The Saintess Is Throwing a Tantrum
The Saintess. You really mustn’t do this.
Everyone has probably seen it at least once—a child rolling around on the floor, screaming their lungs out at their parents. For kids whose options are limited, it’s probably the most rational and effective method they can come up with. Still, from a third party’s perspective, it’s not exactly a pretty sight. What could possibly be so tragic that these snot-nosed brats are wailing like the world is ending? If you watch that pathetic scene long enough, you start to understand exactly why the global birth rate is plummeting.
If a woman’s tears are a weapon, then a child’s tears are a deadly one. Cluster-bomb level, at that.
And anyone who sees such a spectacle from afar inevitably has the same thought flicker through their mind: If I ever get married and have a child someday, I will never let mine grow up to be that kind of spoiled brat. I’ll be a proper parent who says no when something is not allowed.
Of course, any actual parent currently raising children would probably just snort and use that as drinking snacks. People tend to look down on things they’ve never experienced themselves. Still, I’d like to offer a weak defense on behalf of everyone who has to go through that phase.
“I. Want. To.”
The Saintess clung to my waist as if she would never let go, demanding I hand over what she wanted. She even stood on her tiptoes, hopping in place now and then. They were the kind of cute actions you’d expect from children her age. But perhaps it was because of the murky, pitch-black emotion swirling in those crimson eyes staring up at me. Instead of affection, fear took root first.
“…I cannot allow it.”
I’d lost count of how many times I’d repeated this refusal. Yet the arms wrapped around my waist showed no sign of loosening. If anything, they seemed to be growing tighter.
Back in my school days, my friends and I would joke about how nice it would be if, just once in our lives, an absolute beauty clung to us. Now that my wish had come true, there was no sense of accomplishment—only a heavy heart.
There was no need for the long-winded explanations that light novel protagonists usually spew in their opening chapters about why I, who had simply come to deliver the Saintess her breakfast, was now wrestling with her while she clung to my waist.
I had simply picked the wrong fairy tale.
That single mistake was the only sin that had led to this situation.
Saintess’s Exclusive Guardian Priest. The title sounds incredibly grand, but my personal theory is that the fancier the title, the less it actually means.
The duties of a guardian priest are far less impressive than they sound. I basically just follow the Saintess around all day, handling every little chore for her. In truth, I was closer to a nanny.
You know those high-school babysitters in American teen movies—the ones with braces who get paid to play with kids? That was pretty much how I saw my position.
So when the Saintess spent all day staring at a broken television for no apparent reason, I grew worried about her eye health. I started reading her fairy tales to distract her from the screen. It worked surprisingly well. Before I knew it, holding fairy tale recitals during our free time had become part of our daily routine.
And of course, at an age when she was still soaking up dreams, the Saintess sometimes wanted to act out the stories. I understood that feeling perfectly. When I was her age, I used to gather with my friends and play hero all the time.
But of all things… of all the scenes she could have chosen, she just had to beg me to reenact the kissing scene between the princess and the prince.
Up until now, we had stuck to wholesome scripts—knights slaying monsters, wizards taming dragons, that sort of thing. Acting out this pink-colored scenario with the Saintess was incredibly awkward for me.
“Saintess. As I have told you many times, a man and woman should not kiss unless they have sworn their futures to each other. Moreover, you are a Saintess who must preserve her purity. I am your guardian priest who protects you—ugh…”
“……”
“Please stop biting…”
She had sunk her teeth into my stomach. She must have been seriously angry. She usually got upset when I warned her against doing something or when I used formal speech, but this kind of direct expression was extremely rare for someone as emotionally flat as her.
She was so bad at expressing emotions that she reminded me of those emotion-learning robots from third-rate melodramas. The similarity extended to occasionally wanting to just turn her power button off for a while.
“This won’t work. What cannot be done, cannot be done. If you keep this up, there will be no more fairy tale reading sessions. I won’t stroke your hair or hold you anymore either.”
“……”
“Sigh.”
Perhaps my firm resolve had finally gotten through to her. The Saintess released me at last.
It seemed that when she bit me, my exaggerated grimace and over-the-top whining had done the trick. She collapsed onto the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Watching her sit there so dejectedly made me feel uneasy too.
Honestly, what was the big deal about a little kiss? I wanted to give her one just as badly. She was a world-class beauty whose lips I would never have even approached in my previous life. What man wouldn’t be tempted?
But considering my position and how the world would see it, I had to firmly reject her here. If rumors spread that the guardian priest assigned to serve the Saintess for life had forgotten his place and tried to steal her lips, that would be the end of me.
After all, there had been an apprentice priest who was punished by having his pinky fingernail ripped out simply for stepping on the Saintess’s shadow. If I carelessly planted a kiss, I might as well assume my head would be torn off.
Incidentally, that poor apprentice priest from years ago was none other than me. Even now, whenever I looked at the Saintess’s face, the trauma would resurface and my pinky would start to throb.
“Then I shall take my leave, Saintess. I’ll return at lunchtime—”
Crunch.
The very moment my relieved mind began to relax, a chilling sound struck my ears and a splash of crimson flooded my vision, instantly devouring my consciousness.
They say the human brain freezes for a few seconds when witnessing something truly shocking. That was exactly what happened.
A nauseating sensation blurred my sight, as if my brain refused to accept the unbelievable reality unfolding before me.
The Saintess was driving a sharp metal object into the back of her own hand.
“Saintess—!!”
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Even in the brief moment it took me to lunge forward, her self-mutilation did not stop. With mechanical precision and speed, she relentlessly drove the sharp object into her own hand. It was like watching an emotionless machine.
“What in the world are you doing?!”
I roughly snatched the weapon from her hand. It was the dining fork she had used during breakfast. She must have secretly taken it when she hugged me earlier. She hadn’t even pretended to hold it while eating, so why…?
“The wound… let me see the wound!”
“……”
I carefully lifted her snow-white hand, now stained bright red, and examined the injuries. It was horrific. The back of her hand, her knuckles, her wrist—every inch was covered in gashes. The metallic stench of blood stung my nostrils so sharply that I unconsciously frowned.
These were wounds severe enough to make even a grown adult scream. Yet the Saintess herself didn’t even change expression. She simply stared blankly at my hand gripping hers.
“O Lord. I am but Your finger. A mere lamb. I shall grant rest to all things upon this earth beneath Your authority. All glory shall be offered unto You.”
Clutching the rosario at my chest, I quickly recited a healing prayer. Why would she do something like this…? I shook off the distracting thoughts and focused entirely on gathering divine power in my hands.
Or rather, I tried to.
If only someone hadn’t gently lifted my hair and breathed a heated sigh against my scalp, my mind might not have gone on high alert.
Thud.
“Ugh…!”
It was by a hair’s breadth. If I hadn’t jerked backward in time, those soft lips would have touched mine. The sensation that brushed my cheek instead was unmistakably another person’s lips—a fact so obvious that anyone present would have known it immediately.
It was a painful truth I would have preferred to ignore.
“W-Welna…!”
“……”
I scolded her in a voice that even I could tell was shaky and rather stupid, but sadly my plea seemed to fall on deaf ears.
With slender fingers stained bright red, she gently tapped her own lips as if delighted. Her doll-like face remained as expressionless as ever.
Or was it just my imagination?
Somehow… it looked like she was smiling.