I, the Villain, Want to Save Myself, But the Yandere Heroines Disagree-Chapter 8 - The Troubles of Happiness (4/4)
Phenix City, Orson was still reviewing the front-line battle reports today.
Currently, everything on the front lines was proceeding smoothly, according to Orson’s plan.
Their main force had also started to slowly pursue the beastmen, following their retreat route through the valley the beastmen had passed through.
If the beastmen hadn’t retreated and instead chose to attack the cities, the time they wasted would have been enough for the main force to form a pincer attack on the beastmen.
Just as he was about to rest, a pair of soft hands suddenly covered his eyes.
“Guess who I am~” Olivia’s familiar voice reached Orson’s ears from behind again.
“Who else could it be? Of course, it’s my dear Olivia,” Orson said, reaching out and touching the back of Olivia’s hand, saying with a smile.
“Hehe, after not seeing you for so long, it seems you haven’t forgotten me,” Olivia said this, releasing her hands, then bending down and bringing her face closer to Orson’s.
“Did you miss me?”
“Yes,” Orson nodded without hesitation.
This actually made Olivia a little shy. Before they established their relationship, they were clearly playing ambiguous games with each other, but after establishing their relationship, Orson would always be direct whenever he saw Olivia, which always flustered Olivia.
“Humph, you missed me but didn’t even send me a letter,” Olivia said with a blush, reaching out and poking Orson, then straightened up.
“It’s been about ten to twenty days, hasn’t it? You made me have to ask others for news every day just to know you were safe.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think of that,” Orson said, joining his hands together helplessly and apologizing to Olivia.
After about ten days of discussion, the Imperial Academy council decided to make this year’s final exam a practical training, and the location of the training would be the front lines of the human-beastmen war.
Here, the academy would use classes as the basic unit. Each student’s grade would be determined by their performance on the battlefield, and the final score would be given by the homeroom teacher.
Generally speaking, as long as they didn’t desert or show cowardice before battle, they would ultimately receive a passing grade.
As for full marks, they would only be awarded for making significant contributions on the battlefield.
The difference in scores for this practical training was destined to be small. This was a good thing for students who were struggling, as they could just follow along and get a passing grade. For top students, it was a bit troublesome, as it was difficult for them to create a significant gap between themselves and other equally capable top students.
However, none of this was Orson’s concern, because Orson’s grading method was different from theirs.
After all, Orson was the front-line commander-in-chief.
“Alright, alright, I forgive you. After all, you’re doing something more important,” Olivia said, pouting, then she pulled up a chair and sat beside Orson.
“Are you finished with your work?”
“Yes, today’s work is done. Unless there’s an emergency, the next step is to wait for new battle reports.”
“Alright. So you mean you can spend more time with me?”
“Ahem,” Orson coughed twice, glancing to the side. “I suppose.”
Just then, Litte walked in from the doorway.
She had just delivered a letter for Orson and had returned to find the woman she least wanted to see by Orson’s side.
Like a startled kitten, Litte immediately walked up to Orson and poked his shoulder.
“Orson, when did this person arrive?”
“What do you mean, ‘this person’?” Orson said, smiling and flicking Litte’s forehead. “You should call her Senior Olivia.”
Orson certainly knew about the relationship between these two.
Litte’s feelings towards Olivia were more like that of a friend and rival in love.
Normally, if they didn’t mention Orson, they might be able to talk a little, but once Orson was mentioned, the two highly possessive women would more or less get into a fight.
“Oh, then, Orson, when did Senior Olivia arrive?”
“Well, you ask her,” Orson said, glancing at Olivia.
“I just arrived,” Seeing that Orson was somewhat protecting her, Olivia was naturally very happy. She looked at Litte, revealing a gentle smile.
B**ch, however, Litte felt no warmth from it, only sensing the mocking implication in her words.
Orson still said she had seen few men. Clearly, he himself had also seen very few women.
Litte certainly didn’t deny that Olivia was also a very excellent person, but compared to the even more excellent Orson, one couldn’t necessarily say they were a perfect match. It was more like she was climbing a high branch.
However, precisely because Olivia was the first to make a move on Orson, the first to let Orson experience the sweetness of love, she was also the first to capture Orson’s heart.
Ultimately, in matters of love, timing was indeed very important.
If an equally excellent woman had appeared then, treated Orson well in various ways, and then confessed to Orson, Orson would certainly have accepted.
Litte had been with Orson for so long. What kind of personality did he have that Litte didn’t understand? Once Orson considered someone his own, he would be exceptionally gentle.
Of course, if someone wasn’t considered his own, no matter how friendly Orson appeared on the surface, it was just a facade. When it came time to use them, he would not hesitate for a single moment.
“Heh, Senior Olivia just arrived and she’s already running to Orson without even resting. It seems she really missed Orson,” Litte said, directly sitting down and squeezing onto the same chair as Orson.
“Of course, I did miss him,” Olivia said, narrowing her eyes at Litte’s action, then also leaned closer to Orson, pressing herself against him.
As she moved, her soft chest lightly brushed against Orson’s arm, and her fair, smooth thigh rubbed against Orson’s leg, making him feel a little distracted.
Orson, caught between two beautiful girls, experienced for the first time what was called the troubles of happiness.
