yandere villainess is obsessed with me

Aizen stood in the manor's grand hall, hands clasped behind his back, doing his best impression of a Responsible Noble™. His staff—Lyra, Hilda, Tessa, and a dozen others—stared at him with varying degrees of skepticism. Vermis hovered at his shoulder, its pages flipped to a helpful diagram titled How to Lie to Your Employees (Without Setting Yourself on Fire).

"Effective immediately," Aizen announced, "I'll be embarking on a… spiritual pilgrimage."

Lyra snorted. "You? Spiritual? The only pilgrimage you'd make is to a tavern."

"Ah, but this is a sacred tavern," Aizen said, ignoring her. "Deep in the Thunderwilds. Ancient traditions, divine revelations, the works. I've been called."

Hilda crossed her arms, her biceps straining the seams of her tunic. "Called by who? The god of bad excuses?"

"The Storm Sigil," Aizen said, lifting his marked hand. Lightning crackled faintly across his palm for dramatic effect. "Turns out, 'maintaining balance' involves more than just zapping bandits. I've got to… commune with thunder monks. Or something."

Tessa fiddled with her rabbit ears. "How long will you be gone, my lord?"

"A few months. Maybe a year. Time works differently when you're… uh… channeling celestial energy."

Lyra narrowed her eyes. "Let me rephrase: Why are you actually leaving?"

The Art of Misdirection

Aizen leaned against the fireplace mantel, adopting the tone of a man burdened by destiny. "The sigil's oath isn't just about power—it's a responsibility. I've received visions."

"Visions?" Hilda deadpanned. "Of what? A discount on ale?"

"Of cataclysm," Aizen said solemnly. "The Thunderwilds are destabilizing. Earthquakes. Storms. Rogue lightning goats. If I don't intervene, the entire region could become a… a tourist attraction."

The staff exchanged glances. Tessa gasped. "Not tourists!"

Lyra pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. Let's say we believe this nonsense. What about Phoenix Nest? The trade agreements? Gerald's latest complaint about 'suspiciously symmetrical clouds'?"

"Vermis will handle day-to-day operations," Aizen said, patting the grimoire. "And you're in charge of diplomacy, Lyra. Hilda, you're the new Minister of Infrastructure. Tessa, agriculture is all yours. Gerald gets a complimentary stress ball shaped like my face."

Lyra's glare could've frozen lava. "You're abandoning us to play hero in the woods."

"Temporarily! And I'll send letters. Maybe even souvenirs. Thunderwilds-themed keychains?"

The Secret in Plain Sight

Later, in his study, Aizen packed a trunk with essentials: the Storm Sigil, a stack of fake "Grey" identities, and a jar of pickled turnips (Tessa's farewell gift). Vermis floated nearby, radiating judgment.

"They know you're lying," the grimoire said. "Lyra's already cross-referencing 'thunder monks' in the library."

"Let her. By the time she realizes they don't exist, I'll be knee-deep in algebra textbooks as Grey."

"And if she discovers the academy connection?"

Aizen snapped the trunk shut. "I'm counting on it. Lyra's too smart to confront me directly—she'll just bill me for emotional damages."

A knock interrupted them. Lyra stood in the doorway, holding a dossier labeled Phoenix's Suspicious Absences: A Timeline.

"You're enrolling Grey at Arcana Regalia," she said flatly.

Aizen froze. "…How?"

"The headmaster's invoice for 'lightning-proofing' the dorms arrived. Addressed to you. Care to explain?"

"Ah." He coughed. "Grey's… my investment. His success benefits Phoenix Nest! Think of it as… outsourcing education."

Lyra tossed the dossier onto his desk. "You're a terrible liar. But fine—go play schoolboy. Just know that if you get expelled, I'm raising taxes."

The Farewell (And the Unspoken Truth)

At dawn, Aizen rode out of Phoenix Nest on horseback, his trunk strapped to a saddlebag. The staff gathered at the gates, their expressions a mix of fondness and suspicion.

Hilda tossed him a wrapped parcel. "For the road."

Inside was a gauntlet engraved with Punch Problems First.

Tessa curtsied, tears in her eyes. "Stay safe, my lord!"

Lyra handed him a scroll. "Your itinerary. Fake pilgrimage stops included. Try not to blow your cover before week two."

Aizen smirked. "You do care."

"I care about not getting audited."

As he galloped away, the Storm Sigil hummed on his palm, its oath a whisper beneath his mask's flames.

Balance, it seemed to say. Liar.