036: Tragedy to Outsiders, Misunderstanding to Me – Hanbyeol's Just Small-Chested, But Her Slim Figure Suits Clothes Perfectly
Hanbyeol might have small breasts, but her slender frame suited clothes so perfectly that every single outfit I picked out for her was a hit. She'd pay up on the spot and tuck them straight into her inventory. For my part, it wasn't so much about wearing them myself as dressing up my character, so I didn't turn down anything that looked good on her—as long as it wasn't uncomfortable. That's how we ended up buying a bunch, and I handed them all over to Hanbyeol to carry.
At first, I politely refused when she offered to hold them, insisting I'd manage myself. But with the pile growing, I had no choice but to relent. Bound as I was, I couldn't carry that much anyway, and her inventory was barely 10% full. Even the shop staff's attitude toward us had warmed up considerably, all bows and scrapes. Considering the side-eye they'd given us earlier for trying on the bondage gear without buying, it made sense.
"Aigoo, come back anytime!"
They even threw in a few casual outfits as bonuses, pressing them into our hands. We thanked them and stepped out. Hamill, arms crossed and waiting patiently outside, didn't show a hint of boredom—just stood there steadfastly. Had we kept him too long? A twinge of guilt hit me, and I almost said something, but then I remembered how he'd never properly apologized for his screw-up before. Petty, maybe, but I wasn't some big-hearted saint to begin with. He'd insisted on tagging along uninvited, and with our bad blood still fresh, I didn't owe him any special kindness. Incompetence was one thing; rotten character was another that wouldn't fix itself. A little lingering grudge was fine. Besides, now that I was a woman, a narrow mind came with the territory, right? Was being petty a good thing?
Suddenly, an image flashed in my mind of something long slithering deep inside me. I glanced nervously at Hanbyeol, wondering if she'd somehow caught my weird thought. Thankfully, she just met my eyes and beamed.
No mind-readers around, so I was safe. Phew.
"Sun's setting soon. Dinner here, or head back?"
"Hmm. Hamill, what's on the menu tonight?"
She asked as casually as if querying a private. Hamill grunted.
"How should I know what Hamill here's got planned."
"Corn soup, rye bread, and lettuce salad."
"Huh...?"
I blinked in surprise at his immediate, unhesitating reply. Hanbyeol just grumbled like it was no big deal.
"No meat. Let's eat out."
Fun as the day had been, fatigue was setting in, and all I wanted was to crash back at the temple. I felt a bit deflated, but hey, good food was always a win. So I trailed after her through the streets a little longer. We weren't hunting some legendary spot anyway—just picked a busy-looking pub with an inn upstairs.
"How do you know your way around so well?"
"While you were holed up turning into a total hikikomori, sis, the rest of us were out exploring."
"Hey, I was locked down, not wandering freely... And in this getup?"
Sure, I'd spent some extended "me time" shut away in my room, but hearing it from her stung like a gut punch. It wasn't exactly voluntary confinement, but I'd treated it like a vacation and lounged around, so guilty as charged.
"I know, just teasing you, sis."
"Meanie."
I pouted on cue, and she leaned into me, all coquettish.
"Don't cry, sis. Dinner's on me."
"You've spent plenty already... I'm good."
No way was I fleecing a kid for nose-digging money, even if I was the adult. My wallet might end up thinner, but mooching off Hanbyeol? Nope. Age aside, wasn't I the one riding the bus with her and Daesik? Petty expenses like this were on me.
But before we could bicker further, a straightforward voice cut in.
"In that case, lovely ladies, how about we treat you to dinner?"
"Oh, Francis!"
The tone sounded like a playboy on the prowl, but their priestly robes and Hanbyeol's cheerful reaction kept me from bristling. If thugs had approached like that, I'd have ducked behind Hamill, but acquaintances of hers couldn't be all bad, right?
"Brother Hamill's here too. First time meeting this sister."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Ivy."
The two in pristine white priest robes looked friendly enough. Objectively handsome, even—enough to make my former guy self begrudge it. Sleazy like that Parasite Guy, maybe. But no need to say that to their faces. I smiled politely and dipped my head in greeting. They introduced themselves in turn.
"Pleased to meet you. Francis Bacon."
"Napoli Spaghetti, sister."
Should I laugh? Joke or real name? To avoid rudeness, I just nodded with a neutral smile.
"We've heard so much about you from Hanbyeol. As beautiful as described."
"You're too kind."
Flattering my customizations felt good, but I lacked the talent for chatting up strangers, and the conversation fizzled fast. In a raid or dungeon strat session, I'd have steered it effortlessly, but worn-out salaryman life had atrophied my small talk. Work, commute, rest, and study left no room for friends beyond rare weekend meetups. New connections post-college? Draining, meaningless—after my last breakup, no blind dates. Social skills decayed inevitably.
But pretty faces covered a multitude of sins, it seemed. They kept the talk flowing.
"Sister Ivy's emulating the Saint by binding her arms so neatly."
"Yes."
"It suits you perfectly. Others get flashy with leather restraints, gags, blindfolds—parading it like fashion."
"Missing the point. The Saint endures for us; that's just mockery."
Were all priests natural busybodies? Bondage trends and public displays were... eye-catching, sure, but overkill. Still, blanket condemnation felt rigid. At least it made my look seem less lewd. They didn't know I was the Saint, so I subtly defended them.
"It does feel over the top to me too... But other orders aren't complaining, so maybe it's fine."
"Hmm, is that so?"
"Sister Ivy thinks that way."
Their disgust softened into kindly smiles. Respecting my view, or testing me? Hard to say. Either way, Food Names blended seamlessly into our group, escorting us to the pub. I only clocked it post-menu.
This was... what social butterflies did? The raucous din forced us to raise voices, but they handled the chatter, leaving me to nod or shake my head—perfect for my exhaustion. Thoughtful, even.
"Fate's brought us together—shall we all have a round?"
Francis suggested lightly. Their angle? Get us drunk? I eyed Hamill; he just shoveled food blankly.
"Sure!"
"H-Hanbyeol, you're still..."
"What, sis? I'm not a kid anymore. Full adult here!"
"Haha, Sister Ivy, overprotectiveness isn't healthy. Just a taste, nothing more."
"Fine... one round each. I'm skipping."
I knew my body's booze tolerance from last time—no sips for me. Only Hanbyeol, Daesik, and Iris got to see me loosened up. Hamill was too stoic to care, but blurting my grudge might earn a fist, so exclude him.
"A shame. But how about a juice? Their orange is killer—lines for takeout."
"Now that's intriguing."
My spark prompted Francis to order beers and juice pronto. As we grabbed utensils, servers filled glasses. Quick service. Napoli toasted vaguely; I chimed in politely and sipped, watching Hanbyeol and Hamill.
Hamill downed his 500cc-plus mug in one go, no burp, back to eating. Hanbyeol mimicked, gulping then letting out a tiny hic.
"Don't laugh, or I'll singe your hair bald."
She menaced Francis and Napoli; they stifled snickers behind mugs. Booze quieted them—not villains, then. Their energy was deliberate vibe-building, not predation. Fellow introverts recognized their own. Affinity up.
"Sister Ivy, are you beastkin? That tail's so natural."
"N-No, artifact."
With hands bound, I'd used the tail for drinks and bites; Napoli eyed it curiously but nodded at "artifact." In reality, gadgets amazed; here, magic handwaved it. Wow, artifacts! Wow, holy relics! That world.
"Thought Hanbyeol or Brother Hamill were feeding you."
"Or us."
Last bit unnecessary. Goodwill plummeted.
No pickup line that lame even for hitting on girls.
"Appreciate the thought. But I'm fine."
Battle-hardened by asshole bosses and clients, I parried smoothly—cool without chill, no openings.
"Heehee, no need. I got her."
While distracted, tipsy Hanbyeol nuzzled my shoulder shamelessly. I turned to her without hesitation, tail dropping spoon to support her.
"Sorry about this. Must've hit her fast."
"No issue. Pub's got rooms upstairs. Crash here."
"We're good—temple rest'll do."
"Sending you off like this feels wrong. Street mishaps on us?"
Our bodies the goal after all? Trust crumbling. Face hardening to snap coldly—then Hamill steadied Hanbyeol.
"Rest easy. These brothers are purely concerned for your safety. Right?"
Hamill felt reliable for once. That bulk, those muscles—they'd deter funny business. Francis and Napoli flashed affable grins, nodding furiously.
"Of course! Hanbyeol's like our little sister; we're no wolves eyeing Sister Ivy."
"Priests with actual morals."
No line crossed—no storming out. I finished eating, gauging them. Hanbyeol's absence darkened their faces.
"You two... crushing on her?"
Suspicion voiced, they waved hands wildly.
"N-No! Crazy talk—small-chested... Shh, secret from Hanbyeol."
"I like curvy beauties like you, Sister Ivy. Sticks? Nah, pure sis."
Then why the gloom? Genuine goodwill, hurt by doubt? Regret crept in—till Francis dropped it.
"Truth is, we're from the Papal Court. The Pope suspects you, Sister Ivy."
"What? Iris and Hamill said they were too. Inquisitors?"
"Yes."
No hesitation. Breath caught. That night of Iris's interrogation and abandonment flashed back. My traitorous body heated then, panties tormenting mercilessly. Not in front of them. I clenched thighs, squirmed—but custom undies clung skin-tight; no hands-free escape.
Straining to hold back, scowling and twitching, Francis pitied me.
"We can't imagine how Brothers Hamill and Sister Iris treated you. But their faith in you as Saint makes us want to believe. Help prove the Pope wrong. We promise the least barbaric interrogation."
"Nngh... uh..."
Brain whited out; words mere white noise. Hiding failed—shame of climaxing before strangers, inexplicable heaviness welled tears. Slumping against the chairback, shuddering in aftershocks, unable to sit up, they approached.
"Saint's trauma runs deep, brother."
"Indeed. How harsh were Iris and Hamill...?"
Couldn't hear. But their careful arms lifting mine from both sides registered. Where to now? Iris and Hamill's hell redux? Brain screamed resist—body refused, limp as they dragged me along.