CHAPTER 1488: THE INTERVIEW

The next day, Lory returned to the Bellevue Hotel—though no one looking at her would have known it. Her appearance had shifted entirely. She wore her hair in a sharp blonde bob, and her makeup, though trendy and minimal in style, had been applied with precision.

She wasn’t worried about concealing her natural features; the Shapeshifter spell had already altered the finer lines of her face, while the Versipel potion cloaked the rest beneath a subtle haze. To the eye, she was someone else entirely.

A pair of glasses softened her features into formality, and the pencil-skirt ensemble completed the look of a professional woman on assignment. Behind her followed three Noxcra agents, each dressed for their cover roles, a cameraman, a photographer, and a technician lugging cases.

As expected, the organization staff met them at the entrance with polite but thorough suspicion. Identifications were examined with care, bags and cases opened, lenses tapped, cables unwound. Even so, nothing seemed out of place, and soon enough they were guided to the Saintess’s suite.

The grand room bustled with preparation. Paladins stood like sentinels near the walls, while attendants hovered around the Saintess, perfecting every detail. Makeup was dabbed, hair smoothed, dresses adjusted, voices kept to urgent whispers.

Lory and her team were escorted to their seats, asked to wait until Alinna was ready. She sat with the easy poise expected of a visiting journalist, her posture composed, her expression revealing nothing.

To anyone watching, she looked like a reporter settling into her role, polite, patient, and unhurried. Yet behind that façade, her eyes swept the room with quiet precision, measuring every detail, every corner, every glimmer that might be peculiar. But for now, everything looks normal.

However, she saw no sign of Salvo De Rova, nor of Lucia Viora in the room. Still, that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Lory was certain Salvo wouldn’t let Alinna be interviewed without his supervision. Lory guessed that Salvo might be watching from somewhere, though the question remained: why did he hide himself?

However, in the corner, Lory spotted him—Timothy Caron.

He slouched on the chair at the far end of the room, headphones covering his ears, his head tilting faintly in rhythm. His body language was loose, almost boneless, as if gravity itself had claimed him. At first glance, he looked like any other disinterested youth, idly passing time, detached from the world around him.

To most people here, a backdrop, the kind of boy overlooked in a crowded room. Forgotten and Harmless.

Yet there’s something unsettling about him. The more Lory looked, the less harmless he seemed. There was a stillness beneath the laziness, a kind of practiced indifference too smooth, too careful.

His eyes, half-lidded as though bored, never truly lost focus; they flicked once, barely noticeable, scanning the room and the people one by one before sinking back into feigned distraction.

"If Fredhardt hadn’t told her what they had uncovered about Timothy, Lory would never have believed it. Nothing about him resembled a killer, no scars, no hardened edge, no shadow of menace. And that was precisely what made him terrifying. Timothy wore his innocence like armor, and behind it, a monster waited unseen.

Compared to Zhao Li Xin, at least her husband was honest. He never hid what he was. His oppressive aura always bled into the air around him, making people instinctively cautious. Timothy, on the other hand, concealed his darkness behind a harmless smile, and that was far more unsettling.

Timothy suddenly lifted his head, then turned his head. A second later, his gaze locked directly onto Lory’s.

Lory froze for the briefest instant, startled that the boy had noticed her so fast. Thankfully, her training took over in the next breath; her expression remained calm, then with practiced ease, she curved her lips into a polite smile and offered him a slight nod, the kind one professional might give another in passing.

For a moment, Timothy only stared at her, his eyes unreadable, dark and flat as still water. Then, without warning, his lips stretched into a grin.

It was the kind of grin that would melt hearts in another setting, cute, fresh, the unguarded smile of a lively young boy. Anyone else in the room might have found it disarming.

But Lory didn’t feel the same. Not at all.

All of a sudden, the air around her became icy as the grin touched his eyes. A subtle, primal warning echoed in her chest, one her instincts refused to ignore.

She felt it, a sharp shiver crawling down her spine, tightening in her gut. That innocent smile, so harmless to others, to her felt like the mask of a predator playing at being prey.

’Crazy Timmy,’ Lory cursed the boy inwardly.

Lory forced her attention away from Timothy, steadying her breath as her eyes shifted to the Saintess. At last, she saw Alinna up close.

The girl was about the same age as Lily, yet the contrast between them was striking. Where Lily was vibrant, bubbly, and full of life, Alinna seemed delicate, soft in her features, gentle in her bearing, with a kind of femininity that invited protection rather than awe.

An yet, they had dressed her in bold, formal attire far too mature for her frame. The stiff lines of the gown weighed on her youth, swallowing what little charm her natural softness could offer. Her makeup, heavy-handed, flattened the freshness of her face, and the severe hairstyle further stripped away her age, leaving her looking less like a radiant girl and more like a porcelain doll dressed for display.

It was clear what they were trying to achieve. They tried to mimic her style.

The resemblance was subtle but unmistakable: the clothes, the posture, the carefully schooled demeanor. All crafted in imitation of the image Lory herself had once embodied.

Back then, though she had been young, such formality had worked in her favor. The heavy dresses, the dignified hair, and the restraint of her expressions all had only magnified the aura she carried as the sole princess of Harland.

She had been calm, poised, and far more mature than her peers, the kind of child who wore gravitas as naturally as a crown. The severe trappings had merely reinforced what was already there: her innate regality.

But on Alinna, that same style felt like a costume. An ill-fitting mask is placed on someone too fragile to bear its weight.

Lory feel a pang of pity for Alinna and wondered if she was a willing participant in this design or not. Hopefully not, because it showed how little she thought about herself.

A moment later, one of the organization’s staff approached her. "The Saintess is ready."

Lory gave a brief nod, rising gracefully from her seat. She crossed the room toward Alinna, who stood waiting with a mixture of excitement and nerves flickering in her eyes. Funny, Lory thought, by now, Alinna should have grown used to this routine. And yet, the girl’s unease betrayed how unnatural it all still felt for her.

Lory extended her hand with a professional smile. "How are you, Saintess? I hope you’ve enjoyed your time here in Herriond."

Alinna accepted the handshake with a delicate grip, her lips curving into a practiced smile. "I am. It’s a beautiful place."

Lory’s answering smile was thin, almost perfunctory. She knew too well the truth buried beneath the pleasantries.

For a few days, Alinna remained in Herriond, yet her presence was constantly overshadowed by the story of the Lucient family. The S.A.I.N.T. organization had expected challenges, but they thought winning Harland’s public favor would be manageable. Never did they imagine it could spiral this badly.

Then came the release of a short film, a polished, gripping biography of Lory’s younger years before the war. It captured her harsh training, her hidden sacrifices, and the secret missions she had undertaken with Lucas to save lives. These were stories never told before, brought to life on the screen with a vividness that gripped the public’s imagination.

And in that moment, who cared about the Saintess? Who cared about her charity parades, her speeches, her carefully staged photo opportunities?

Compared to the perilous missions of Lory and Lucas, undertaken when they were only a teen, Alinna’s deeds seemed shallow, ornamental, almost laughable.

The impact was devastating. The Saintess’s narrative collapsed, overshadowed completely by the legend of the Lucient family. Testimonies from survivors and witnesses soon surfaced, their heartfelt confessions flooding the news and amplifying the film’s effect.

Within days, the Saintess, once promoted as the new light of the world, was reduced to a figure of mockery, her campaign dismissed as a cheap imitation.

For the S.A.I.N.T. organization, it was nothing short of humiliating. And for Alexander Behrenn—who had poured his resources, influence, and pride into polishing Alinna into a symbol—the failure cut all the deeper. What was meant to be her grand triumph had curdled into a public farce.

Yet retreat was impossible. To withdraw early would mean admitting defeat, an open confession that their efforts had failed. So they pressed on, gritting their teeth, forcing themselves through each remaining engagement with smiles that did not reach their eyes, swallowing humiliation with every hollow cheer.

Well, when Fredhardt said he wanted the world to see the vast difference between Lory and the Saintess, he hadn’t been exaggerating. He went all out, and he meant every word.

It was as if he had unleashed all his pent-up anger at once, dismantling the Saintess and the organization’s reputation with ruthless precision, leaving nothing intact.

’Let’s let the whole world remember’

Perhaps that was why they had agreed so abruptly to Lory’s interview request. It wasn’t trust, it was desperation, a chance to turn the narrative back to their favor.

"It’s good to hear that," Lory replied, with a cordial smile, then she gestured for Alinna to take a seat first, as an intentional courtesy, to honor the Saintess’s position.

Only once Alinna had settled did Lory sit opposite her, posture refined, every movement composed.

The cameraman adjusted his lens, framing both women, while the assistant clipped a small microphone to Lory’s lapel. Across the room, the photographer busied himself, capturing shots of Alinna from flattering angles.

The bustle of preparation seemed to heighten the girl’s unease; she shifted in her seat then, her small hands smoothing the fabric of her too-formal dress.

At last, the interview began.

_________________________________

___Some time ago___

Lory watched the short biography play out on the screen, her face paling by the second.

"You said my biography was only a one-time thing for the exhibition! Why is it released as a short movie?" she whined in despair.

"Oh, please. That was just an appetizer." Fredhardt’s grin turned wicked as he glanced at her. "Besides, did I never teach you? You should never believe a man when he says it’ll only gonna happen once."

Lory let out a pitiful cry and buried her face against Zhao Li Xin’s chest. "You lied to meee, you bad man!"

Fredhardt rolled his eyes. "Oh, stop fighting it and just learn to enjoy it."

Fargo mouth twitch, "That sounds like a rap***"

Lucas shot him a sidelong look, dry as ever. "And that right there is why you’ll never have a girlfriend."