CHAPTER 139: JEALOUSY

"You almost died," she hissed, her hands clenching into fists so tight her nails drew blood against her palms. "You could have died. They attempted to murder you, a fellow classmate! And they... they stood there and smiled? How could a human being be like that?"

The air around them began to vibrate. It wasn’t the wind. It was Amy’s mana—usually warm and healing—turning sharp and volatile.

She stood up, pacing the small gazebo, her magic crackling like static electricity. The nearby flowers withered instantly, unable to withstand the sheer density of her rage.

"I’m going to kill them," she said, her voice shaking with pure venom. "I’m going to tear them apart. I healed them. I protected them. I saved William’s life three times in the last expedition! And he... he did that?!"

She grabbed her own hair, a scream of frustration building in her throat, her eyes glowing with a terrifying light.

"How could I be so stupid?! I wasted my mana on murderers!"

Oliver stood up quickly, realizing she was on the verge of a mana rampage. He grabbed her shoulders before she could explode.

"Amy! Hey! Calm down!"

"Let me go!" she cried, struggling against his grip with surprising strength. "I have to go find them! I have to make them pay!"

"Stop!" Oliver shook her firmly. "Look at me!"

She froze, chest heaving, eyes wild and unfocused.

"It’s over," Oliver said, his voice steady and grounding, cutting through the haze of her fury. "It’s in the past. Look at me. I’m here. I’m alive. I’m doing fine."

"But—"

"No buts," he cut her off gently but firmly. "If you go charging in there now, you’ll just get yourself arrested or killed. And then what? You think I survived hell just to watch my childhood friend throw her life away?"

The fight drained out of her instantly. Her legs gave out, and she slumped against him, burying her face in his chest again.

"I can’t forgive them," she whispered, her voice trembling with hate. "I can never

forgive them."

"I’m not asking you to forgive them," Oliver said darkly, his hand resting on her head. "I haven’t forgiven them either. But we don’t act stupidly. Not now. We play the long game."

He rubbed her back until her breathing steadied and the suffocating pressure of her mana receded.

"Just... be glad I made it out."

Amy took a deep, shuddering breath. She pulled back slightly, wiping her face with her sleeve. She looked at him—really looked at him—taking in the changes. The sharper jawline, the confident posture, the way he held himself like a warrior, not the quiet boy from the back of the class.

"How?" she asked softly. "How did you survive down there alone? You were... F-rank."

Oliver shrugged, sitting back down on the bench. He kept his posture relaxed, but his mind was racing. He couldn’t tell her the truth about Isolde being an ancient Princess. That was a secret that could topple kingdoms.

"Luck. Spite. And... help."

He paused, weaving the lie carefully.

"I was barely holding on... starving, bleeding out. But I was saved by a group of adventurers who arrived in the dungeon deeper than you guys went."

Amy blinked. "Adventurers?"

"Yeah," Oliver lied smoothly. "They found me. That’s where I met Isolde. She was with them. We hit it off, realized we worked well together, and formed a party."

He leaned back, looking up at the moon.

"I didn’t want to go back to the Empire. Why would I? To see the faces of the people who tried to kill me? To be mocked again? I was never needed there anyway."

He looked back at Amy.

"So we left the Empire. We crossed the border and settled in this kingdom, thinking I would never cross paths with you guys again. I just wanted a quiet life."

He let out a self-deprecating chuckle.

"But it seems fate has other plans."

As Oliver kept talking, relieved that she seemed to be buying the story, he suddenly felt a change in the air.

It wasn’t the hot, crackling rage from before. This was different.

It was a chilly, sharp sensation that pricked the back of his neck.

He turned his head.

Amy was staring at him. The tears were gone. The rage at William was gone. In their place was an expression that was calm—terrifyingly calm.

"Isolde," she repeated. The name tasted sour in her mouth, like spoiled milk.

"Yeah," Oliver said, oblivious to the shift. "She’s... intense. Scary, mostly. A bit arrogant. But she stuck with me when I had nothing. We’ve been traveling together ever since. She’s my partner."

Amy’s eyes narrowed into slits. She crossed her arms, her posture shifting from ’grieving friend’ to something much more territorial.

"So," she said, her voice dangerously sweet, like honey laced with poison. "You’re saying you are very close to that Isolde girl."

Oliver blinked. He looked at her face—the pout, the narrowed eyes, the slight flush on her cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold air.

It wasn’t anger about the betrayal. It wasn’t sadness about his ’death.’

He realized with a start what it was.

Jealousy.

"She’s the one," Amy whispered, taking a slow step toward him. "She’s the one who’s been with you all this time? While I was crying? While I was mourning you every single night?"

She poked him in the chest. Hard.

"You said you hit it off. Does she know who you really are? Does she know about Earth?"

"Uh... yes?" Oliver stammered, leaning back.

"Well, we’re partners," Oliver said, suddenly feeling like he was walking through a minefield without a detector. "She saved my life. I saved hers. It’s a... mutual reliance thing."

Amy took a step closer, invading his personal space. Her thin nightgown rustled against his coat. She looked up at him, her green eyes searching his.

"Just partners?" she whispered. "You don’t look at her like a partner. And she..." Amy bit her lip. "She looks at you like she owns you. Like you’re her property."

Oliver scratched his cheek, sweat forming on his brow. "She’s... possessive. It’s a personality quirk."

"A quirk?" Amy let out a disbelief huff. She reached out, her fingers lightly tracing the lapel of his coat, right over his heart. "Does she know? About Kouki? About us?"

"She knows everything," Oliver admitted.

Amy froze. Her hand clenched into a fist against his chest.

She looked up, and for a second, the Saintess looked ready to commit a sin.

"Did you sleep with her?"

Oliver choked. "Amy! That’s—"

Slide.

The glass door to the balcony slid open with a soft hiss.

"Finally," a sultry, amused voice drifted out. "I was wondering when you’d ask the important questions."

Amy spun around. Oliver stiffened.

Isolde stood in the doorway. She was leaning against the frame, holding a glass of wine. The moonlight washed over her, turning her silver hair into a halo.

She was wearing the silk robe Oliver had seen earlier, but the sash was tied loosely—painfully loosely. The fabric gaped at the top, revealing the creamy swell of her cleavage and the dark mark of a hickey near her collarbone. Her legs were bare, one foot resting casually over the other.

She looked like a goddess of sin who had just rolled out of bed.

"I..." Amy stammered, her face turning bright red as her eyes darted to the mark on Isolde’s neck.

Isolde took a slow sip of wine, her crimson eyes locking onto Amy with predatory amusement.

"To answer your question, little Saintess," Isolde purred, walking onto the balcony. "No. No he doesn’t sleep with me. Because whenever we are in bed, he doesn’t let me sleep. He makes me workout whole night. If you know what I mean."

She stopped beside Oliver, draping an arm around his shoulders. The possessiveness in the gesture was absolute. She looked down at Amy—not with malice, but with the confidence of a queen looking at a peasant.

"Do you have a problem with that?"

Amy stood her ground, though she was shaking. She looked at Isolde, then at Oliver, who was looking studiously at the floor to avoid the crossfire.

"I knew him first," Amy said, her voice small but stubborn. "I was his friend before you even existed to him. I was his ’Kouki’."

Isolde raised an eyebrow. "History is cute. But I am his present. And his future."

She reached out and tucked a strand of Oliver’s hair behind his ear, her fingernails scraping lightly against his scalp. Oliver shivered involuntarily.

"You had your chance and you never cherished it. Now he is mine," Isolde continued, her tone softening just a fraction. "I am not unreasonable. The Master has a bleeding heart for strays. And you seem useful."

Amy blinked. "Useful?"

"You hate the guys who betrayed him don’t you," Isolde stated. "You want them dead for what they did to him. So, do I. Even though it was because of them that I got to meet Oliver, but it’s still unpleasant to know that the guys who made him suffer are having fun. I want to punish them. So, what do you say."

Amy’s expression hardened. The jealousy was momentarily replaced by the cold rage she felt earlier. "Yes. I want them to pay."