In the original story, Leona's androphobia at this point was far worse.
Thanks to Ryen, she wouldn't have even considered coming on this trip. And even if she somehow had, she absolutely wouldn't have taken the reckless gamble of showering in the middle of the night.
But because of my influence, her fear of men had loosened—just a little—and so had her guard.
The defenses she had wrapped around herself like tight bandages had started to unravel.
Of course, it wasn't as if I had been a bad influence.
If I tried to frame it positively, she had simply become more honest with herself. Less bottled up. Less suffocated by her own anxiety.
And if this kept going, the tendency she had in the original story—to act alone, to isolate herself, to run headfirst into danger—would weaken. Her connections with her companions would grow stronger instead.
But…
Right now, as she stood there, face red, eyes shaking, forcing out words that cornered me no matter how I answered—
