The Nun's Secret Hobby
"...Is this your hobby?"
The place where Mace stopped was under the bridge at the lower reaches of the river—a shantytown where beggars gathered in droves. The ones soaked head to toe in the stench of booze were all too familiar to me. In my previous life, I'd come here often to buy drugs.
Slip through the hole beneath the bridge and you'd find the war's losers huddled together, throwing themselves into serious gambling and drinking binges. Drug peddlers hovered nearby, hustling for customers. Mace, however, was focused on the ones outside—the relatively better-off beggars—drawing the sign of the cross and bestowing Blessings on them.
At first I'd wondered if there'd even be demand for this, but people flocked to her in surprising numbers. Every last one of them was a beggar, fitting the location perfectly. Mace would pull out a small scripture from her robes and read passages aloud, treating each person with genuine care.
"The strength to live a holy life and a faith without fear…."
"Since when have you been doing this sort of thing?"
Mace didn't answer. She was too busy placing her hand on the head of a glassy-eyed beggar and reciting her prayer. Her closed eyes never flickered; only her lips moved as she chanted.
...Did she feel sympathy because I once looked just like these beggars? She wasn't entirely wrong. If I hadn't killed myself in my last life, I might be rotting here right now.
Still, it left a sour taste in my mouth. I leaned against a bridge pillar, watching Mace tear a page from her scripture and let it drift down the river, and lit a cigarette. So there were blessings like that too. Some kind of metaphor for a priest's devotion, maybe.
"Ugh... I'm so tired…."
Only after the line of beggars had scattered did Mace stretch with a big yawn and wander over to me.
"It has to be fun, or it doesn't count as a hobby, right?"
"Huh? It is fun. I get to meet so many people."
When Mace reached for the cigarette in my hand I lifted it higher, out of reach.
"You shouldn't smoke in the street."
"Why don't you go tell that to the fine citizens around here."
It wasn't an exaggeration—the cheap tobacco smoke pouring from every direction was giving me a headache too. They were probably scavenging butts off the ground. A common enough sight in the empire's back alleys.
I still don't get why this is supposed to be romance fantasy.
Before the war, the empire hadn't been this bad. Now, behind its glittering facade, something closer to dark fantasy festered and writhed. It's true that after any war, finding a country that hasn't gone to shit is the real challenge.
Funny how it's only weirdly detailed about the fucking parts.
They gloss over the actual reasons the war started. I'd overheard drunkards in taverns arguing heatedly about it more than once, each of them spinning wild theories. I never bothered listening. Does that put food in your stomach? Barking about shit that doesn't matter. I wasn't interested anymore. Knowing wouldn't bring back my arm or my eye. The things I'd lost were gone forever.
Mace was still hopping around trying to snatch my cigarette. It was honestly a little funny. Like teasing a cat.
"You do realize these people aren't exactly the type who deserve a nun's blessing, right?"
"No! They just haven't had the chance! They're not bad people!"
Every time she jumped, her voice bounced with extra emphasis. I knew people who ended every sentence like they were hammering a nail into your skull, but this bouncy version was a new experience.
"Want to take a look over there? There's a junkie shooting up."
Where I pointed, a beggar lay under a tiny tent by the opposite pillar, twitching with a needle buried in his arm.
"...They want to run away. They'll take whatever they can get."
Mace's smile never wavered as she quietly watched the scene. It was that same non-judgmental, warmly accepting gaze that had once made me lay my head in her hands.
"Doesn't sound like something a nun should say."
"Thaaat's whhyyyy.... Ain! Smoking! Cigarettes! Is! Totally! Fine!"
Despite her words, she was still jumping with all her might. It was so endearing that I handed her the finished cigarette. Mace snatched it with a triumphant grin, threw it on the ground, and crushed it under her shoe. Hands on her hips, chest thrust forward, she declared at the top of her lungs:
"Good deed for today—complete!"
"You really are a fucking weirdo. Did the academy faculty assign you volunteer homework or something?"
Mace sniffed her own hand, then walked to the river, squatted down, and began washing up. I never liked how the water grew murkier the further downstream it flowed. It felt too much like an abstract painting of my own life.
"I just do it because I want to. It's fun."
"This place is dangerous. It's the worst slum in the entire empire."
"The Lord protects me, so it's fine."
I let out a hollow laugh before I could stop myself. Hearing it, Mace's lips curved into a matching smile.
"How irreverent. The Lord does exist, you know?"
"Of course. Just like unicorns, virgin bitches, and the golden witch 'exist' somewhere out there."
"Uni...? Virgin bi...? What are those?"
Mace tilted her head with genuine confusion. Teasing her was fun, but her pure, innocent bewilderment made me feel a twinge of guilt.
"...Never mind, it was nonsense. But the danger part is real. If you're going to do missionary work, ask the academy to assign you a bodyguard at least."
Mace pointed straight at my face. When I just stared, she stepped closer and poked my chest with her finger.
"Me?"
"Friends help each other, don't they?"
"Look at this. Are your eyes broken too, Sister?"
I swung my empty sleeve like a windmill right in front of her face. Mace only let out a small giggle, showing no sign of backing down.
"That scary face of yours is threatening enough without you even using force."
"Ugh. Just say I look like shit already."
Mace's hand suddenly darted toward my eye. She'd probably rifled through my pockets at that same speed.
"It's cool, though. Very manly."
She gently traced the lines of my scar like before, then pulled her hand back and returned to her bright, cheerful tone.
"Still, I'd love it if you wore some perfume!"
"If I have money for luxuries, I'd rather buy booze."
Proper perfume in the empire cost a fortune—enough to buy several bottles of top-shelf whiskey. I'd rather kill myself than wear cheap stuff. The smell was worse than cigarettes.
One of the beggars who'd received a blessing earlier limped toward Mace. I shoved her behind me and stepped in front of him. On fingers that looked like dried twigs rested a crumb of bread smaller than the fingers themselves.
"...Nu...n... please... eat…."
The man wrapped in rags spoke in a voice like he was wringing out a dirty mop. A thank-you for the favor? Even offering a gift put him in the top one percent of beggar decency, but there was no way I could eat something like—
"I'll eat it well!"
Before I could stop her, Mace reached past me and stuffed the bread into her mouth.
"What the fuck, are you insane?!"
"Om nom nom."
She made a big show of chewing the tiny piece with exaggerated effort. Who knew what was in that thing? What if she got sick?
"Ah, it's delicious. Thank you!"
Mace clasped the beggar's hand tightly, her voice full of gratitude. Tears spilled from the man's eyes onto the riverbank pebbles. Mace patted his back like she was sending off a friend, then turned back to me.
"See? I received a gift and everything. Doesn't it feel fulfilling?"
She stuck her tongue out playfully. There, exactly as it had looked when the beggar gave it to her, sat the same piece of bread.
"...I actually got scared thinking you really ate it."
"Hap."
And then she really did. I watched her throat bob as she swallowed. This time it wasn't a joke.
"Ugh. It tastes awful. It smells weird too."
The center of her outstretched tongue, where the coal-like bread had rested, was now slightly blackened.
"You wouldn't have eaten it if you didn't already know that."
"When someone gives you a gift, it's rude not to eat it."
I stared quietly at Mace as she spoke, watching her gaze at the lights reflecting on the flowing river. Just like her black-and-white habit, she seemed to view the world in clear contrasts. And yet there was something strangely neutral about her—something that didn't quite fit the typical holy figure. Childlike innocence one moment, mature tolerance the next. Watching her, I thought she was the kind of person who would never be boring.
"Let's head back before it gets any later."
I pulled out a fresh cigarette and spoke to Mace as I lit it.
"Ah, you're right. The academy gates will be closing soon."
"...You're going back to the academy?"
"Yes. I stay in the prayer room attached to the annex."
So she really was living like a homeless nun. Just like everyone else rolling around in this shantytown. I vaguely remembered seeing that prayer room once. It didn't look like it had any proper living quarters.
"They've got dorm rooms all over the place. The academy wouldn't even give you one?"
"They didn't say anything. The prayer room is quiet, so I like it."
"What about bedding…."
"I sleep on the floor with a blanket!"
Did they usually treat foreign missionaries this badly? No matter how much the empire had pushed religion aside, this was practically the same treatment Portuguese missionaries received when they went to Japan—minus the crucifixion, at least. The one actually being mistreated just kept smiling with that innocent face.
"What are you going to do now, Ain?"
"I'm going to a tavern. I'll drink until I pass out and wake up around noon."
"I see. Have a wonderful time!"
No matter how I looked at it, she didn't seem like a real nun. Was she just some abandoned girl who'd picked up a habit and was pretending? Maybe what she carried wasn't even a scripture—just some random novel with a fake cover.
"Sister. You do know about alcohol, right?"
"Of course I do. I'll get angry if you keep treating me like an idiot."
"Then you've heard about the three major addictions, I assume?"
It was ridiculous that I was the one explaining this, but I felt like I had to say something. Yet Mace only looked more puzzled, tilting her head again and again.
"Huh? Why would alcohol be poison? Sure, drinking too much is bad for you, but... back at the monastery, they told me alcohol was the best of all medicines!"
I knew the religious people here used wine for the Eucharist. But did they usually take it that far? The more I heard, the more suspicious that monastery where Mace grew up seemed.
As I stood there lost in thought, only puffing smoke, Mace brushed past my lips and whispered softly into my ear.
"If you're coming for a nap, don't make it too late."
Leaving those words and the sound of her laughter behind, Mace started running so she wouldn't miss the academy's curfew. I watched her back as she climbed the bridge. There weren't many people around, but the area was well-lit. I didn't need to worry.
I walked along the stone path, thinking about heading to the tavern like always, but I wasn't in the mood. It might have been baseless confidence, but I didn't think I'd have nightmares tonight either. I turned around and headed straight home.
The night wind, colder than it had been that morning, brushed against my head. For the first time in a while, it actually felt good.
Then I saw her.
Giselle was sitting on the steps in front of my house door, quietly watching me approach. Every thought about Mace vanished like smoke in an instant.
I threw the cigarette to the ground and spat on it.
Fuck. I should've just gone to the tavern. I'd forgotten about her.
Giselle, who had been watching me, smiled silently and opened her mouth. Once, that smile was something I would have sold my soul to see. Now it was more chilling than her pale skin or those red eyes.
"You're here, Ain. I've been waiting."