* * *

[Yes.]

It was obvious at a glance.

I tilted my head slightly and examined my attire.

Dressed in ceremonial robes, I looked every bit a priest.

My face was obscured by a mask, leaving no distinguishing features to catch attention.

Yet, the fact that he insisted on questioning my identity felt suspicious.

His eyes, which quickly regained composure after a fleeting glint of something, were unsettling as well.

[May I ask the reason for your visit to the temple?]

“I’ve come to confess.”

[A confession.]

My grip on the pen tightened instinctively, and the corners of my lips twitched.

He had come to confess?

That Kaindel?

What a ridiculous claim.

I couldn’t even imagine the scene of him sitting in a confessional—it was utterly incongruous.

More than that, his sudden change in demeanor was particularly unsettling.

Just moments ago, he looked pitiful, like a drenched, tattered doll.

Now, he was the complete opposite—his ingratiating smile was somehow off-putting.

I couldn’t comprehend such an abrupt shift in emotions.

“…”

The pen nib pressed heavily against the paper, and black ink began to seep out slowly, forming tiny stains like raindrops pooling together.

I belatedly glanced down at the paper.

The handwriting scrawled across it was completely different from my own.

Just in case Kaindel might recognize it, I used a script I had learned while assisting Herilson with transcriptions.

I wondered for a moment if he had sensed something from the handwriting, but quickly dismissed the thought.

Even Nathaniel had been completely fooled by this script.

Kaindel wouldn’t have found it odd.

Then why was he acting like this?

No matter how much I searched my memory, nothing stood out.

The frustration only grew.

That Kaindel had come to the temple was expected.

But his interest in someone like “Ein” was a variable I hadn’t anticipated.

The Kaindel I knew wouldn’t have paid the slightest attention to anyone unless they initiated contact first.

“I’ve committed a grave sin.”

Instead, here he was, clinging with an obviously insincere lie.

“…”

“So I’ve come to confess.”

The sound of pouring rain echoed in my ears, drowning everything else out.

It left me feeling strangely hollow.

Words eluded me, and the silence stretched on.

The response I was supposed to give as a priest conflicted with the personal reply I wanted to give.

Just as I hesitated, my lips parting slightly in thought—

“Can Priest Ein hear my confession?”

Kaindel spoke first, revealing his true intentions.

His gaze met mine through the slanting rain, as though gauging my reaction.

His persistent yet cautious eyes, delicate like a child desperate to conceal his naivety, betrayed him.

That faintly trembling gaze allowed me to glimpse the insecure facade Kaindel had cloaked himself in.

And I realized something.

The once-arrogant Kaindel was now tense, asking a mere priest for a confession.

My tight expression softened.

Ah. A quiet exhale mixed with a hint of unseen ridicule escaped me.

The turmoil that had filled my head dissipated in an instant.

[You want to confess to me?]

Honestly, what did it matter what Kaindel intended?

After all, I was the one holding the cards here.

Whether our encounter ended here or continued depended entirely on my choice.

Kaindel was fully aware of this, which was why he so blatantly placed himself in a subordinate position.

He must have hated it as much as I relished it.

“Yes, I’d like you to hear my confession, Priest Ain.”

[If you formally submit a request, the temple will assign you a priest more suited to your rank.]

“What about you, Priest Ein…?”

[I’m just an ordinary priest.]

“…Does that mean ordinary priests can’t hear confessions?”

[That’s correct.]

Technically, temple regulations didn’t explicitly forbid it.

It was an unspoken rule nobles had imposed, preferring priests of equivalent standing.

So, if Kaindel wanted, I could hear his confession.

But I didn’t admit that.

It was a lie that Kaindel could easily uncover, but I kept it hidden, hoping he would simply give up.

“I see.”

[Take care.]

With that polite farewell, I stepped forward, finally moving my rooted feet.

As I passed Kaindel, who seemed ready to blurt something else, I deliberately maintained a measured pace to avoid appearing as if I were fleeing.

Just as I reached the temple gates, Kaindel grabbed my wrist and immediately let go.

Though the grip wasn’t forceful, it was enough to halt me in my tracks.

“Then… can you at least escort me to the inn up ahead?”

“…”

My attention was drawn to the wetness soaking into my robe.

When I turned back slowly, Kaindel gestured toward the pouring rain with his chin, wearing a faint, fragile smile that looked ready to crumble.

“As you can see, I don’t have an umbrella.”

It was an unexpected request.

I glanced at him, erasing any sign of surprise, and took in the sight of his pale hand gripping my sleeve.

His skin was so pale it betrayed how long he must have been standing in the rain.

The veins beneath his skin stood out starkly.

As I stared at that faintly trembling hand, I smirked slightly.

[I’m sorry.]

Whether he lacked an umbrella or caught a cold,

it was no longer any of my concern.

I left Kaindel behind, stunned by my rejection, and headed straight into the temple.

“……”

My steps, initially calm and composed while still within Kaindel’s line of sight, quickened as soon as I passed the point where his gaze could reach.

Before I realized it, my legs were moving at a near run, my strides crossing faster and faster.

There wasn’t any significant reason.

It simply felt like I needed to put as much distance as possible between myself and where Kaindel had been.

Each movement of my body sent droplets of rainwater trickling down from the tip of the long umbrella I carried, falling like scattered beads, leaving a faint trail in my wake.

“Hah, hah…”

I struggled to catch my breath as it grew increasingly labored.

To get from the main building to the annex, I had to traverse a long corridor and turn left.

It was a considerable distance, and naturally, I encountered several people along the way, but I couldn’t afford to greet them.

“Priest! What are you doing here?”

“Did Deacon Nathaniel send you on an errand? Why are you in such a rush?”

The temple staff, familiar with my usual demeanor, stared at me curiously, puzzled by my unusual behavior.

However, I had no time to explain myself to each of them.

I had even forgotten to deliver the books I picked up at the bookstore to Nathaniel.

My only thought was to get to my room in the annex as soon as possible.

I desperately wanted to scrub away the areas Kaindel had touched.

At the end of the corridor, just as I turned the corner, I unexpectedly collided with the Pope, his chest brushing against my shoulder.

The impact sent me stumbling backward.

“Oh dear, you should be more careful,” he said.

Before I could fall completely, the Pope reached out and gently steadied me by the arm.

“…Greetings, Your Holiness.”

Momentarily flustered by his unexpected touch, I quickly recognized him and felt a wave of relief.

As unlikely as it was, I had been irrationally worried that Kaindel might have followed me here.

The Pope smiled, his eyes curving gently as he acknowledged my greeting.

His face, ageless and serene, radiated warmth.

“It’s been a while, Isaac. A year, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Since my arrival at the temple, I had only seen the Pope once—on Founding Day, from a distance.

It was the first time we had met directly.

I nodded quietly in agreement but hesitated as I tried to step back.

The moment he released his support, a sharp pain shot through my ankle.

I frowned slightly at the heavy discomfort and looked down at my ankle.

My right ankle was oddly red, likely strained when I had lost my balance earlier.

The Pope followed my gaze and immediately grasped the situation.

“It seems you’ve sprained your ankle,” he observed.

“Probably.”

“May I treat it in my chambers?”

“No, it’s fine as it is, ugh—”

I tried to insist it wasn’t a big deal, as minor injuries like this usually healed within a few days.

Receiving treatment from someone as prominent as the Pope felt excessive.

But a sharp groan slipped out before I could stop myself.

The Pope smiled knowingly, as if he had expected my resistance to falter.

His tone turned playfully teasing.

“Oh dear, you don’t seem fine at all. Let me treat it.”

“Ah… fine,” I relented, my ears burning with embarrassment.

It was mortifying to have my composure so easily shattered.

“Then I’ll be in your care,” I mumbled, my voice barely audible.

The Pope extended his hand, signaling for me to take it.

Reluctantly, I placed my hand in his, feeling it would be rude to refuse his kindness.

Supporting me gently, he led me to his chambers.

* * *