased me entirely.

A compromise.

A trap wrapped in humility.

"Only once," I whispered to myself as I tied my hair back. "I’ll do this only once."

Back at the stall, a few customers milled around — mostly women.

I slipped behind the counter and busied myself with helping them, letting my mother take the lead.

"Look at you being all humble," Mom said, patting my head like I was still a child.

I smiled.

I was willing to be humble — for her. In my first life, I’d lost her to illness far too early.

That grief had been one of the weights that dragged me toward the pyre.

This time, I’d protect her.

Always.

A sweet, lilting voice cut through my thoughts.

"Papa... did you say you were going to buy new clothes for me?"

I turned toward the sound — toward him.

Azel.

He stood just a few paces away, holding a little girl with soft pink hair in his arms.

They looked... natural together.

Like something out of a painting — strong arms supporting delicate innocence.

My stomach tightened.

’Wait... he already has a child?’

[Idiot girl, he’s still pure.]

I blinked. "...Pure?"

[Yes. He’s still a virgin. That girl isn’t his daughter — at least not by blood.]

I let out a slow breath, my chest easing just a little.

Maybe she was adopted.

Or... something else.

The goddess turned silent but truthfully she was deep in thought.

[’More importantly... I’m surprised. He’s able to summon a being not originally from this world without my knowing. That’s... not normal. I’m really interested in you, Azel Thorne.’]

I watched as he approached our stall, silver hair catching the afternoon light.

His eyes swept over the displays briefly before flicking toward Mom and then... toward me.

It wasn’t a long look.

Just a moment.

But there was a nod, subtle and almost imperceptible.

Approval.

[He feels satisfied now,] the goddess murmured. [Also... for some reason, I think he likes you.]

’Likes me?!’ I hissed under my breath.

[Just an observation.]

Azel didn’t say a word to me.

He turned fully toward my mother, resting the pink-haired girl more comfortably against his arm.

"I’m looking for clothes for her," he said, voice low and steady. "Something comfortable, easy to move in. I got a bunch of dresses for her before but I want something more."

Mom lit up instantly, moving around the stall to pull a few options from the shelves.

I stayed silent, watching him.

His eyes were sharp but not cruel, his stance relaxed but ready to move at a moment’s notice.

And despite myself, I caught the faintest trace of warmth in the way he adjusted the girl’s position when she shifted, like he’d do anything to make sure she felt secure.

Was this... really the man I’d been looking for?

Why wasnt he like Reinhard and all the other bastards in the church?

What makes him so different?

[Note: Rain’s POV is ending here, I just wanted us to view things from her perspective, Hehe it’s been a while since I wrote first person POV]