As a healer, Trisha's presence in the "Hero Party" was… subtle. Like, "you might forget she exists until you need healing or a mood check" subtle.
She wasn't chopping monsters in half or throwing fireballs—her job was to keep everyone alive and mildly sane. Liven up the mood. Be the glue. Basically, adulting for heroes. Right now? She was failing spectacularly.
'Oh no…'
Divine powers weren't all glamour and explosions. Trisha's talent? Feeling everyone's emotions. Literally. Like a walking mood detector. And right now, Elize—yes, the ever-smiling sunshine herself—was looking like a cheerful little lamb while internally plotting mass destruction.
"…This should be the last one," Gallon said, slicing a wolf-monster clean in half with his double-edged axe. Because of course. This guy lived for dramatic flair.
"Given these powerful monsters, there should be something here," he added, like the world's most casual announcer.
Fulluin adjusted his monocle like it might solve the mineral situation by itself. "Rare mineral deposit. Don't fail the class."
"Oh, then let Gallon handle it."
"…Come on, Neak," Gallon grumbled, dragging the poor guy like a bag of rocks.
Meanwhile, Trisha approached Elize. Silent. Brooding. Plotting. Definitely plotting.
"Hey, Elize."
"Hmm?"
"Something bothering you?"
Elize shook her head and smiled.
"No, none at all."
Sure. Lie of the century.
The dark aura practically screamed off her like "I will destroy something… later." Trisha's talent revealed it all: normally, Elize was pure white—angel vibes, unicorns, sunshine, happy thoughts. But now? Dark streaks, black splashes, "maybe I should hide behind a rock" levels of evil. Possessiveness. Domination. Monopoly. Basically, "I own the world" energy.
'…Definitely not like this before.'
Trisha's eyes darted to Princess Lirielle. Gray, occasionally black ink leaks—standard royalty mood swings. Meh. No surprise there.
But Elize? This was new. Mysterious. Potentially explosive. And terrifyingly hilarious. Trisha mentally whispered, "Someone get popcorn… this emotional rollercoaster is about to derail."
It felt like this all started after the freshmen welcome party incident. Fortunately, the monsters were subdued without anyone dying. Somehow. Miracles do happen.
What exactly happened there? Adrian would've asked… if anyone bothered to explain.
"But you look like you're thinking about something."
'More importantly, you're so angry that it's literally changing your very colors.'
Trisha wouldn't get any peace until she calmed Elize down.
"…Was I too obvious? As expected, nothing can really go through you, Trisha."
Ah, there it was. A crack. She's starting to open up.
Seeing the white light shining in Elize, Trisha felt a wave of relief. Finally. Some normalcy. Sort of.
She tried desperately to keep the conversation alive.
'At what point did Elize get this angry…?'
"Ah, by any chance, that Adrian Merrick—"
Snap.
Trisha clamped her mouth shut. Too late. She caught the shadow creeping into Elize's aura again. And yet… the smile. That damn wide, cheerful, "I'm-about-to-murder-someone-but-it's-cute" smile.
"Well, I suppose I guessed correctly," Trisha muttered.
Thankfully, Elize seemed willing to spill a bit.
"No, it's just… I've been involved with him lately…"
And then came the story. Every detail. How she asked him to be friends, how she owed him, how she basically turned into a love pigeon for the guy she liked—the one from the Caldwell Family, her sworn enemy no less. Yet somehow, she still got dismissed as not even a friend.
Trisha blinked. A lot. Her brain short-circuited a few times trying to keep up.
Could it be…?
"Elize, do you actually think of that person as a real friend?"
"…Uh?"
Smooth. Totally smooth, Trisha. She had no idea that words could backfire like this. Elize froze, emotions all scrambled, a sight Trisha had never witnessed before.
"Ah, it's nothing!"
Silence. Suffocating. Trisha's first time seeing hesitation in Elize. Her pristine white aura now creeping into grayish confusion.
"…But, he drew the line because you're not that close?"
Trisha swallowed. She needed to say something. Anything.
"I, I'm sure that person didn't mean it!"
"Then why did he say that?"
'How would I know?'
Yeah, Trisha. Totally helpful.
"Uh, it… isn't it because he's being considerate of you?"
"…Considerate?"
"Isn't that Adrian from a tiny barony with zero backing? He probably figured sticking to you—the hero candidate—would bring you a mountain of trouble. People would get all worked up…! So he's basically preemptively preventing chaos!"
Trisha managed to squeeze that out. Somehow.
And, as weak as the logic sounded, it had a point. At least Trisha wasn't completely fabricating consolation.
"…"
Elize actually paused, hand to chin, thinking it over. That alone was mildly alarming.
"…Does he really need to go that far? No—he's the kind who acts without announcing it. But still, it should be something between friends…" she muttered.
"You'll see next time. He'll probably say he didn't mean it when he said you weren't close. Eun!" Trisha chirped, desperate and annoyingly optimistic.
"…Is that so?" Elize asked, trying to sound convinced.
"He'll keep his distance until his status stabilizes. Deep down he probably feels close to you… yes, that's it!" Trisha crowed, prideful in her amateur psychology.
"…Really?" Elize sounded unconvinced. Poor Trisha. She clearly needed reassurance more than accuracy.
Trisha prayed silently for Elize to let the anger go. Please. Breathe. Move on. Be a normal person.
"Oh — wait. Isn't that Gallion?" someone called, saving Trisha from the awkward pep talk.
"Where?" another asked.
"About a thirty-minute walk from here," Grid replied, squinting like a professional pair of binoculars strapped to a human.
Grid was the party's marksman; his eyesight was basically cheating. "By Gallion… you mean Viscount Arsmed's son? The spear guy, right?" someone guessed.
"Yeah, but it's weird. I've never seen him this angry. Is he muttering curses?" another added.
"…He's cursing?" Trisha peeped.
Neak leaned forward, focusing on the distance the way a man focuses on a particularly interesting bug. He read Gallion's lips like a crystal ball.
"…I swear. I'll kill that bastard. I'll kill that dog scammer. I'll skewer him—wow, how bloody," Neak recited, voice flat.
Heads turned. Fast.
Gallion Arsmad—supposed paragon of restraint, the freshman embodiment of "model student"—had apparently gone full wildfire. People who knew him expected calm, not blood oaths.
What the hell made someone like that explode during class?
"…There's only one possibility," someone murmured.
The word "scammer" hit the group like an unexpected splash of cold water.
Elize flinched.