Seven Sins System Chapter 779. I’m Scared of Losing You

Seven Sins System Chapter 779. I’m Scared of Losing You

I sighed quietly. “Algan. His name is Algan.”

Her lips curved slightly. A tired smile, but real. “I will remember.”

She stepped closer, resting her hands lightly on the concrete edge of the roof, looking out over the academy grounds the same way I had earlier. Lights dotted the pathways. Students passed in small groups, unaware of how many ancient beings were now quietly embedded in their lives.

“Lumira will stay with me for the time being,” Puriel said.

I glanced at her. “You already decided that?”

“I already bought a new air mattress,” she added, almost defensively. “For her.”

That got a breath of laughter out of me. “What about money?”

Puriel tilted her head. “I asked the cafeteria staff. They need part time help.”

I blinked. “You’re letting a goddess work part time?”

“She volunteered,” Puriel replied. “She doesn’t mind. It will help her understand mortals better. And she won’t have to worry about food.”

That tracked. Goddess of kindness were built differently. No luxury. No entitlement. Simplicity wasn’t a punishment to them. It was a comfort.

“And clothes?” I asked.

Puriel hesitated, then said softly, “We can share.”

I looked at her.

Really looked.

Her posture was straight, but there was a flicker of uncertainty there. A faint tension in her shoulders like she expected judgment.

I felt something twist in my chest.

“If Luci hears that,” I said dryly, “he will gaslight you both into thinking you’re committing some kind of divine crime against interior design.”

Puriel huffed quietly. “I know. But goddesses used to living simple. Luxury was never the point.”

I leaned back against the barrier, arms folded loosely. “Fine. If it works for you.”

She exhaled, some of the tension leaving her frame.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The campus hummed beneath us. Generators. Distant laughter. The faint clink of someone dropping keys.

Then Puriel spoke again, softer.

“You look busy lately.”

“I am.”

She studied me from the corner of her eye. “I hope this cooperation will do better than the last one.”

“It will,” I said immediately.

She didn’t respond right away.

Her fingers tightened slightly against the concrete. I could see it now, the hesitation she was trying to bury. Angels were terrible liars when it came to emotions. They learned control, not concealment.

“I know this feels… dry,” she said finally. “Strategic. Professional. But I needed to say something.”

I turned toward her fully.

“Say it.”

She hesitated again. The wind picked up, tugging at her sleeves.

“Please don’t change,” she said.

I frowned. “Huh?”

She met my eyes then, really met them.

“Luci is here. Lumira is here,” she continued. “They’re powerful. Influential. They complicate things.”

“They always do,” I muttered.

“But I hope your relationships…” She trailed off, searching for words. “Please don’t let them change.”

The silence after that was heavier than any accusation.

I understood now.

This wasn’t about strategy.

This was about fear.

I stepped closer, not touching her, but close enough that she could feel my presence without my aura pressing against her. A deliberate choice.

“It won’t,” I said.

Her eyes flickered, searching my face for cracks.

“This thread of fate,” I continued slowly, “it was a curse for me.”

She stiffened slightly.

“But,” I added, “it also makes me see things clearer. Including you.”

Her breath caught, just barely.

“I’m a possessive devil,” I said quietly. “I won’t let go of the women I’ve slept with. I don’t discard bonds.”

Her wings twitched, the faint shimmer of light barely visible at the edges.

“I don’t like your mother,” I said, softer now. “I hate her.”

“But you are not her,” I finished. “You are you.”

She looked away, blinking once too fast.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she murmured.

“Why?”

Puriel swallowed, her gaze dropping toward the edge of the rooftop where the concrete met the endless drop toward the academy courtyard. Her fingers curled against her sleeve like she was trying to anchor herself to something steady.

“Because it makes things… complicated,” she said quietly.

“They already are,” I replied.

She let out a slow breath, shoulders rising and falling with effort that looked more emotional than physical. The night breeze carried strands of her hair across her face, and she didn’t brush them away immediately. That alone told me she was distracted.

“You don’t understand how angels are raised,” she said after a moment. “We are taught to mirror perfection. To inherit legacy. To carry expectation without questioning it.”

I leaned back against the low wall, watching her carefully.

“My mother is…” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “Revered. Untouchable. Absolute. Everything she does is considered holy even when it is cruel.”

“I know,” I said.

Puriel shook her head faintly. “No. You know her reputation. I know her voice. Her gaze.”

Her hands trembled slightly now, subtle enough that most people wouldn’t notice. I did.

“When you say you hate her,” she continued, voice tightening, “part of me is relieved. And another part of me is terrified that one day you will look at me and see her shadow anyway.”

I straightened slowly.

“I won’t,” I said.

“You can’t promise that,” she replied immediately, turning toward me, eyes bright with something dangerously close to vulnerability. “She’s in my blood. In my training. In the way I think sometimes. I spend so much effort trying not to become her that I don’t even know who I am supposed to be.”

I stepped closer, closing the distance without crowding her.

“You’re Puriel,” I said.

“That sounds simple,” she whispered.

“It is simple,” I replied. “It’s just not easy.”

Her lips parted like she wanted to argue, but no words came out. Instead, her shoulders dropped slightly, the tension leaking out of her posture like a dam cracking.

“I’m scared,” she admitted, almost too quietly to hear.

“Of me?” I asked.

“Of losing you,” she said.

The honesty hit harder than any celestial weapon.

I didn’t move right away. I let the words sit between us. Let her feel them land without me rushing to soften them or dismiss them.

“You won’t,” I said finally.