Encounter (2)
The crumbled bits of the wall pattered against the ground like hail. Dust danced wildly within the curtain of sunlight pouring down, adding an eerie, ominous haze to the already stale alleyway.
“C-cough!”
A man, framed against the cracked wall that looked ready to collapse at any moment, let out a low groan.
If I ever had to explain this chaotic situation to someone, there was one thing I absolutely needed to say before getting into the details.
I am innocent.
This isn’t my fault.
It’s not that I’m bad—it’s society that’s rotten.
Yes, I did casually toss that man who tried to punch me. Yes, he flew through the air without even screaming and slammed into the wall. And yes, the wall couldn’t withstand the massive kinetic energy and crumpled pathetically. But isn’t it a bit unfair to pin all the blame on me alone?
My brain’s defense mechanism was screaming this pathetic excuse at full volume, and the resulting headache felt like I’d chugged a bottle of cheap wine. My skull throbbed relentlessly.
“Haa…”
I rubbed my face with both hands, desperately trying to calm the storm of thoughts raging inside me.
I really had tried to hold back.
The moment that thug swung his massive arm—thick as my torso—and aimed for my face, my cowardly, sinful reflexes fired off a command before my brain could even intervene. Two familiar sounds of destruction followed right after.
Thud.Crunch.
When I cautiously opened my tightly shut eyes, the scene before me was that sorry bastard plastered against the wall like a soggy wad of toilet paper. The thought that bloomed in my chest right then was painfully simple.
“I’ve done it now…”
This was all because of the so-called “training” my former comrades used to inflict on me without warning. They claimed that to fight monsters—creatures born with jaws strong enough to crush rocks and hides tough enough to deflect steel—you first had to temper your own body to match them. It was the former leader’s ironclad philosophy.
It was the kind of reckless policy that openly flipped the bird at that wise man’s saying: “He who fights monsters must take care not to become one himself.” But they were all too young and hot-blooded to realize how insane it was, and I wasn’t strong enough to resist the violent current they created.
Thanks to that, I ended up with a body capable of protecting itself against most low-grade monsters. The problem was that I lacked both the skill and the guts to properly control that strength. So whenever I got into a scuffle with ordinary civilians who couldn’t use mana, disasters like this were practically inevitable.
In daily life, there weren’t many moments where my body and mind grew tense, so it usually wasn’t an issue. But the second I openly made an enemy of someone, it became an emergency. Having spent years wandering the dangerous zones known as “dungeons,” where you never knew when or where monsters might attack, we had no choice but to keep our senses constantly sharpened. That meant our bodies instinctively reacted to “hostility”—the strongest emotion a sentient being could emit—whether we liked it or not.
Fortunately, this guy didn’t seem to be in any life-threatening condition, and nothing looked broken. There was no need to use prayer to heal him.
“Aah…”
Now that I looked, my priestly robes were completely torn apart. It seemed that when I flung him away mid-punch, his flailing fist had caught my collar in mid-air. Good grief. This is exactly why I hate fighting. Getting hit is unpleasant, hitting someone is annoying, and whether you win or lose, it always leaves a bitter aftertaste. I just couldn’t bring myself to like this wretched activity.
Suddenly, I remembered something an elderly pastor from the orphanage I’d stayed at as a child used to tell me.
The only times it’s acceptable for a person to strike another is when that person is tormenting the weak, coveting another man’s woman, or acting like a beast by reselling goods.
As expected, the words of the old are never wrong. A sincere sense of admiration rose from deep within my chest.
“T-thank you so much for helping me…! Father…!”
“Think nothing of it. I merely did what was right.”
I raised a hand to stop the injured pedestrian who was trying to thank me despite his wounds. I appreciated the sentiment, but with my upper body now completely exposed after losing every scrap of fabric that had been covering it, there were far too many things on my skin that I didn’t want anyone to see. Having someone’s gaze cling to me right now was the last thing I wanted.
The patterns engraved on my right arm were one thing, but the embarrassing marks buried like landmines from just below my chin all the way to my collarbone—I would rather die than let those see the light of day. A so-called priest couldn’t possibly walk around the main street with marks that looked like nothing but evidence of fooling around with women dangling from his neck.
So, covering my neck with one hand, I was busy worrying about how to resolve this sudden wardrobe malfunction when—
“E-excuse me! Father!”
The stranger I had just saved suddenly grabbed my free hand without hesitation. His eyes sparkled like glass marbles as he raised his voice.
“I know this might sound ungrateful coming from someone who just received help, but—if it’s not too much trouble—could you please hear out one request of mine?!”
His energetic demeanor made it hard to believe he’d been getting beaten up just moments ago. Though dirty with dust and grime, his clothes were clearly expensive. The obviously valuable accessories hanging from his fingers and ears gave a vague impression of considerable wealth. Perhaps he was the son of a rich merchant who had been wandering the streets without a bodyguard and gotten jumped by robbers after his money.
While I was roughly piecing together the situation, the grip of both his hands around mine suddenly tightened.
“The truth is, I’m currently working on a groundbreaking new business venture in this area! The problem is that talent suited for the job is always in painfully short supply, so I’ve been racking my brain nonstop! To the point where I, the owner, have to run around personally scouting people!”
“Ah, I see…”
Oh no. I’d stepped on a landmine.
I’d always been unusually good at sensing that particular ominous feeling that creeps in right before a perfectly smooth journey veers off in the wrong direction. The only problem was that I had no ability to actually avoid it.
“And the moment I saw you, I knew! Father, you are the unpolished gem I’ve been searching for all this time! A talent of the century that appears only once every hundred years!”
“Look, I get it, so… could you please let go of my hand while we talk…?”
A scout, huh. Well, I’d more or less expected something like that. Merchants who chose to navigate this harsh world with money and wisdom rather than swords and magic inevitably needed a strong backer to protect them. It wasn’t uncommon for retired adventurers to take up work as bodyguards for reputable trading companies.
He had probably seen me effortlessly fling that muscular thug and figured I’d make cheap labor. In that case, maybe the fight with that thug earlier had been an unexpected accident during his talent-scouting process.
As I slowly pieced together the logic of the current situation, he suddenly called out to me in a booming voice.
“Father!”
“I’m sorry, but I am a man who must devote himself to God, so…”
“Would you perhaps be interested in becoming a male prostitute?!”
The fist that had unconsciously clenched in response was barely restrained by my reason. I still had no idea what kind of business this guy was running or where, but I now had a pretty good idea why he’d been getting beaten up.
It was complicated. It was heartbreaking.
The young man who introduced himself as Rengel had given me a spare set of clothes as thanks for saving his life, which thankfully spared me from the worst-case scenario of returning to the monastery half-naked. But the cheerful words he’d casually dropped while handing over the clothes had embedded themselves in my mind like darts and refused to be pulled out.
An innocent appearance specialized in breaking down women’s wariness. Muscles that were toned but not excessive. Even the status of a clergyman that made precocious women swoon. He was the textbook example of a man born to ruin innocent girls. In other words, a creature brought into this world solely to fulfill the duties of a male prostitute.
If it hadn’t been for that pure, guileless smile on his face—with not a shred of malice to be found—I would have definitely taken those words as an insult or a challenge to a duel. I had actually folded and unfolded the blade of the rosario around my neck two or three times. For that one brief moment, I could wholeheartedly relate to the cringeworthy phrase “my fists are crying” that people whose brains were ruled by pride often spouted.
“Huu…”
If I were interested, he had said, I should come find him soon. The note with his shop’s location that he gave me had already been thrown away long ago. Honestly, I wanted to rip this fake priest outfit he’d given me to shreds, but I held myself back. I had to endure it.
According to him, this counterfeit priest robe was the so-called “event wear” that employees wore when entertaining customers. It was apparently so risqué that even a woman could easily tear it apart, and when wet, it became completely see-through. He had warned me multiple times to handle it with extreme care.
I felt like I might cry from the humiliation, but I couldn’t let the tears fall. The clothes would get wet if I did.
“Just grab a book, go into my room, and cry quietly…”
My sigh was so heavy it felt like black smoke had come out of my mouth instead of breath. Today really wasn’t my day.
Chewing on those gloomy thoughts, I slowly pushed open the door to the old bookstore I often visited. That was the exact moment it happened.
Thump.
It was a light collision. Maybe because my mood had been rather downcast. I failed to notice the person just stepping out of the bookstore and ended up bumping straight into them.
“Ah, s-sorry…”
“N-no, it’s my fault, I’m sor—”
My gaze naturally slid toward the direction of the voice. The moment it did, a spark ignited in my dull, gloomy eyes.
Red hair the color of autumn leaves that had caught fire, the blessed crimson that would soon spread and consume the entire forest. It felt warm, yet you could clearly sense a burning passion melting within it. And those golden eyes, gleaming with predatory sharpness from between the red strands like a beast watching its prey—they were one of the strongest impressions burned into my mind.
There was no way I wouldn’t recognize the person at the root of that impression.
“A-Apis?”
“Huh?”
“Ah! Crap!”
Bang!
I frantically covered my mouth and slammed the bookstore door shut at the same time.
I had recognized her, but she might not have recognized me. Like that miraculous theory I once saw in a Western movie—if you pick up food that fell on the floor within five seconds, it’s still fine. We had only made eye contact for a single second. One measly second at most. To be so certain that we had run into each other and that she had recognized me based on such uncertain circumstances was a bit—
“Hey.”
“……”
“Open it.”
The door said. It was honestly amazing.