We're Really Not Scammers (1)
Riding a horse was a joy.
When you became of one mind with that clever beast and raced freely down the road, the wind wrapping around your whole body lifted your spirits.
"Ugh-heh-heh."
"Teacher…?"
Of course, there was something even better than that.
His one and only student had invited him out. She had even offered to buy him whatever he wanted.
The young lady who always spat out things like "No," "Don't be ridiculous," "That makes me sick," and "Sea cucumber." The girl who, every time she saw him, wore a sour face and edged her body away. The child who radiated an atmosphere of I don't like you from head to toe.
She's finally opening her heart…!
Emotion surged through him like a rising tide.
But Andy was a professional teacher. He was not about to get carried away over something like this.
It was a tiny step—as tiny as her stubby little legs. If he got too eager and pushed in now, she would surely bristle like a hedgehog and put up her spines.
"Eheheh. Ugh-heh."
"What is wrong with him…"
Cream, already thoroughly alarmed, put as much distance between herself and Andy as she could. They were on the same horse, yet somehow she kept widening the gap. And with her mask fastened so tightly, she almost looked like a germaphobic teenage girl.
At any rate, they arrived at the commercial district.
For the time being the count had no intention of hiring more tutors, so they were free to go out as they pleased. Since they were already out, they planned to stop by the commission office as well. As before, they left the horse at an inn and changed clothes.
A black robe and a black hooded cloak.
"This outfit is way too big…"
"You'll grow into it soon enough. It'll be fine."
He had deliberately bought it large. Children grew fast, after all.
She hadn't seemed to grow much between their first meeting in spring and the approach of summer, but still.
"…Have you thought about what you want?"
Cream asked as they stepped outside.
Something he needed. Something he wanted.
Even on the way here, nothing particular had come to mind. Most things he could simply request from the manor, and Andy himself was a modest man with few desires. The money he was saving was for Cream's happy future—not for his own pleasure.
So he only made thoughtful little noises without answering, and she took hold of his sleeve and led the way.
"We came out on empty stomachs, so let's eat something first. I'll buy, so pick whatever you want, Teacher."
"A meal, is it."
"Something simple like a sandwich or a waffle is fine, or—or something e-expensive is fine too. Ahem."
"Then how about ice cream?"
"Waaah. Ice cream…"
A shop happened to be right there. He followed after Cream as she scampered over with pure, childlike delight, and they came out each holding a cone.
The moment she heard the word ice cream, the girl had put on the gentlest expression, and now she was licking away at what she held with obvious relish.
"How is it?"
"It's delish… Wait, no!"
Then her face snapped back. Her usual twisted scowl returned, cheeks flushed pink.
"I-I told you to pick what you want, Teacher. Don't think about me. Of course that doesn't mean I like ice cream or anything. Anyway."
"What the young lady likes is what I like."
"C-Can you not say things like that?!"
She yanked her mask back up—she had lowered it to eat—and spun around. Her voice cracked a little as she spoke, but she didn't seem to care.
Watching her retreating back, Andy thought carefully.
"Ah. Then while we're out, let's buy that."
"Buy what?"
Thinking he had finally decided, Cream lit up with eager interest—
"Supplies for the revenge plan."
"Ugh!"
This time Cream really did turn her back on him.
"I told you there's no such thing…!"
"I am always waiting."
"I clearly said there isn't one?"
"What have you come up with so far?"
"Aaagh…!"
Cream, if she had her way, would have sprawled flat on the ground right then and there.
She had gone out to surprise her teacher. She had come all this way to buy him a gift. And yet here he was again, shamelessly inserting himself into her business.
This isn't how it was supposed to go…
She simply could not understand how this man thought.
They weren't related by blood. They hadn't known each other since childhood. Even after each other's secrets had been exposed, he kept showing her the same unwavering interest.
In this world, even family walked away when their expectations were betrayed.
And yet this man remained so consistently the same.
Maybe instead of kicking him out, I should just brainwash him…
She was stewing over dark schemes about the clingy man when Andy, who had been following behind her, suddenly stopped dead.
Wondering what nonsense he was about to spout this time, Cream stopped as well.
"…"
"…Teacher?"
Andy stood stock-still, staring at a shop. Behind a glass display window, wands, grimoires, and other tools for mages were arranged in neat order.
Cream raised an eyebrow.
"Are you interested in magic? Even though you're a priest?"
A mage could not become a priest, and a priest could not become a mage. The life force flowing through one's blood could only be converted into one kind of power. Once someone became capable of using divine power, they lost the constitution for mana.
So she asked—and Andy shook his head.
"That's not it. I'm quite fond of my own power. It's just…"
"Just?"
"Looking at those, I realized I need something similar."
"Something similar? You mean a staff? Come to think of it, I've never seen you with a staff, Teacher."
Swordsmen had swords. Mages had wands or grimoires. Priests had staffs—holy staves, they were called, with an orb set at the tip.
"Even when you went out on that commission before, you were using some pathetic tree branch. How badly do you want to hide your identity?"
"Well, I don't have one."
"…Don't have what?"
"I don't have a staff."
Cream blinked.
"You don't have a staff?"
"No."
"You mean you don't have that wooden stick you put the orb on?"
"I have neither the orb nor the stick."
For priests, a staff was an essential item. It was a tool that helped them use divine power more efficiently and more precisely—and a companion in faith.
When one became an apprentice priest, their sect issued them an orb. As the owner's faith and divine power grew stronger, the orb grew more solid and shone with a brighter light. In that way, priest and orb walked together as lifelong partners, cultivating their faith. It was a custom shared across most sects.
As one's rank rose, so did the right to add ornaments, so you could roughly gauge a priest's rank just by looking at their staff.
So what on earth was this teacher talking about?
"…Aha. So you mean you don't have a spare. That's why you put on that purification scam with a tree branch."
"No. I genuinely don't have one."
"Because a staff would reveal a cleric's rank… and it would be inconvenient for infiltrating the manor. So you hid it."
"Amazingly, you are wrong on every count."
"…"
Boom—!
At last, something inside Cream snapped.
She staggered forward with a psssh and slumped against a nearby building wall.
"My blood pressure. My insides. The back of my head."
Watching her, Andy thought, Even a blood witch needs to look after her vascular health.
What foods are good for blood vessels, I wonder?
He might have looked carefree, but he couldn't help it. There was no falsehood in what he had said.
In a primer on holy arts he had recently read, he had learned of the existence of staffs, and so he had tried holding a tree branch as a rough substitute. He had hoped it might ease the headaches that came with purification.
The results, well—not particularly.
Even now, the memory of that thunk—the sensation of divine power forged in his blood vessels catching as it transferred into the wood—still left him uneasy. He had only managed by brute-forcing it with raw output.
A true craftsman doesn't fuss over his tools, they say. Looking back, it might even have been that pathetic tool that made the purification so convincing to Mrs. Welina.
"Please calm down first, young lady."
"You need to… say things that… make sense…"
To Cream's ears, Andy's words sounded exactly like I'm a swordsman, but I don't have a sword.
Unlike a swordsman without a blade, a priest could use divine power barehanded, so it was better in that regard—but the output dropped, so no one bothered going around without a staff. There was religious significance to it as well; they always kept it with them.
And Andy, who had displayed such tremendous output with his bare hands, could not possibly not be a cleric—and could not possibly not have a staff.
Anyone from this world would naturally arrive at that conclusion upon seeing him.
And yet he kept denying it, until Cream finally melted down completely.
"Since I've brought it up, I may as well finish. Every time I use my power, there's a backlash, and I'd like to fix that. I thought perhaps getting a staff might help."
"…"
"But ordinary staffs are too long, which is a problem. Something about the length of those wands the mages use would be ideal. I could tuck it into an inner pocket of my cloak."
"…"
"So I suggested the commission office because I wanted to put in a custom order while picking up a new job."
"…"
She had melted, but she listened to the end.
She decided to understand it as him needing a spare staff. Digging any deeper would only make her head hurt.
At any rate, she now knew of something Andy needed.
The main component—the orb—he would already have. What he needed now was the stick portion. For portability, something short, about the size of a conductor's baton.
…Wait.
As she thought it through, something felt off.
What he wanted right now was a priest's staff. A tool for more effectively eliminating corruption.
And Cream was a witch.
In other words, wasn't this like livestock in a slaughterhouse handing the butcher a sharper knife?
Granted, that livestock could bite the butcher's throat at any time—but as a simple analogy, that was the idea.
As the realization settled in, Cream's expression slowly shifted. It was the same peculiar look she got when eating raw spinach—somewhere between queasy and not quite.
But it's the only thing he's ever said he needs…
This man who only ever talked about the young lady's happiness, the money for that, the reputation for that—he had named one single thing he needed.
If that was the case, shouldn't she gift it to him?
No—no matter what, arming your nemesis with a weapon?
But he already used purification just fine without a weapon. He could attack her right now if he wanted to, and he simply chose not to.
Uuuugh…
Her tiny little mind spun furiously. Behind the hood and mask, Cream's face was cycling through a whole spectrum of expressions.
"Well then, shall we head to the commission office first? After that we can take our time browsing the shopping street."
"Huh? Hgyaah—"
Without giving her any more time to think, Andy pulled Cream along. Apparently deciding that the girl lost in thought simply looked worn out from high blood pressure, he tucked her under his arm and strode off.
Suddenly dangling like a kitten being carried off by its mother, Cream let out a sigh, arms and legs hanging limp.
Being hauled around like this was still better than being dragged along in plain view, she supposed.
Little by little, the girl's way of thinking was adapting to her teacher.
When they arrived in front of the commission office, her feet finally touched the ground again.
From inside the door came the boisterous laughter of grown men, and from a nearby waffle shop drifted a sweet fragrance.
The moment we go in, there'll be middle-aged men already drunk in the middle of the day. Thinking as much, Cream followed behind Andy.
And what she saw was a little unexpected.
Besides the daytime drinkers, there were young men, women, elderly people—all sorts. At least ten or so more than the last time she had been here.
It wasn't even harvest season yet. Why were there so many people?
"Teacher, hurry up and take a commission. We still have that conversation to finish."
Crowded places reeked, and she hated that. Leaving those words behind, Cream made to get out of the commission office as quickly as possible.
Still fretting over how to handle the gift, she was just opening the door again when—
"Ah—e-excuse me, Andrew, sir!"
A clerk's desperate cry rang out.
In that instant, the gazes of roughly a dozen people all swung toward Andy.
"Is that him?"
"The pilgrim and his assistant?"
"Y-yes. If you could all just wait a moment—"
Paying the clerk no mind whatsoever, the crowd surged straight toward Andy and Cream.
"I was referred by Mrs. Welina."
"They say you're that skilled."
"There's a curse on our household…"
Unbelievable.
As it turned out, every last one of these people was a prospective client.
Perhaps Mrs. Welina—whose husband worked at the lord's manor—had a wider network than expected. The advertising effect was undeniable. He had thought two or three clients would be lucky.
Andy calmly said, "Please speak one at a time," but his words were instantly swallowed by the noise of the crowd.
Cream, small enough to slip free of the throng, watched the whole scene unfold.
What is with these people…
She already had enough on her plate with the gift. This was an unexpected obstruction.
She glanced sideways. The bearded men were drinking as if this were someone else's world entirely.
"With skill like that, of course people are gonna flock to him!"
They were treating the spectacle as a side dish for their drinks, pouring and downing with gusto.
They weren't wrong. That was what a capable priest was—someone people followed, praised, and adored wherever they went. Salt of the earth, indispensable to this world.
Cream knew that fact all too well, which was precisely why she both envied and resented the clergy.
People born fundamentally different from her. Those chosen by the gods.
But still.
"One moment, please, one at a time—your names—"
"I'm just so, so desperate right now."
That detestable cleric was in trouble right now.
"I want to put in a commission immediately. How do I do that?"
"Not through me—through the clerk—"
For some reason, the white-haired girl found the sight thoroughly unwelcome.
Her teacher surrounded by complete strangers—something about it simply did not sit right with her.
Far from panicking, he sounded almost pleased that the work was pouring in, and every time she heard that tone in his voice, it grated on her.
…Well, of course. This isn't the time for him to be standing around like that.
Cream narrowed her eyes.
We were supposed to talk about the staff…
The noisy scene filled her pale pupils.
We were supposed to… pick out a gift.
Her lips pressed into a hard, tight line, the tension building.
Today's main purpose wasn't commissions. It was that.
And so she simply stood there watching.
In this place thick with the smell of people, she watched only the teacher who alone seemed to give off a strangely sweet scent.
A face full of sulking. A jutting lower lip.
Like a child who had gone on a picnic only to watch their parents rush back because of work.
—Bang!
"Is there a man named Andrew here?"
As if one mountain after another, yet more interrupters came barging in.
Two clerics in deep green priestly robes. At their sudden intrusion, everyone turned to look at the pair.
The one silver lining, perhaps, was that the commotion quieted down.
A middle-aged male priest led the way, a young female priest trailing behind him.
"I am Kabosi, 3rd-Class Priest and acting head priest of the Horizon Sect Church in the Holybell Commercial District."
"I-I'm Melan, a 4th-Class Priest of the same affiliation… S-Senior, I was going to speak first—"
"Is the man in the black hood over there Andrew?"
The man called Kabosi brushed aside his junior's words and strode up to stand before Andy.
In one hand, the symbol of a priest: a staff.
"Andrew."
"Yes, that is me. Please go ahead."
And in the other hand, he unfurled an official document.
Unfortunately, it did not contain words of praise.
"You are under suspicion of sacrilege through fraudulent activity."
"…Hmm."
"Please come quietly with us to the church."
At the shocking contents, Cream—listening from a distance—squeezed her eyes shut.
"Kabosi, was it? There seems to have been some kind of misunderstanding."
But Andy answered without panicking. His voice was as even and calm as ever, with little emotional fluctuation.
He only made a discreet gesture toward Cream, signaling her to leave.
But the girl did not obey.
"Andrew. You recently accepted a commission to purify a painting. In fact, our church had already investigated that matter, and the painting was clearly not contaminated by corruption—"
"—No. That statement is incorrect."
She had been swallowing down her frustration again and again, and by the time she came to her senses, she was stepping forward.
Every gaze in the room swung toward her.