Wanda's Psychological Counseling in Progress

Half a month passed.

Wanda had grown familiar with everyone in the apartment.

Still, her initial contact with them hadn't gone smoothly.

At first.

When she saw Little Sherry at Leon's place, along with the sisters Natasha and Sherry, whose pajamas were loose and hair disheveled.

Her still-pure heart was hit hard.

She even thought for a while that Sherry was actually a mistake Leon had made during his adolescence.

At that moment, her dazed gaze swept over the group. Then she said goodbye in a stupor, wanting to offer an apologetic smile, but the corners of her mouth simply wouldn't rise.

As she left, she even murmured, "Sorry for the trouble." For some reason, her retreating figure carried an inexplicable hint of dejection.

But a few days later, Wanda still visited Leon at the apartment again.

Because she truly had no other choice.

The nightmares that came night after night had nearly driven her to collapse.

Those dreams were unbelievably real, as though they were firsthand experiences of another her.

Yet whenever they became her dreams, they were nothing but scenes of battle, with almost no trace of everyday life.

In the dreams, her eyes were dyed red with blood. Everything in her vision, from sky to earth, was the color of blood. Crimson magic moved as naturally as her own limbs, and a wave of her hand could take a life, making her seem like a demon god who had emerged from a red abyss.

Wanda, who had only ever killed livestock and dimensional creatures, obviously couldn't accept dreams like that.

Every morning when she opened her eyes, she felt as though time and space had become jumbled.

She had to find someone to talk to—preferably someone like Leon, who could cast magic that soothed the mind.

Otherwise,