3 MONTHS AGO
IRISH'S POV:
In the dorm room of the Hero Academy, Irish resided in a space that deviated from the norm, adorned with Scarlett's various paintings. Among the artwork, splatters of blood adorned the walls—some fresh, others dried, indicating that the blood had been there for days or even weeks.
"Day 56," she murmured softly, her voice tinged with anguish, before driving the dagger into her left hand. The crimson flow of blood gushed forth, staining the desk in a macabre bath. Though the wound wasn't fatal, it elicited a sharp, searing pain.
"Ahhh...ahhh..." she cried out, her voice strained with agony. "This is the only punishment I can give myself for staying away from you, Scarlett." Her words echoed in the room, a testament to the depth of her torment and longing.
Instead of healing her wounds by magic or using something to nullify the pain, she just applied a slow healing paste on her hand, So that she can feel the pain for longer.
Irish rose from her desk and made her way to the door, her expression already betraying her anticipation as she spotted a letter placed beside it. With a resigned sigh, she bent down to retrieve the letter and gingerly tore it open. As she scanned its contents, her face fell, and she let out another sigh. "Sighh... it's them again," she muttered, the weariness evident in her voice as she braced herself for whatever news or demands the letter contained.
At Prince Richard's birthday party, Irish had taken a daring leap and proposed to Scarlett, an event that had left an indelible mark on the memories of all who were present. To her amazement and joy, Scarlett had accepted her proposal and even sealed the moment with a kiss, creating a scene that would be talked about for months to come.
However, despite the significance of the event, only those who had witnessed the proposal firsthand were aware of it. Irish's parents had vehemently worked to suppress any information about their daughter's engagement to a demon, fearing the repercussions it could bring upon their prestigious Heartfilia family. The notion of a noblewoman proposing to another woman, let alone a demon, was considered scandalous and could lead to their family's disgrace and possible banishment from the kingdom.
Despite their efforts to conceal the truth, Irish's parents remained furious at her recklessness. Unable to confront her directly at the academy, they resorted to sending incessant letters, urging her to return home for discussions. Yet Irish knew all too well the consequences of facing her parents, fully aware of the punishment that awaited her if she were to comply with their demands. Thus, she chose to ignore their pleas, determined to forge her own path despite the familial pressures weighing heavily upon her.
Irish stared at the letter in her hands, her brow furrowing in confusion at the unexpected change in its contents. "They want to appreciate me for becoming a high-ranking noble?" she muttered, her head swirling with bewilderment as she scratched her head in disbelief.
As she read further, her confusion gave way to a mix of surprise and realization. "A few weeks ago, Princess, brother-in-law, and I defeated that Illusion demon," she murmured aloud, her voice tinged with astonishment. "And brother-in-law became the representative of the king." A sense of pride welled within her as she continued, "And he made me a high-ranking noble."
"Not only that, the king even bestowed upon me the title of 'Dark Knight'," she exclaimed, a hint of incredulity coloring her words. "So that's why their attitude has changed, huh?"
With a weary sigh, she leaned back in her chair, the weight of her past decisions and familial expectations bearing down upon her. "Sighh... I think it's been more than three years. I should meet them," she murmured, her resolve firming as she contemplated the path ahead.
Irish took leave from the academy and embarked on her journey back home to meet her parents. Traveling by wyvern-carriage, the journey lasted only a few hours before she arrived at her destination. As she approached her home, the grandeur of the palace took her breath away. It was more than just a residence; it was a magnificent palace surrounded by lush gardens, tended to by diligent maids and gardeners. The sight was truly breathtaking, with vibrant flowers and verdant trees adorning the landscape.
Upon her arrival, the maids and gardeners instantly recognized her, bowing respectfully as she passed by. Their gestures of reverence spoke volumes about her status within the Heartfilia family. Entering through the gates, Irish was greeted by the head maid of the household, who welcomed her with a formal tone.
"Welcome home, young mistress," the head maid said, her voice elegant and composed as she guided Irish to a waiting room within the palace.
"I'm going to inform Master and mistress about your arrival." The head maid bowed respectfully before departing the waiting room to inform Irish's parents of her arrival. Left alone, Irish settled onto the sofa, anticipation tingling in her veins as she awaited her parents' arrival.
Before long, the doors swung open, revealing an older man with dark blue hair, bearing a striking resemblance to Irish but in male form. Beside him stood a woman with long, flowing dark blue hair, radiating an elegance that mirrored a more mature version of Irish. There was no mistaking it; these were Irish's parents.
Irish's heart raced as she caught sight of her parents. Without hesitation, she rose from her seat, clutching small gifts for her family, determined not to arrive empty-handed. Her gaze remained fixed on the floor, unable to meet theirs, as she wordlessly extended her hand, offering the gifts as a silent token of her love and remorse.
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Her father, ever perceptive, immediately grasped her unspoken message and reached out to accept the gifts, his eyes softened . Prideful smile swelled within Irish as she watched him, unlike her past, he was smiling.
Irish's father was about to took her gift, but suddenly his gazes goes on Irish's hands, he noticed something unexpected.
He caught her left hand, and immediately removed her clothes that was over her hands.
He shot irish glare, his eyes blazing with anger, "What's this?", He yelled angerly.
Her hand was covered with bruises, There was no doubt, she also has it all over her body.
Seeing swing in the mood, "Tch.." Irish forcefully freed herself from grip, her body started trembling uncontrollable, as she rushed towards her sofa and sat on her again, her gazes still on ground, no signs of eye contact.
Irish's parents joined her on the sofa, facing her as her father resumed questioning her. "Just how much trouble are you going to give us, huh?" her mother interjected, her voice seething with anger.
"Irish, do you even realize how hard we've worked to cover up what happened at Prince's birthday party?" her father added, his tone filled with frustration.
They took turns lecturing her, recounting every mistake she had made over the three years she was away. "Irish?... Irish?... Are you even listening to me? Say something!" her father demanded, growing impatient.
But Irish remained silent, her gaze fixed firmly on the ground. Her body trembling with the weight of their words, and she nervously chewed on her fingernails nonstop, a habit that betrayed her unease. This was her usual demeanor around her family – withdrawn, silent, and overwhelmed.
"Not only proposing a demon, A Filthy succubus at th— before Irish's father could continue,Irish's nail-chewing ceased abruptly. With a sharp intake of breath, she shot him a deathly stare, "Don't you dare say anything about her!" her eyes locking onto his with intensity.
Her father recoiled in fear, sweat beading on their foreheads. Tremors shook him as he stuttered out his words, shocked by the sudden fierceness in his daughter's gaze. "G-giving your own father a death stare? You've become fearless," he managed to say, his voice trembling.
Irish didn't flinch. With a mixture of pain, anger, and betrayal etched into her voice, she retorted, "S-so what? Y-you abandoned me anyway. I never asked you to cover up after me. You refused to even see me. But now that I've become a high-ranking noble, suddenly you want me back." Her words dripped with resentment, the wounds of abandonment reopened and raw.
As her mother's words cut through the air, the weight of her past came crashing down. Memories flooded in, each one a sharp jab at her sense of self. "Abandoned you?" Her mother's voice sliced through the silence, dripping with accusation. "More like escaped from you."
Her mother's words echoed, each syllable a reminder of a lifetime of expectations and disappointments. "Just how many times did we tell you to learn housework?" Her mother's tone was sharp, filled with the bitterness of unmet aspirations. "You've got a pretty face thanks to me," she continued, her voice laced with a mix of pride and resentment, "just make connections with some high-ranking nobles and marry well. But instead of doing that, you always left your hair short!"
She couldn't help but exhale deeply, the weight of her mother's words heavy on her chest. "Every single day, hunting monsters," she exclaimed, the exhaustion evident in her voice. "And that day... that day," her voice trailed off, a shiver running down her spine as she relived the memory. "When you were only 13 years old, facing a B+ rank monster and killing it mercilessly in front of us" she whispered, the fear of that moment still fresh in her mind.
"More than that," her mother's voice pierced through the silence, filled with a mix of disbelief and horror, "you were smiling like a psychopath after killing it. It still gives me chills just remembering it." Her mother's words hung in the air, a heavy silence settling over them. "Not only that," she continued, her voice trembling with anger and disbelief, "you even killed your personal maid for accidentally breaking your favorite doll."
Irish's father's words hung in the air, a mixture of jest and underlying tension. "Let's all forget about the past," he said with a mischievous smile, his tone trying to lighten the atmosphere. "Becoming a high-ranking noble, you did a really good job!" His applause seemed hollow, lacking the genuine pride it should have carried.
Then, with a casualness that belied the weight of his words, he mentioned Scarlett. "What was her name again, Scarlett?" His words dripped with sarcasm, a thinly veiled jab at Irish's past relationships. "I never knew you liked girls," he continued, his tone laced with skepticism. "Well then, if she managed to come back alive from the demon realm, tell her to meet us. If we like her, then you're free to marry her. If not, we'll find a different bride."
Irish's response was hesitant, her voice betraying a mix of resignation and defiance. "O-o-okay then, I'll tell her," she stammered, her words faltering under the weight of her father's expectations. "But that doesn't mean I need your permission to marry her." With that, she rose from her seat, her movements tense with suppressed frustration.
As she made her way to the door, her mother's voice cut through the tension. "Are you leaving right now?" she called out, her tone tinged with disappointment. "At least meet your sister!" But Irish's patience had worn thin, her anger bubbling to the surface. "You all ruined my mood!" she exclaimed, her words carrying a hint of bitterness as she stormed out of the room, leaving behind a palpable sense of unease.
Without exchanging a single word with her family for five minutes, Irish bolted from the palace, her heart heavy with the weight of their expectations. She hastily boarded a carriage, the urgency of her departure evident in her every movement, and embarked on the journey back to the academy.
As the carriage rolled on, the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the landscape. By the time Irish arrived at the academy, the afternoon sun bathed the campus in a warm golden glow.
A sense of relief washed over her as she stepped into her dorm room. The familiar sight of her sanctuary greeted her, and a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Without hesitation, she crossed the room and leaped onto her bed, where a painting of Scarlett adorned the wall above. "Huff... This is the best place," she breathed, her voice filled with a mixture of contentment and longing.
With a soft sigh, she wrapped her arms around the virtual figure of Scarlett, the warmth of the embrace soothing her troubled soul. In that moment, surrounded by the comfort of her dorm room and the presence of her beloved, Irish found solace amidst the chaos of her tumultuous life.
2 DAYS LATER
In the gentle embrace of morning's first light, Irish stirred from her slumber, stretching her limbs languidly as she let out a long, satisfying yawn. Just as she began to rouse herself from the comfort of her bed, a familiar sound echoed through the room.
Knock... knock... knock...
"Irish-san, it's me, Aoto. Open the door!" His voice carried a hint of excitement, breaking the stillness of the morning.
Hearing his voice, Irish rose from her bed, her curiosity piqued. With a soft sigh, she made her way to the door and swung it open. "Yawn... what happened?" she mumbled, her voice still heavy with sleep.
Aoto stood before her, a wide smile lighting up his face. "Happy birthday, Irish-san!" he exclaimed, his words filled with genuine joy.
Irish blinked in surprise, the realization dawning on her. "I forgot, today's my birthday," she admitted, a hint of sheepishness coloring her tone.
"I know you're not one for celebrating birthdays," Aoto replied, his smile unwavering. "So, I prepared a special gift for you." With a flourish, he presented a book, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "This will be perfect for you, I'm sure you'll like it."
Irish accepted the book, her curiosity growing as she examined its cover. As she read the title aloud, a mixture of amusement and incredulity washed over her. "Thousand ways to Make Your Husband Blush—Tomboy Edition?"
A chilling grin spread across Irish's face, her eyes alight with anticipation. "This will certainly help me a lot!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with a hint of excitement.
"Well then, goodbye," Aoto said hastily, his demeanor shifting as he made a swift exit, leaving Irish alone with the intriguing book.
Clutching the book tightly to her chest, Irish's gaze remained fixed on its cover, a sense of intrigue swirling within her. With a contented smile, she made her way to her study desk and took a seat. Placing the book beside her, she murmured, "I'll read you tomorrow. But for now—"
Her routine interrupted, Irish retrieved a dagger from a nearby drawer and placed her left hand on the desk. "Day 59," she announced with determination, her eyes glinting with resolve. With fearless precision, she directed the tip of the dagger towards her hand and pierced it, a sharp intake of breath escaping her lips as pain shot through her.
But as she watched in astonishment, the flow of blood from her hand suddenly ceased, the wound beginning to close before her eyes. she whispered in disbelief, her mind reeling with the implications of what she had just witnessed."Did my hand just got regenerated? "