God is Dead: Donuts and the Birth of a Night Cleaner
Academy outskirts, back alley behind the store. In the pitch-black darkness settled by the cool night air, a faint rustling sound echoed softly.
"…."
Next to the store's back door trash bin. A petite girl huddled with her face buried in her knees. She was Isana, the hostage saintess of the Eilen Kingdom and the "discarded card" of the New Continent's Holy Nation.
Grrrrowl.
A beastly rumble spread through the quiet alley. Isana's flushed face dropped even lower as she clutched her gaunt stomach.
My stomach... it hurts so much.
Despite bearing the noble title of saintess, she was little more than a neglected burden in this minor kingdom. The Eilen nobles, seeing her as a thorn in their side, didn't even provide proper meals. In truth, she had never enjoyed a decent one back in the Holy Nation either. Under the guise of asceticism and penance, she'd survived her whole life on hard communion bread and plain water.
Today, too, she'd endured the day on just a sip of water. The reason she prowled around the store late at night was simple.
Creeeak—
The rusty back door of the store creaked open. Isana's silver-gold hair perked up. She rolled her large eyes toward the figure emerging through the gap.
The suspicious store uncle. Hakan.
In fact, this wasn't the first time he'd looked after her. Starting a week ago, during store prep. Every night, when he spotted her rummaging through the trash, he'd silently toss leftover bread scraps at her feet.
No words passed between them. Hakan flung the bread like trash; Isana devoured it like an animal.
She figured today would be the same.
Thud.
A brown paper bag landed at her feet. But it was different from usual. Not cold, hard bread. Warmth seeped through the paper, hot enough to burn.
Above all, what numbed Isana's senses was the violently oily, sweet aroma wafting like heat haze from the bag's edge.
"Eat it and get lost quietly."
With that curt remark, Hakan shut the door and vanished. Isana gulped, trembling hands opening the bag.
Freshly Fried Sugar Twist
"Ah…."
A gasp escaped Isana's lips. Before the eyes of this girl, imprisoned her whole life in rigid piety, loomed a massive fried doughnut, golden-brown and blanketed in snow-like refined white sugar.
No... I must uphold my dignity as a saintess. I can't succumb to this worldly, corrupt oily scent....
She desperately clasped her hands for a holy prayer. This was surely a trial from the goddess. She had to endure.
But the power of a fresh-fried twist outmatched any divine doctrine. The waterfall of saliva flooding her mouth wasn't something faith could fix.
Grrroooowl! Glorp!
Thunder rumbled louder from her gut. Finally, Isana let reason slip away.
With shaking hands, she seized the massive twist and bit in like a starving beast.
Crunch!
"…!"
In that instant, a magical big bang exploded in Isana's brain. Piercing the crisp shell, chewy dough enveloped her tongue. Hot frying oil coursed through her veins, every cell drowning in sinful bliss.
But the crown jewel was the thick sugar coating.
Sweet...! So, so sweet…!
The ultimate sweetness melted like snow on her tongue. More intense, primal, direct salvation than any holy blessing from the cardinals.
Tears of emotion welled up in Isana’s large eyes, dripping down.
"Sob... sniff, delish…."
Throwing dignity aside, she stuffed her cheeks until they bulged. Sugar dusted her face and habit, but she didn't care. Terrified someone might snatch it, she wolfed the whole thing without breathing, then sucked the sugar from her fingertips.
Gazing at the moon, ecstasy overtaking her, her lips parted unconsciously.
"Ahh... God is dead."
This was truth.
"This sweet white powder... is true salvation…."
"…."
Peeking from the back door crack, I watched in disbelief, stroking my chin.
What the hell, that crazy nun?
The old continent's stuck-up holy knights would draw swords at heaps of gold, calling it heresy. Yet this Holy Nation saintess ditches God for a fried flour doodad.
Talk about cost-effective religion.
Following Edelin, my second "crazy bitch" appeared, giving me a slight headache.
I sighed lightly, rattling the door open.
"Wipe your mouth."
"Eek?!"
Isana, mid-heretical prayer to sugar under the moonlight, flinched and shrank.
Regaining sanity belatedly, she wiped her sugar-smeared mouth with her sleeve, coughing awkwardly.
"A-hem…!"
Then, for the first time in a week, she spoke to me.
"Um... I sincerely thank you for your silent grace all this time."
Her voice was tiny, almost a whisper, but pure saintess—polite, refined honorifics.
She bowed her flushed face, asking cautiously.
"B-but... what is this holy food you just gave me? Even the Holy Nation's communion never tasted this merciful…."
Merciful my ass. Just fried dough rolled in sugar.
I cut her rambling short.
"Twist."
"Twist...! Such a holy name…!"
"Hey, saintess or witch, I don't care."
Arms crossed, I nodded at the trash bin and scattered junk.
"Cleaning up a starving corpse behind my store is a pain. That's why I fed you. You mess with business."
"Ah…."
"If you want more sweets, come every night and clean the alley. Sort trash, sweep neat, and I'll toss you unsold scraps like today."
No freebies. That was the 99th-loop tyrant's ironclad rule of rule and trade.
But to Isana's ears, my indifference translated differently. Tears of gratitude welled again.
Days of hell as a hostage, ignored by all. This rough man asked no questions of her background, just gave honest work for meals every night.
This man is the true Saint hiding in the alley…!
Isana nodded fiercely, bowing 90 degrees.
"Th-thank you! May God's blessing... no, sugar's blessing, dwell in your store…!"
Her prayer seemed a bit twisted, but whatever. The store's official night "part-timer" was born.
The next morning.
Breathing fresh morning air, I headed to the store early. Yesterday's lunch madness was exhausting, but a free cleaner made the alley sparkle—a net win.
"Alright, let's raise the shutter in a good mood."
Stretching, I gripped the rusty handle.
Creak—
As the shutter half-rose with a satisfying grind, something grabbed it.
Grab!
"…?"
Something burst from the ground, clamping my ankle.
Old continent instincts nearly crushed its skull with aura-laced kick, but I held back, glaring down irritably.
"Sob... snivel... Uncleee…."
Ash-gray hair like a bird's nest, dark circles to her chin. Academy top student, Edelin.
She sprawled flat, clinging to my leg like a cicada.
"What the hell are you doing at my store first thing?"
"Save me... please…."
Edelin bawled, waving a crumpled paper from her bosom.
The very invoice I'd boldly shoved at the instructors yesterday.
Of course, the sleazy academy dumped the massive debt on the "culprit" student.
"Ten million gold?! Where's a mere student like me supposed to get that?! The instructors say since my mana circuits opened, go hunt beasts weekends till it's paid... sob!"
Edelin rubbed her face on my pants, wailing.
"I went to the mercenary guild at dawn to earn money! But scary scarred rough uncles glared like they’d eat me! I bolted in one second!"
Made sense. Lifetime theorist, desk-bound. On the old continent, she'd be bones before crossing the guild threshold.
I snorted.
"You just called me uncle too. Same as those guild guys. Scared? Let go and scram."
"N-no! You're different! Not scary-looking at all! More like…."
Edelin rolled her eyes, pausing. I tensed.
What? Finally seeing my real age?
Yeah, 100 loops or not, this body's solid late-20s. Not bad-looking anywhere.
Maybe this brat would finally call me "bro." I steeled my face, expectant.
"...Easy mark, sucker-uncle type?"
"…."
I shoved her off with a leg flex, face stone.
"No part-time needed. Scram. Easier alone."
"Aaaah! Joke! If you shake me off, I'll end up beast chow!"
"Won't let go? I'll snap your leg."
"Snap it! I'll counter with a cast! Work a month free!"
Peaceful morning campus. The top-student leech refused to detach from my leg; the store owner shook like ridding a bug. Their comedy dragged on.
Nights: Isana. Days: Edelin.
Damn it. My grand retirement of quiet baking was perfectly derailed in days.