Secret Love Affair between a Former Saint and a Dark Hero - Chapter 70
Jane looked up with curiosity as the carriage came to a stop. Always, she had her eye on the other candidate for sainthood who could never reach the level of her mistress. Of course, her mistress never asked or wondered about such things! However, voluntarily prying into matters had become something of a habit for Jane.
As the Marquis’s fancy carriage came to a halt on the main street, the door opened to reveal a woman stepping out, holding the coachman’s hand as she disembarked. At that moment, Jane tilted her head in surprise.
‘Eh?’
Was it the brief reflection in the glinting sunlight? Jane frowned, rubbed her eyes, and looked again.
‘That can’t be her.’
She knew that Iora von Ribandt was as pretty as a doll. Unlike her mistress who was a pristine white lily, Iora more resembled a striking rose. A beauty is a beauty, regardless.
However, compared to her mistress who naturally attracted admiration wherever she went, Iora was rather plain. There was no way she could match up. She never smiled, and her face was heavy and somewhat damp. There was no point in having good looks when the way she carried herself was so unattractive. Her clothes were dark, her hair looked like it was broken or untrimmed, and she seemed to have no presence.
But now…
His silver hair, glistening in the sunlight, was actually kind of pretty. And that offended Jane.
‘What changed?’
Iora ran her fingers through her smoothed hair. What happened to that madwoman who had been out of sight for a few days?
‘Well, just because you draw lines on a pumpkin doesn’t turn it into a watermelon.’
It would still be pathetic. Jane gritted her teeth and thought that she should report today’s events to her mistress, glaring murderously at the fake saint who couldn’t even measure up to Arcanda’s toes.
* * *
This world has repeated itself countless times.
Even before her, there were 98 souls that had been trapped in Iora’s body and faced their demise.
This was the 100th cycle of this same story.
‘It’s a terrifying truth when you think about it.’
And seeing the characters in that world, who repeated the same hate and accusations, made her feel more and more disconnected from reality.
In the past, hearing the teacher’s thorny words would bring tears to her eyes. It was so sad and painful. She wondered what she had done wrong to make the teacher dislike her so much.
So she tried even harder. The atmosphere at home made it impossible to concentrate, but she somehow managed to put in every effort she could. But it was never enough. Arcanda was always her benchmark.
The soul drawn into Arcanda might have just been naturally very intelligent, but there was no denying that she received a huge buff just for being the protagonist of 『The Saint’s Flower』. Although Kim Jiyeon herself was decent at memorization, Arcanda’s achievements seemed to be in a category that couldn’t be matched.
‘It’s easier to give up.’
Iora could now listen to those words pouring down like thorns with one ear and let them flow out with the other. She scribbled and skimmed the familiar sentences with a blank expression.
It might be a first for her teacher, but she’d been in classes like this so many times that she could actually speak more eloquently than Arcanda at this point. It wasn’t like her past self who was always so shy.
Thwack! The spindle slammed on the desk just like it did before.
“Young lady!”
The teacher looked at her over his glasses with a wide-eyed and slanted face. What an incomprehensible figure. Even when he advised her to give up and to know her place, he would still continue to lecture and scold her until the very end. Although, he did have his moments when he was kind to her.
“Yes, sir.”
“What are you doing, not concentrating? I’ve said this time and time again, young lady, but your progress is pitifully slow!”
Iora tilted her head slightly as she twirled the quill in her hand. Her teacher had an irritated look on his face, and she stared back at him with wide-open eyes.
“Is that so? Am I not such an underachiever, sir?”
“…Yes.”
“But that’s compared to Arcanda, isn’t it?”
“What are you trying to say, young lady?”
The teacher’s eyebrows shot up. How cruel of a person he was, favoring one side so harshly. He was always comparing and forcing her to compare herself to Arcanda. It was an education method so terrible that she didn’t want to study at all.
“I wonder if I’m that pathetic.”
“…Are you trying to tell me that I’m wrong?”
“I’m not saying that, sir. But it just occurred to me.”
Iora picked up her quill and drew a small circle in the book where the teacher had been excitedly explaining a moment ago. His eyes widened quizzically. And then, with a slight smile, she pointed with the pen to the marked spot.
“How long does it usually take for people to understand and memorize this part? Excluding Arcanda, I mean ordinary people like you and me—what do you think?”
“…”
“Isn’t it a good teacher’s policy to teach at the level of the student?”
“Young lady, I can roughly understand what you’re trying to say, but you’re different.”
“Why?”
“Because not everyone is a saint candidate! Your benchmark should be Arcanda, not everyone else…!”
Iora slammed the book shut. The classroom was filled with a heavy and chilly tension. The maidservant of the Marquis Ribandt, who had been standing in the corner as if not to disturb, happened to let out a loud cough, breaking the silence. Iora and the teacher’s sharp gazes met for a moment.
