Chapter 158: A Traitor Among Us

In the blink of an eye, morning arrived, the sun spilling golden light across the quiet streets. The city was still half-asleep, the air carrying that crisp, peaceful chill only found at dawn.

As usual, Kouya woke up right on time. His movements were practiced—washing up, dressing neatly, combing his hair in the mirror with an indifferent expression. The faint sound of a bird calling outside the window was the only thing breaking the silence of the room.

Passing by the neighboring door, he paused briefly. No noise came from inside. It seemed that lazy fallen angel was still deep in dreamland, probably sprawled across the bed with drool on her cheek. Kouya smirked faintly, shaking his head. Waking her up would be a waste of time. He left quietly, shutting the door behind him.

When he reached the bridge near the park, the early morning light bathed the world in soft warmth. A girl stood there, framed by the gentle glow of dawn, her figure reflected in the rippling water below. The breeze played with her hair, brushing golden-brown strands against her face. She raised a delicate hand to tuck them behind her ear, a faint blush of frustration coloring her cheeks.

It was Vigne.

“Kouya,” she called, her voice clear and melodic in the morning stillness. Taking a few quick steps toward him, she held out a small envelope with both hands. “This is the money I mentioned yesterday. Can you check if it’s all there?”

Kouya blinked, then accepted it. Her posture was careful, almost secretive, as if they were spies meeting for a classified exchange. “What’s with the stealth? You look like you’re passing state secrets.”

Vigne pouted slightly. “I just didn’t want people to misunderstand, that’s all.”

He sighed softly. This amount couldn’t be easy for her. She’d spent so much recently—on snacks for that spoiled blue-eyed baby dragon at the hot springs, on little gifts for friends, and now this. At this rate, she’d be living off instant noodles by the end of the month.

“By the way, where’s Gabi-chan?” Vigne asked, brushing her hair aside.

“Still asleep,” Kouya replied flatly.

Vigne giggled helplessly. “Of course she is. I’ll call her.” She took out her phone, tapping quickly to wake the fallen angel from her heavenly nap. Then she walked beside Kouya, their footsteps echoing softly across the bridge as the town came to life around them.

When they reached the school gates, Vigne suddenly sped up, stepping ahead as if worried someone would notice them walking together. Her cheeks carried a faint pink hue. Kouya just shook his head in mild amusement.

At that moment, a familiar figure appeared from the opposite side—Machiko, the class representative. Her long black hair shone like ink under the sunlight, but her head was lowered, her usual gentle expression replaced by something distant and anxious.

Vigne brightened and waved. “Good morning, Machiko!”

“M-Miss Vigne?” Machiko looked startled. When her eyes flicked past Vigne and landed on Kouya, she froze. Panic flashed across her face. She instinctively raised her arms over her chest. “D-don’t come any closer!”

“Huh? What’s wrong?” Vigne blinked, stopping mid-step.

“N-nothing…” Machiko stammered, shaking her head rapidly. Her hair trembled like dark silk in the breeze.

“Are you feeling unwell? Want me to go to the nurse’s office with you?” Vigne asked, full of concern.

But Machiko’s mind was racing. ‘Oh no… poor Vigne. She doesn’t know what kind of terrible person he really is!’

Her thoughts spiraled into chaos. ‘If I say anything, Gabi-chan said he’ll take me away… and make me do horrible, embarrassing things!’

Caught between fear and guilt, Machiko bit her lip hard enough to tremble, then turned and fled, tears glimmering in her eyes.

Vigne stared after her, confused. “That was… weird. She looked terrified. Did you… do something to her?”

Kouya groaned. “What? I didn’t even talk to her yesterday!”

He rubbed his temple, muttering under his breath. “What, do people around here think I can get someone pregnant by looking at them or something?”

Vigne laughed lightly. “Good. Don’t you dare mess with her. She’s kind and everyone respects her.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kouya muttered, exhaling deeply.

…

When class started, Gabriel finally arrived—late as usual. Her hair was slightly messy, eyes still half-shut, a piece of toast in her mouth like a cliché anime heroine. At the classroom door, she bumped right into Machiko, who was just returning from the office with chalk.

Feeling slightly guilty for making her cry the day before, Gabriel decided to be nice. “Yo, morning.”

The simple greeting hit Machiko like thunder. The chalk almost flew from her hand as she froze in place, trembling.

“Gabi-chan never talks to me!” she thought in alarm. “If she suddenly says ‘good morning’ today… she must be warning me not to tell anyone what happened yesterday!”

Her imagination spiraled further. “Waaah Gabi-chan is terrifying!”

…

The second period was Japanese literature, taught by their eternally twenty-nine-year-old teacher, Shizuka Kawaii—a woman with a charming smile, a soft voice, and a mysterious inability to find a boyfriend.

And as always, her lecture had already gone off the rails within five minutes.

“Human evolution is fascinating,” she began enthusiastically. “Think about it—why do monkeys love big bananas? Why did Ultraman become a hero? Oh! Speaking of heroes, did you hear about that Russian guy who fought a bear with his bare hands? He won! Truly the strongest species on Earth!”

The class stared blankly.

Yet somehow, her absurd monologue was oddly captivating.

“I’m telling you, everyone,” Shizuka said, propping her elbow on the desk. “Never trust someone who suddenly messages you after years. Either they’re getting married and want red envelopes, or they need to borrow money. But the real danger—” she lowered her voice dramatically, “—is when they lure you into a dark room to make you do unspeakable things! I saw a news story about it just this morning!”

The class laughed.

Everyone except Machiko, who paled instantly.

“Gabi-chan suddenly spoke to me this morning…” Her eyes went wide. “D-don’t tell me she’s planning to lock me up and do terrible things!”

“Waaah Gabi-chan is so scary!” she whimpered quietly, clutching her notebook.

…

By the time Home Economics rolled around, Kouya had resigned himself to a long day.

He lingered in the hallway until most students had gone, only for Satania to appear dramatically, her crimson hair shining like fire under the lights.

“Servant! Out! I must prepare my battle attire!” she declared, pointing toward the door with all the arrogance of a self-proclaimed demon queen.

Kouya blinked. “Battle attire… for Home Ec?”

“Of course! The battlefield of cuisine demands proper armor!”

Good grief. She really thought she was in an anime transformation scene. “It’s just an apron, not a sacred relic.”

“Go! Unless you wish to commit treason and peek upon my divine form!” she warned, cheeks pink. “If you swear eternal loyalty, I might consider forgiveness…”

Kouya sighed deeply, muttering something about her needing therapy, and walked out.

By the time he reached the Home Ec classroom, Vigne was already there arranging utensils. “Eh? Where’s Satania?” she asked.

“Still transforming,” he said dryly.

The students chatted and laughed as they prepared their dishes. It was a relaxed atmosphere—grilling, slicing, mixing. Some made sashimi with wasabi and soy sauce, others grilled fish with salt and lemon. Vigne suggested coating fillets in starch and frying them into golden, crispy perfection.

Then, all at once, the room fell silent.

The door creaked open.

A hand appeared, dainty fingers pushing the door wide. There she was—Satania, striding in as if onto a grand stage. She wore a spotless white chef’s coat, a massive hat perched proudly on her head, and an expression of overwhelming self-satisfaction.

Her arms were crossed, chin raised, and if words could float above her, they would’ve spelled: Behold my greatness!

The silence stretched for a long second.

Then came the whispers.

“Is that… Satania?”

“Unbelievable… she actually did it.”

“Yeah, but… wow, that’s embarrassing.”

Every other student wore a plain apron. Only she looked ready to star in a gourmet TV show. Instead of admiration, she received stares filled with disbelief and faint pity—eyes silently saying:

“We have a traitor among us.”

Even the teacher, in her simple apron, looked defeated. “Why are you dressed so professionally? You’re making me feel underdressed.”

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