Gladia was thoroughly flustered.
The truth was, she had held one conviction—not quite a conviction, but close enough.
That being: there was absolutely no way Lady Aiolette would come back from class having made a friend on her own.
Gladia had spent three years glued to Aiolette's side, experiencing firsthand the catastrophic state of her social skills.
Which was precisely why, expecting Aiolette to trudge back alone and dejected after class, Gladia had come out to meet her—intending to offer some comfort.
And what did she find instead?
Her mistress, returning from her very first lesson with a woman on her arm.
*And not just any woman—one with an absolutely enormous chest!!*
The sweeping curves transmitted through Heart-Sight sent Gladia's thoughts into disarray.
But that wasn't the only thing throwing her off.
What flustered her most was, above all else—
"Ugh, seriously! Back off!"
"Please, just once—just once, please!"
"I said I get it, now let go!"
—Aiolette's attitude.
The woman was currently clinging to Aiolette's arm, desperately begging her to listen for just a moment.
And Aiolette was failing to peel her off.
Gladia, who prided herself on knowing Aiolette better than anyone, understood exactly how strange that was.
*A-Aiolette. That's not like you at all.*
Supreme, solitary, answerable to no one.
Having watched Aiolette embody the very concept of doing whatever she pleased, Gladia could tell just how gently Aiolette was treating this woman—simply by the fact that she hadn't forcibly removed her yet.
The sight of Aiolette behaving so differently sent a spike of jealousy shooting through Gladia.
*She's my mistress, and I got here first…! Is it the chest? Is it because of the chest?*
Oblivious to Gladia's inner turmoil, Aiolette led the woman over and approached.
"Dia!"
"…My lady. I came to meet you."
"You're not well—what are you doing out here? Let's go back right now."
Aiolette was genuinely glad to see Gladia waiting for her, but worry overtook the warmth before it could surface.
She still hadn't fully recovered from the shock of watching Gladia cough up blood.
That worry, so plainly written on Aiolette's face, quietly dissolved the jealousy that had been muddying Gladia's heart.
But then Aiolette turned her head toward the woman.
"Hey."
"Oh—yes!"
"Come along. I'll hear you out in my room."
"!"
The woman's tearful expression bloomed open like a flower, and she broke into a radiant smile.
"Yes. Thank you so much!"
As Aiolette casually invited another woman back to her room, Gladia's hand drifted, quite naturally, to her cane.
*…Should I draw it?*
***
Fortunately, Gladia did not draw her sword.
That was because Aiolette got straight to the point the moment they reached the room.
"You're a saintess, right?"
"Yes. Still learning, but yes."
"Then take a look at her. I think she's hurt."
She said it while pointing at Gladia.
Now that Gladia thought about it, it seemed Aiolette had dragged the woman back to the room specifically to have her treat Gladia.
*My lady…!*
Aiolette's thoughtfulness washed away the last of Gladia's ugly jealousy like rain clearing dust.
*I nearly drew the Sword of Hellish Judgment over nothing.*
Only then did Gladia piece it together—the enormously endowed woman who had been attached to Aiolette was Cruje, the saintess protagonist of *Saintess & Hero*.
*She really is that big.*
Gladia swallowed involuntarily as Heart-Sight traced Cruje's silhouette.
A saintess indeed.
This was the woman who, in the original story, had charmed the crown prince, the heir to the Margrave House, and practically everyone else she encountered. A figure of legendary allure.
When Cruje's character illustration had first been revealed, the legend went that every single reader had looked at that chest and nodded in complete understanding.
Of all the people Gladia had met so far, Professor Elahim had held the title of most generously proportioned—but Cruje felt like she occupied an entirely different tier.
Even in the brief moment it took Cruje to cross the room in response to Aiolette's request, the sway of her movement displaced the air in a way that Heart-Sight registered with perfect clarity.
Gladia had never regretted her blindness more than she did right now.
*If only I could see—just to witness that in person, up close.*
This was not, to be clear, a matter of Gladia being a pervert.
The original protagonist she had only ever seen on a monitor was standing right in front of her. As a fan of *Saintess & Hero*, wanting to see her was only natural, wasn't it?
Still, drawing her sword out of nowhere would have been situationally unreasonable.
*What a shame. What a terrible shame.*
Then Cruje stepped forward and took Gladia's hand.
Cruje's soft fingers wrapped around hers, and she spoke.
"I'll take a look. You're not in any danger, so try not to tense up."
A gentle, warm flow of divine power radiated from Cruje's hand.
The saintess's divine power moved through every corner of Gladia's body—a rather pleasant sensation. But as the examination stretched on, the space between Cruje's brows began to subtly narrow.
The slight tilt of her head registered through Heart-Sight.
"Um…"
"What? What's wrong with her? Is she badly hurt?! Tell me right now!"
Aiolette demanded with a fierce expression, and Cruje flustered, waving both hands.
"No, no! It's not that—she's actually incredibly healthy?"
"…What?"
"I mean, setting aside injuries or illness entirely—her bones and muscles are exceptionally strong. Her organs are in peak condition too. She's honestly one of the healthiest people I've ever examined."
Cruje's clear-cut diagnosis dropped a heavy silence over the room.
A moment later, Aiolette's face twisted in disbelief.
"Are you joking? She coughed up a basin's worth of blood and collapsed just a few days ago! I saw it with my own eyes—she was covered in it!"
"I—I'm serious! My divine power doesn't lie! She's healthy enough to win a bare-handed brawl against an orc right now!"
Cruje, indignant and flustered, her chest heaving with the injustice of it all. Aiolette, eyes blazing, still insisting she must be a quack. And Gladia, standing before them both, quietly marveling at the movement Heart-Sight was faithfully reporting. It was a farce in three acts.
***
Once things settled down, Cruje attempted a second examination.
This time, at Aiolette's request, it was a full-body assessment that included Gladia's eyes.
Light bloomed from Cruje's hands again and wrapped around Gladia's body. For several minutes, Gladia became a self-illuminating Gladia.
Then Cruje, who had been standing with her eyes closed in concentration, opened them.
"No matter how thoroughly I check, there's nothing wrong."
She said it with firm certainty.
Then she reached out, cupped Gladia's face in her hands, and peered intently into her eyes.
Since being chosen as the saintess, Cruje had traveled to countless places alongside the church's clergy and treated an enormous number of patients.
In doing so, she had picked up a fair amount of medical knowledge beyond divine healing—and even by that standard, Gladia's eyes defied her understanding.
Through divine power, Gladia's eyes appeared utterly flawless.
Were these the eyes of the elves who lived in the Mist Forest at the edge of the continent, renowned for their legendary sight?
Eyes like these should be able to see the individual wingbeats of a fly in flight.
And yet her physician's instincts were telling her something else entirely.
She gathered mana in her hand and produced a small light.
Light-attribute 1st Circle magic—Light.
A simple spell that generated a glow.
She brought that light slowly up to Gladia's face.
But even as the light drew close, Gladia's pupils did not contract at all. They simply sat there, motionless, unresponsive to the change.
What unsettled Cruje most was the gaze itself. Despite Cruje's efforts to make eye contact from mere inches away, Gladia's eyes looked not at her but through her—fixed on some empty point in the air beyond. It was like facing a finely crafted doll from which the soul had been removed.
*No pupillary response. No threat reflex. No focus.*
The contradictory results refused to make sense, and Cruje's stubbornness kicked in.
*Why is this happening? When I look with divine power, there's clearly nothing wrong.*
The paradox pricked at her curiosity. Without quite realizing it, she leaned forward, bringing her face in close to Gladia's.
"Just a moment—let me get a better look…"
Cruje's face closed in until their noses were nearly touching. Along with her faint, sweet scent, an overwhelming presence surged into Gladia's awareness with every breath—a mass that sent Heart-Sight into a frenzy.
*Oh. Oh.*
It was a presence unlike anything Gladia had ever encountered.
Like a large, warm marshmallow pressing against her.
Gladia had once been male, yes—but that was not what this was. She was not looking at Cruje through any impure lens.
It was simply that the sheer, almost violent volume of what Heart-Sight was registering possessed a quality that transcended gender entirely—something that compelled pure, unfiltered awe from anyone in its vicinity.
Outwardly, Gladia maintained perfect composure. Inwardly, she was a continuous stream of silent admiration.
*Thwap.*
Then, from somewhere, a hand shot out and seized the back of Cruje's vestment by the collar.
"Kyah?!"
"Hey. Back off."
Cruje let out a short yelp as she was yanked backward, and between the two of them stood Aiolette, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.
Aiolette stepped squarely in front of Gladia, shielding her completely behind her back, and fixed Cruje with a withering stare.
"I told you to examine her—so why are you plastered against my maid, rubbing your face all over her? Well?"
"N-no! I wasn't rubbing anything! Her pupillary response was strange, so I was trying to get a closer look—!"
"You could look from a normal distance! Why did you have to get close enough that your lips were practically touching hers?!"
Cruje, waving her hands in frantic protest. Aiolette, snarling with possessiveness and jealousy. It was Gladia who stepped in to defuse them both.
"Now, now. Please calm down, my lady. I'm sure the saintess had no improper intentions."
Gladia spoke in a gentle voice and laid a quiet hand on Aiolette's shoulder.
Her own mind had already returned to a state of perfect serenity.
The moment that chest had retreated to a safe distance, the enchantment had lifted. The state sometimes referred to as clarity of mind.
Gladia wore the benevolent smile of a monk who had transcended earthly attachment, and soothed Aiolette with patient grace.
Under Gladia's soft touch and endlessly tranquil voice, Aiolette's fury—which had been on the verge of erupting—receded like a tide going out.
Aiolette exhaled sharply, crossed her arms, and fixed Cruje with a sideways glare.
"Haa… Fine. So what's the conclusion? What's actually wrong with her eyes?"
Cruje opened and closed her mouth like a fish.
She glanced away and answered in a voice that barely carried.
"W-well… I'm not entirely sure."
"…What?"
"When I look with divine power, everything is perfect—but there's no pupillary response, and medically it doesn't make any sense at all… I genuinely can't identify the cause…"
Honestly, Cruje felt wronged.
She had examined her properly. She had done everything right. It simply wasn't there to be found. What was she supposed to do about that?
Cruje's eyes had welled up with tears of frustration, and the sight of her was pitiful enough to draw sympathy from almost anyone.
Unfortunately, the person standing in front of her was Aiolette—a social catastrophe who had never once entertained the concept of sympathy.
As Cruje's explanation continued to sound increasingly like excuses, Aiolette's eyebrow shot up. She let out a short, incredulous laugh and jabbed a finger at Cruje.
"So you're telling me you don't actually know anything!"
"N-no! I at least confirmed for certain that she's in excellent health…!"
"Oh, wonderful! The goddess's chosen representative can't heal anything, doesn't know the cause, and spent the examination rubbing her chest against my maid!"
"W-when did I ever—!"
It was the first time since being appointed saintess that Cruje had been treated with such contempt. A single tear finally rolled down her cheek.
It was summer.