It had been two days since I inadvertently dealt with Ethan's pent-up sexual frustration in a way I hadn't planned (though it was partly forced). Now, Ethan and I were staying at the Blackwood estate instead of the academy.

With my treatment completed and the student council duties wrapped up, there was no reason to remain at the academy. Besides, staying too long could risk exposing my identity as the Saintess to other theology students, so we quickly returned to the estate.

Incidentally, since I stayed at the academy for a few extra days after the evaluation match, our return to the Blackwood estate coincided with Harold’s. As a result, we ended up sharing a four-person carriage with him on the way back, just like last time.

...And along with that, I was subjected to another round of Harold’s nostalgic stories for almost twelve hours straight. What could a middle-aged man approaching fifty have so much to talk about?

After enduring a non-stop chatterbox Sword Master during the entire journey, I couldn’t sleep in the carriage and arrived back at the estate exhausted, which was just yesterday.

This morning, feeling a bit weary, I woke up and made my bed.

“Ah, ugh…”

Despite waking up in my familiar bed, my whole body felt as heavy as if I were under a spell. My muscles ached as if they hadn’t properly recovered.

It wasn’t because the bed was different. I had always slept well, whether in the Blackwood estate, the academy dormitory, or the infirmary at the academy church.

If I had to pinpoint a cause, it would be that damned McHart and, secondly, the fact that I didn’t have someone sleeping next to me.

Ever since the night McHart threatened me, I had occasionally been plagued by nightmares of being attacked in my sleep. But whenever that happened, Ethan’s warmth beside me helped me fall back asleep. Now that we were back at the Blackwood estate and sleeping in separate rooms, I couldn’t rely on him anymore.

When I was staying in the infirmary at the academy church, Agnes was always there to keep me company, which put me at ease. But after returning to sleeping alone, I couldn’t rest comfortably, which led to a restless night.

“Yawn...”

“Lillis, are you alright?”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“You’ve looked tired all day. You looked like this in the morning too.”

“I agree with Isabel, Lady Lillis. Did you have trouble sleeping because of the change in beds?”

During lunch, Isabel and Katarina both asked me these questions. I quickly waved off their concerns, assuring them that nothing was wrong.

“No, Katarina. I've been used to changing beds frequently between the academy and here. I think it’s just because I had a bad dream last night.”

“Are you sure you can keep working? Should I ask Master Ethan to let you rest for an hour or two? I can attend to him in the meantime.”

“Thanks for worrying, but I’m fine, Isabel.”

It would be absurd for a personal maid to sleep while her master was awake, especially in broad daylight.

After finishing my meal and sharing a brief conversation with my colleagues, I returned to my duties as Ethan’s personal maid.

“Attending to Master Ethan is my job.”

Missing a bit of sleep wouldn’t ruin my condition.

I hadn’t entirely missed out on sleep, just had some interrupted rest. I could manage that.

...Or so I thought at the time.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

Two days later.

Three days had passed where every time I closed my eyes, nightmares haunted me, waking me up with a start. My mind was already so worn out that just breathing made me feel exhausted.

“...”

“Um, Lillis...?”

“...Lady Lillis?”

“...”

“I really think you should rest...”

“Master Ethan would understand, considering your condition, Lady Lillis…”

I could hear Isabel and Katarina speaking to me from either side, but honestly, it took all my focus just to keep my eyes open.

‘I’m dying...’

I finally understood why sleep deprivation is used as torture. No wonder the CIA uses it to extract information.

If someone offered to let me sleep in exchange for revealing the secrets of my past life, I wasn’t sure I could refuse. In fact, I wasn’t even sure if I had the mental strength left to comprehend such a demand.

Last night, and the night before, I had tossed and turned in bed, trying to sleep, but every time I began to drift into a deep sleep, I was dragged into nightmares, forcing me awake. After three days of restless, shallow sleep, my nerves were reaching their limit.

‘That bastard McHart even haunts me in my dreams... I need to deal with him soon...’

If this continues, my mind will break before I can deal with McHart. The carefully crafted plan I spent over a month on was on the verge of falling apart.

But with three days left before the plan could be executed, spending them in this state would only result in me getting defeated by McHart rather than the other way around.

‘I can’t let that happen.’

The thought of being captured by McHart and turned into a puppet was far worse than being trained by Ethan or wandering the world with the hero, fulfilling the prophecy.

If I had to choose between those fates, I’d rather be with Ethan. After all, Ethan wasn’t the scumbag he was in the original story. Even if he did try to train me, it would be better than becoming McHart’s puppet or a mindless wanderer...

‘No, what am I even thinking?’

My tired mind kept veering toward simple, one-dimensional thoughts. I had already eliminated the possibility of such a future.

I had stuffed myself with garlic from the Blackwood estate’s kitchen to avoid that outcome, so why was I even considering it?

When the human mind enters a subconscious state, it naturally seeks the most survival-oriented path, and maybe that’s why I was thinking of Ethan.

...But what does Ethan have to do with my survival instinct anyway...?

-Clang.

“...Ah.”

As I was bringing the spoonful of soup to my lips, my weakened grip caused the spoon to slip from my hand, and it dropped right in front of my lips, spilling its contents.

The spoon clattered to the ground after bouncing off my chest, scattering soup everywhere.

I was so numb that I couldn’t even feel the soup’s heat or the impact of the spoon on my skin. The only thought in my mind was that I needed to pick up the spoon.

“Ah?! Lady...!”

“...Master...!”

The voices around me grew distant, making it hard to distinguish who was speaking. Isabel, Katarina, or just some other maid—it didn’t matter.

Instinctively, I leaned down to pick up the spoon, and the weight of my upper body caused me to sway.

-Clatter!

‘Ah.’

...If I hit the floor, it’s going to hurt.

Honestly, I didn’t care about the pain; I just wanted to sleep properly. If I passed out from hitting the floor, maybe I’d finally get some uninterrupted sleep.

But contrary to my hopes, the sensation of impact wasn’t the hard floor but someone’s embrace. The warmth enveloping my body guided me into a deep slumber.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

A pitch-black darkness. All around me, up, down, left, and right, everything was engulfed in total darkness.

As soon as the accumulated fatigue vanished from my body, I found myself in a familiar place.

‘...No, this isn’t unfamiliar.’

During my waking hours, it was hard to think clearly due to exhaustion, but in this 'dream,' my mind was somewhat functional.

Of course, since I was still in the 'dream,' my thoughts were limited, and I couldn’t think of more than one thing at a time.

Realizing that this was a space I had visited many times before and that I was dreaming, my mind naturally anticipated what would happen next.

-Rustle. Rustle.

“...”

Footsteps approached me in the darkness, emitting a faint light.

It was the familiar, dreaded sound of footsteps I had heard countless times in my recent nightmares.

"Are you awake? How does it feel to be left alone in the dark, hmm?"

‘Damn it.’

That sickening voice, one that made something in my gut churn, pierced through my ears. Though, of course, there was nothing left to vomit up in this dream.

His face emerged from the darkness, illuminated by the faint light, as if he was the sole protagonist in this scene.

"It’s been a while, hasn’t it, foul-mouthed lady?"

"..."

It was yet another encounter—so many that I’d lost count—with the accursed McHart