TNDOBM 15

Chapter 15

“That was the opportunity—when the original owner of the mansion came to the Magic Tower. He wanted a rare magical artifact, so I gave it to him and received this mansion in return.”

“So you’re saying it’s purely by coincidence that we became neighbors?”

Perhaps it sounded like a sneer. At that question, Rien hesitantly shook his head.

“The reason I decided to move… was because I was curious about the Saintess.”

“…About me?”

“Yes. Did you know that not only in Weberdin, but even in the capital, articles about you appear from time to time?”

She hadn’t known.

She never imagined that even as a mere Saintess-in-training, she’d be treated like a celebrity.

She finally realized that the Pope’s words—that there were many who wished to see the Saintess—had not been a lie.

“I happened to come across an article about the next Saintess before. So I thought, if I ever had the chance, I would like to meet the person herself—Cecilia.”

Good heavens.

Cecilia pressed her lips together, which seemed about to fall open in an undignified manner.

‘He was already interested in Cecilia even before I started scheming!’

She wasn’t sure whether to rejoice that Plan D was progressing smoothly or to be disgusted by the creepiness of his hidden intentions all along.

But before her mind could tip toward either side, Rien added shyly.

“I was curious about the divine power the Saintess possesses.”

‘Ah.’

Of course. So he was just curious about divine power after all.

Cecilia recalled the white radiance that had emanated from her own hands.

She too was curious about the nature of that power—one that manifested as a result, though the cause remained unclear.

But he was a mage, one who had nothing to do with divine power, and furthermore, their leader, no less.

“Why?”

It was a question she didn’t place much weight on—just wondering what aspect of it had piqued his interest.

But the moment Rien pushed up his large spectacles, she realized that had been a mistake.

“It’s bound to be fascinating. Divine power operates on a completely different plane from magic, which uses mana from within the body and the atmosphere. In a closed system, energy is neither created nor destroyed; only its state changes. Magic does not defy this law either—it merely converts magical power into potential energy, light energy, or thermal energy. But divine power is different. Not only the difference in its fundamental nature, but especially the divine power of the Weberdin lineage, which is passed down genetically, is even more—”

His eyes sparkled as he unleashed a torrent of explanation. The sight was somehow not unfamiliar.

It reminded her of the slaves to academic papers who would sell even their souls for proof—or so she imagined.

“I-I see.”

Cecilia cut him off roughly, having been reminded of unpleasant memories for a moment.

She didn’t want to hear about physical laws like the conservation of energy even in another world.

Rien, perhaps misinterpreting her attitude as anger, reverted to a sullen expression.

“I found those aspects intriguing. However… after meeting you, Saintess—no, Cecilia—I have come to presumptuously think that I wish to remain by your side.”

“…”

“Because you treated someone like me kindly, and became my friend.”

Ah, this is making me feel a bit guilty. It was all just schemes to devour him.

This naive man was openly expressing his affection for his first friend.

“But you must find me repulsive for lying. You may curse me, spit on me—I wouldn’t mind. Trample me, slap me across the face—I will accept it humbly.”

“…Pardon?”

As she listened quietly, he seemed to sink through the floor and dig himself into a burrow.

If she were to accept or affirm his proposals, which were just a tiny bit intriguing, Rien would probably dig his own grave and lie down for eternal slumber.

‘In that case…’

After a short but deep contemplation, there was only one conclusion.

‘Let’s just let it slide.’

Well, it’s not like his true identity is Dillanshay, after all.

A marquis would collapse clutching the back of his neck at the mere fact of being a magic-user.

The question of whether to believe Rien’s excuse or not was equally irrelevant.

There was no reason for that notorious Tower Master to put on such a groveling act before her, and above all, that trembling and the gloomily sunken gaze could never be mere acting.

“I won’t curse you. I won’t step on you or hit you. And I won’t abandon you, so lift your head.”

Cecilia gently placed her hand on his cheek. Following her touch, he obediently tilted his head back.

The exposed corners of his eyes were flushed red.

‘Anyone watching would think you’re a lover pleading with your beloved not to leave.’

She could only assume it was because she was probably his only friend. Or perhaps an obsession toward a precious research subject.

Either way, Cecilia decided to interpret it however she liked—as a lover, or something roughly equivalent.

“Does that mean… you’re giving me permission to stay by your side from now on?”

“What do you mean permission? I was the one who asked you to keep me company in the first place.”

Truly like a benevolent saintess, Cecilia smiled.

“So please, stay by my side for as long as you want, Rien.”

Having decided to embrace him, she chose to think that all was well that ended well, and that Plan D was proceeding very smoothly.

As if moved by her mercy, the man who had been stiff for a moment smiled in return, like a flower in full bloom.

“Yes. I wish to stay by your side from now on—no, I will stay by your side.”

For as long as you permit, forever.

He murmured as if brushing past her, and lightly nuzzled his cheek against her palm, which was still touching him.

It was a moment when the world spun dizzily before her eyes, struck by a cuteness that pounded her heart.

“Forever.”

“…”

“Forever, I said.”

He repeated the same words for the third time.

‘Something about this path seems to have gone wrong.’

Plan D, it’s going smoothly… right?

When she first fell into this other world, it was early spring—the nights still cold enough to raise goosebumps on her skin. But now, outside the window, the season of lush greenery and pulsing life had arrived.

During the long—long enough for the garden flowers to change over—Cecilia had achieved quite a bit.

She’d proven that her carefully devised Plans A, B, and C were garbage, met Charles who almost became Schrödinger, and learned social dance and etiquette from the male lead (prospective)—skills she’d never use if she returned to her original world.

‘…It feels like none of it went right.’

Ah, she did make the front page of the newspaper once.

The headline was: “A Saintess’s Miracle! Even Severed Heads Restored…”

Though her head was never severed, nor did she ever restore such a thing.

Regardless, there were more than a few witnesses to the incident that day. The faithful servants of God spread word far and wide of how much God cherished the Saintess and how extraordinary her miracle was.

As a result, despite being a fake Saintess, her reputation only grew day by day.

Lately, she’d been gracing the front page of every newspaper published in Weberdin territory and the Holy Land.

It was likely due to the upcoming Relief Festival and the Marquis’s influence.

But whatever the cause, it was not at all the direction she had hoped for.

<Grand Temple Announces: Saintess to Oversee the Ceremony of This Year’s Relief Festival! Will She Perform Another Miracle?>

Especially when it came to articles like this.

Cecilia averted her gaze from the newly published newspaper. After singing ceremonial songs, it seemed the Pope had finally stirred up trouble.

Did the newspapers know?

That their idol of the temple, her, had truly been screwed?

After the day of the incident, and after Melanie withdrew, leaving her alone in the bedroom every deep night, she had repeatedly attempted to make her hands emit light.

But she never found the power switch. In other words, she had yet to learn how to activate her divine power.

‘Should I have Melanie hit me in the head with a glass?’

She was just about to resort to her final measure.

Knock, knock.

Along with the sound of knocking, Melanie’s voice came from beyond the door.

“Miss, may I come in?”

“Yeah, come in.”

Appearing at just the right moment, Melanie was carrying a silver tray, upon which lay a letter and a vase filled with water.

“Could you break my skull with that vase?”

“I will decline.”

Melanie set the vase down on the sunlit table by the window and flatly refused.

She must have thought it was an extension of the bizarre behaviors Cecilia had been performing under the guise of Plan C.

“I was joking.”

“I know half of it was serious.”

“Probably not half?”

Around forty-five percent, maybe?

“We have many guests at this time, so please exercise some restraint, Miss.”

Avoiding Melanie’s sighing gaze, Cecilia casually turned her eyes down toward the window.

Beyond the greenery, at the distant main gate, figures of people, horses, and carriages the size of ants were bustling about.

“The Relief Festival must be quite grand. There are more people than this morning.”

That morning, Cecilia had been forcibly awakened by the noisier-than-usual mansion and only later learned the identity of the swarm of guests that had flooded in like a pack of dogs.