“Alright, Miss Alicia? Would you mind coming this way?”
A gathering had been convened to practice for the upcoming event at the Celestial Festival.
Following the guidance of the Academy staff, everyone moved toward the center of the stage.
“Here, Miss Alicia, you’ll be handing the trophy to the champion.”
“Yes.”
There was nothing particular to memorize—after all, the position was straightforward, dead center. Just remember to stand next to Saint Mariel.
“And Saint, once the winner receives the trophy, please deliver a blessing directly to them. Ideally, use one of your most spectacular divine magic displays. Since this is a show, let’s make it dazzling.”
Of course, with an event like this, spectacle is key. While the person receiving the blessing is important, it’s ultimately about raising the morale of the students watching.
However, for some reason, instead of responding to the administrative staff’s request, Saint Mariel placed a hand on her head and swayed a little.
“Ugh… I’ve been pushing myself with volunteer activities lately, and I’m too drained to use divine magic…”
Mariel’s face clearly showed fatigue, and her fingertips were trembling visibly—not a usual sight for someone of her stature.
But why is she making a circle with her fingers, Saint?
And why is she showing it to the administrative staff?
“And, uh! Saint, that’s really overdoing it, isn’t it? You can’t go overboard like this even if volunteer work is wonderful. What if you collapse?”
The administrative staff supported Mariel, seemingly ready for her to fall.
But why is the staff member’s hand diving into and out of the Saint’s pocket?
And why are they giving Mariel a thumbs-up?
Even more perplexing, why does Mariel suddenly look full of energy after almost collapsing just moments ago?
“Should we aim for enough brightness to light up the entire auditorium? If there’s extra… ‘donation,’ we might even add a sparkly effect.”
Goddess. Was appointing Mariel as the Saint truly your wise choice?
If anyone is being coerced, shake the Holy Sword.
…
Needless to say, the Holy Sword didn’t shake. The only thing that occurred was a sudden, brief downpour that trickled down the cheeks of the distant statue of the Goddess.
Thus, following a few more rehearsals under the direction of the administrative staff, today’s schedule concluded.
“Good work, Hero.”
“Saint, thank you for your efforts.”
“Pfft. This isn’t hard work at all.”
Without even moving from the spot, Mariel gleefully pulled out her coin pouch and began counting the coins inside.
“Ho ho ho… Next time, I’ll try incorporating some extra effects like wings on her back. If I ask nicely, the Goddess might just give me wings.”
But Saint, didn’t you hear the Goddess crying?
You can hear the Goddess’s voice, yet why do you ignore it?
“Anyway, why does the Saint collect so much money?”
Until now, all I’d seen was Mariel hard at work earning money—never spending it.
Because I considered myself to have grown close to Mariel, I finally decided to ask the question that had long been on my mind.
Mariel, as she counted her coins, smiled and asked me back.
“According to you, why do you think I’m so obsessed with money?”
Instead of answering my question, she turned it around and asked me.
“Hmm… Usually, when someone saves money this way, they’re trying to buy something expensive, right?”
“Hmm… Not wrong, but not quite correct either.”
Her vague response only left more questions.
“But the full details are a secret! On our adventures later, maybe we’ll have plenty of time to enjoy a few secrets about me.”
She avoided the question and postponed any explanation.
“My secrets don’t come cheap though, so you’d better save up!”
“…I think my life would be fine even if I never know.”
“Aaah! The Hero’s cold-heartedness is making the Saint tear up!”
“At least if you’re going to fake cry, avoid visibly wetting your eyes with water from that holy water bottle you’re holding right now!”
“Oh dear…”
Even if a Saint can create blessed water with their power, watching her use it for fake tears is baffling.
“Anyway, wasn’t there a friend of yours participating in the contest?”
Whether as a way of changing the subject or not, Mariel closed the holy water bottle and returned it to her pocket before speaking.
“Yes, her name’s Anne. She’s aiming for first place and has already passed all preliminary stages.”
Considering the tournament includes students from all classes and years, participation numbers have exceeded ordinary limits.
The seven-day Celestial Festival wasn’t even going to be enough, so the school decided to hold preliminary rounds in advance, selecting the final 32 contestants.
Though students like Selian and I didn’t participate, Anne’s presence among the final 32 suggests her skill has reached remarkable heights.
At the beginning of the semester, this would have seemed impossible, but Anne grew as much as I did through our practice battles.
“Hmm. If this friend of yours named Anne wins, I’ll make the blessing extra grand, my service to the Hero—no pressure though!”
While her excessive generosity is commendable, at least when making such offers, it would be better if her hand weren’t still in her coin pouch.
—
“Haaa… This is paradise.”
Back at the dormitory. While other friends were either studying or training in their own rooms, I finally had a precious moment alone to relax in the small bathtub within the shared 4-person dormitory.
The bathroom door was locked, so there’s no way anyone can accidentally walk in.
Even if someone tries to enter despite the closed door, there’s enough room to quickly hide.
Because of the ever-present Mark of Master-Slave, I must always be cautious when bathing. Thus, these rare opportunities to bathe peacefully are precious.
Living together with friends in a 4-person dorm room is enjoyable and lively, but moments when privacy feels secure, like this, make me miss the concept of a private single room.
Submerged in the warm water for a while, I felt as though there was no better heaven.
All the worries and troubles I usually carry were temporarily absent.
Perhaps the exhaustion of recent days was loosening with the bath, and sleepiness began to overcome me.
Though my eyelids feel heavy, I closed them just to rest them—not for sleep.
I absolutely mustn’t fall asleep; if friends return unexpectedly, disaster could strike if they find me asleep in the bath.
Absolutely… I’m not sleeping.
I’m just closing my eyes… just for a short…
moment…
…
Splash!
“Ah! Gulp… Cough! Choke! Hack!”
With great effort, I managed to struggle out of the bathtub, flailing wildly.
“Cough! Cough!”
It appears I unintentionally fell asleep, not just resting my eyes.
Not only did I fall asleep, but my body slipped, causing me to inhale water while submerged.
To almost drown while bathing… the mere thought is horribly embarrassing.
With the water I accidentally swallowed, my desire to continue bathing vanished instantly, so I stepped out of the tub.
Following me, the bathwater gushed out of the tub and splashed onto the floor.
My nose tingled from the swallowed water, and the discomfort in my throat made the experience thoroughly unpleasant.
I staggered toward the sink, using both hands to lean against it, and stared into the mirror.
In the mirror, there I was—a thoroughly familiar silver-haired girl who’s become all too familiar.
Despite the discomfort centered in my nose and throat, my gaze inexplicably lingered on my chest.
Touching it lightly with one hand, I felt my heartbeat slightly faster than normal—perhaps from the surprise.
There was no visible injury, no memory of impact, nor any traces of collision.
Still… why does the chill of the cold iron feel so sticky and unpleasant right here in the center of my chest?
Though I’ve never experienced this kind of discomfort before, the sensation accompanying the pain feels all too familiar, recurring often.
The recurring strange dreams—afterward, though I forget the content, a foul sensation always overtakes my body.
And now, the pain in my chest comes hand-in-hand with that exact same foul sensation.
