I instinctively reached for my phone to confront her but stopped.

What was the point? Everything was already clear. Even if she refused to go through with the divorce, the nature of my upcoming mission was such that I might not even survive.

Why burden myself with more pain on what might be the last day of my life?

I put the phone down. I was about to shut off the laptop and leave with my suitcase when another message from Edmund appeared. This time, it was a video. The thumbnail showed him and Hera standing on a classroom stage. Once again, happiness poured from them like a flood.

Was this video new?

Quaking, I clicked play.

A teacher was introducing Hera and Edmund as Bobby's parents before offering them the stage to talk about how they had met.

Hera grabbed Edmund's hand and pulled him behind her, looking sheepish. The Saintess, who had never shown me anything but stoic composure, was blushing.

"Edmund and I were childhood friends. He was my first crush," she began. "We went to the same elementary school, middle school, high school... and eventually the same college. He didn't confess his feelings until then…"

Her blush deepened. "Before I knew it, college was over, and my arm was around his as we stepped into the church to exchange vows. He is the best thing that ever happened to me. No one else could have been as perfect as he is—and he loves me back!"

My eyes widened. Edmund was her first love? But she had told me I was her first crush. She had said she had never felt this way about anyone before and made me promise to treat her right.

I was hopelessly in love with her. I would have obliged even if I weren't her first love. I gave her everything she wanted, be it material or emotional.

And this was what I got?

It felt as if my heart had been ripped from my chest and thrown to the floor again. I felt my entire being implode. I could not breathe.

I collapsed to the floor, my body trembling and my breath coming in short gasps. Meanwhile, tears blurred my vision. She had been lying to me even before we were together. Our marriage had never been filled with lies—the truth had simply never existed between us.

The video was still playing. I could hear "Oohs" and "Aahs."

Someone urged Hera to share more details about their love story, "Tell us about the romantic things he did for you!"

Romance? These people had no idea how dull Hera truly was. I had once poured effort into creating romantic moments. Each time, she showed less and less interest.

Then, she told me she hated romance. These things were distractions. Illusions, even. An Awakenist valued only sincerity.

I had believed her. That was why I had restrained my burning passion and love for her and lived the way she wanted. It was my proof of sincerity.

"Romantic things?" Hera's bashful voice drifted into my ears. "Oh, shucks. There were a lot. He's really the biggest romantic I've ever had the pleasure of meeting in my life.

"Once, he stayed up late three nights in a row to make me a handmade handbag. He was so embarrassed, he lied about winning it in a contest. He was yawning when he said that! And those eyes! His dark circles were really incriminating, believe me! I looked into those tired eyes and knew he was the one."

Hera took Edmund's hand, weaving her fingers between his, and met his gaze. "I still have that bag, by the way."

She turned to the audience again. "Another time, shortly after we married, I told him I didn't like the food served at my company. When I came home, he had prepared a feast of all my favorite dishes. Later, I found out he had searched every corner of the city for the best ingredients. He even burned his hands by accident while cooking!"

She lifted Edmund's hand and kissed it as the crowd watched.

"Then there was the time he accidentally did something funny. I felt bad for him and called him an idiot, but he said he would do it again even if he could turn back time because it made me laugh.

"Another time, when I was suffering from a high fever, he cared for me without rest for three days straight. In the end, he had to be hospitalized for exhaustion! But then he told me, 'Your life is more important than mine.'"

I could hear the crowd gasping and murmuring in envy. Their reactions cut through the air like knives on a chopping board, while my heart lay open for them to shred.

The video had much more to go, but I couldn't bear it any longer. I shut down the laptop.

Those romantic stories Hera recounted were true, but Edmund was not the one who had done those things.

"It was me. I was the one who did all of that for you!" I croaked, my voice cracking, speaking to no one in particular.

The Saintess was not without feeling. She longed for romance, joy, and little surprises. She craved love.

She was simply as distant and cold as a statue of the holiest goddess when she was with me.

She remembered everything I had done for her. All of it. But she preferred to pretend another man had done them.

That handbag I had made for her? She had thanked me like it was a part of a procedure and had never used it once. When I asked why, she said she hated the style. I had felt really bad about it and had told myself I should have learned about her fashion sense better.

The feast I had prepared for her? She had not even taken a bite. In fact, she had thrown a fit at me for preparing it. She had said wasting food and ingredients in her honor was an insult to her character as an ardent Awakenist. I had explained myself to her despite how hurt and stunned I had been, saying I just wanted her to be happy.

She had ignored me and gone on an impromptu retreat at an Awakenist monastery instead for a week. I had not even realized she had noticed the scald burns on my hands.

Now I knew. She had seen them but just had not cared.

And the story about her fever? I had taken an extended leave at work so that I could take care of her for days. She had told me to leave her alone, and I had assumed it was because she had felt bad for my efforts. Thus, I had told her her life was more important than mine.

She had been disgusted, reprimanding me, "This fever is a test, you fool! Lord Zeno is testing my faith! It's a blessing in disguise! So don't even think about stepping into my room. Your ignorance will hinder me!"

I had felt so remorseful over it that I started reading everything there was about Awakenism.

But you know what I found? Nothing! There was not a single mention of sickness being any kind of test or "blessing in disguise" in the actual doctrine.

At the time, I had assumed I had simply read the wrong books or missed out on certain resources. But now I knew that it was an excuse.

She already knew how much I had done for her. She even agreed that it was nice. The problem was that she did not want me to be the guy who had done it.

So this was why it was my fault, huh? I should not have met her.

I should not have loved her.

My tears dried, and I felt liberated. I was so glad to be able to come to the truth at a moment like this—when my survival in the upcoming mission was uncertain.

Now, I could really move on and end this farce of a union with the Saintess who had never loved me.

I asked for a paper and a pen from the front desk. Then, I wrote my farewell letter.

[Hera,

[I have made up my mind. You may disagree or argue about the timing with your religious obligations, but our relationship is over.

[I have decided to step out of your life so you and your true love can be together.

[Bobby is your biological son, isn't he? You had him with Edmund.

[What I don't understand is why you went through the exhausting act of dating me, hiding things from me, and then enduring a marriage with me for half a decade. Wasn't it suffocating? Wasn't it tormenting?

[From my side, you showed me how much of a fool I was to hold on to you for five years. I ran out of tears, but I wasn't crying for you—I was crying for myself. My heart ached for me.

[As your ex-husband, I hate you. But as a firefighter, I have no regrets about saving your life and theirs. Now, I am a firefighter again. I have an assignment to carry out.

[You can imagine I die on duty if you want, because no matter what happens, we will never see each other again.

[Take care, Hera.

[Farewell.]

It was the letter to end it all. There was no turning back for me.

From that moment on, no matter what happened, it would have nothing to do with Miss Bishop of Edge Inc.

I had barely stepped out of the room when I caught a strange smell.

"Something's burning," I muttered.

The firefighter in me snapped to alert. I followed the scent and found thick smoke leaking through the cracks of a hotel room door.

A fire. I grabbed a nearby extinguisher and kicked the door hard.

After five strong kicks, the door gave way. The acrid smell of smoke hit me instantly. Flickering flames licked inside—the fire was still small, but all it needed was time to grow into a monster.

I removed the safety pin with practiced ease and rushed inside.

Half the bed was engulfed in flames. On the other half stood a striking woman, wrapped only in a bathrobe. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused. She held a wine bottle, took a sip, then poured some onto the fire. The flames roared happily at the offering.

"Holy shit, get up! You're in danger!" I shouted, yanking her away from the bed.

"Ngah! You're hurting me, bozo! Who the hell are you?!" she shrieked, pounding my back with fists. I might have pulled her too hard in panic. "I said, who the fuck are you?! Get out of my room right now!"

I ignored her protests and focused on the fire. With steady hands, I aimed at the base of the flames and pressed the nozzle. A white spray hissed out.

Three seconds later, the fire was out. I exhaled in relief. Luckily, I arrived before it spread. If it had grown, I alone would not have been enough!

I turned to look at the woman behind me.

Holy cow! Now she was lighting the wallpaper on fire.

"Are you for real?!" I shouted, grabbing her wrist with one hand and dousing the wall with the extinguisher in the other.

She yanked herself free and lunged back toward the bed, trying to set the pillow ablaze.

Goddamn it. What was wrong with this woman?

I tackled her to the bed, snatched her lighter, and threw it as far as I could. "Enough! You're committing arson!"

She didn't back down. If anything, she fought harder.

"Is that the best threat you've got, bozo? 'Cause I sure as hell ain't scared! Let me go!" she yelled. "You don't know who I am, do you?! I'm Rhea Canien of the Canien family, you brute! Anyone who crosses me gets it!"

With a burst of crazed strength, she shoved me aside and scrambled for the lighter again.

"What the heck?"

Who let this arsonist loose?!

I grabbed her and pinned her down on the bed.

"Snap out of it! You're drunk," I growled. "I don't care what bigshot family you're from—no one gets a pass for arson. You're no exception."

"Shut your trap!" Rhea spat, glaring at me and struggling fiercely. "How dare you lecture me about crime, you goddamn pervert? Let me go before I report you for harassment and assault!"

I smirked. "I'm doing this because you're trying to set a goddamn hotel on fire!"

"Stop pretending to be a hero, you perv! Why else are you pressing up against me?!"

"Because if I let go, you'll grab the lighter again."

"So what if I do? It's none of your business!"

For the first time since we'd met, I saw her eyes turn glassy. She looked like someone who had just been bullied.

Then I glanced down and realized her bathrobe had slipped open. Too much of her fair, delicate skin was exposed.

Right. Maybe I had leaned in a little too close. And the position I'd taken wasn't helping. It was already more intimate than anything I'd ever been allowed with Hera.

I stepped back and let go. "Sorry. That wasn't my intention. I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted to stop the fire."

Rhea curled under the bedsheet, only her head peeking out as she glared at me. "Stop the fire? Horseshit. You're just looking for an excuse to violate me!"

"I'm a firefighter, miss. Here are my credentials," I said, amused, and pulled out my badge and ID.

She studied the documents. Her skepticism faded slightly, though her temper remained intact. "So what if you're a firefighter? You're still a guy. Men are all bozos and scum."

Let me see. She was drunk and trying to set things on fire…

"Is that what this is about? Love troubles?" I asked. "Even so, you shouldn't try to end your life over it."

"What's it to you? This is my life! I get to decide how it ends!" she snapped, turning away.

Suddenly, anger surged in me. I had witnessed too many lives destroyed by fire in my career. I had seen countless souls fail to survive the flames, their lives consumed like everything else.

I hated that sight. I hated people throwing away their lives when others fought desperately to live another day.

"You know what? You're right. It's your life. Do whatever the hell you want. See if I care," I snapped. "But your method will drag innocent people down with you. That makes you just as much of an asshole."

Rhea stared at me, stunned. She pointed at herself. "Did you just shout at me?"

"So what if I did? You don't even care about your own life. And now you care about being shouted at? Take a look at yourself. You really think you'll go out peacefully in flames? There won't even be enough left of you to look human when it's over!

"Do you even know how painful it is? It's like being carved up by a thousand flaming blades. People don't die from heat or burns—they die from pain first. Then the fire finishes them off. You don't even know the half of what I've seen."

Yes, I exaggerated. I had to. This woman might not care about her own life, but I still could not—in my conscience—abet the death of another human being by looking away.

"Y-You're just trying to scare me!" Rhea shot back, her face paling as a shiver ran through her.

"And why would I do that? If you don't believe me, go ahead and try it. But don't do it where innocent people can get caught in it. Find a wide, empty concrete spot and immolate yourself. See if I care."

The look in Rhea's eyes told me she wasn't going to kill herself today. That, at least, was a relief.

Still, she wouldn't just admit it. "Well, what if I am determined to die, huh? Maybe I'll jump off the balcony after you leave!"

"Cool. Jumping off buildings isn't in my job description anymore, so knock yourself out. Just a heads-up, though: this floor isn't high enough. You'll probably survive, but with a broken spine and no control from the waist down. What are you gonna do if that happens?

"So here's a better plan. Grab a bag from the shop downstairs, wrap it around your head, climb to the roof, and then jump. Full satisfaction, guaranteed," I snarked.

"Why you—" She shook with fury. "Why the hell should I get a bag over my head?"

"Out of respect for the cleaning crew! No need to make their job harder. They'll have to spend a lot of effort scrubbing the pavement clean of your brain, right?"

Rhea shut her eyes in fear while snarling, "Fuck you, bozo!"

That was not the look of someone who meant what she said. I was sure I had saved her life. "Alright, enough talk. Give me my badge and ID back. I need to get going. You can, I don't know, start picking out a nice bag for your head."

I extended my hand toward her matter-of-factly, but Rhea shook her head. "Sorry, but I'm not giving them back to you. How dare you tell me how to die?! And you saw me naked! You have to pay for that!"

"Come on, miss. I don't have time for this. Get on with your plan already. I have a fire to put out today!" I replied, snatched my stuff back, and left before she could react.

I had no problem saving her life, but it did not mean I was fond of people like her. I was especially repulsed by high-maintenance, self-centered rich girls like her.

"Stand where you are, bozo!" she yelled. "Grimwald! Did you hear me? You're not getting away with this!"

I ignored her and walked off with my suitcase.

Unbeknownst to me, Rhea opened her palm to reveal a torn scrap of paper—a photo of me she'd ripped from my documents.

"You don't actually look half-bad," she muttered to herself with a smirk. "Sebastian Grimwald, Astergrad Fire Brigade Beta Team… You're not getting away from me."

…

I had no idea I'd become someone's target. All I wanted was to report for duty.

Albert spotted my suitcase and gaped. "Grimwald? Why are you bringing luggage?"

Of course he was surprised. When the odds of surviving a mission were so uncertain, no one bothered packing extra clothes. We lived and often died in the same uniform.

"It's just for my family," I said, lying. "Didn't want to leave this stuff behind in case I don't make it. Might make things harder for them, you know?"

"Grimwald… That's a little grim, don't you think? You're not necessarily going to die, alright?" Albert let out a sigh. "Anyway, our superior got in touch. All our gear's already been moved to the mountain base. It's our turn to report."

Ever since I said goodbye to Hera, I'd been ready for whatever came next. My face barely changed. "Yes, sir. I'm ready."

If he could have, the captain would've taken Sebastian off the roster. Last he heard, the man hadn't even had a child with his wife yet.

"Hey, good news," Albert added. "It rained a few hours ago. Thank God. Helped a lot with the fire. It's mostly under control now. Our team's just heading out to provide backup. So honestly… you don't have to come. We've got this."

Part of me felt relieved. A wildfire under control meant fewer deaths and less destruction. That was always a win.

But thinking about Hera erased any trace of relief. I just wanted to get out of Astergrad for a while.

"No, Captain Holst. Let me go. They still need every hand they can get, right?"

I was so persistent that Albert gave in and let me join the team.

…

By the time we arrived, the fire was mostly under control. The remaining tasks involved statistics and logistics, such as counting heads and recording casualty figures.

I scanned the charred forest floor and felt my personal concerns fade into the background. My focus sharpened.

I stayed at the mountain base for days. Although the wildfire had eased, I still witnessed its cruelty. I watched bodies being carried back to camp. Many comrades had died, and too many were burned beyond recognition.

These frontliners were usually firefighters from nearby towns. Their loved ones had already arrived at camp to identify the bodies. Some were the deceased's wives and children—the sight of their tears struck a painful chord in my chest.

I even saw a few elderly family members. Their frail frames trembled as they approached, and some fainted from shock.

It was a harrowing scene. Yet, I could not help but notice the silence from Hera after several days. She had not even sent me a single message.

To be honest, I wished it were me on the stretcher. I wished my life mattered enough for someone to grieve my passing.

And yet, my wife did not even remember me.

-

Hera left the conference room after a long meeting and suddenly felt a sharp jolt in her chest. It felt as if her heart had skipped a beat. Instinctively, she pressed her hand to her chest, confusion flickering across her face.

Her assistant noticed immediately. "Ms. Bishop? Are you all right? Should we cancel your next meeting so you can take a break?"

"No need. I'm fine," Hera said calmly, shaking her head.

A sudden thought struck her. She glanced at her phone.

There was no message from Sebastian. None at all.

She frowned. The silence unsettled her. "How has Sebastian been doing at the hotel these past few days? Has anyone from management reached out?"

"No, ma'am," Morgan Phelps replied, his voice betraying a hint of surprise. It seemed odd that Hera was suddenly interested in someone she had never appeared to notice or care about.

"I see. Leave me be for a while. I have errands to run," Hera said, then strode out of her office. Moments later, she left the building entirely.

Half an hour later, Hera arrived at the hotel front desk. She flashed her black card and asked, "Please check the activity log for Mr. Sebastian Grimwald over the past few days."

"Ma'am, Mr. Grimwald hasn't stayed here. He arrived on the first day, left with his suitcase shortly after, and hasn't returned since," the young woman answered.

Hera's brows tightened. A flicker of irritation surfaced. She pulled out her phone and called his number.

She had almost never done this before. Yet for the first time, no one answered.

Her frown deepened. What kind of elaborate scheme had Sebastian set in motion?