“Good grief.”
Makarov let out a gloomy sigh.
If he carefully considered why his heart felt so unsettled and turbulent, it was because he’d caught a glimpse of a secret rendezvous between the Saintess he admired and the Hero.
He hadn’t been peeking with any improper intentions.
The boy had only wanted to ask Aria, who had returned after a long absence, what kind of person the Hero was.
Or so he had thought.
What Makarov had seen was Aria straddling the Hero.
It was a rather provocative sight for Makarov, who was still only a boy.
He shook his head, trying to clear the image from his mind.
‘Are the two of them especially close?’...
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