Seven Sins System Chapter 677. No Confrontation
Seven Sins System Chapter 677. No Confrontation
Puriel’s PoV
In the bathroom, the steam wrapped around her like armor.
Thick. Heavy. Clean.
But not cleansing.
Puriel sat on the edge of the small bath, knees pulled up to her chest, arms resting loosely on top of them. Her wet hair clung to her shoulders, dripping in slow, steady rhythm onto the warm marble tiles.
And she felt… everything.
Because she knew.
He was here.
Azrael.
She didn’t need divine perception or a holy sigil alert to sense it. The air changed when he entered. The temperature shifted. Her skin reacted. Her lungs hesitated.
She felt it in her core.
That flicker of heat. That coiled energy that pressed against her spirit like a whispered warning—or a promise.
He was outside. In her room.
Of course, he didn’t say anything.
And she didn’t either.
She pretended.
Pretended she didn’t feel the way her pulse spiked.
Pretended she didn’t hear the soft scuff of boots on her rug.
Pretended she didn’t smell the familiar blend of ash, faint cologne, and something darker—something devil.
Because she couldn’t face him.
Not yet.
Not like this.
Not when she’d kept things from him. Things he deserved to know.
She leaned her head against her knee and closed her eyes.
She didn’t cry.
But she wanted to.
He knew. She was sure of it.
He had to know by now.
Not just the surface details. Not just the hints she’d dropped and the things she’d refused to say. He’d heard everything. One of his tentacles, subtle, hidden, attached to her like a thread in a tapestry. Listening. Watching.
He knew what she heard.
He knew about the calamity, her mother’s order.
He knew she knew—and she hadn’t told him.
And yet…
He didn’t rage.
He didn’t storm through the Celestial Gate.
Didn’t burn down the tower archives or slice a hole through the Dean’s sanctum.
Didn’t hurl inferno through the sky like he used to.
He just came.
And left.
Quietly.
His demonic aura vanished like it had been folded into the wind. One second it was there—pressing against her skin like heat from a furnace—and then it was gone.
Just like that.
No accusations. No confrontation.
And that—that—hurt more than anything.
She didn’t know if she should feel relieved.
Or sad.
Probably both.
There was a low ache behind her ribs. That slow, suffocating kind. The kind of sadness that didn’t wail. It just… settled. Like dust on glass.
She stood eventually.
Went through the motions.
Toweled off.
Wrapped her hair. Got dressed.
She wore her academy uniform. Ironed coat. Gold-trimmed buttons. Leggings. Even the clips on her sleeves were aligned. She turned toward the door like she wasn’t still crumbling a little inside.
But then she saw it.
And everything stopped.
There, on her desk.
The sandwich.
Wrapped in that same wax paper he always used. A little lopsided. Crushed slightly on one end. Probably from how fast he wrapped it. But warm.
Still warm.
Her breath caught.
She walked to the desk. Slowly. Like if she moved too fast, it would vanish. Her fingers trembled as they reached out—brushed the edge of the paper, then flattened over the top of it.
And next to it?
Money.
A small folded stack.
She stared.
Her jaw clenched.
“He left this,” she whispered aloud, her voice sounding too small in her pristine room.
Of course he did.
He knew.
He always knew.
He knew she’d given her last credits to that broken, homeless pregnant woman from last time. The one who had, out of sheer desperation, performed a blood-summoning to call him. Azrael.
She didn’t even know what she was doing—just raw instinct, panic, and the need to protect the unborn life inside her. And somehow, he answered. He’d come. Helped her. Calmed her.
Puriel, instead of reporting it, she’d stepped forward. Quiet. Stern. And handed over every single coin she had. No hesitation. No speech.
And she hadn’t regretted it.
But now?
Now she stood in front of this desk, staring at food she didn’t deserve and money she hadn’t earned.
Her fingers closed around the sandwich.
And something broke.
“You idiot...” she whispered.
It wasn’t angry.
It was soft.
Cracked at the edges.
She sank into the chair, clutching the wrapped sandwich like it was something sacred. Her eyes burned, but the tears didn’t fall.
Not yet.
Because deep down…
She wanted to be angry.
She wanted to march to his room, throw it at him, yell at him for not confronting her. For not demanding answers. For not being the Azrael she knew. The one who would never let things slide.
But he didn’t.
Because he knew.
Because somehow, in that twisted infernal core of his, he still believed in her.
Still gave her space. Still protected her dignity—even when she didn’t deserve it.
She turned the sandwich over in her hand, then took a bite.
It was warm.
The bread was slightly over-toasted, the ham spicy, the cheese just melted enough to coat her tongue.
It tasted like memories.
He used to make it every morning.
She never asked him to.
He just… did it.
And now, after everything, after the silence and guilt and distance—he still did.
She chewed slowly, eyes fixed on the far wall, and whispered again.
“You absolute idiot.”
But gods help her…
She wanted to see him again.
Even if it hurt.
Maybe especially then.
She took another bite, slower this time, letting the warmth spread through her chest like a reluctant sunrise.
She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring—if the Celestials would come for him again, or if the war they both feared would finally ignite. But one thing settled in her bones, unshakable.
She wasn’t letting go.
Not this time.
No matter what their bloodlines said. No matter what crimes came before them. No matter what Heaven or Hell demanded.
She loved him. Still.
Always.
And she’d fight for it.
Even if she had to fight everyone.
Even if she had to fight him.