Chapter 51 - Jealousy
“H-Hello, Myrrh.” I managed a nervous smile and gave her an awkward wave. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Of course, you didn’t see me. Your eyes were glued to Dianca,” Myrrh replied, her voice icy. She narrowed her bright blue eyes at me, and for a moment, I half-expected them to ignite with heat vision and incinerate me on the spot.
“Oh, haha. Dianca and I just bumped into each other earlier,” I said, scratching the back of my head, trying to sound casual.
“Yeah, you literally bumped into her,” she shot back, crossing her arms with a sharp motion.
“Wait, you saw that? Just how long have you been tailing me, you little stalker?” I teased, hoping to lighten the mood.
“Since you left the convenience store.” Myrrh tilted her chin up slightly, her long lime-blonde hair swaying with the movement. “I just happened to be following some thug myself when I saw that similar goon… eating Dianca’s breast for breakfast.”
“W-what!?” My voice pitched in panic. “No! I didn’t eat her breast! You know she bumped into me!”
“Pervert!” she snapped, her voice rising in mock accusation. Then, with an exaggerated turn, she spun on her heel and began storming off.
“Hey, Myrrh! Wait!” I called, my hand reaching out toward her retreating figure.
She ignored me, her steps brisk and purposeful as she made her way to the lounge. I followed, the atmosphere shifting as we entered the room. A handful of examinees were scattered about, their voices buzzing softly against the polished walls. WAIFUs were already engaged in conversation with their support units.
Myrrh didn’t glance back, but her presence radiated frustration like a storm cloud hovering just out of reach. I trailed after her, wondering how I was going to make this right.
“Hey, Myrrh!” I shouted again, my voice echoing faintly in the lounge. Myrrh didn’t so much as glance back, her hair swaying defiantly with each determined step.
Frustration bubbled up in my chest, and I muttered under my breath, “Well, fuck you too then, bitch. I ain’t got time to chase you.”
With a huff, I dropped into the nearest vacant seat. My stomach growled in protest, a sharp reminder of my poor decision to skip breakfast. The encounter with Dianca had left me flustered, and now I had nothing to satisfy my hunger.
Scanning the room, I searched for a vending machine, but the only ones here offered drinks. No food. With a sigh, I reached into my bag and pulled out a bottle of oolong tea. Twisting the cap open, I took a sip. The bitter tea slid down my throat, cool and refreshing, but it did nothing to quiet the gnawing emptiness in my stomach.
Suddenly, a bag of wholegrain chips appeared in front of my face, blocking my view. Startled, I looked up to find a familiar woman standing over me. Her white wavy hair framed her face like a silver halo, and her golden eyes sparkled with a strange mix of amusement and confidence. She was wearing a sleek gray skinsuit with a red armband on her left arm.
It was her—the root beer girl. The same one who’d called me a thug yesterday.
“Here, mister,” she said, holding the bag out to me.
“For me?” I asked, pointing to myself, my tone a mix of disbelief and curiosity.
She nodded, her expression softening just slightly. “It’s payment for my favorite root beer yesterday.”
I blinked at her, momentarily stunned. But as a man of one hundred percent logic, I knew better than to refuse a free meal. Free food was the pinnacle of good fortune, and today, I was both popular and lucky.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the bag from her. Tearing it open, I wasted no time digging in, the salty crunch of the chips feeling like a blessing from above.
As I chewed, I glanced up at her again. There was something about her calm demeanor that intrigued me, but for now, the chips demanded my full attention.
“Good luck in the tournament today, mister…” The silver-haired girl’s voice was calm, yet there was a hint of expectation in her golden eyes as if waiting for me to finish her sentence.
“Oh. Zaft. Zaft Callahan.” I quickly offered my MSG-coated hand for a handshake, the faint aroma of chips still lingering on my fingertips. “And you’re my senior, right?”
“Michelle Gehabich.” She took my hand without hesitation, her grip firm yet cool. “You can call me Mich. Or Mich Bich, if you’re feeling a little… kinky.”
I froze, utterly caught off guard. Did she just say that with a straight face? Her expression didn’t waver—not even a flicker of amusement. The deadpan delivery of her joke was so disarming I didn’t know whether to laugh or cringe. Despite the absurdity, the cold and composed aura she radiated made it impossible not to take her seriously.
“Good luck to you too, Miss Michelle,” I said with a polite smile, withdrawing my hand, now all too aware of how dirty it was. But before I could reach for a napkin, Michelle raised her hand to her mouth and licked the chip seasoning right off her fingers—fingers that had just shaken mine.
I froze again. Watching her do it was… unsettling. Gross, even. I mean, I had no problem with the taste of MSG myself, but seeing her nonchalantly clean her hand like that made me question everything I knew about social norms.
Michelle seemed unfazed. After finishing her impromptu snack, she smiled lightly. “I’ll be going now.” ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ NovᴇlFire(.)nᴇt
“Okay. Good luck to you as well. Let’s grab that license!” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic while pretending I hadn’t just witnessed that.
“Yeah, let’s!” she replied, pumping her fists in a rare show of energy before waving goodbye and walking off.
I watched her leave, shaking my head slightly at the surreal interaction. But my thoughts were quickly interrupted when I spotted Myrrh approaching from across the lounge. Her blonde-green hair swayed with her steps, and her blue eyes were locked on Michelle’s retreating figure. She stopped a few feet away, her arms crossing in that familiar, accusatory pose of hers.
“Oh, great,” I muttered under my breath. “Round two, here we go.”
“You’re getting popular with girls, huh?” Myrrh remarked, her tone sharp enough to cut through steel. She shifted her weight slightly, her hips swaying in a way that drew my attention despite myself. Her arms folded beneath her ample chest, a motion that—unfortunately for me—made it impossible not to notice. Heat prickled the back of my neck.
“Who was that?” she asked, her blue eyes narrowing at me.
“An upperclassman,” I replied, still munching on my chips. “We met yesterday near the vending machine in the north wing.”
Her glare didn’t waver, and for a second, I thought she might actually lunge at me. Maybe she was hungry? I mean, she’s got to maintain those, uh, assets somehow. Without much thought, I held out the bag of chips toward her.
“No,” she snapped, her voice clipped.
“Suit yourself,” I said, shrugging as I continued crunching away, entirely unfazed. Or at least, I pretended to be. From the corner of my eye, I saw her eyebrow twitch—a telltale sign of irritation.
I paused mid-bite, confused. I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong. Sure, we had our usual banter, but today… today felt different. Myrrh’s energy was quieter, more distant, like a storm brewing just beyond the horizon.
Before I could press her further, the TV screen in the lounge flickered to life. The sudden burst of sound and color filled the room, redirecting everyone’s attention.
Cheers erupted from the crowd on the broadcast, the camera panning over the massive coliseum packed with spectators. The atmosphere was electric, even through the screen, as the final leg of the Licensure Examination Tournament was about to begin.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen!” boomed the voice of the emcee. The screen cut to a tall man with slicked-back hair and an energy that was almost contagious. “This is your host, Miles Oberyn, welcoming you to the grand finale, baby!”
“And this is Dianca Fritz! We will now continue to the final part of this Licensure Examination Tournament!” The female emcee’s voice was bright and cheerful, her enthusiasm infectious as she stood next to her co-host.
“For the final day of this tournament, we’ll continue the modified round-robin matches!” Miles Oberyn added with a flourish, his voice booming over the speakers. “Each examinee must win all three of their battles to earn their coveted license to deploy! This license grants them the opportunity to apply for any Xyraxis Chapter, including the Vanguard Tactical Unit for Battle, Emergency, and Reconnaissance—also known as V-TUBER! Or perhaps the Knowledge Assessment for Wide-ranging Anomalies and Intelligent Investigations, KAWAII! And let’s not forget the Strategic Unified Group for Offensive Innovation—SUGOI! So sit back, relax, and enjoy the show!”
As Miles finished speaking, the crowd erupted into cheers, their energy surging like a tidal wave. Fireworks exploded overhead, casting vibrant colors against the pale morning sky. The festivities included intermission performances—dancers, holographic displays, and even a brief pyrotechnic light show.
When the stage cleared, the camera panned back to Dianca. Her bright smile lit up the screen as she leaned into her microphone, her tone sweet yet commanding.
“We’ll now kick off the first battle of the morning!” she announced, her voice perfectly balancing excitement and charm. “And oh! For the first fight, we have Examinee Number 11 versus Examinee Number 99!”
The crowd roared with excitement, their cheers nearly drowning out her words. Confetti rained from above, and the anticipation in the room was palpable.
I sat frozen in my seat. My mind raced as the numbers registered, a cold realization settling over me like a heavy fog. Examinee Number 11—that was us.
I glanced at Myrrh, hoping to catch some semblance of her usual fire, but she didn’t even spare me a look. Without a word, she strode toward the lounge exit, her steps firm and deliberate as she disappeared into the corridor.
The irritation bubbling inside me grew stronger. What was her problem? I stood and followed her, wordlessly trailing her as she moved farther away.
Then it hit me. Could this be about earlier? Maybe she’s still mad about me bumping into Dianca. Or maybe it’s about senior Michelle. Myrrh had looked at me like she wanted to throttle me when I was talking to her. Both Dianca and Michelle are women, after all.
Could it be… jealousy?
I quickened my pace, closing the gap between us. “Hey, Myrrh,” I called out, my voice tinged with both curiosity and annoyance.
“What?” she snapped, not bothering to turn around. Her tone was clipped, sharp enough to make me hesitate for a moment.
“Are you, perhaps… jealous?” I asked, my lips curving into a smirk despite myself. “Like you can’t stand other girls giving me physical contact?”
That got her attention. Myrrh whipped around to face me, her cheeks tinged with a telltale pink. Her glare, however, was as fierce as ever, and her frown curved into an uneven line that spoke of suppressed emotions.
“No! I’m not jealous!” she shouted, her voice cracking slightly, betraying the flustered chaos she was trying to hide.
“Then what the hell is wrong with you!?” I shot back, throwing my hands up in frustration.
“Nothing!” Myrrh roared, her voice echoing down the empty corridor.
I narrowed my eyes, my temper finally snapping. “Was it my fault? Oh, I’m sorry, madam. Were there insufficient wings on your sanitary napkin today? Because you’re bleeding attitude all over the damn place!” I retorted, my words dripping with sarcasm.
Her face flushed a deeper shade of red, her jaw tightening. “You can go fuck yourself, Zaft!” she spat, her voice laced with venom.
With that, she turned on her heel and stormed off toward the arena, her long hair swaying furiously behind her. She didn’t even glance back.
I stood there, stunned for a moment, before letting out a heavy sigh. “Well, that went great,” I muttered under my breath, running a hand through my hair as I trudged after her.