Forget it. Growing up isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Ever since I turned five, he's refused to sleep with me. He'd rather squeeze onto Tina's bed instead. Every time I wanted Samael to stay, I had to think of some elaborate trick just to get him to lie down and hold me like he used to.
So annoying.
Athena tried to comfort herself with a few self-pitying words, hoping to ease the irritation in her chest.
But as she recalled the nights when she'd toddle over on her short legs, sneaking through the dark just to beg for a hug—only for that guy to grab her by the scruff of the neck and carry her back to her little bed over and over—her anger only grew.
Then it hit her. All those women who managed to tempt Samael under the covers seemed to share one common trait. Her mood plummeted further.
Tch. Big breasts really are a crime.
"Wait—how did you even figure out that Samael sees me as a friend?"
At that moment, the slightly slow-reacting Medusa finally processed Athena's earlier words, realizing there was something hidden in them.
"You two practically have it written across your faces. What's there to guess?"
The Goddess of Wisdom pursed her lips, answering with feigned indifference.
"At first, I thought it was because I drank the Mother of Serpents' milk—maybe he was treating you kindly as a form of balanced repayment.
But soon enough, I noticed the way you two exchanged looks. Things between you were too natural, too seamless, too close. That kind of familiarity doesn't happen overnight—it's like you've known each other for ages. And your relationship is definitely not ordinary."
Hearing Athena so easily pick apart the truth she'd tried to hide, Medusa's heart clenched with guilt, and a heavy sense of defeat crept in.
"Now I've got one more thing to envy you for."
"What is it this time?"
"Wisdom."
Medusa tapped her temple, shaking her head with a faint, self-deprecating smile.
"I feel like I can't keep up with Samael's thinking anymore. In so many ways, you're far more useful to him than I am. Take this time, for instance—if you hadn't figured out his plan, I still wouldn't know he intended to face the most dangerous impact alone."
Athena rolled her eyes, letting out a light huff.
"Fine, you envy my wisdom. I want your trust. How about we swap?"
"I'll pass."
"Knew it. All talk, no substance."
The Goddess of Wisdom smirked knowingly, as if reading her rival like an open book.
"Licorice olives—yours! Catch!"
Just as the air between the two froze with unspoken tension, Samael returned, tossing the jar of snacks Athena had been pestering him for straight into her arms.
Athena deliberately dangled the bottle in front of Medusa, making a show of it.
But Samael's eyes moved to Medusa as he reached into his bag again, pulling out another jar.
"Oh, and I picked plenty today. Made some honey olives for you and Tina—try them."
Athena's lips twitched. Her face darkened as the licorice olives in her hand suddenly looked far less appetizing.
Fine. Licorice olives were a mistake anyway.
"No appetite. Not eating."
She huffed, slammed the lid shut, and made a show of tossing the jar away.
But halfway through the motion, her arm froze, then lifted a little higher before lowering gently. With a grumble that completely contradicted her words, Athena quietly tucked the jar of licorice olives she "hated" behind her back.
Just then, another identical jar sailed through the air, landing neatly in her arms.
"Alright, I know you don't like those. I saved a jar of honey olives for you too. Don't eat too many, and don't forget to brush your teeth before bed."
"I know, I know! You're so naggy!"
"So, we're good for tonight?"
"Hmph. I'll graciously forgive you. Now go already—Tina's been pacing around the door for ages."
Samael nodded and stepped inside to tend to the other goddess who needed his care.
The moment he was gone, Athena couldn't hold back anymore. She cradled the jar of honey olives in both hands, her taut expression melting into a radiant smile.
And you say you're not a child…
Medusa, having witnessed the entire exchange, could only sigh inwardly.
"What do you plan to do next?"
After popping a honey olive into her mouth, Athena chewed slowly, collected herself, and glanced toward the figure moving about inside the house. Her tone was calm but faintly wistful.
"I'm not as smart as you. Whatever he decides, I'll follow. This time, I'll trust his choice again—just like always."
Medusa answered without a second thought. When she finished, Athena fell silent beside her.
After a long pause, the Goddess of Wisdom lifted her head. Her expression was conflicted—part frustration, part quiet acceptance.
"Maybe that's where I fall short compared to you."
As she murmured, Athena exhaled softly. She had always believed she was the clever one, that she alone could make the perfect choice. Yet in the end, while she demanded Samael's unconditional trust, she couldn't bring herself to extend even a fragment of that same trust to her teacher, her adoptive father—the hero she once idolized.
So, what good is being clever, anyway?
Tapping her temple lightly, Athena let her tangled thoughts fade away. Watching the figure inside gently coax Tina to sleep, she smiled faintly.
"What's there to worry about? You've handled the second step. I'll take care of the next."
"How about letting me join in?"
"Only if you can keep up."
Their eyes met, and the two goddesses shared a quiet laugh—an unspoken bond forming between them.
"What are you two giggling about?"
Hearing their laughter, Samael leaned out curiously from the doorway.
"Nothing!"
The goddesses exchanged another glance, amusement flickering in their eyes, then turned back together to reply in unison.
"Huh? What's gotten into you two today? You're acting weird."
"None of your business!"
Again they answered as one—followed by another burst of laughter.
The ancient serpent blinked, utterly confused. Watching the two girls lean close together like sisters, he shivered slightly and ducked back inside.
Seriously, he hadn't even done anything out of the ordinary. How had things suddenly gone so wrong?
Leaning on the windowsill, Samael rested his chin in one hand and looked toward the white-haired Goddess of Wisdom. Her recent competitiveness, her restless pride, and her odd behavior tonight—all of it left him feeling strangely adrift.
He seemed to forget, though, that this was the Greek Age of Gods—a world of patricide, betrayal, and marital strife, where personal desire was the law of survival.
By twenty-first-century standards, anyone who managed to maintain a moral baseline here would already qualify as a saint.
In his own mind, the affection he showed—the care, the small indulgences, the protective instinct—were all perfectly normal, even modest, by modern standards. But by the values of the divine age, they had long since crossed the line.
Bedtime stories, handmade snacks, remembering her favorite flavors—each small, harmless act had quietly layered upon the next, steering their bond toward an unfamiliar and dangerous path.
And with Athena's precocious nature, by the time she was five—when they first stopped sharing a bed—she had already started harboring the mischievous thought of reclaiming her "father's" warmth all to herself.
Women. Impossible to understand.
Oblivious to the problem, Samael shook his head and muttered before refocusing. His gaze fell on the delicate figure crowned by the Earth Touch, and he spoke earnestly.
"Tiamom, don't you go acting up like they do."
"Aa?"
Tina tilted her head, her cross-shaped pupils blinking in confusion.
"So, it's bedtime, right? Come on, let me warm the bed for you."
With a solemn expression as though accepting a noble duty, the ancient serpent took the Goddess of Beginning by the hand and led her toward the bedroom.
"Aaaa…"
Tina's soft wail was full of sorrow. Her shining eyes lingered longingly on the half-finished jar of olives on the table—an innocent gaze that somehow carried a dangerous urge to lower her horn and send someone flying.