The Doll Smiles
Ever since crossing the border and setting foot in the Holy Federation, things had moved at breakneck speed.
Hopping from one teleportation circle to another — all of them prepared in advance by Israfil — the final destination was a sprawling 'metropolis' that brought Langestin to mind.
And the very first place they visited in this city was—
"H-how do I look?"
An upscale tailor shop.
The fitting room curtain swept aside, and Simon stepped out wearing a slightly embarrassed smile — a crisp white suit with a red tie.
Israfil smiled in satisfaction.
"It suits you perfectly! My dear nephew~"
The shop assistant beside her nodded vigorously, as if agreeing a hundred times over.
In his new clothes, Simon stood before the mirror and touched his freshly dyed white hair.
It still felt awkward, but the more he looked at it, the more it was starting to grow on him.
"Don't worry too much."
Israfil added quietly.
"In two days, it'll be back to its original color."
With one new suit purchased, the two left the tailor shop.
As Israfil strolled gracefully down the street, she snapped her fingers. A transparent barrier unfolded around them.
"Here — a forged ID and profile. From now on, your name is Sean Harther. An eighteen-year-old priest boy from the Bizer Second Cathedral in the Hapen region."
Simon accepted the forged ID and profile with a bewildered expression.
A Saintess arranging a cover identity through a broker! He couldn't help wondering if this was really allowed.
"A-are you sure this is okay?"
A priest's divinity sprang from blind, absolute faith in the Goddess Deva.
But if a priest betrayed their own faith in the Goddess, they could sometimes become so shackled by guilt that they lost the ability to wield divinity as before — a condition known as a Divinity Slump.
That was precisely what Simon worried about, but Israfil merely smiled serenely.
"Everything we do is to ward off a greater evil and threat! The Goddess will forgive us gladly."
Somehow, he doubted this woman would ever suffer a Divinity Slump in her life.
"By the way, Lady Israfil."
Simon glanced over his fully prepared outfit before continuing.
"Does my current look have something to do with this mission?"
Israfil shook her head.
"We need to pick up a guide first. This outfit is for that."
"Ah. Are we going to meet them now?"
She broke into a soft smile.
"Yes! Let's go find her together. That girl."
She had wanted to become a Saintess.
It was the dream of every girl born in the Holy Federation.
A being that sparkled like the stars in the night sky. One whom all people looked up to and praised — a person born human who ascended to the rank of demigod, closest to the Goddess.
And 'Teacher Anna', whom she admired so deeply, had been a Saintess too. Then, attending Efnel, she'd even heard herself called 'the return of Anna Cross' — the burden only grew heavier.
Naturally, she'd resolved to succeed Teacher Anna and become a Saintess.
And someday, she'd thought, on the moment she finally achieved that long-held dream and goal, she would be as happy as if she owned the whole world.
Then what about now?
'Am I happy?'
Lethe was smiling. But inside, she was not smiling at all.
The Cathedral's Grand Founding Festival. Countless people were streaming into the great cathedral.
"There! Right there! It's the Saintess of the Stars!"
"...How can anyone be so noble."
Lethe stood with perfect posture, presenting her carefully polished smile to the assembled crowd.
There was no 'Lethe Shardena' here.
Only the fact that 'the Saintess has arrived'.
"Saintess."
A Paladin assigned as her escort approached and knelt on one knee before her.
"I shall attend you."
Lethe answered with the smile that had become permanently affixed to her face.
"Yes."
When she extended her white hand, the Paladin kissed the back of it and rose. With the honor of serving and escorting a Saintess, the young Paladin's body was taut with tension, his face flushed crimson.
'...My legs hurt.'
Of course, Lethe thought nothing of it.
The only thing that interested her was when this excruciating ordeal would finally end.
Being a Saintess was a far filthier, busier job than it looked.
It was no exaggeration to say the Saintesses had a hand in every major event in the Federation. In this culture, where a Saintess's attendance was equated with the Goddess's blessing, major ceremonies and anniversaries were constantly shuffled around to fit the Saintess's schedule.
Duty and obligation.
Custom and responsibility.
And along with the power and authority came far, far more things that bound and strangled her.
The rebellious phase she'd enjoyed as an Efnel student no longer applied. Archbishops and other heavyweight figures — even other Saintesses, even the Pope himself — began coming to her directly, wrapping her up in endless education and ceremony.
-This behavior puts us in a difficult position, Saintess.
-Please, uphold the dignity of your station.
Whenever Lethe slipped up, the people around her suffered for it. Feeling that psychological pressure too, she dragged herself through each grueling day.
Her smile, her voice, the movement of her facial muscles, her etiquette, her way of speaking — even her own thoughts and values.
Everything she had ever been was being corrected into something 'Saintess-like'.
-A Saintess is the proxy of the Goddess Deva. Look down upon all people with mercy, pity the wretched, and never, ever lose your smile...
As the days went by, Lethe Shardena was being erased by the greedy old men of Efnel and their hard-headed elders, sculpted into a doll — polished, carved, and perfectly finished.
Yes. Now she understood.
They didn't need her.
They needed a doll who would smile at all the important events.
And as a bonus, a fighting force who would fight and die at the front lines whenever war occasionally broke out.
The hardest part of it all was that even Israfil, whom she had trusted, no longer treated her warmly.
-Lethe. Now that you have become a Saintess, my equal, I will not tolerate any more of this childish behavior.
Israfil, who had appointed herself as her mentor, drilled the ceremonial protocols into her with a cruelty that wrung tears from her eyes.
One small mercy, at least: there was a rule that a teenage girl awakening as a Saintess had to complete Efnel's full three-year course. It meant she wasn't torn away from her roommate Lirinet and her other friends.
Of course, the Saintess lessons were stacked on top, and she still had to complete her Efnel coursework with top marks — so the burden had multiplied several times over.
And then vacation came, and the moment she stepped outside the school gates, hell began.
A murderous schedule — she couldn't even guess how many places she was being dragged to in a single day.
"We beseech the daughter closest to the Goddess."
A bishop from some region or other.
She couldn't remember the name. Whatever. Close enough.
She simply wore her doll-like smile and extended the back of her hand. He knelt, kissed it, and wept, overcome with awe at the Goddess's grace.
"Heh heh! We beseech the daughter closest to the Goddess."
A senile old man.
Apparently the bishop of some provincial see where money rotted in heaps — lately, he'd been using teleportation circles to follow her to every single event.
"Ah, such noble beauty! This old man knows not where to put himself."
His mouth spoke of nobility while his eyes crawled over her chest and her legs.
Did he think she wouldn't notice?
Filthy, senile old lecher.
'Goddammit, seriously.'
Rage surged up from somewhere deep in her chest.
'Crush his windpipe, soccer-kick his jaw into orbit, then hammer three consecutive punches into the philtrum of that bastard while he's still seeing stars.'
But she only imagined it, smiling like a doll all the while.
In this place, she was a doll.
A doll. A doll.
Not a person.
Thinking of it that way was actually easier.
She just wished this time would end soon.
"The daughter closest to the God—"
'Screw you.'
"The daughter closest to—"
'Drop dead.'
"Before your radiant smile, I know not where to—"
'Then why don't you find a place for yourself in hell.'
Her patience was creeping toward its limit, but her body ran on autopilot, executing etiquette carved into her very bones.
"Thank you. May the Goddess's blessing be with you."
She was at the point where she didn't even know what she was saying anymore.
No mind, no self.
"Yes. May the Goddess look upon you as well."
Step back far enough, and no comedy in the world could top this.
An impersonation of Lady Israfil while pimping out the Goddess, and grown men and women weeping buckets over her grace and mercy.
The Holy Federation was a truly remarkable country.
The hours ground on. Once she'd met every last high-ranking official, Lethe was utterly spent. Her escort Paladin spoke up.
"Saintess of the Stars. We shall now proceed to the next venue."
Again?
"We're going right now?"
She asked, as sharply as she could manage, but this fanatic Paladin was completely oblivious to her anger.
He was a lunac who firmly believed that a Saintess's greatest joy was bestowing blessings upon the Goddess's flock — after all.
Irritation flaring up out of nowhere, Lethe turned her back on him.
"...I'll step out for a moment."
"I shall attend you."
"I'm not going to run away, so stay here."
"Wherever you go, escorting you is my duty as—"
In an instant.
Lethe's body spun through a full rotation.
WHOOOOOOOSH!
Her leg came hurtling in with a ferocious gust of wind, stopping with a sharp snap! — the heel of her shoe a hair's breadth from the Paladin's face.
The wind rippled across his cheeks, peeling his lips back to expose teeth and gums.
"...Hey."
"Y-yes?"
"Are you incapable of taking a damn hint? Who else is standing here besides you, you jackass?"
The Paladin's mouth fell open in disbelief.
It was the same predictable expression that always irritated her: 'Our blessed Saintess — using such vulgar language!'
"I-I am merely the escort of the Saintess—!"
"So you'd follow me into the toilet too, is that it, you little bastard?"
CRACK!
Having finally smacked him one across the head, Lethe clicked away on her heels. The Paladin, sprawled on the floor, wore an expression like 'Our blessed Saintess — going to the toilet!'
God. Seriously.
She utterly despised him. She wanted to kill every last one of them.
Click, click.
Lethe walked on, pressing a hand to her forehead. Slipping out the back of the hall, she found a deserted corridor.
As she walked, she flung off everything one piece at a time — the ornamental headdress, the Saintess's robe draped over her shoulders, even the high heels. Underneath the outer garment was her Efnel uniform.
She was still officially an Efnel student, so the standard configuration for public occasions was the Saintess's robe worn over the uniform.
'Whatever hell I catch for it later, the rest of today's schedule is absolutely MY break!'
She ached for nothing more than a breath of fresh air.
And then.
'Teacher Anna, I miss you!'
She missed that person terribly.
How on earth had Teacher Anna and Lady Israfil endured hours like these? She genuinely respected the senior Saintesses who'd come before her.
'Lirinet... I never thought I'd actually miss you.'
The faces of the friends she'd made at Efnel drifted through her mind.
And thank the Goddess, truly and deeply, that none of them had ever caught sight of this.
Unlike the girl they saw at school — if any of them had witnessed this spectacle, her doling out "grace" to old men in that lofty Saintess-speak, they'd have doubled over laughing until their stomachs hurt...
-Pfft.
Laughter?
From the nearly empty corridor, a small snort of laughter reached her ears.
Lethe flinched, turning her head before she could stop herself. Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed was a man in a white suit with white hair, choking back laughter.
'This little shit. Cracking up at a person like he's— huh?'
Her eyes went wide. The man had dropped his arms and was walking slowly toward her.
White hair swaying aside, gradually revealing his eyes, his face.
Lethe's lips parted, her expression going blank as her soul left her body.
Flesh and thought froze solid.
The one person she'd wanted to hide this from even more than Lirinet or any of her friends.
But there was no way he could be here.
Had she finally lost her mind?
Was she hallucinating?
She rubbed her eyes and looked again — and the figure only grew more vivid.
"It's been a while."
That familiar voice. That familiar face. A slightly mischievous smile.
And above all—
"Lethe."
Not 'Saintess'. Not 'the daughter closest to the Goddess'.
A man who called her plainly, proudly, by her name.
"...What the hell."
Lethe's face flushed scarlet.
"W-w-w-what are YOU doing here!! N-no, wait— did you... did you SEE?"
"See what?"
She darted over, seized him by the tie, yanked it hard, and screamed.
"What I was doing at the banquet hall, I said!!"
The tips of her ears had gone bright red.
Simon, tie still in her grip, held up both palms as if to calm her down.
"Lethe. You're choking me."
"Forget it! Erase it! Wipe every last bit of it from your brain, you bastard!!"
"How am I supposed to do that on command? I mean, you really did look like a proper Saintess though—"
Her face hit its limit and burned crimson.
Lethe let out something between a scream and a shriek and balled her fist.
"Forget iiiiiiiiiiiiiit!!"
Thwack.
Just then, a hand snatched her fist out of the air. At the second completely unexpected figure appearing behind Simon, Lethe's eyes went perfectly round.
"Honestly, how many times have I told you to fix that habit of throwing punches first? Lethe."
"L-Lady Israfil...?"
Israfil smiled faintly.
"Follow me, please. I have things to tell you both."