An Uninvited Guest at the Table
"No. I don't want this. Please stop."
"My, it seems I interrupted you right in the middle of your meal! How terribly rude of me····."
If you know that, then don't sit down. I couldn't help but wonder when the phrase "my apologies for the intrusion" had twisted into "I'm about to cause you some serious trouble from now on." A wave of disillusionment clouded my once-clear thoughts like gathering storm clouds on a sunny day.
The uninvited guest who had settled herself across from me at the table was a noble lady whose appearance looked as though it had been copied straight from the cover of some clichéd otome novel. Her spiral curls, styled so perfectly that one had to question how it was achieved without a curling iron, and that cumbersome dress whose hem would surely drag across the floor without servants to hold it up—everything about her screamed "archetype." If she covered her mouth with a fan and giggled, she would be the very picture of a masterpiece of outdated tropes. The sheer perfection of it almost felt refreshing.
"It's a pleasure to see you again, Lady Rosevelt."
"Oh my! I never expected you to remember my name! I'm honored!"
Your servants standing behind you were mouthing it to me in sync. It would have been stranger if I hadn't known. The desperate, pleading looks they shot me were almost impressive in their intensity. When I pronounced her name correctly without a single mistake, the servants reacted as though their national team had just scored a goal—silently cheering with their entire bodies. It wasn't hard to imagine the disaster that would have unfolded had I gotten it wrong. No matter where you go, the underlings always suffer for the whims of those above them. The only difference is the form it takes. As someone who also lived as an underling, constantly attending to some troublesome superior, I could deeply sympathize with their plight and pain.
Stay strong, everyone.
"Ever since that day, I've been so disappointed that we haven't had a proper chance to chat. Meeting you like this again makes me want to jump for joy! Do you feel the same way, Priest?"
"Yes, of course. Though, honestly, I'm more curious how many men would actually refuse the chance to speak with a beautiful lady like yourself, Lady Rosevelt."
"Oh my, you're too much, Priest."
She grabbed my hands as if snatching them away, then leaned in while awkwardly emphasizing her chest with her upper arms. The aggressive way she closed the distance reminded me of a charging bull. I'd thought my comment was just flirtatious enough to maintain basic courtesy while hopefully lowering her favorability, but it had the opposite effect. That line had once caused everyone except the Hero to burst into laughter when I'd demonstrated it at a banquet, yet it seemed real nobles simply took such shameless flattery as standard small talk.
"I've heard so much about you from Lobel! He said you're always pure and upright, genuinely empathetic toward others' pain, and that you give your all to every task—a true role model for all clergy!"
"Haha····. I'm not worthy of such praise····."
The closer she pressed against me, the stronger the suffocating scent of perfume became—like someone had stuck a menthol patch drenched in cologne directly onto my nose. It made my head throb in an entirely different way than usual. Ever since I'd saved Priest Ranobel, several of his fiancées had shown considerable interest in me. But if I had to name the most direct and persistent among them, not a single one could compare to Lady Rosevelt. She was clearly eyeing my position and abilities, trying to stake her claim before anyone else could, just as she had with Priest Ranobel. The fact that someone engaged to another man was so openly flirting with someone else made my inner Confucian soul scream in protest, and it took considerable effort to keep my polite smile from cracking.
"Lobel told me that from now on, he intends to devote the rest of his life to serving the Saintess, who personally scolded his foolish ambition, and to you, Priest Regis, who gave him a second chance he could never have earned even through death."
"Ah, I see····."
"When he shaved his head to prove his resolve—oh, you should have seen how shocked we all were. One of the girls even burst into tears, insisting that her Lobel would never do such a thing····."
"Oh dear····."
The declarations Lady Rosevelt relayed were the same tedious lines Priest Ranobel had repeated to me endlessly since that day. By now, hearing them again felt nothing but exhausting—like being forced to listen to an educational audio recording from the beginning, this time narrated by a different voice actor. They say couples grow alike, but if even this nauseating trait had rubbed off on her after barely being engaged, what kind of horrifying chimera would their child become? A vivid sense of dread welled up in my chest at the thought of the Demon King's seed being born in the distant future.
I desperately wanted to flee this place right now, but without any utensils left, finishing my meal and escaping wasn't an option. Once a highborn lady starts unpacking her story, she never gives the other person a chance to cut her off. All I could do was empty my mind and pray to the heavens that this ordeal would pass quickly.
"Oh, that's right! Priest Regis, do you enjoy chess by any chance?"
"Pardon? Chess? Well, I know the rules well enough, but I haven't played enough to develop any strong feelings about it····."
"Then how about a match with me sometime?"
"Haha. If you insist, it would be my honor."
Save me. Hey. Lobel. What are you doing? You said you were getting a fork. Come back. Hurry.
At some point, Lady Rosevelt had moved from across the table to the seat right beside me, occasionally pressing her chest against my shoulder in an obvious manner. While I maintained a calm poker face on the outside, my mind was filled with nothing but resentment and pleas directed at Priest Ranobel for unleashing this beast upon society. Even though a younger version of myself would have been completely taken in by this honey trap, the only emotions rising within me now were anxiety and irritation rather than lust. For one thing, she probably thought I hadn't noticed, but every time she leaned in, the calculating gleam in her eyes as she watched my expression was far too blatant to inspire any positive feelings. Compared to the heart-pounding days I'd spent with the Saintess, Lady Rosevelt's advances felt about as stimulating as middle-aged women at a rural hair salon groping a young man while commenting on how sturdy his body was.
"But did you know, Priest Regis? In some nameless country outside the Capital, there's a version of chess with a peculiar rule that lets you steal your opponent's pieces."
"····Oh. Is that so? How fascinating."
"Hehe, having your pieces stolen and turned into the opponent's might seem underhanded at first, but don't you think it's rather thrilling? The thought that something you believed could never be yours might actually become yours····?"
"Haha····. That's quite an interesting perspective—one I never would have come up with myself····."
I quickly clenched my fist to stop her from trying to intertwine her fingers with mine. No. I don't want this. Please stop. Don't touch me. I repeated the magic words that were supposed to repel bad people several times in my head, but they didn't seem to work. Still clinging to my last thread of hope, I sent a desperate, pleading look toward her servants, begging them to stop her. But the ones who had been soul-bonding with me just moments ago were nowhere to be found. At the end of my hollow gaze were only the cowardly traitors, covering their own eyes and pretending not to see her outrageous behavior.
"Lady Rosevelt, actually, I have an urgent matter to attend to····."
"Hehe, you're quite bad at lying, Priest Regis. There's still plenty of time before the Saintess's mealtime, isn't there?"
"No, the truth is, I left my fork in the kitchen····."
"Oh come now, there's no need to be embarrassed. Hehe, you can be rather adorable, can't you?"
Just as I tried to stand up in a hurry, Lady Rosevelt suddenly pulled me into an embrace, as if trying to cover me from above. I barely managed to suppress my reflexive urge to shove her away roughly. It was at that moment, as I desperately tried to kick my sluggish thoughts into gear to find some way to resolve this hopeless situation, that a voice rang out.
"Here is the fork you were looking for."
Crack!
Like a flash of lightning that outruns its own thunder, a chilling voice that didn't sound like it belonged to a living person cut through the air. Only after a silver streak flashed between Lady Rosevelt and me did its owner finally appear beside us. A strange sense of déjà vu washed over me. Something similar had happened not too long ago, hadn't it?
"Have you finished your meal, Priest Regis?"