Distinguishing Fortune-Telling from Fraud
She dreamed. "……Ah."
In the dream, she could fly like a butterfly. Soaring over her own sleeping body on the bed, over the roof of the house, over the people walking along the streets. No one noticed her. Only she was free.
"So… beautiful."
Though several years had already passed since she came to this floating city with her father, she had never once been able to explore it to her heart's content. All she could do was lie in bed and gaze out the window. To her, the world beyond that window was the entirety of the city.
But now, it was different.
"It's so pretty!"
True to its name as a floating city, clouds drifted around her and birds flew past. The streets and buildings were beautifully arranged, spotless and clean. Towering mountains and crystal-clear lakes welcomed her, and beautiful nature unfolded everywhere. It was practically paradise.
"I can't… touch it, can I?"
She descended near a lake and dipped her hand into the water. Yet she felt nothing. Not even a ripple formed. She felt a little disappointed, but the sight of such beauty quickly filled her heart with excitement.
She flew, and flew, and flew some more. Taking in the city's wonders for a long while.
"……Huh?"
A pull. She felt a strange attraction from a beautiful church on the outskirts of the city. It was an emotion she had never felt in her life, yet before she knew it, she was flying toward the church. Was it instinct? Her heart was screaming. There. Right there. What she had been searching for was there.
"Searching for……something?"
She had nothing like that. What could a girl who spent all day lying in bed possibly be searching for? Even as doubt crept in, she passed through the church walls. Over the beautiful decorations, over the people praying, over a priest arguing with a silver-haired girl. Downward. Further down. There—
"What……should I do?"
"First, we need to deal with that nun."
"It's that person."
—There was someone who came to her every day and made her feel at ease. Was that the person she had been looking for?
"……No."
Rather, it was the opposite. Deep in her heart, something screamed that she could never accept that person. Not their personality, not their actions, not their appearance. Simply their very existence was unacceptable. But that person had been kind to her. Why did she feel such……rejection now?
"What do you think, Saint? What will you do with this nun?"
"……I've already erased her memories. To leave no loose ends……we'll have to kill her."
"Kill her? You're going to kill her?"
Her eyes flew wide open. They were going to kill someone? She had felt grateful toward a person like that? The walls in her heart crumbled, and she accepted the rejection and hostility she had refused to acknowledge.
"They were beside me……to kill me?"
She glared at the man raising his mace, the one called the Saint. Gratitude turned to betrayal, then instantly to disgust. And beyond that, she felt hatred. Just as Aileen was approaching the Saint—
"No, we can't kill her."
"……Pardon? Sister Ruina is a spy sent to me. It would be best to deal with her now."
"We'll use her instead."
"Use her……you say?"
"Yes."
She turned her head toward the voice. Black hair cut short, a red dress shirt and black suit. A melancholic smile, a right eye with an unnaturally small pupil. Blood—whose, she didn't know—stained his face, and he wiped it away with a white glove. Strangely, the blood he wiped away gradually disappeared, leaving the glove clean.
"……Ah."
It was that person. Before her mind could think it, before her mouth could speak it, she understood deep in her heart. That person was what she had been searching for all this time. Without reason, without logic, without evidence. She simply knew.
"This is……"
Was this what they called love at first sight? She had never felt the emotion called love before. Because of her illness since childhood, she had spent nearly twenty years confined to her home. That was why she couldn't be certain or even recognize this feeling. But precisely because of that, she fell headfirst into the emotion she was feeling for the first time.
"It feels nice……"
When she looked at that person, she felt good. When she thought of that person, a smile naturally formed. When she approached that person, her heart felt like it would burst. A hazy, fluffy feeling she had never experienced in her life. Without thinking, she moved to his side and stood next to him.
"……It's nice."
Standing beside him, walking together. He didn't know she existed, didn't notice her, couldn't feel her touch—but she was content. Just being together like this was happiness enough.
As the two of them walked, someone else came into view.
"The Saint."
She knew who he was now. Even if she had spent her life at home, there was no way she wouldn't know the famous Saint. But regardless of whether the person before her was the Saint or not, she simply found him unpleasant. Beyond the misunderstanding that he had tried to kill her, beyond the fact that he was a murderer trying to kill the nun, beyond the instinctive hostility deep in her heart—
"Why are you in the way?"
It felt like he was blocking her path with that person. If she forgave everything, couldn't he just disappear? Even knowing she couldn't touch him, she clenched her fist—
"Wait there quietly."
"Yes, I will."
"………Yes."
With a single word from that person, all her displeasure washed away. She knew. Those words weren't directed at her, but at the unreliable Saint. Even so, she obeyed. Because they were his words. She stood still on the spot, hands clasped politely, and waited.
"We'll feed her false information."
"False information?"
"Since it's come to this, let's use her to root out everyone who planted her as a spy."
"But what information will we give her? If they have any sense, they'll consider the possibility of a trap."
"Saint. Didn't you say to leave everything to me?"
"……Huh? Huh?"
While quietly listening to the pleasant voice and the voice that filled her with disgust, she suddenly felt her body beginning to move. Not of her own will, but as if being pulled somewhere. As if time was up.
"Ah, no!"
He had told her to wait. Those were his words. At the very least, his name—
"Very well……Namgung Min."
"There's still much to do. Please leave at least this much to me."
—Namgung Min, Namgung Min, Namgung Min. To not forget that name, to remember it somehow, she repeated it over and over. Passing through the church, through the sky, into the roof, and finally returning to her bed.
"Namgung……Min."
She slipped from the dream and fell asleep.
*
The Saint trudged out. He looked utterly exhausted.
"……So it wasn't something like fellow sinners."
He had been mistaken. He had wrongly assumed they were comrades receiving the same divine punishment. As he climbed the stairs and opened the door, the Saint muttered to himself.
"He……is receiving an even harsher punishment."
Despite hating fortune-telling, he fulfilled the duties of a fortune teller. He disparaged and insulted his own profession, yet at the same time displayed a more fortune-teller-like demeanor than anyone else. This went beyond self-contradiction—it was closer to an illness he himself didn't recognize. What kind of past did he have? What must he have gone through to understand fortune-telling better than anyone, while hating it more than anyone? That was why the Saint had accepted Namgung Min's proposal. The one receiving the harshest punishment was, in a way, closer to God than anyone. Because he received the punishment God personally bestowed, closer than anyone else.
"God is perfect, so this too must be part of His plan."
Ever since he felt that "pull" toward the God in the heavens during his childhood pilgrimage. It had become the most important element that formed the Saint as a person.
"Goodness! Where on earth did he go……!"
"……?"
While reflecting on Namgung Min, the Saint perked up at a voice coming from around the corner. A voice that sounded thoroughly annoyed. Walking a little further, he came face to face with a silver-haired girl huffing and puffing.
"Lady Lane Arthur?"
"Ah, Saint. It's an honor to meet you."
"Not at all. More importantly, what brings you here……?"
He hadn't heard that the young lady of the Arthur family would be visiting. Even as questions filled his mind, the Saint looked at Lane. She……seemed angry.
"Saint, have you seen that person?"
"That person?"
"The fortune teller, Namgung Min! He said he was going to the bathroom but never came back……and the way he was panting while running earlier, acting all high and mighty as a weakling in front of me and then running away……!"
Weakling, weakling, she said.
"No, he is not a weakling."
"H-Huh?"
"I was just……having a little dispute with him."
Only then did Lane seem to notice the Saint's appearance. His usually immaculate robes were torn and ragged, his body covered in wounds, and there was even a bruise and bump on his head. Lane stared blankly for a moment at the sight.
"Uh, wait a second. So……you had a dispute with Namgung Min?"
"Yes. It was a humiliating defeat on my part."
He had charged in with such a foolish mindset, so of course he lost. The Saint lowered his head, reflecting once more on his own carelessness.
"He is by no means a weak human. Rather……he is far stronger than someone like me."
"S-Stronger than the Saint……a powerhouse……."
"Yes."
But on the other hand, he felt a sense of relief. That's right. While trying to purify the church, had he been trying to do everything alone? The process had been difficult, but if that skilled fortune teller helped, there was a possibility. The days he had spent worrying whether Namgung Min might be a spy or someone from the Pope's faction trying to exploit his weaknesses—now he could relax a little. Because he had gained a comrade who, while receiving an even harsher punishment, was somehow reliable.
"A-A powerhouse……stronger than the Saint……then of course stronger than me……!"
"Hm, Lady Lane?"
"I-I have to go pick up Namgung Min—I mean, Namgung Min! This way, right? I'll be right back!"
"Ah, yes."
Her face turned pale, and she dashed past the Saint down the corridor. Soon, Namgung Min emerged with the amnesiac Sister Ruina, and Lane approached him with a strangely subservient posture.
—I, Namgung Min. You must have……worked hard!
—Not at all, miss. More importantly, could you take this nun with you? It seems she fell down the stairs……
—Ah……I'm sorry. I can't remember anything at all……seeing the blood on my head, it does seem like I fell down the stairs.
—No no! This is something I should obviously do, not Namgung Min! Namgung Min must have……worked hard, so go rest!
—Ah, thanks.
"……In the end, whether it was fortune-telling or fraud didn't matter at all."
When the Saint rummaged through his pocket, the crumpled tarot card The Hanged Man ended up in his hand. Fortune-telling and fraud. The Saint had tried to distinguish between them. He had wondered what part of Namgung Min was fortune-telling and what part was fraud. But to Namgung Min, such things were meaningless from the start. To someone who said fortune-telling was fraud and fortune tellers were fraudsters, the distinction between fortune-telling and fraud was irrelevant.
"Let's go."
Things with his comrade were settled for now, but there was still much to do. First among them……he needed to find Charles Teddybear and tell him everything. That Aileen was a Saintess. That he, the Saint, had hidden that fact. That they must never reveal she was a Saintess. And……
"Tell her to find her own god."
Would Aileen be able to find the god she felt a pull toward in her heart? It had taken the Saint over three years of pilgrimage to find his. He had endured countless hardships to find the god the church spoke of, the Lord. It would naturally be a harsh path for Aileen as well, but he would help her as much as possible. If she couldn't find her god, the Saint and Saintess would feel endless pain. That was why Aileen was suffering in bed right now. Because it wasn't a solitary profession, but one that required believing in someone. The Saint resolved to help Aileen with all his might.