The light faded.
Three items slipped free of the glow and drifted down, landing softly at Leon's feet.
The moment he saw what they were, his eyes blazed. The grin splitting his face could not have been pried off with a crowbar. Pure, unfiltered euphoria.
"Holy shit, hahaha! Jackpot! Three drops! One more than last time! This is insane!"
He was practically dancing, hands snatching up the treasures before they'd finished settling.
Two of them he recognized immediately.
A hefty, beautifully bound tome in leather... no question, a Grimoire containing unknown magic.
The other, a black envelope stamped with the Hart Familia Crest in red wax... a Familia Invitation.
"Familia Invitation, Grimoire..."
He set those aside and turned to the third item.
As he focused on it, information materialized before his eyes as if projected onto the air.
Name: Recipe: Bacon Potato RollsOrigin: SystemType: KnowledgeEffect: Contains the secret recipe for Bacon Potato Rolls. Consuming grants a temporary Versatility +5% buff for 2 hours.Description: A snack so good it'll make you cry! The secret? Onions. I added onions.
...
"A recipe? Is this thing trying to turn me into a chef?"
The thought barely formed before his eyes caught the stat bonus. Any notion of filing this away as a curiosity evaporated on the spot.
"Learning it. Absolutely learning it. Cooking, sure, my skills are... passable? I think?"
He tucked the recipe away with a grin and turned his attention to the Grimoire.
"Lady Demeter above, Saint Jeanne protect me! I'd trade half the lifespan of every Evilus officer for a high-damage, bursty, versatile attack spell. Preferably fire-type, something that combos with Scorch."
Palms pressed together, eyes closed, voice low. Leon had never been this devout in his life.
The beating the Orcs had handed him had left him with a lasting phobia of insufficient firepower. Every time he remembered Scorch bouncing off Orc hide like a gentle massage, his scalp tingled.
"Open!"
Name: Grimoire: FireballOrigin: World of WarcraftType: KnowledgeEffect: Ignites and expands a sphere of flame for long-range projectile attacks. Detonates on impact, dealing massive fire damage.Description: Greatness. Nothing more need be said.
...
"Oh my god!"
"It's here. It's actually here. The big guns finally showed up!"
Leon nearly launched himself off the ground.
The signature spell of every self-respecting mage across a hundred isekai worlds. It was finally his.
He didn't even need to read the fine print. Compared to the underwhelming Scorch, Fireball's damage coefficient was in another league entirely. There was a reason it was the bread-and-butter nuke for spellcasters everywhere. Not because it was simple, but because it worked, and in the hands of someone who could instant-cast?
In the hands of a cheater like him?
Absolutely broken.
Time to show the Dungeon's monsters what fire superiority looked like.
Wrestling down the excitement, Leon shoved every other thought out of his head. The gear and loot scattered across the ground behind him? Forgotten. He had exactly one priority: learn Fireball, then field-test it in the Dungeon.
And then it hit him... Fireball paired with Scorch's Ignite effect. A neat little combo.
The realization widened his eyes. The combination didn't just give him sustained damage-over-time from the burn debuff. Thanks to his skill effects, it also packed serious burst. Against small monsters, he could one-shot them. Against large monsters, he could trade blows. Even against ultra-large monsters or Floor Bosses, he'd finally have options.
"Perfect!"
...
...
Meanwhile.
Jeanne eased the bathroom door open, dressed in comfortable house clothes, damp golden hair hanging loose around her shoulders.
She crept out like a startled deer, scanning every direction for a certain "scumbag" lying in ambush. Only after confirming the coast was clear did she let herself exhale.
That little stunt earlier had left a lasting psychological scar.
"Wait." Her expression darkened. "What is he doing? He does that to me and then acts like nothing happened?!"
Cheeks burning, she hunted for him, her gaze finally landing through the window on the courtyard.
There the bastard sat, cradling the Grimoire with the manic glow of a kid on Christmas morning, completely absorbed in studying magic. He hadn't even registered her existence.
That look of total, blissful immersion kindled a small, irritating flame somewhere deep in her chest.
"Hmph!"
She threw herself onto the sofa, grabbed the dog-shaped cushion, and proceeded to squeeze, twist, and mangle it within an inch of its stuffed life.
"Scum Leon! Go ahead and drown in your precious book for all I care!"
Grrrrrrgle.
Her stomach chose the worst possible moment to betray her.
Her face went red.
"This is your fault too, Leon!"
If Leon had witnessed this spectacular display of a woman at war with herself, he'd have sighed and thought: Yep. Never try to figure out what a woman's thinking. You'll never crack it. Not even when she's a saint.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The Magic Stone clock on the wall counted the seconds.
Jeanne stared at it, unblinking. The heat in her cheeks climbed with every passing moment, building steadily toward critical.
"LEON!"
The pent-up mortification detonated into a scream that could've cracked glass.
Out in the courtyard, a certain someone surfaced from his ocean of arcane study, expression blank, eyes unfocused.
"Huh?"
His gaze collided with a pair of violet eyes on the sofa, blazing with fury and embarrassment.
Reality caught up. Those violet eyes could have melted steel.
"Look, I'm sorry. But it worked. The chest gave me three drops."
"I don't want to hear it! Not listening! LA LA LA!"
Leon waited. She fumed for another minute, then ran out of steam.
"Come on, Jeanne. Let's update your Falna. Aren't you curious how much you've grown?"
The redirect was transparent, and they both knew it. But curiosity won. She shot him a withering look, hugged the cushion to her chest, and lay face-down on the sofa.
The flawless, pale curve of her back lay exposed before him. His eyes lingered for a beat longer than strictly necessary.
Business first.
A prick of the needle. A drop of blood fell, dissolving into that beautiful skin. The Falna surfaced.
Leon worked through the divine script, character by character, until the final status sheet materialized.
Strength: G299 → D552 (+253) Endurance: G284 → D555 (+271) Dexterity: F343 → C673 (+330) Agility: F355 → B706 (+351) Magic: F399 → C680 (+281)
...
One day. A single day of adventuring, and her Basic Abilities had climbed a combined 1,486 points. The numbers were terrifying.
Leon had braced himself for something unusual. This still rattled him.
His own rapid growth made sense. He was a cheater, pumping stats through System allocation. That didn't play by normal rules.
Jeanne's growth was pure talent.
That rocket-fueled progression hammered him with the full weight of what it meant to stand next to a natural-born prodigy.
But the real bombshell sat at the bottom of the sheet: a "+" symbol had appeared after Lv. 1.
She was eligible for level-up.
Basic Abilities hit the threshold, so she qualifies for advancement. Makes sense, though... before she ever came to this world, Jeanne's achievements were already more than enough to constitute a Great Feat. Several times over, honestly. A direct promotion wouldn't be strange at all. And banking Great Feats at a lower level to fuel higher-level advancement isn't unheard of in Orario.
As he processed her Falna, Leon also noticed something he'd overlooked before.
When the Familia Invitation had summoned Jeanne to this world, all of her physical abilities, everything built through a lifetime of training, had been reset to zero. Wiped clean.
Skills, knowledge, tactical instincts? Those remained. But raw physical stats had to be rebuilt from scratch.
However.
The Great Feats carved into her life's journey could not be erased. They'd been preserved perfectly.
Because achievements were etched into the soul itself. They were the proof of a life lived, the mark of existence.
No power in the world could deny that.
Thoughts in order, Leon quietly transcribed the Falna onto parchment and handed it to Jeanne.
She glanced at the staggering numbers. Her brow softened, lips curving into a warm, satisfied smile.
"I've improved this much, and you're sitting there stone-faced? Would it kill you to look happy?"
Leon's expression soured. He planted both hands on her shoulders and pressed her back into the sofa.
"Then let me ask you something. Who's your lord and master?"
Pinned beneath him, Jeanne felt all the strength drain from her limbs. Those violet eyes shimmered, liquid and wide. She bit her lip and said nothing.
But the crimson creeping up her neck and ears said everything.
"Well, my lady saint? Why so quiet all of a sudden?"
He caught both her wrists in one hand, lifting them above her head. The other hand traced down the side of her neck, slow and deliberate.
"You had the nerve to provoke your master. A saint in service daring to challenge her lord? That's not ordinary defiance. That's full-blown insurrection."
"Insurrection demands punishment."
His fingers slipped beneath the collar of her house clothes, trailing along her collarbone. Jeanne's breath hitched.
"S-stop... let me go..."
The words had no force behind them. Her wrists barely tested his grip.
"Too late."
His hand moved lower. Past the collarbone, down the front of her shirt, fingertips dragging across fabric thin enough to feel the warmth underneath. Jeanne's back arched off the sofa on instinct, a sharp gasp catching in her throat.
"Leon, don't..."
He didn't stop. His palm found the curve of her chest and pressed, gentle at first, then firmer. She made a sound that wasn't a word. Her legs clamped together, knees twisting to one side.
"You're the Holy Maiden. Battlefield commander. Strongest fighter in the familia." His thumb moved in a slow circle. "And right now you can't even look me in the eye."
She couldn't. Her face was turned away, bottom lip caught between her teeth, the flush spreading down past her jaw to her neck and chest. Every breath came shallow and uneven.
His free hand found the hem of her shirt and slid underneath. Bare skin. She flinched at the contact, stomach muscles tightening, but she didn't pull away. His fingers traced up her side, over her ribs, and when they reached the swell of her breast she let out a muffled whimper against the cushion she'd buried her face in.
"Still want me to stop?"
No answer. Just her body trembling under his hands, her thighs pressing together harder, her fingers curling and uncurling above her head where he still held them pinned.
He took his time. Found the spot below her ear that turned her rigid, the place along her inner thigh where a light touch made her hips jerk. Through all of it Jeanne's protests dissolved into fragments. Half-words. Broken syllables that might have been his name.
By the time his hand slid between her thighs she was already soaked through the fabric. Her whole body locked up at the pressure of his fingers, a strangled moan tearing loose despite every effort to hold it in.
"There she is," he murmured against her ear.
He worked her through the cloth first, slow circles that had her hips rocking against his hand without her permission. Then he pushed the fabric aside. She was slick and hot and when his fingers found her directly she cried out. The saintly composure was gone. It wasn't coming back.
Her wrists stopped fighting entirely. Her thighs fell open. She came with her face buried in the cushion, voice muffled but unmistakable, body shuddering until she went limp.
Leon pulled his hand back and wiped it on the sofa cushion. Jeanne lay there breathing hard, hair stuck to her flushed cheeks, violet eyes glazed and unfocused.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
Then Jeanne rolled off the sofa on unsteady legs, grabbed the nearest piece of clothing to hold against herself, and walked to the bathroom without looking back. Her knees almost gave out twice.
The door clicked shut. The shower turned on.