Lucian Sinclair had always considered himself a pure-hearted man.
I mean—seriously. He was the Holy Son of Laterano.
All religious positions in Laterano were held by women, so of course Lucian had grown up surrounded entirely by women.
Every time he opened his eyes, it was a crowd of beautiful big-sister Sankta, glowing all over like they were wrapped in light, so sacred and pure that it made him want to thoroughly corrupt every last one of them.
In that kind of environment, forget having the high-ranking Priestesses sleep beside him—he could've had them lying across his bed in a row, performing synchronized water ballet, and no one would've said a word.
And yet he held himself back. For fifteen years.
That was practically a saint-level achievement.
But good deeds never get rewarded. After guarding his chastity for fifteen years, it ended up stolen by a certain hit-it-and-run scummy woman.
Mostima, Mostima… Lucian would dig up all of Terra if he had to, but he was going to find that woman.
And then he was going to make her understand that he hadn't been suffering any less than she had all those years.
She'd given up and indulged herself for one night, but he hadn't gotten even close to enough. He was absolutely going to make her cough up everything she'd taken.
Lucian said, "So that's the story. Ange, do you know a Sankta with horns named Mostima?"
His eyes burned with intensity as he stared at Angelina, who was so frightened she didn't even dare breathe, shaking her head furiously.
It was late at night. Lucian and Angelina were secretly talking in the Kitchen.
Exusiai had been played to exhaustion by Texas, so Lucian had carried her back to her room—she was barely breathing at this point.
Texas, caught red-handed "snacking" on Lucian, had blushed so hard her wolf ears turned red, then slammed her door shut and refused to come out.
Which left Angelina sharing a room with Croissant.
But when Lucian couldn't sleep—still thinking about Texas's big fluffy tail—and came out for water, he happened to catch Angelina sneaking out of the room.
According to her embarrassed explanation, Croissant's sleeping posture was too terrifying. She drooled an entire pool onto Angelina's chest, making it impossible to sleep.
This made Lucian glance a few extra times at Angelina's… well-developed area, and he immediately got his eyes covered by a bright-red high school girl.
Since neither of them could sleep, they ended up talking in the Kitchen.
Angelina held her cup of warm milk carefully. "I've never heard of a horned Sankta… but I've only been a courier for half a year, and most of my routes were inside Siracusa. Maybe I just don't know enough. I'm sorry I couldn't help you, Mr. Lucian…"
Lucian blinked innocently. "Ange, do I look old?"
Angelina froze in confusion as Lucian continued, "Croissant calls you Ange, so I figured I'd do the same. You might not believe it, but that bread girl is actually older than me. I'm the younger one."
"Eh—EH!? Really!?" Angelina squeaked.
She immediately covered her mouth, not relaxing until Croissant's snores rumbled through the wall next door.
She bowed her head in panic. "Sorry! It's just—Mr. Lucian, you seem so mature, so I thought… ah, I'm not saying you look old! More like you look young! Really young! I even thought you had such a cute baby face… ah, I mean you're not lacking dignity! Ah—I'm calling you 'Mr. Lucian' again!" she said with a pained expression.
"Ange, Ange, calm down. Follow me—inhale.inhale.exhale."
This jumpy little fox was so cute it made him want to raise her like a daughter.
Angelina tried her best to imitate the breathing technique Lucian taught her—originally used for childbirth—until she finally calmed down.
She giggled. "If not Mr. Lucian, then… Lucian? Is that okay? Hehe, Lucian. That sounds so weird. I always thought Lucian was an older big brother, but you're actually around my age?"
"Yep. So just treat me like someone your age. You can tell me anything."
Lucian smiled. "Tell me about yourself. Ange—your full name is Angelina Ajimu, right? That's a rare surname. From the East?"
Angelina's eyes widened. "Amazing! How did Lucian know?"
Lucian puffed out his chest. "I have my methods. I already asked someone to arrest the scammer who tricked you and destroyed those fake documents you signed."
The Slums of Lungmen were chaotic, scams happening every minute—but nothing escaped the Rat King's eyes.
If you need something done, go to Lin. One phone call from Lucian, and Lin—who adored him—snatched up the out-of-town scammer immediately.
Having a powerful connection really was convenient, and Lucian, being highly pragmatic, was used to asking for help.
Pure-hearted Angelina admired him even more. Her gaze glowed like a little angel. "My mom's from the East. She picked my name! But everyone says 'Ajimu' is too hard to pronounce, so I usually just introduce myself as Angelina."
"Oho. Have you ever been to the East?"
Angelina shook her head. "Not yet. After becoming a courier, I thought maybe I'd get the chance someday… but crossing the Wilderness alone is so much harder than I expected. I'd have to prepare travel gear, plan the route, learn about Catastrophes, avoid Originium monsters… I'm still not used to the courier job, let alone going somewhere that far."
She scratched her cheek awkwardly, talking about her past.
If not for the accident that infected her, Angelina would've just been an ordinary high school girl.
She'd collect cute trinkets, read trendy novels, unexpectedly love retro classic songs, and cry through entire romance movies older than she was.
If the world truly rewarded kindness, then Angelina never should've met such misfortune.
But the world was merciless.
Life didn't care about fairness. Angelina had simply become Infected, losing everything for no reason at all.
Her pale fingertips traced the side of her ceramic cup. "Siracusa does have dangerous Mafia people… but my parents and friends were all normal. If I hid that I was Infected, I would've only hurt them."
Lucian—who couldn't become an Infected—just listened quietly.
Even Siracusa, a Mafia-dominated country, would never accept Infected.
Because their rivalries, conspiracies, and assassinations were constant, the idea of someone capable of infecting others with a scratch was an absolute taboo.
After all, Oripathy couldn't be cured, but it could easily be spread.
One exposed Originium Crystallization scratching someone's skin was enough to infect them.
Because the cost of malicious transmission was so low, Infected were discriminated against everywhere in the world.
It wasn't right—but it was a reality no one could escape.