The plane cut across the sky, threading through tufts of white cloud, and reached the airspace over Sicily.
The sun was setting in the west, the horizon awash in orange.
Rows of round windows on the plane glowed with the hazy light of dusk, illuminating everyone's face.
For convenience, Damian had thrown on a T‑shirt to cover that sculpted physique. He sat with eyes half-closed as if asleep.
The Silver Saints around him were resting too.
Marin leaned against her seat, breathing steady, seemingly asleep.
Seiya sat opposite Damian, staring out the window. The two hadn't exchanged a word from start to finish.
In truth, Damian was only feigning sleep. His mental power blanketed the area, ready to react the instant anything moved.
That was vigilance.
In his eyes, this expedition wasn't as simple as it looked.
Never mind Marin; who knew what Saga had arranged.
After all, that was a clever lunatic.
Suddenly, a slender hand patted his shoulder from behind.
Turning, Damian saw Marin's white-masked face. "...What is it?"
"Shh. Come with me…"
Marin crooked a jade-white finger, lifted the hem of her skirt to reveal those full, powerful legs, and glided toward the lavatory.
She had to be said—today Marin wore a sailor skirt, adding a strong feminine note and highlighting her near‑perfect proportions, drawing even more eyes.
This special, luxurious aircraft had multiple rooms. After passing two doors, they entered the lavatory. Marin casually clicked the latch shut.
The lavatory wasn't just big—it was lavish, split into inner and outer areas. Inside sat a double leather sofa for resting, even a dim neon lamp.
Why did this outer lavatory feel more like a small bedroom—slightly improper, even.
Marin stopped and suddenly asked, "Damian, did you offend His Holiness the Pope?"
"More or less. I asked His Holiness for the Gemini Gold Cloth. Of course he wouldn't be happy. I guess that's the reason."
Damian nodded slightly, watching the voluptuous, graceful female Saint before him.
Her temperament differed sharply from Shaina's—very calm, emotions kept tightly leashed.
He had seen Marin's real face; she would definitely want him dead. He couldn't be careless.
"Sigh…"
Marin exhaled, her skirt's hem fluttering. Under the neon light her willowy figure looked intoxicating.
Damian frowned. "Why'd you bring me here… for what?"
"Speaking of which, what's with your body?"
Marin glanced at his chest. "I remember your training results used to be poor. Your body was weak—thin arms and legs… How did you end up so built? Did Shaina teach you some secret art?"
"Though you beat Seiya with muscle, during our fight I felt a special power fluctuation in your body. Let me check you—see what's going on."
Damian's brow furrowed. What was Marin trying to do?
Because the graveyard held too much Cosmo, he had injected all his Cosmo into his muscles and bones—even his blood—greatly fortifying the flesh. You could say his true strength was hidden in the muscle.
If she probed at close range with Cosmo, his hidden Cosmo would be exposed.
That was bad.
Marin's alabaster hand reached out. Damian slid back a step, dodging the white hand, and shook his head slightly. "Marin, your charm is lethal. I'm afraid I won't be able to hold back."
"You've already seen my face. What's there to hold back?"
Marin removed her mask, revealing that frosty-beautiful face.
A truly exquisite baby face paired with that domineering figure.
Four words flashed through Damian's mind: baby‑faced, um, "gi—"
A faint, nearly imperceptible smile touched Marin's lips. "Strange. When you knocked off my mask the other day, your courage was plenty big. Why so timid now?"
"Enough talk."
"Come here. Let me give you a proper checkup."
Marin reached out her slender hand again.
"Marin, wait. To tell you the truth, I'm an evil man. I can't get close to women. I might lose control and turn into a werewolf—then you'd be in trouble."
Damian pivoted, suddenly stepping back fast enough to leave an afterimage in midair.
He nearly put a hole in the back lav door.
Marin narrowed her eyes. Such fast footwork.
"Is your level really only Bronze Saint?"
Her pure‑yet‑sultry expression turned odd. "Why are you so afraid of me? That's not like you."
"I practice virgin arts. That's why I've trained the body… Please don't touch me."
Marin didn't listen. She advanced step by step.
Backed to the sofa with nowhere to retreat, Damian looked down as her pale hand, without warning, brushed his pec—those five jade fingers, red‑tipped nails, tracing lightly across the muscle.
On Marin's pure‑sultry doll face, a faint blush rose. Her rose-red lips parted slightly, breath orchid-sweet, her glossy black eyes full of curiosity.
Marin!
Why are you touching me?
I have a mental condition—you want to see me have an episode?
A tic jumped at the corner of Damian's eye. He made a snap decision.
He drew breath to his core. Every muscle surged and—rip!—he exploded out of his clothes. His face twisted—drool flowing—eyes leering at Marin's pure, sultry face. He bellowed, "...Sister Marin, here I come!"
With that, he spread his limbs and lunged like a starving tiger.
Aren't you trying to kill me?
I'll take you for a tigress—yet you want to wrestle?
Then I'll go all out today!
"Shh—don't shout, or they'll hear us outside…"
Marin didn't mind at all. A strange smile touched her lips; color warmed her cheeks; and in those beautiful eyes, there seemed to be a hint of… anticipation.
Damian: …
This isn't right!
Marin, why do you look… expectant?
Crap!
Let me out!!!
.
What's that sound?
Pretty intense. A fight?
Someone fighting in the lav?
They were all Saints in the cabin, senses keen. Even through two thick doors, everyone clearly heard Damian's big voice.
"Marin, no—don't!"
"I'd rather die than yield!"
"Touch me again—go on! Believe it or not, I'll turn into a werewolf right now!"
The crowd was even more baffled.
Seiya was the first to stand, cocking an ear, trying to hear clearly what was going on.
"Who just went to the lav with Marin?"
Moses asked.
Adrian of Canes Venatici chuckled. "That gravekeeper with the bad head."
"Damian?"
"Sounds like a fight. He's just a gravekeeper—he's no match for Marin."
Moses curled his lip. "Marin's probably disciplining him."
Adrian suddenly laughed. "And if the two of them aren't fighting in there?"
Moses blinked. "If not fighting… then what?"
At that, Seiya flushed to the ears, fists clenching, about to rush the lav—only to be held back by Hercules's Arujedi.
The Saints exchanged looks, faces bemused. One by one they rose, finally crowding the lav door to listen in, each wearing that look all men understand…