I Deserted the Temple and Gained an Orphanage
The memories of my previous life returned on the day of my nineteenth birthday.
The trigger was utterly pathetic.
At the time, I was a promising paladin of the Holy Knights. While walking by the temple grounds, my foot slipped, and I plunged face-first into what everyone revered as the Sacred Pond.
Naturally, I became the laughingstock of the entire order. Yet it seemed the Sacred Pond truly lived up to its miraculous reputation, because the moment my skull cracked against the stone rim, something bizarre transpired inside my head.
Not only did I remember my entire previous life, but I also realized that this world was the setting of a romance fantasy web novel.
My name... Harte.
And my family name, Messiah.
Harte Messiah... That was the name of the Holy Knights Commander destined for a gruesome, horrific death.
The novel had been maddeningly vague about the exact cause of death, but what did that matter? The cold, hard fact remained that I was slated to drop dead in barely a dozen years!
Actually, not knowing how I died made it infinitely more stressful. If I couldn't treat the specific symptom, my only choice was to excise the diseased organ entirely.
"Commander, I'm quitting the Holy Knights."
"Wait, what?! Why?!"
Faced with the sudden loss of his most promising subordinate, the current Commander panicked and clung to me desperately.
"Are the doctrines and bylaws too strict? Look, you can bend the rules a little! Just stay away from brothels, okay? Or is it the salary? Your rank? You do know I've already slated you to be the next Commander, right? Is that why you're throwing a tantrum?"
Being slated for the job is the whole damn problem...
Still, I had no obligation to explain that to him.
"Someone told me that escaping the Holy Knights is directly proportional to one's IQ."
"Which bastard told you that?!"
"Someone very, very high up."
Like, say, the Goddess who dictated my tragic destiny.
"Higher than me?! I don't care who they are, if I catch them, they're dead meat!"
Wow...
She wasn't just higher than him; she was infinitely above mortal comprehension.
The esteemed Commander of the Holy Knights had just brazenly committed supreme blasphemy. Sure, a commander technically held equal political footing with a cardinal, but picking a fight with the Almighty was a losing battle. Without a shred of hesitation, I thrust my resignation letter into his face.
"Are you really leaving?"
"Yes."
"What are you even going to do out there in the secular world?"
"..."
Good question. What was I going to do for a living?
"See? The outside world is brutal! Meanwhile, look how cozy the Holy Knights are. Free meals, free lodging, and all you have to do is pray and train hard. You won't find a sweeter gig anywhere, I tell you!"
A chilling sense of déjà vu washed over me.
To be specific...
It felt suspiciously like the gaslighting I endured back in my early twenties, when I was dragged off by a drill sergeant to a place where wild boars and water deer ran rampant through clouds of gunpowder smoke. In other words...
"...Ah."
Is that how it was, past me?
"Have a good life, sir."
The instant those painful military memories flashed through my mind, I bolted.
"Get back here right now, damn it!"
Covering my ears worked wonders.
Three years after my discharge—er, resignation—spring arrived.
Just as the Commander's gaslighting had warned, finding a decent job outside the order was nearly impossible.
Treating people with divine power without a church license was strictly illegal, and mercenary work paid absolute peanuts. Modern knowledge or not, I had been a run-of-the-mill humanities major in my past life, rendering me virtually useless in this fantasy world.
Perhaps the Goddess took pity on my pathetic struggles.
One afternoon, I stumbled upon a child caught in a carriage accident and healed him off the books. If I had left him alone, he would have died on the cobblestones, leaving me no choice. Had the temple caught wind of it, I easily would have been sentenced to hard labor.
Fortunately, the boy's father was an honorable, high-ranking nobleman who understood propriety.
"I truly cannot thank you enough... How can I ever repay you?"
"You'll keep this between us, right?"
"Of course, without question."
"In that case... what kind of reward did you have in mind?"
"Haha."
At my unabashed, shameless materialism, the noble's aristocratic smile twitched slightly.
I couldn't help it. Circumstances shape a man, and back then, I was consumed by financial desperation. Scraping together two meager meals a day does things to your dignity.
The coin pouch he handed over was delightfully hefty.
"So... what do you intend to do now? You don't appear to have steady employment. Would you care to serve as a guard for my estate?"
"Hmm."
My thought process back then was remarkably simple.
Since my marketable skills were limited, why not look for something I actually enjoyed? Once I framed it like that, the answer came easily.
Right... an orphanage. An orphanage to take in homeless children sounds perfect. After all, I've always liked kids.
In my past life, I had plenty of experience entertaining tiny customers at a kids' café. If I met certain criteria, the state would even provide monthly subsidies. It was an ideal match.
Plus, having a background with the temple would give me an impeccably pious public image.
I declared my ambition with puffed-up pride.
"With the funds you have bestowed upon me, My Lord, I will establish an orphanage."
"Oh, my word. To be frank, I assumed you deserted the temple out of base, worldly greed. It seems I misjudged you entirely!"
Oh, my word. Watch your mouth, pal.
"Then I must sponsor you, of course! Who could refuse to aid such a noble cause?"
"Oh, my word. Such boundless generosity!"
Bathed in the radiant grace of the Count—whose generosity shone as brilliantly as his receding hairline—my future career was decided.
Right then, the little boy I had healed tugged at the hem of my trousers.
"Mister, are you opening an orphanage?"
"I certainly am."
"Then, once it's finished, can I come over and play?"
"If your father permits it."
When the boy looked up at his father, the Count offered a warm, gentle nod. The shift in the sunlight reflecting off the Count's polished scalp nearly blinded me, and I barely suppressed a rude grimace in time.
"Yay! That's awesome!"
"Yes, yes, quite."
It really was awesome.
While the boy cheered, I patted his head, discreetly channeling divine energy straight into his scalp follicles.
Consider your father's bountiful charity paid back with your future bountiful hair, kid. We're even.
...And that was how I ended up running an orphanage.
Once you open an orphanage, what do you need most?
Orphans.
Or abused runaways, or children who simply had nowhere else to go due to unfortunate circumstances.
The weight of responsibility... is terrifying...
Taking in an entire preschool classroom right off the bat sounded like a fast track to drowning under pressure. Besides, the orphanage building was still cramped, and I had to handle every chore myself without a single employee.
For now... let's aim for three kids. No more, no less.
If I managed fine or secured more funding later, I could expand gradually. With that goal in mind, I approached a young girl selling flowers by the street corner.
"Excuse me, little girl. By any chance, are you motherless?"
"Did you just curse out my parents, mister?!"
Well, this isn't easy...
As it turned out, the flower girl came from an exceptionally loving household and had simply volunteered to sell blossoms to help her family's budget.
Another classic trope shattered into pieces.
Empty-handed and defeated, I trudged back to the orphanage just as the sunset washed over the rooftops.
Standing outside the front door was a familiar, unannounced guest. I stepped forward with a polite greeting.
"Well now, long time no see, Count Arwell."
"Indeed, it has been some time. Though I must say, your orphanage is rather small."
"I'll expand it as I go."
"True enough. Perhaps being small is for the best right now."
"Pardon?"
The Count nodded slowly and shifted his gaze downward.
Standing beside him was an aristocratic boy with golden hair, staring up at the shabby building with cynical, world-weary eyes that didn't belong on a child.
"Trusting in your character, I wish to entrust this person to your care."
"This person?"
The boy seemed to accept being addressed with such immense deference as nothing more than his due.
"Who is he?"
"His Imperial Highness, the Prince."
"Are you out of your mind?! Since when do royal princes grow up in country orphanages?!"
"Hush, mind your tongue! The political strife in the capital is far too fierce; we had no other choice. Think of this as taking shelter for his safety. The best place to hide a tree is in a forest."
"Even so, this is insane..."
Being granted an audience with royalty out of nowhere was shocking enough, but dumping a prince on me was downright surreal. Above all, the Count acting as the prince's guardian felt peculiar.
"Pardon my ignorance, Count, but is it appropriate for someone of your rank to foster a prince? Shouldn't a royal ward be guarded by a marquess or a duke?"
"Ah, while I hold the title of Count, I am a Court Count."
"Oh, a Court Count? Fair enough, respect."
I had never bothered to check noble registers, so I hadn't realized the boy I saved belonged to a Court Count. A savior to the life of his flesh and the life of his hair...
My financial future looked remarkably secure.
"I leave the Prince in your capable hands."
"You can count on me."
A Court Count would have thoroughly investigated my former standing in the Holy Knights before coming here. After careful deliberation, he must have concluded that I possessed the strength to keep the boy safe.
"Let's see here..."
I asked as casually as possible.
"Pardon me, Your Highness, but which prince are you?"
"The Third."
"Wow, the male lead is showing up already?"
"Male lead?"
"Don't worry about it."
This world was fundamentally built on the framework of a romance fantasy novel.
That meant a male lead and a female lead existed to drive the story forward. As a disenfranchised prince destined to overcome brutal political adversity alongside the heroine, the Third Prince was unequivocally the main character.
Well... nothing bad should happen.
Since he was the male lead, he had thick plot armor. He couldn't die even if he tried, at least until the novel's main story officially began.
There was no reason for me to stress over his safety.
"Your Highness."
"Speak."
"As the Count must have told you, this is an orphanage. That means you need to act like an ordinary child so we don't arouse suspicion."
Beneath his strikingly handsome face, his clothes were deliberately frayed and worn—likely the Count's doing. But that alone was woefully insufficient. It was the classic dilemma where an absurdly handsome face ruined an otherwise perfect disguise.
"So starting today, you need to use polite speech."
"Understood."
"Polite speech, Your Highness."
"Understood-dayo."
"That's pseudo-Japanese anime slang, not polite speech."
"......? Understood-desu, then?"
This is going to be rough...
Should I just let him speak casually?
The curtain had risen, and our bizarre cohabitation was only just beginning.