The Timid Little Saintess Arrives
"Uh, ah... Hello, Psyche?"
My brain couldn't keep up with the situation. Was this really Psyche, my little sister? What the hell was going on?
"Ah... Y-yes, hello..."
Her personality was just like in the novel. So timid even as a child.
"There, you've said hello. I'm busy, so you two figure it out."
Father waved his hand dismissively and headed for the door, as if it were all a huge bother. The stench of cheap booze and stale cigarettes trailed sourly behind him. He didn't seem to care one bit whether Psyche would adapt to this house or if she'd even eaten. It was like he'd just picked up a random pebble from the roadside.
"Father, wait! This child is...!"
Even as I called out desperately, he scratched the back of his head irritably instead of answering and flung the door open.
"Shut up! The house won't collapse with one more kid, so you handle it! Feed her or starve her, it's your responsibility. I'm out!"
Bam!—!
The harsh slam of the door sliced through the silence in the living room like a knife. All that lingered in Father's wake was the reek of cheap liquor and a heavy silence.
I looked down at the tiny life standing before me. The future Saintess. Humanity's last hope. But right now, all I saw was a little kid with grimy silver hair hanging in tangles, trembling like she might shatter at any moment.
"Psyche."
I called her name softly, and her shoulders flinched visibly. With her head bowed deep, Psyche just fiddled with the hem of her ragged clothes. Her thin, short fingers trembled at the tips.
"Um... Psyche? Can you hear me? How did you end up here? Did Father say something when he brought you?"
I knelt to meet her eye level and asked carefully. The child stole a frightened glance at me. Her eyes held not wariness, but a fundamental terror—like Am I even allowed to be here?
"W-well... Father said... to live here now... I'm sorry. You don't want me here, do you? I'm in the way, aren't I? I'm sorry, I did something wrong..."
She apologized before the conversation even started properly. That wasn't something a five-year-old should say. I could see why Kael dismissed her as timid in the original story. But as a reader, I knew better. This timidity wasn't innate—it was a defense mechanism forged in an unloved environment. The scars of living as if even speaking to someone was an unforgivable sin.
That was when the front door burst open again. This time, it was Mother, back from her outing. She froze the moment she spotted Psyche in the middle of the living room. Her eyes turned ice-cold in an instant.
"...What's that? Where did that filthy thing crawl in from?"
"Mother, Father said she's our little sister starting today..."
"Little sister? Don't make me laugh. That bastard finally screwed up outside, huh? Useless man drags in another burden without a plan?"
Mother raked her gaze over Psyche with disgust, like she'd spotted garbage dumped by the roadside. Psyche froze solid, barely breathing. Her tiny hands clenched her clothes until they turned white.
Mother didn't even hear my explanation. She irritably flung her bag to the floor and stormed toward the master bedroom.
"What a pain. Keep it out of my sight. If I see that stinking mess wandering the living room, you're in trouble too. Got it?"
Bam!
The master bedroom door slammed like it might break. The rough vibration made Psyche's little body tremble in tandem. Her head drooped so low it seemed like she'd burrow into the floor. A single clear teardrop plopped onto the ground.
"Psyche, it's okay. Mother's always a bit prickly like that. It's not because of you, so don't worry."
Despite my comfort, her tears didn't stop.
"...No. It's because... I came to a place where I don't belong. Everyone's always like that wherever I go. I guess... I shouldn't have been born. I'm sorry, sister..."
Psyche's self-esteem had already plummeted through the floor into the basement. Hearing a five-year-old say she shouldn't have been born made rage surge toward the original author of this world once more.
I had to change this heavy atmosphere somehow. That was when—
Grrrroooowl—.
A brutally honest, drawn-out rumble shattered the silence. Psyche's face flushed beet red. Mortified, she clutched her stomach with both hands, at a loss.
"Hungry, huh? Alright, let's eat something first. Food comes before anything, right?"
I wasn't sure if they had that proverb here, but whatever. I reached for her hand but stopped when she flinched in surprise, instead leading the way to the kitchen.
Our house's "kitchen" was a joke—barely any ingredients in stock. If it weren't for the money I earned part-timing at the bakery under these irresponsible parents, we'd have starved long ago.
Rummaging through the cupboard, I found a few rock-hard bread chunks, potatoes starting to sprout, and some bacon scraps Ariel's family at the bakery had given me yesterday. That was it.
I lit the hearth with practiced ease. Seven years of neglectful survival had turned me into a master of makeshift cooking.
Well, when I was a real newborn, my parents did feed me, but.
I sliced the potatoes thin and boiled them, diced the bacon and fried it crisp. The savory oil scent filled the kitchen, and Psyche peeked timidly from behind the door. Her little nose twitching as she sniffed—it was pitiful, but a relief too.
Soon, a simple potato soup and toasted bread sat on the table. I set out two plates and piled every precious bacon scrap onto Psyche's like a mountain. It was just a few strips, but to a malnourished kid on the brink, it was priceless nutrition.
"Here, dig in. I'm pretty confident in my cooking."
Psyche stared at the plate and me in disbelief, alternating glances.
"This... can I really eat it...?"
"Of course. I made it for you."
She hesitated, then tried to swap her bacon-laden plate with mine.
"I'll eat well... B-but you should have all the meat, sister..."
She looked starved half to death, yet still considerate at a time like this...
"I stuffed myself on beef the baker grilled at the shop earlier. Eat up so you can get your strength back and play with me."
A blatant lie, of course. I was hungry too, but seeing her eat heartily would make it fine.
"R-really? You’ll play with me...?"
"Yeah. So eat up quick."
I slid the bacon-filled plate toward her.
"I'll eat well..."
Psyche picked up her spoon gingerly. She slipped a piece of bacon into her mouth, then her eyes widened as she chewed slowly.
"It's so good... I've never had anything this warm and tasty before."
Tears welled in her eyes again. Just potato soup with a bit of bacon, and this reaction... Imagining how starved and scorned she must've been before becoming the Saintess made my chest ache fiercely.
I watched contentedly as she ate, then leaned closer to tidy her messy hair. But the moment I approached, Psyche startled and shoved her chair back.
"D-don't come closer! You can't...!"
I froze my hand mid-air, flustered.
"What's wrong? Are you hurt somewhere?"
"It's not that... I-I smell bad. I haven't bathed in days, and my clothes are filthy..."
Psyche fidgeted with her hands as she continued.
"What if you catch the smell? Mother got mad about it earlier... What if you start hating me too..."
She clutched the hem of her worn dress and bowed her head deep. As she said, her clothes were caked in dirt, her hair matted with sweat and grime. Father had dragged her home without even cleaning her up, and Mother had recoiled in disgust at first sight. The shame and fear she must've felt stabbed at my heart.
I gave the terrified Psyche a big grin.
"If you smell, just wash up. No big deal. Let's get clean together today."
"Huh? B-but you'll be tired... because of me, it'll be a hassle..."
"Not at all. You'll feel way better after. Finish eating and meet me in the bathroom. Got it?"
I put on a stern face for effect. Psyche still looked flustered but seemed a bit reassured by my firmness. She wolfed down the rest of her soup.
I tidied the kitchen while glancing at the darkening sky outside. Slaying the Demon King and returning to Earth was still my top priority. But until then, I couldn't let this pitiful future Saintess live as miserably as in the original story.
Carrying a basin of warm water to the bathroom, I vowed silently in my heart.
Psyche, this life, I'll make you happy.