Angela Light: adoptive daughter of Marcus Light, Archbishop of the Lux Pulchra cult—a branch of the Church that embodied God's merciful side.
In the twenty-five chapters of the novel, Angela was barely mentioned, probably because she wasn't part of Class Alpha. Still, it was obvious she was important.
"From what I can tell, you're a bit absent-minded. It's not common for someone to ignore such an obvious rule," she said, letting out a soft laugh. She covered her lips delicately with her hand, as if trying to hide her smile.
"Please, don't remind me. Honestly, I just hopped onto the first car I saw. Barely made it in time," Lloyd replied.
He usually hated being laughed at, but there was no mockery in Angela's laughter—her smile was warm, like honey.
"She's really beautiful… Maybe it's just because this is another world. I guess being stuck inside a novel does have its perks… though the 'people trying to kill me' part wasn't so fun."
"So, Lloyd, what's your goal at Eldrich Academy?" she asked, genuine curiosity shining in her tone.
Normally, Lloyd despised small talk—those repetitive conversations filled with empty questions like "How are you?" or "What do you want to be in the future?" For him, they were just social obligations—a polite way to judge others without caring about the answers.
But Angela felt different. Talking to her was… easy. Natural. Even though they had just met. Her questions didn't sound forced—they felt real, as if she truly wanted to know him.
"Honestly? Surviving's good enough for me. But if you're asking what I want... getting stronger would be the short answer," Lloyd said. And he meant it. He really did want to become stronger.
It was thrilling to imagine all the possible uses for his grimoire, {Nothing}, even if the method to improve his lineage was… a bit unconventional.
"I suppose that's what we all want at the academy—or at least, those of us who want to be there," she said, her gaze drifting for a few seconds before returning to him. "Oh, don't get me wrong, I wasn't forced to go."
Lloyd wasn't convinced. Everything about her—the way she moved, the way she spoke—was refined, deliberate, as if every gesture had been practiced a thousand times to perfection.
It wasn't just grace—it was discipline.
"I just… want to be useful too," she murmured softly, as if she hadn't meant to say it out loud.
Lloyd sighed. She had helped him—well, more accurately, saved him—from that red-haired moron earlier. She didn't deserve to look so down.
"So, you want to get stronger too?" Lloyd asked.
Her expression faltered slightly, as if the words hit a sore spot.
"That would be ideal, yes. But I'm not exactly good at combat... I'm more of an accessory, really." Her downcast look said it all.
"Why's that? What's your grimoire?" Lloyd asked.
Angela hesitated, but when she saw the genuine curiosity in his eyes—not pity—she relented.
"Well... my grimoire's called Metatron. It's a spirit in the form of an angel that can give buffs to others. It doesn't even have healing powers. Pretty pathetic, right?"
Lloyd rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Can I see it?"
At his words, Angela's cheeks turned pink, and she looked away in embarrassment.
"W-well, that might be a little complicated," she said shyly.
"What's the issue? Is she really that embarrassed about her power?"
"That's fine," Lloyd said with a light smile. "I was just curious to see an angel in person, that's all."
Her expression relaxed.
"Oh, so that's what you meant. In that case, I can show you." She clasped her hands together as if in prayer, her eyes gently closing.
A faint glow appeared beneath her skirt—on her upper thigh, a divine symbol shimmered softly. Lloyd immediately understood why she hadn't wanted to expose the symbol earlier.
"Here it is."
Beside her materialized a radiant being. It wasn't the humanoid, winged angel one might imagine from anime, but something closer to the biblical kind—interlocking wheels covered in countless eyes, hovering weightlessly in the air. Its presence wasn't terrifying, though—perhaps because it was only about the size of a soccer ball.
"I'll give you a quick demonstration," she said, taking a cloth handkerchief and folding it into a triangle. "Metatron, increase its hardness."
As she spoke, the wheels rotated with a metallic hum. The handkerchief didn't visibly change, but when she tried to fold it again, it resisted, stiff as wood.
"As you can see, not all that impressive," she said, a little embarrassed.
But Lloyd completely disagreed.
"What the hell is she talking about? That's insane! No, calm down—maybe it has limits I don't know about."
"So, you can enhance the properties of an object or a person just by commanding it?" he asked, intrigued.
"Yes, though the enhancements aren't too extreme."
"Are you kidding me? That's a broken ability! Sure, maybe she's not creative enough to see it, but come on—there's so much potential!"
"I see. Well, I wouldn't call that useless. Sounds pretty useful to me," Lloyd said, holding back his real thoughts. No need to rant.
She was probably limited by the plot itself—but he could work around that.
"Wait a second… is this world actually the same as the novel? Or is the novel just connected to it somehow?"
He wasn't sure. And honestly, he didn't want to think too hard about it.
"You really think so? Maybe I'm just being too negative," Angela said, smiling a bit more brightly. "I'm sure we'll both get stronger at the academy."
"I'll drink to that," Lloyd said with a grin.
"Speaking of which," she said playfully, tilting her head, "what's your grimoire?"
"Well, it's—"
The sound of sliding doors interrupted him. A woman stepped into the compartment, her silver hair shimmering with a faint blue tint as it swayed. Her pink eyes scanned the room until they locked onto Lloyd—cold, sharp, and full of hostility.
"Is it him?" she asked, her tone crisp and commanding.
And then came a voice Lloyd already hated.
"Yeah, that's him for sure!"
"Oh great, the freckled clown again. What the hell did you do this time?"
"Care to explain wha—"
"Don't speak," the silver-haired woman cut him off, summoning a silver blade out of thin air and pointing it straight at him. "You'll talk when I ask you to."
Lloyd's hands shot up in reflex, palms open.
"O-okay, I'm sorry!" he stammered—more startled than afraid.
But that sudden motion cost him. Something fell from his pocket, hitting the wooden floor with a metallic clink.
A badge.
An Alpha-class badge.
All eyes snapped to it—especially the silver-haired girl's.
"I told you! He stole it!" the redhead shouted, though even he sounded surprised it turned out to be true.
"So it was you," the girl's voice darkened, her glare turning ice-cold.
Lloyd swallowed hard.
"Oh, shit. She's not gonna kill me, right?"