“Ahem…”
Feeling awkward, I cleared my throat. It was just coffee, but that familiar taste made me drink it like I was under a spell.
‘It’s not like I miss Korea or anything…’
And I definitely didn’t have any leftover affection for it.
Still, espresso was just too harsh for me.
I could make it myself if I really wanted to, but for some reason, I never reached for it.
‘Tastes good.’
Maybe it was because it had been so long.
I ran my fingers along the cup and took another sip.
‘Why did Raizen prepare this?’
The unanswered question lingered in my mind.
It wasn’t just that he knew about iced Americanos—it was why he gave it to me.
Raizen had been the one most wary of the possibility that I might return to Korea.
He even smiled with barely hidden joy when he heard that the Korean me had died.
And even after that, he remained cautious.
From the moment he became sure Kim Minsoo was a transmigrator, he kept a close watch on him.
And yet here he was, giving me something that didn’t exist in the Sinoa Empire but was completely ordinary in Korea.
Last time, he even asked if I wanted it.
‘I really don’t get him.’
Honestly, I didn’t know how to describe what I was feeling right now.
Raizen just felt… unfamiliar.
We used to be around each other constantly.
Back then, I could sense his real thoughts, even if I pretended not to.
But now?
He genuinely felt like a stranger.
Was this the change that came from a year apart?
Or had Raizen changed?
“Sometimes you only realize things after some time apart. You two were always too close,“ Grandpa had said last night.
‘Only after being apart, huh…’
Setting the cup down, I looked at Raizen sitting across from me.
He glanced at my half-empty cup and smiled faintly.
“Want me to get you another one?”
“Ah—no. This is enough.”
I waved my hand, and he nodded.
He seemed… a little more generous somehow.
‘No way…’
Even when he was hiding his face with magic, had he been looking at me with that same expression?
Realizing that made my face suddenly feel hot.
Not knowing where to look, I downed the rest of the coffee.
“Phew… Let’s talk business first.”
Staring at him any longer wouldn’t do me any good.
Raizen gave a small nod in response.
“Tommy hasn’t left the temple at all. He’s been there ever since he met with Jack and Derrick.”
“So, even when he said he’d come back in two days, he didn’t go out at all?”
Raizen nodded.
I bit my lower lip, mulling over his words.
“There’s still no trace of magic on Crete Island. I checked again right before I came.”
“…Unlike Tommy, the other kids said to be training at the temple are going out regularly. Just like Tommy did—they find people they get along with and persuade them to join the temple.”
“The other kids too?”
So it wasn’t just Tommy who got special treatment.
As I lifted my gaze slightly, which had instinctively lowered, I asked, and Raizen subtly shifted his eyes away.
‘…Huh?’
Was I imagining things?
“The strange part is, the kids come out in a set order. It’s not like several of them go out at once—one kid goes out, comes back, and only then does the next one leave.”
“That’s… odd.”
If the goal is to manage as many kids as possible, there’s no need to enforce such strict order.
Even if they’re from different groups, they’d probably at least recognize each other’s faces or names.
It’d be more efficient to move them together.
That’s when a theory popped into my head.
“Don’t tell me… they don’t let the kids inside the temple meet each other?”
They go out of their way to separate them, keeping them from ever interacting.
Maybe I was overthinking it, but it reminded me of those cult documentaries I used to watch back in Korea.
When families joined, they were torn apart.
Even the members weren’t allowed to interact unless absolutely necessary for group tasks.
It was to prevent any questions from spreading, or alternate thoughts forming within the group.
Emotionally isolating the members would also push them to rely solely on their god—or the cult leader.
“That’s very likely. We’d need to actually get inside the temple to know for sure, but lately they’ve been purging and reorganizing things internally on a regular basis. Even the guild member we planted as a spy has recently gone missing.”
“What?”
One shocking revelation after another.
They’d disguised a guild member as a priest to infiltrate… and now he was missing?
“…We’re still tracking him. If our hunch is right, we need to at least find the body.”
His tone was calm, almost indifferent.
But somehow… it didn’t feel cold like before.
That mechanical sense of him treating people as disposable tools—everyone but himself—seemed to have softened.
“Mm. Got it.”
“But, Sei.”
I blinked in surprise at the sudden call.
“Hm?”
Raizen opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it.
His gaze still slightly averted, he let out a quiet sigh and spoke.
“…Could you maybe take your hand off your lips?”
“Huh?”
Only then did I realize I’d been fidgeting with my lower lip.
‘Oh…’
Since when?
Did I have a habit like this?
Maybe it formed from spending so much time alone, deep in thought.
I vaguely recalled there might’ve been a reason, something from my time in Korea… some unpleasant memory.
‘Not something I care to remember.’
I quickly lowered my hand.
“Ah, sorry. I guess I picked up some weird habit from thinking to myself too much.”
“It’s not weird.”
Raizen answered immediately, his tone unexpectedly firm—it almost startled me.
‘So it wasn’t because it looked unpleasant?’
If that wasn’t it…
I recalled the way he had been glancing at me from the side.
I must’ve started messing with my lips around then.
When someone in front of you starts touching something, your gaze naturally drifts there.
So Raizen had been staring at… my lips…
‘…Oh.’
A memory from when we went through rut together briefly flashed through my mind, and I hastily shoved it away.
“A-anyway! Did you find out anything else about Priest Isol?”
Maybe he wanted to change the subject too, because he jumped in quickly.
“He’s more obsessed with money than I thought.”
“Money?”
“At first I wondered if he was after something else, since he wasn’t hoarding wealth with useless blessings or holy water like the other priests. But no. He just doesn’t associate with anyone who isn’t from a wealthy noble background. He gives blessings only to that crowd—quietly—and charges them heavily. Then…”
“…”
“He uses the connections he builds that way to push for direct donations.”
I thought I wouldn’t be surprised by anything at this point, but the disgust still crept in.
Outwardly, he’d crafted an image of purging corruption in the temple, using it masterfully.
And he knew how to silence people—by leaning on the entitlement of the noble class.
To find out what was really happening inside the temple, we’d have to get inside.
But with security this tight, disguising someone as a priest wouldn’t be easy.
Was there no way to approach the temple without having to pose as a priest?
“…Donations?”
Come to think of it, I had plenty of money, too.
