Listening to the sounds from the lavatory—a man and a woman—the crowd looked at each other, expressions colorful.
No one had paid them much attention at first. They just saw Marin take Damian to the lav. No one expected Damian to start howling like a lunatic.
Was he afraid we wouldn't hear him?
Adrian pinched the bridge of his nose. Headache. The ice‑beauty persona of Marin had just collapsed.
Misty, for his part, wore a contemptuous pout.
The other Saints were either rolling their eyes or wearing lewd looks.
Yet no one pushed the door. Most had a "grab popcorn" face, practically pressing their ears to the lavatory door.
So strange.
Why was Marin this forward?
Was she that kind of woman?
Other than toward Seiya, Marin had always been cold to men.
How did she end up tangled with that weird gravekeeper?
Thunk, thunk, thunk…
Banging came from inside—maybe the stool fell over, or a vase hit the floor.
Were their movements that big?
That intense?
Seiya's face flushed, even the tips of his ears red.
He really wanted to rush in and stop them.
But as a Bronze Saint, crammed behind a bunch of Silver Saints at the door, it was hard to swing a punch.
He remembered that after Marin had retrieved the Pegasus Cloth for him, she'd seemed weighed down.
He'd even seen Marin secretly throw away her broken mask.
Seiya wasn't a fool. He knew something had happened to Marin—likely her face had been seen.
But she said nothing, told him nothing—just bore it alone.
Now Seiya dimly understood something. Could it be that Marin, who always treated him with such care, had really gotten into something with this gravekeeper?
And in front of everyone.
Mortifying.
Seiya clenched his fists; his Cosmo boiled.
He wanted to smash the lav door with a Pegasus Meteor Fist and go a round with Damian.
To shout at Damian: Let go of Marin!
"Let go of me, Marin! I'm not the kind of man you think!"
With Damian's roar, a figure crashed through the lavatory door and flew backward, wood chips spraying, slamming onto the aisle floor.
Everyone looked—sure enough, it was the gravekeeper Damian.
He lay there bare‑chested, eyes rolled back, mouth gaping, tongue lolling—a picture of half‑faint misery.
Was this… Marin beating him up?
Didn't look like it.
They couldn't help looking toward Marin, who glided out. The cold, peerless Saint smoothed her slightly mussed hair with a cool hand and said, calm as you please, "I was only testing Damian's hand‑to‑hand strength, so we exchanged a few blows."
Tch, who'd believe that!
That "hand‑to‑hand" was that intense? With moves that big?
You two practically knocked the lav down.
What were they doing in there?
Fortunately, Saints weren't gossips. They withdrew to their seats.
The cabin returned to calm, as if nothing had happened.
But everyone was puzzled. Marin, such a strong Silver Saint—why look at a gravekeeper with a screw loose?
Was it because his pecs were big?
Damian was lifted up and sent to a private rest room, keeping up the "unconscious" act, ignoring Seiya's clenched fists and predatory glare.
Watching Damian carried inside, Marin fell into thought.
She hadn't managed to probe Damian's Cosmo—only felt something odd about him, as if something was hidden.
What do you mean, you "can't touch women"?
You almost strangled me the other day.
"He seems to take soft, not hard. Should I cure him with a honey trap?"
Marin's eyes narrowed slightly. Beneath the mask, her red lips curved with a smile. "Let's hope his life is hard enough to withstand this—and survive the mission."
Right—His Holiness had personally ordered Damian treated as a Silver Saint and sent to the most dangerous front lines to temper him.
Which could only make one wonder if the Pope wanted Damian dead.
.
Only after the rest room door closed did Damian, who had been feigning sleep, open his eyes.
He'd planned to scare Marin by "going crazy."
But the woman wasn't scared—she even seemed a little excited.
What was that about?
Luckily, his dramatic flop to the floor had dodged her probing completely. No exposure.
Had she really fallen for him?
No way!
If Marin wanted to fight, that would be easy to solve.
But this one had no martial ethics.
Wouldn't play by the book—and even ogled his pecs.
Click!
The door opened. A voice sounded from the doorway. "Damian… are you all right?"
It was Seiya.
Well now—the protagonist came to me?
What's he up to?
"I'm fine."
Damian didn't look up, didn't even open his eyes.
Given the bad blood between them, Seiya wasn't here to bring warmth.
"Damian, I've always wanted Marin to be happy. Seeing her like this now, I'm actually happy."
Seiya said it straight.
Happy?
Are you misunderstanding something?
"But remember this—you must not let Marin down. If you betray Marin or fall for another woman, I, Seiya, will be the first to come for you."
Seiya clenched his fist. "Then you'll taste a real Pegasus Meteor Fist!"
"Hey, there's really nothing between me and Marin."
Damian nearly jumped up.
Marin and I are innocent—why are you throwing out blessings?
Opening his eyes at Seiya's "future brother‑in‑law" expression, Damian felt a headache coming on.
The kid had quite the imagination.
You don't understand.
I, Damian, am a one‑woman man.
From start to finish, I've only ever wanted to get the goddess Athena maternity leave!
…
From Athens to Sicily is half a day by plane.
By dusk the plane was over Sicily.
Forests lay thick below and hills undulated; fields and woods interlaced in greens and golds, while scattered towns sat on the earth like pieces on a board.
But black smoke rose from a few towns—perhaps they'd been attacked.
According to outside reports, every week on Sicily a village was wiped out by sacrificial rites. Secular forces couldn't handle the sacrificers.
The Sanctuary had sent two scouting teams, including Silver Saints. The first Silver team failed; the second followed and also failed.
Shaina was now thoroughly missing.
Damian's reasons for coming—besides Saga's scheming—included finding Shaina.
Looking at the burning villages below—
Marin's whole bearing sharpened. Beneath her mask, blade‑bright light flashed in her eyes; her pupils dilated and shrank as she analyzed the scene below.
Her Cosmo fluttered, as if probing for hidden dangers.
"Once we land, we split into three teams. Use the remaining daylight to recon nearby villages and towns. Sweep again tomorrow by day. Move in your preassigned squads. Avoid acting alone. If you hit trouble, signal for help."
Marin called out, "Everyone ready?"
"Understood!"
"No problem."
They answered one after another.
Marin wasn't the strongest Silver Saint, but her composure and decisiveness left many male Saints no room to nitpick. With the Pope's order, the other Silver Saints had nothing to say.
Boom!
A violent blast shook the plane's right side. The whole aircraft rocked and banked so hard many nearly lost their feet. Several flight attendants screamed.
"Fire!"
"Look at the engine!"
Cries broke out.
On the right wing, the engine was a pillar of flame. The entire propeller seemed to have vanished in the blast.
Before anyone could react, the left engine boomed and blew too!
Staring at the twin balls of fire, the Saints were stunned.
The attendants screamed again, faces draining.
Even with professional emergency training, they couldn't take this—their nerves snapped.
Both engines had exploded!
Did they have any chance to live?
Marin shouted:
"It's an attack!"