"...Is this your hobby?"
The place where Mace stopped was under a downstream bridge by the river—a shantytown where vagrants gathered in droves.
I know these beggars reeking of alcohol all too well.
In my past life, I came here often to buy drugs.
If you enter through the hole under the bridge, you'll find the defeated of the postwar era huddled together, gambling and drinking heavily.
Drug dealers can be seen soliciting customers around them.
Rather than going there, Mace was making the sign of the cross and bestowing blessings on the beggars outside—those in relatively better condition.
At first, I wondered if there'd be any demand for this, but surprisingly, people flocked to her in droves.
Befitting the location, they were all beggars without exception.
Mace occasionally read passages from a small scripture she pulled from her bosom, treating each person with sincerity.
"The strength to live righteously and fearless faith..."
"Since when have you been doing this?"
Mace was too busy placing her hand on the head of a glassy-eyed beggar and reciting prayers to answer.
Her closed eyes didn't budge, and her lips only moved when reciting prayers.
...Did she take pity on me because I looked like one of these beggars?
Not exactly wrong, though.
If I hadn't committed suicide in my past life, I might be here now too.
Still, it's a bit irritating.
I leaned against a bridge pillar and slowly smoked a cigarette, watching Mace tear a page from the scripture and let it flow down the river.
So there's a blessing like that too. Is it a metaphor for a cleric's devotion?
"Ugh... I'm tired..."
Only after the beggars lined up in front dispersed did Mace stretch and approach me.
"It has to be fun to be a hobby, doesn't it?"
"Huh? It is fun. I get to see lots of people too."
Mace tried to snatch the cigarette I was holding, so I raised my hand up.
"You can't smoke on the street."
"Try saying that to the people here."
Indeed, the smell of cheap tobacco constantly wafting from the surroundings was giving me a headache too.
They're probably picking up butts from the ground to smoke.
It's a common sight in the Empire's back alleys.
'I have no idea why this is supposed to be a romance fantasy.'
The Empire wasn't in this sorry state until before the war.
But now, far from being a romance fantasy, a darkness rivaling dark fantasy seethes behind the Empire.
Though it's true that throughout history, it's harder to find a nation that's fine after war.
'What a shitty place to be oddly detailed about.'
While the actual reason for the war is glossed over.
I've seen drunks at taverns a few times, passionately debating and spouting all sorts of speculation about the war's cause.
I didn't listen with the mindset of 'Does that buy you drinks? Barking about worthless shit.'
I'm not interested anymore. Knowing that won't bring back my arm or eye.
What I've lost will never return, no matter what.
Mace is still hopping around trying to snatch my cigarette.
It's a bit amusing. Like playing with a cat.
"You know the people here aren't good enough to deserve a nun's blessing, right?"
"No! They just lack opportunity! They're not bad people!"
Each time Mace jumps, her words are emphasized.
I know someone who puts periods at the end of every sentence to raise my blood pressure.
This is a different experience altogether.
"Want to look over there? A junkie's shooting up."
Where I pointed, there was a beggar lying in a small tent under the opposite pillar.
The beggar twitched with a needle stuck in his arm.
"...They must want to escape. They must need something."
Mace watched the scene quietly without her smile fading.
I gave my head to that gaze that doesn't judge, just looks warmly.
"That doesn't sound like something a nun should say."
"Sooo thaat's whyyy! The cigarette! You're smoking! Is actually! Okay!"
Despite her words, her earnest jumping was so admirable that I handed her the cigarette, though it was nearly finished.
Mace threw the cigarette on the ground with a triumphant expression and stomped it out with her foot.
She placed both hands on her hips, thrust out her chest, and shouted loudly.
"Today's good deed complete!"
"You're really crazy. Did the Academy faculty assign you homework or something?"
Mace brought her hand to her nose and sniffed, then approached the river, crouched down, and washed her hands.
I don't particularly like the river water that grows murkier as it flows downstream.
Should I say it's like an abstract painting of my life?
"I just do it. It's fun too."
"It's dangerous here. This is the place with the worst security in the Empire."
"It's okay because the Lord protects me."
I couldn't help but chuckle.
Hearing my laughter, Mace followed suit and raised the corners of her mouth as she spoke.
"How irreverent. The Lord exists, you know?"
"Of course. Just like unicorns, virgin bitches, and the Golden Witch 'exist' somewhere."
"Uni...? Virgin bi...? What's that?"
Mace just tilted her head, genuinely not knowing.
Teasing her is fun, but I feel a bit guilty when she's so innocently puzzled.
"...I was talking nonsense. But the danger is real. If you're going to do missionary work, ask the Academy to assign you at least one guard."
Mace pointed at my face with her finger.
When I just stared blankly, she approached and even poked my chest with her finger.
"Me?"
"Friends help each other out."
"You see this, right? Did you hurt your eyes too, Sister?"
I swung my empty sleeve in front of Mace's eyes like a windmill.
However, Mace just smiled faintly and showed no sign of backing down.
"Your appearance is intimidating, so even without using force, you'll be threatening enough."
"Ugh. Just insult me. Say I look like shit."
Mace's hand suddenly moved to my eye area.
She probably rifled through my pockets at this speed too.
"You're handsome. Manly."
She carefully traced the texture of my scar like before, then withdrew her hand and returned to her cheerful tone.
"But I wish you'd wear cologne!"
"If I had money for luxury goods, I'd buy alcohol."
In fact, proper cologne in the Empire trades at the terrifying price of several bottles of premium whiskey.
I'd rather die than wear cheap cologne.
It's more pungent than cigarette smoke.
One of the beggars who had received a blessing earlier limped toward Mace.
I pushed past Mace and blocked the beggar's path.
On fingers resembling dried twigs sat a piece of bread smaller than the fingers themselves.
"...Sis...ter... please... eat..."
A man covered in rag-like cloth spoke in a voice like wringing out a dishrag.
Is this a thank you for the kindness shown?
Even giving thanks puts him in the top 1% of beggars with shining character, but still, to eat something like this...
"I'll enjoy it!"
Mace reached out from behind me and put the bread the beggar offered into her mouth before I could stop her.
"You crazy bitch!"
"Om nom nom."
Mace made a show of chewing enthusiastically, though it wasn't even a mouthful.
What if she gets sick from eating that when we don't even know what's in it?
"Ah, delicious. Thank you!"
Mace conveyed her gratitude while firmly grasping the beggar's palm.
The man's tears fell onto the riverside gravel.
Mace patted his back as if seeing him off, then turned back to me.
"See? I even got thanked. What a rewarding thing to do."
She playfully stuck out her tongue as she said this.
On the tongue extended outside her mouth sat the piece of bread, looking exactly as it did when she received it from the beggar.
"...I was shocked thinking you actually ate it."
"Hap."
And then she really ate it.
Seeing her throat gulp, this wasn't a joke.
"Ugh. Tastes bad. Smells weird."
Only the center of her extended tongue, where the coal-like bread had been, turned slightly black.
"You didn't eat it without knowing that."
"It would be rude not to eat a gift."
Saying this, she gazed at the lights reflected in the flowing river water, and I watched Mace quietly.
Like how the nun's habit is divided into black and white, does she view the world's light and shadow with a clear black-and-white perspective?
To simply see it that way, there's also a strangely un-cleric-like neutral attitude mixed in.
Just as I'm surprised by her childlike innocence, adult-like tolerance immediately follows.
I thought she seemed like someone who wouldn't be boring to watch.
"Let's head home before it gets later."
I took out a new cigarette, put it in my mouth, and spoke to Mace.
"Oh, right. It'll be time for the Academy to close."
"...You're going back to the Academy?"
"Yes. I stay in the prayer room attached to the annex."
So she's basically homeless.
Like the other people rolling around here.
I vaguely remember seeing the prayer room.
I don't think there was a room suitable for human habitation.
"There should be plenty of dormitory rooms available, but the Academy didn't even give you that?"
"They didn't say anything in particular? The prayer room is nice and quiet too."
"What about bedding..."
"I sleep on the floor with a blanket!"
Do they usually treat missionaries from other countries this poorly?
Even though religion's standing in the Empire isn't what it used to be.
It reminds me of Portuguese missionaries who went to Japan—they just don't crucify them.
The mistreated Mace herself is just giggling with an innocent face.
"What are you going to do now, Ain?"
"Go to a bar. I'm planning to drink until I pass out and wake up around noon."
"I see. Have a good time!"
No matter how I look at it, she doesn't seem like a nun.
Isn't she just picking up an abandoned nun's habit and pretending?
Maybe what she's carrying isn't even a scripture, but just some novel with a changed cover.
"Sister. You know about alcohol, right?"
"Of course. I'll get angry if you treat me like an idiot."
"You've heard of the three major addictions too, of course?"
It's pretty funny for me to explain this with my own mouth, but I felt like I had to say something.
However, Mace wore that familiar puzzled expression and just kept tilting her head.
"Huh? Why is alcohol poison? Of course, excessive drinking can be harmful to your body... When I lived at the monastery, I even heard that alcohol is the best of all medicines!"
I knew that the religious folks here use wine for communion during worship.
But do they usually believe in it to that extent?
The monastery where Mace grew up is becoming increasingly suspicious.
As I just puffed smoke, lost in thought, Mace brushed past my lips and whispered softly in my ear.
"If you're coming to nap, don't come too late."
Leaving me with those words and laughter, Mace started running to avoid being late for closing time.
Watching her from the bridge, though there were few people, the lights were bright enough that I didn't need to worry.
Walking on the stone pavement, I thought about going to the bar as usual, but I didn't feel like it.
It might be baseless confidence, but I felt like I wouldn't have nightmares tonight either.
I turned my steps and headed straight home.
The night breeze, settling colder than morning and brushing my head, felt pleasant for the first time in a while.
And when I faced Giselle sitting on the steps in front of my door, quietly staring at me approaching, all thoughts of Mace scattered like smoke in an instant.
I threw my cigarette on the ground and spat on it.
Goddammit, I should've just gone to the bar.
I forgot about her.
Watching me, Giselle opened her mouth with a soundless smile.
A smile that I once would have sold my soul to see.
But now, it's a smile that makes my skin crawl more than her pale complexion and red eyes.
"You're here, Ain. I've been waiting."