Penalty Time (7)

From a very young age, Phoebe had lived a life far removed from anything resembling play.

She would rise in the early hours to offer prayers for the numerous clergy. After that came her studies of the Holy Scripture and divine magic. In the afternoon, she would travel from place to place to help those in need. When evening fell, she would hear confessions or return to her studies once more. And when every last obligation was seen through, she would spend the time before sleep preparing the next day's prayers. A hamster wheel with no room for the word rest — a grueling existence for a child so young — but Phoebe bore it all, believing it was a weight she alone was meant to carry. The great Chief God had chosen her, and so, gritting her teeth, she endured each day in order to prove that His choice had not been in vain.

And yet.

And yet.

Everything that had once sustained the Phoebe of the past was a lie.

The memories of the orphanage she clung to on those nights when the misery grew so heavy she found herself wishing tomorrow would never come — those memories had never existed at all. The orphanage Phoebe longed for had been a place awash in blood and screams. The scenes she believed were warm were, in truth, a hell of icy sneers and cooling corpses, where only dried-up tears remained.

The title of Saintess she had shouldered was a lie as well. The great Chief God had never chosen anyone to be a Saintess. That title was a fabrication, conjured up for the convenience of the Church's corrupt officials. Every ounce of weight she had endured had not been for the Chief God's sake, but for the sake of the corrupt.

Months had passed since she learned the truth, yet even now, every time ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it surfaced, Phoebe could only laugh hollowly. That one person's life could be manufactured so easily — and denied just as easily. Even with her upright heart, it was not so simple to accept that her entire existence amounted to nothing more than a farce someone else had written.

If there had been no one to hold ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me up back then... what would have become of me?

If not for Her Ladyship.

If not for the one beloved by the great Chief God.

She who bares her fangs on the outside yet carries a warmth like the sun within — the Apostle of the Chief God, whose will was far too vast for that tiny frame to seem capable of holding. If she had not been beside me... could I still smile the way I do now?

"Bwahahaha! The Airhead Lady really is an idiot! How do you get THIS wrong?"

"That's unfair! Who plants a trap by changing a single letter?!"

"There, there~ I get it, you feel wronged~ It's not like the Airhead Lady was airheaded on purpose, after all~"

"Ugh! Ughhhhh!"

Watching Lucy show no intention whatsoever of holding back her laughter, and Joy venting her fury with both fists clenched tight, Phoebe eventually shrugged her shoulders with a smile of her own.

What good is imagining things that never happened? Better to focus on right now.

"Joy. Do you really think that's right?"

"It's... not wrong, is it? Phoebe?"

"Phoebe. Don't go giving hints to the Airhead. The Airhead is at her cutest when she's being airheaded."

"Airhead— no! My Lady! At the very least add 'Lady' after it! Or else call me by my name, the way you do with Phoebe!"

"I'll consider it if you beat my score. Though I doubt even an airheaded Airhead could manage that."

"Waaah! This is so unfairrrr!"

At the sight of Joy lamenting her mistreatment, having forgotten even the ducal dignity she so often flaunted, Phoebe finally burst out laughing.

Playing with friends. What a truly wonderful thing it is.

None of this would have happened if Her Ladyship hadn't dragged me out of my room. And it wouldn't have ended there. I'd have stayed shut away, praying to soothe my anxiety, and little by little that anxiety would have swollen until I began to doubt myself.

Before dawn that very day.

Phoebe had woken as always, only to find herself gnawing at her lip against the anxiety that kept rising like a tide. She was so terribly afraid of the cruel truth she would have to hear today. She had thought she'd steeled herself, when in fact she hadn't prepared at all. Even after praying again and again for her inadequate self to be protected, the anxiety would not fade — and so Phoebe had made her way to Lucy's room.

She had set her feet moving on the simple belief that if she could just stay near the warmth of that radiant divinity, the fear would melt away.

And yet, even standing before Lucy's door, Phoebe could not bring herself to knock. So many realizations she had failed to grasp until that very moment seized her ankles all at once.

Wouldn't visiting at an hour when even the sun had yet to find its place be discourteous? What if she woke her and displeased her? What if she was in the middle of washing up, or at prayer, and Phoebe disturbed her? As one worry chased the tail of the next, Phoebe found herself unable to touch the door at all.

Perhaps sensing that turmoil somehow, Lucy had opened the door herself and welcomed Phoebe in — looking more regal than Phoebe had ever seen her.

Her Ladyship will never know.

That the moment I met your face, every trace of the anxiety nesting in my heart simply flew away.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Her Ladyship will never know, either.

How much I agonized when you asked after my wishes before I could even speak them. Or how overjoyed I was when you called this inadequate person by her name.

You probably don't know the rest either.

How flustered I was when you declared that if all I wanted was this much, then it was yours, and carried me out into the world. How I struggled to keep from laughing when you marched straight to a half-asleep Joy, insisting your reputation alone wouldn't suffice. And how happy I was today, playing with you and Joy from morning until night — the first time in my life I'd ever played with friends like it truly meant something.

If I asked whether you came outside just to ease my fears, I'm certain you would deny it.

After all, you're used to giving, but hopelessly clumsy at receiving.

So I won't ask.

Instead, I will hold this day in my heart, become someone worthy of standing at your side without shame, and wait for the day I can finally repay you.

"My Lady! Just you wait! Next time, I'll be the one winning!"

"You lost alllll day long today — what makes you think next time will be any different? As long as the Airhead is an Airhead, I'd say it's impossible~"

"I-I didn't lose the whole time! Phoebe won a few rounds!"

"Even so, Joy — that doesn't change the fact that you lost to Her Ladyship every single time."

"That goes for you too, Phoebe!"

"Ohh~? So the Airhead is the petty sort who gloats over beating someone playing board games for the very first time? How very noble of you~"

"Eek! Eeeeek! Why is no one taking my side?!"

With her face flushed as red as the sunset, Joy fled vowing revenge. Once Lucy confirmed her presence had truly vanished, she turned her head toward Phoebe.

"Phoebe."

"Yes, my Lady?"

"Are you ready? I was worried you might hole yourself up in your room again, as timid as you are with all that baggage you carry."

"I'm alright. Truly."

Whatever I may hear, if Her Ladyship stays beside me, I know I can smile through it.

"Big words for such a wimp."

The place Lucy led Phoebe to was a restaurant on Academy Street. The moment the staff spotted Lucy, they approached with a practiced smile, and, mentioning a room had just opened up, guided the two of them upstairs.

"Welcome, honored guests."

"Ah. Finally here. Come in and sit — we've a mountain of things to discuss."

Waiting inside were Johan, Bishop of the Church of the Main God, and Karia, Lucy's information broker. After the staff closed the door and left, Karia cast a few spells of warding, then rested her chin on her hand and studied Phoebe's face.

"So how much does our Saintess know?"

"...I."

"Ah, it's fine. You don't need to answer — just listen. The Church's corruption? So you know the rough shape of it. The fact that you're a False Saintess? Oh. You know that too? Your own wretched past? My my, you even know that. Impressive."

With the words fired off one after another, offering no chance to reply, Phoebe felt her breath tighten in her chest. The sly glint in those eyes. The barbed voice. The sly, deliberate tone. The playful gestures. Each of them unremarkable on its own, but together they formed a weight that even Phoebe, long accustomed to political probing, found hard to bear.

"That's enough, auntie. Being jealous just because she's younger and prettier than you is ugly beyond words."

"I wasn't jealous, particularly. Well. Anyway — my apologies, Saintess. I've lived rough for a long time, so sizing people up became a habit."

"No, it's quite alright. It was nothing."

"Hmm. Is that so?"

Karia looked Phoebe up and down as if measuring her, then curled her lips upward.

"What I have to tell you today will be nothing more than confirming what you already know. Beyond that, the investigation is still thin — and there are a great many delicate matters involved."

Phoebe understood the meaning of delicate all too easily.

She means it concerns the people entangled in the Church's corruption.

If she named who was involved, no amount of composure could keep it from showing on my face. That's why she's being careful.

"I ask for your understanding, Saintess. When the time comes, I will tell you everything."

Hearing Johan's stiff, formal voice, Phoebe forced the corners of her mouth upward.

It can't be helped. I'm still someone with far more lacking than I possess.

"Saintess. Are you ready to hear the story?"

"Yes. I am."

"Then place your hand on this crystal orb. It will carry you to where you began."

...Where I began.

Don't tell me.

Startled by the unexpected words, Phoebe spun her head sideways in alarm. Lucy, who had been furrowing her brow at something, met Phoebe's glance and gave a silent nod.

They really found it. That orphanage?

That place like hell itself?

Blinking as she stared at the crystal orb, Phoebe felt the warmth radiating from beside her — and drew a long, deep breath.

It's alright.

What could possibly be wrong when Her Ladyship is at my side?

I'm only seeing now what I would have to face someday.

It's alright, Phoebe.

It will surely be alright.

The moment Phoebe, her resolve settled, placed her hand upon the crystal orb, her vision flipped upside down. When she finally gathered her wits amid the disorientation of the teleportation, she was kneeling in a field.

This place...

Staggering to her feet, Phoebe lifted her eyes to a building standing in a solitude too deep even to catch the moonlight. Neatly tended, as though someone had lived there until only recently — and yet hollow and empty within. The orphanage, altered not one whit from her memories of it.

Thump. The strength left her legs, and Phoebe sank onto the grass, staring blankly at the building.

The open lot where she'd believed she played with her friends — which in truth had never been used for anything but burying corpses. The dining hall where she'd thought they were poor but never starving — which in fact had never given the children so much as a proper slice of bread. The dormitory where she remembered whispering with the others — which had existed so that even the smallest sound earned a beating within an inch of their lives, until they were afraid to make so much as the sound of breathing. The prayer hall she believed had echoed with hymns — which had rung, instead, with the screams of children.

False memories and true nightmares surfaced within Phoebe all at once, laughter ringing in one ear and screams in the other, until at last she doubled over the ground and vomited up everything inside her.

"Phoebe."

At the honeyed voice seeping into her ear, Phoebe came back to herself, and slowly lifted her head, following the warmth that had wrapped itself around her.

Red hair that glowed even in the darkness. Eyes bright as jewels. That same reliable smile as always — and shoulders that looked broader than ever before.

The moment Phoebe met Lucy's face, the moon at her back, she felt her nightmares gutter and die.

"Did you forget how to stand on your own two legs? Or did you get so fat you can't get up anymore?"

"...Hehe. No. Surely not that."

Pushing herself up off the ground once more, Phoebe offered a prayer ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠upon the cross that hung at her neck.

O great Chief God, grant this inadequate soul the courage to face the truth.

Grant me the strength to walk forward without breaking before a truth so cruel.