Deaconess Sophia
“You must stop taking the medicine now.”
Moritz gazed pityingly at the priest before him.
The priest's haggard face showed no sign that he'd even heard. He simply stared into empty space.
Into the void. Nothing but emptiness. He just stared. That was all.
And even as he did, time marched relentlessly onward. As if urging him to wake from a dream.
“Mr. Antonelli. As I keep saying, you really must stop the medicine...”
“...If I stop.”
The priest before him—Father Lucio Antonelli—lowered his hollow gaze.
No longer fixed on nothingness, his vision filled with the face of the doctor who worried for him.
“If I stop. I might die.”
“......”
“But if I don't stop. That's its own kind of hell.”
“Mr. Antonelli.”
Father Antonelli pointed to his temple with a finger. He tapped it once, twice, then a third time.
“I can hear them now. Inside this head... inside this skull.”
“What do you hear?”
“My comrades dying beside me... The vibrations of the artillery shells. Arms torn from our trench walls rolling around. And, and... I, I'm... I'm...”
Tears finally burst from Father Antonelli. Moritz, heart aching, gently clasped the young man's hand in his wrinkled old one. The doctor's palm enveloped the hand of a youth crumbling under guilt he couldn't bear.
“Wh-what... What the hell should I have...”
Father Antonelli sobbed. His priestly sleeve soaked through with tears.
What sin had this young man committed? Barely in his twenties, with a bright future ahead—what wrong could justify such torment?
Moritz felt true compassion. The priest's pain was too much for one man alone, yet this pitiful, exhausted soul insisted on carrying it by himself.
If only he could share that burden—with his doctor, or those around him. Even a little relief. Not rejecting others' help outright, but learning to lean on them.
“I... hic. I couldn't do anything. Hic. I... I...”
“It's alright. It's alright...”
“She wasn't meant to go like that. Not a woman who deserved to die that way. What the hell should I have...”
How long did he sob like that?
Eventually, Father Antonelli lifted his head. His expression was far brighter than when he'd entered.
“...Sorry, Doctor. I showed you something shameful.”
“Nothing to apologize for, Mr. Antonelli. Patients don't owe apologies.”
“Thank you.”
Moritz eyed the priest's rabbit-red swollen eyes, then picked up his pen to write the prescription.
“Still no narcotics. You need to face your current state.”
“...Yes.”
“The drugs with strong narcotic components—the side effects make them impossible to recommend anymore. Any more, and your body will break first.”
“Understood.”
“I'll prescribe only for your shoulder. Three times a day—morning, lunch, evening—two pills each time.”
“...Is the shoulder improving?”
Tricky. How to explain?
After a moment's thought, Moritz decided on the truth. This patient didn't want sweet lies anyway.
“Your shoulder... Honestly, recovery is a bit slow. If you received a miracle manifested with ultra-high-density Divine Power, it might be different... but. Yes.”
“Got it.”
“The previous meds had narcotic pain relief, so you might feel some pain on these.”
“...Yes. Understood.”
Father Antonelli's face darkened slightly. But he betrayed no sign, resuming his usual blank mask before leaving the exam room.
“Thank you. See you in a month...”
“Yes. A month from now.”
Click.
Moritz stared at the closed door, then sighed deeply, rubbing his brow.
“Hoo—”
He slumped fully into his chair.
Whenever he came, he always finished other appointments first, saving mine for last.
Consideration for other patients? Or hiding that vulnerable side?
Impossible to know. But...
“...Not time yet, I suppose.”
Bang.
“Doctor. Time to close up.”
“Alright. ...Before that, Betty.”
Nurse Betty turned. Moritz smiled weakly, beckoning with a finger.
“One smoke, then wrap up.”
“...Sounds good.”
Without a cigarette, the tightness in his chest was unbearable.
Dong— Dong—
“...We'll end today's class here. If you have questions, I'm on duty today, so feel free to stop by the faculty office anytime. Note: no homework queries. Think and write it yourselves.”
“See you next week.”
With that slightly offbeat farewell, I tucked a Bible under my arm and left the lecture hall.
Three weeks since I started as a professor at Caldea Imperial Academy. Maybe the first class storm set the pace—nothing major since, thankfully.
Oddly, though, the students' eyes changed after that first lecture.
At first, plenty dozed off, some face-down asleep. But after my clash with the Adelaide lady, the slackers vanished.
Their sparkling gazes unnerved me a bit... but if students are diligently learning, no educator stops them.
Perhaps seeing my Primordial Flower sparked interest in theology, once dismissed as boring. A hopeful thought.
Come to think of it, Chloe was paying attention too.
I know little of this novel, but Chloe's the protagonist. Fitting for a heroine—I probably skipped it.
Anyway, with the protagonist diligently in my class, my goal's just teaching her to be human-ish. That should suffice.
I wasn't aiming for the story to proceed flawlessly. Beyond the early parts, I don't even know the plot—who's saving whom?
Just don't die.
Yeah. Stay intact, human. That'll do.
Lost in such thoughts as I exited, Sophia the deaconess—doubling as my assistant—waddled after me, arms full of theology tomes.
“Deaconess Sophia. I'll take them.”
“Ah. Th-thank you!”
Pitying her struggling to readjust the stack, I snatched the pile and tucked it under my arm.
“Need to get a briefcase.”
“Yeah. Second semester means exam materials too—definitely need one.”
“Yes. Get one comfy for you too, Deaconess Sophia.”
“Yay, thanks! Oh, right—about today's duty...”
As we walked the hall, she hustled beside me, rattling off the schedule.
Handy having a deaconess. Reminded me of my days as one in some rural fief.
Back then, naive country boy. How'd I end up here?
Glancing down at her after duty talk, her golden bob bounced as she trotted hamster-like beside me.
“Hm... Chief Priest. Not curious about today's academy cafeteria lunch menu?”
“I am. Do you know, Deaconess Sophia?”
“Hehe. Tell you for free?”
“...Hm.”
She peered up mischievously. Living at my side in the academy revealed her playful streak.
I stopped. Gazed steadily down. She looked up oddly, then met my eyes defiantly.
Her emerald eyes sparkled with something.
Youthful passion from her bright, girlish face—lost to me nearing thirty.
Even at her age, doubtful I'd have had it. What was I doing then?
...Want to see that sparkle closer.
“Um... Ch-Chief Priest?”
I leaned in, staring. Her porcelain face flushed pink. Why?
Her clear green eyes darted, flustered, then she steeled herself, locking gazes.
“......”
“......”
No words, but we both realized.
This... staring contest. For the lunch menu.
And I never lose.
“...Eyes hurt yet, Chief Priest?”
“Deaconess Sophia. Mountains of work. Finish quick.”
“Gasp. Chief Priest. Nose hair sticking out.”
“I know that's a lie.”
“...Tch.”
Focused on her face, I spotted dust on her temple. Shifted books to right hand, raised left gently to her cheek.
“Eek...!”
She shuddered. Her glaring eyes wavered.
Got her...!
Victory sensed.
Cupping her cheek softly, her tiny face fit my palm. I smirked, pinching the dust.
“......”
“Pfft.”
A laugh escaped me.
She'd squeezed her eyes shut, fists clenched trembling with effort.
I flicked the dust away.
“Dust on your head. Snack?”
Shaking my hand, her sealed eyes cracked open slyly.
Then, wide-eyed disbelief, alternating between my hand and face.
“J-Just now. You smiled...”
“What's wrong?”
“Dunno! Pervert Chief Priest! Pervert!”
“What.”
“A p- priest... a cleric, doing that... Argh...”
She mumbled nonsense. Then.
“What're you two doing here?”
My eternal lunch buddy, Professor Esther Garrett. She eyed us like we'd grown heads.
“Nothing. Let's eat.”
“Uh... yeah. Was heading there anyway.”
“So, Deaconess Sophia. What's lunch?”
“No idea!”
We headed to the cafeteria. Even at table, she avoided my eyes awhile.
That mad?
Still, moments like this aren't bad sometimes. So I thought.