The Anniversary (4)
- May I ask what is going on?
"Lucy, please say something nice to Papa for me, Saintess. I'm too stupid to know what to say."
At the flat, expressionless voice drifting through the crystal orb, Phoebe's composure cracked for a moment.
- ...Lady Kent?
"Yep. That's me."
"I'm here too, Phoebe."
- Joy? Don't tell me the Third Prince of Soladin is there with you as well?
"That is correct, Saintess."
What on earth was this situation? Phoebe tilted her head, eyeing Benedict's haggard face.
At first, she had thought Lady Alrn had something to tell her when the crystal orb linked to the young lady's room lit up. But when she answered, it was Count Alrn's face on the other end, worn and hollow. She had assumed he wished to make some sort of confession to her — and now the voices of others were drifting in from behind him.
- Hmm. First of all, Lady Kent. You're the one who took Lady Alrn's crystal orb, aren't you?
"Yep, that's right. I needed the Saintess."
- Without consulting anyone else first?
"Consult?"
At that innocent, guileless echo of her question, Phoebe understood that this entire affair was one person's unilateral decision, and let out a rueful laugh. She didn't know the precise circumstances, but one thing was clear enough — Count Alrn needed help.
- Count Alrn.
"Yes, Saintess."
- Do you require my help?
At Phoebe's quiet question, the light in Benedict's eyes deepened.
The presence of a hero who had single-handedly turned the tide of war and saved the kingdom from countless dangers bore down on her — but Phoebe did not waver.
Because she was a Saintess. Because she was one who extended the hand of salvation to those who struggled. Because she carried the duty of bringing hope to those on the verge of collapse.
She did not step back. With a stern expression, she met Benedict's gaze head-on.
In the end, it was Benedict who yielded first. He quelled his presence, lowered his head, and let out a voice drained of all strength.
"You seem an entirely different person from the one I met before."
- That is because, back then, I stood there as Lady Alrn's friend.
"I see. Understood, Saintess. Would you grant this worthless father your counsel?"
- Gladly, if that is what you wish.
While Phoebe spoke with Benedict, Joy rose from her seat and led Arthur and Frey away with her.
What was about to unfold in that room was a conversation meant for family and family alone. It would not be tolerated for anyone other than those two to remain present.
Once the two of them were left alone, Benedict leaned back in his chair and gave a hollow laugh.
"Let me say this first — I have never received baptism."
- Why would that matter?
"I beg your pardon?"
- The great Chief God loves believers and nonbelievers alike, without distinction. And I, who spread His will, must do no less.
"Haha. Well, now."
Under Phoebe's solemn smile, Benedict told her the same story he had just shared with the other three.
The sin he had committed against his daughter. The wrong he could never atone for, and had no right even to hope for atonement.
Phoebe listened to it all in silence until the very end, and only spoke once Benedict had pressed his lips tightly shut.
- Count Alrn. You said you are a man who must not hope for forgiveness.
"Yes. That is so."
- Have you never considered that turning away from someone who wishes to forgive you might itself become another wound?
Benedict instinctively moved to argue back — but no words came from his throat. What Phoebe had just said was far too right for him to defy it.
- Among the clergy, there are many who appoint themselves to suffering. Those who believe that by tormenting themselves, they can draw nearer to God.
"Yes. I have heard of such people."
- I do not think all their actions are wrong. The resolve to shoulder another's sins within oneself is, without question, a noble thing. But neither is it right for everyone.
Those who do not choose asceticism for another's sake, but who instead lose themselves in the act of their own suffering — those are certainly wrong. That is not asceticism. It is self-harm.
"..."
- Count Alrn. I trust you understand what I am trying to say.
When Benedict silently nodded, Phoebe continued in a deliberately stern tone.
- Always question for whom the thorn-strewn road you mean to walk truly exists. You are capable of that. For you are a wise and good man, Count Alrn.
"I am... you say?"
- Yes.
Before the unshakable certainty in Phoebe's eyes, Benedict could do nothing but yield.
Look at those eyes — they seemed to believe in him more than he believed in himself. This woman truly deserved the title of Saintess, and then some.
"Thank you for your counsel, Saintess. I don't know how I could ever repay this grace."
- There is no need to concern yourself. I have merely returned a small portion of the overflowing kindness I received from Lady Alrn.
"Lucy. So that's it. While this hopelessly inadequate father has been circling the same place all this time, Lucy just kept moving forward, didn't she."
Benedict could not hold back the tears that spilled out on their own. Watching the hero's shoulders — shoulders that looked as though nothing in this world could break them — curl inward, Phoebe cast off her stern expression and reclaimed her natural gentleness.
- Count Alrn. Do what you must do.
"Yes, Saintess."
- Ah, and one more thing. Please tell her to contact Lady Alrn later as well. I so want to see her young lady's face beaming with a smile.
"Ahaha. I don't know whether Lucy will listen to me, but I'll certainly try."
- You must! That's a promise!
Having tossed her earlier solemnity entirely out the window, Phoebe showed an exuberance fitting her age, then cut the crystal orb's connection, saying she had things to do.
Left alone in the room, Benedict rose slowly from his seat.
"I must not repeat the mistakes of the past."
The countless thoughts and lingering regrets churning in his head remained completely unresolved.
His heart was still brimming over with guilt and self-loathing.
And yet, instead of turning his back to gaze out the window, he opened the door of his study.
"Dummy Papa."
There stood Lucy. There stood Benedict's beloved daughter. There lay the final gift his wife had left behind.
The instant he saw Lucy's bloodshot eyes, Benedict wanted to flee. So terrified was he of the next words that might fall from her lips that he wished he could retreat back into the study.
But he crushed down his anxiety and stepped forward, passing Lucy's friends to stand before her.
"Lucy."
"Were you crying? Is it menopause? Has your emotional sensitivity gone all wobbly and weepy?"
"Would you come outside with me for a moment?"
"Is Dummy Papa a troll not just in looks but in intelligence too?"
"...Hm?"
"You were planning to toss your adorable daughter out into a blizzard?"
Ah. Right. The weather outside was in no way fit for a stroll. Had he been so frazzled trying to gather his composure that he'd forgotten something this basic?
"No, I, um, that is—"
"And why are you holding out your hand?"
Even as Benedict stammered, berating himself inwardly, Lucy's onslaught continued.
"You want me to take this filthy hand, soaked through with snot and tears? What exactly is your intention here? Have you decided to upgrade from Dummy Papa to Beast Papa?"
"How could that possibly be the case! This is just my tears and snot. No, wait, this is, um, thaaaat—"
Where on earth was he supposed to begin untangling a situation that had gone wrong in every possible way? As his restored reason desperately ground away at the problem, Lucy suddenly burst out laughing.
Not a mocking, snickering laugh, but a bright, genuine one. After giggling away for a good while, she readily took hold of Benedict's filthy hand, which still hung there dumbly in the air.
"You're not going to be terrible at escorting me too, right? If you disappoint me, I'll never hang out with Dummy Papa again."
"...I shall do my utmost, Lucy."
*
The blizzard outside posed no obstacle whatsoever to our walk. After all, I had the Chief God's divinity on my side.
That divinity, warm as sunlight, didn't so much as dim in the driving snow — instead it drove the storm back and kept the air around us perfectly comfortable.
"I have met many a clergyman in my day, but I have never seen one do this with divinity."
"Dummy Papa. Are you comparing me to those pathetic trash heaps? That's genuinely offensive."
"Haha. My apologies. Your old father here was never any good at accepting compliments."
Even as he wore an awkward smile, Benedict kept glancing nervously at my face without pause. Those bloodshot eyes of his were far too much to bear, so I avoided his gaze without a word.
'Grandpa. What do I do?! How am I supposed to escape this suffocating situation?!'
I frantically begged for advice.
To be perfectly honest, I had no idea what was going on.
I'd been soothing my own gloomy mood by teasing Horny Fox when Frey suddenly barged into the room, snatched up the crystal orb linked to Phoebe, and ran off. Confused, I'd followed after her — and there was Benedict, looking utterly haggard.
How was I supposed to catch up to any of this?
His expression had looked serious enough that I'd gone along with it for now, but I was still completely in the dark.
<Just humor him. Think of how much that doting fool has given you — surely you can give him this much back.>
'But it's way too much pressure! Look at his eyes right now! One wrong word out of me and I feel like he'll burst into sobs!'
Seriously, what was going on?! What happened while I was off sulking for a bit?! Somebody, anybody, please explain it to me!
"Th-that. Lucy."
"What is it, Dummy Papa?"
"Your father is sorry for being so terribly, hopelessly useless."
Why is he suddenly apologizing?! Now it's even more uncomfortable!
What is this? Seriously, what is this? Did Benedict actually do something wrong?
No matter how I thought about it, me and the original Lucy had wronged Benedict far more than the other way around, hadn't we?!
"I'm sorry I couldn't stay by your side when you needed it most."
I was mid-thought, seriously considering flinging Benedict's hand away and bolting, when his words made me look up. His eyes were brimming with tears.
"This father of yours is such a foolish, inadequate man that all he could ever think of was his own suffering. So even when you reached out your hand and asked for help... I couldn't bring myself to take it."
I — I, who had seen Lucy's past — knew what Benedict was trying to apologize for. Because I knew the sorrow and despair Lucy had endured, I understood what he was trying to say.
And that was why I could give no answer at all.
Because the one Benedict owed his apology to was not me.
Because the one kneeling in the snow, head bowed in penance, was not apologizing to me.
Because I, who had merely fallen into this world, possessed neither the right to forgive nor the right to be forgiven.
"I know how ugly it is, to offer an apology so shamefully late in coming. And yet. I—"
That was the moment. Emotion surged up from somewhere deep within me.
The same way rage had boiled over when I heard Mira slandered.
The same way my heart had sunk when I saw Benedict's sorrowful face.
The me of the past never knew the cause of this feeling — but now, I thought I understood.
This was Lucy's emotion.
The heart of a child who resented the father who abandoned her, and yet could never bring herself to hate or despise him.
I didn't know why this was filling my chest to the brim. But one thing was certain.
This feeling was telling me what I had to do right now.
I crouched down to meet Benedict's bowed face at eye level. And then, there in the shadow he cast, I smiled.
"Papa."
For the words welling up from my heart, the Mesugaki skill's translation was unnecessary.