Chapter 25 - The Saint and the Woodsman (3)

“The department head’s office is not an infirmary.”

The Saint was saying something strange. Ivan tilted his head. At the so-called infirmary, all they would do for injuries was slather on more healing potion or, at best, have some newly ordained priest cast a healing spell. Was she saying the students had to endure that horrific experience when they had an actual Saint right here?

Seeing Ivan’s expression, the Saint thumped her chest in frustration. (Despite the vigorous jiggling, Ivan saw no particular need to avert his eyes. The Saint was a woman of the cloth, after all.)

“No! I have my own work to do! Do you have any idea how busy I am? I only took this position this year! There’s been no handover, freshmen and undergraduates and professors keep barging in to chatter at me, not a single course has a curriculum worked out—what is wrong with this university?!”

“Mm.”

“Mm.”

Ivan and Enrique nodded in unison as they watched the Saint rail against the primitive, premodern educational system. They had nothing to offer, but they had to agree at least.

Ivan looked away from the poor cleric, who was busily lamenting her lot. The department head’s office had a quaint, old-fashioned charm. He couldn’t tell whether it reflected the taste of the Saint or her predecessor, but there certainly were a lot of plants.

An orchid...? Was that an orchid? Not particularly well versed in plants, Ivan killed time by taking a leaf of the elegant plant cascading from one pot and stroking it. (He was a gardener.)

SNAP.

An orchid leaf snapped off. As luck would have it, it was the thickest, finest stem, which made the snap all the more crisp.

Ivan turned his gaze away without the slightest change in expression. Fortunately, the Saint seemed not to have noticed. She was still angrily lecturing Enrique about her class.

New W*rld, was it? He thought there had been a similar scene in that noir film. Expressionless, he turned the flowerpot. It rotated without a sound, hiding the broken leaf.

“Yes, all right, I know it’s hard, Patty. I understand. So could you turn off the light now? I was wrong.”

“Why not take this opportunity to embrace the faith? My heart is always open to you, Lady Enrique.”

“That sounds less like finding heaven and more like being sent there...”

The Saint was the person closest to heaven in this world. Barring the pope, that was. In other words, the divine power bursting out in response to her emotions was crushing Enrique right before his eyes. It might have been his imagination, but to Ivan, she even looked a little smaller.

Enrique spoke cautiously, her manner subdued.

“Sooo. Um. Oh, right. Patty, listen. Don’t be shocked. This is what I came to tell you, but I completely forgot. Where is my head?”

“Yes, before you begin, please tell me it’s less shocking than fifty critically injured freshmen.”

Accustomed to Enrique’s theatrics, the Saint gently lifted her teacup. Her impassioned rant had left her thirsty. Enrique chuckled before speaking.

“This fellow was actually pulled here.”

“Yes, I was already considering going to see Elise when I heard an orphanage director had suddenly become a gardener. What does she think she’s doing to a retired man?”

“No, you fool. He was pulled here. You know. Like Max. From another world.”

“Pffft?!”

The Saint spluttered out her tea, her eyes watering. After a brief coughing fit, she finally managed to sit up straight.

“Why only tell us now...?”

“He thought he was the only one. Can you imagine him going for counseling?”

“Heavens...”

The Saint looked at Ivan and swallowed. When she spoke, her voice trembled.

“How lonely you must have been... And the trauma made you grow that beard... Brother Cyril...”

“No. That is not why.”

“It’s all right. Everything is all right...”

With a benevolent smile, the Saint clasped Ivan’s hand warmly in hers. Divine power softly radiated from her and flowed through his veins. It was pleasantly warm. Even as Enrique recoiled in a fit and retreated to the far end of the sofa, the Saint kept gazing at Ivan with that warm smile.

“It’s all right, Brother... There is nothing strange about you. There have been many like you, and there will be more. O Lord, guide this poor lamb...”

“I find this situation strange and awkward.”

“Of course you do. Of course... The hero felt the same way...”

She remembered the day she had been overcome with emotion upon hearing that he was retiring to run an orphanage. Despite the horrific war he had endured since childhood, this poor young man had grown up so steadfast, developing a heart kind enough to embrace unfortunate children. Was that not proof of the Lord’s presence?

The Saint had wholeheartedly supported Ivan’s retirement and sent a considerable donation every year. She had even named the orphanage herself! And on top of that, just look at him now.

Orphanages were generally poor. Funding was part of the problem, but so were the wicked directors who tried to profit from orphans. This was a world where several cases were reported every year of directors pocketing large donations, then selling the orphans they had raised into the back alleys.

Yet this man... dressed in filthy work clothes, wiping his sweat with a scorched towel, was working hard to earn an honest wage. Surely it was to provide a better life for the children.

“Ah...”

And he was even from another world? Yet he had taken in this world’s orphans—children from an “alien world” to whom he had no ties—and was raising them...? How extraordinary. The Saint’s eyes reddened.

“Brother Cyril...”

“I would rather you didn’t call me that.”

“I like your baptismal name, Brother.”

“I was too young when I chose it.”

Ivan withdrew his hand, shooting a glare at the mischievous look on Enrique’s face. The Saint smoothly crossed herself and laid a hand over her heart.

“I was utterly convinced you preferred men, Brother.”

“Pfft...!”

Enrique choked and pounded her chest.

“Well, considering all the people you rejected so coldly, Brother, what else was I to think?”

“... I had my reasons.”

“Of course. Of course.”

A royal guardsman was not permitted to form close personal ties with nobles or influential figures. When he had made a name for himself as “Little” Ivan—in other words, when his stock on the marriage market had soared—he had unfortunately also been a royal guardsman. And with returning to Earth as his goal, how could he waste time playing at romance?

His feelings on the matter had not changed much. The only difference, perhaps, was that he was no longer a sought-after prospect.

“It was because of your vows, wasn’t it? A brother as devout as you... Of course it must have been the vows you took at baptism...”

The three evangelical counsels he had vowed at baptism: poverty, chastity, and obedience. Ivan’s appearance was the very picture of poverty; he had passed thirty without a single romantic scandal, making him the very picture of chastity; and he had relinquished his honors and position to return to a quiet life in the countryside, making him the very picture of obedience. A portrait of perfect devotion...! The Saint nodded.

“Don’t become a priest. Then you truly won’t be allowed to marry.”

“... Mm.”

“But if you continue to live so chastely, perhaps... perhaps the Lord will bestow His favor upon you. The Lord embraces us with love, and love between two people is the greatest blessing beneath heaven.”

“... Mm...”

“I must visit your orphanage today, Brother. It’s almost time to leave work, so let us go together.”

“You said you hadn’t finished your work.”

“The only person above me at this school is the president, and the only one above me beneath these heavens is the Lord God Himself. Enrique.”

“Wow.”

Enrique quietly accepted that.

* * *

The Saint made him uncomfortable. Ivan was reminded of this obvious fact once again.

There were many reasons. Perhaps because she had spent her childhood on battlefields, she was excessively emotional, alarmingly devout, and, even when she was neatly dressed, he sometimes had to watch where he looked. (Of course, being a sensible man, Ivan took no interest in a cleric’s body.)

Beyond all that, of course, the biggest reason was that she rivaled Elizaveta as one of the orphanage’s biggest donors. One could never stand on equal footing with whoever held the purse strings. Following that logic, Ivan always kept a suitable distance from his orphanage’s benefactors.

“Ah... Lord. Behold this beautiful sight...”

The Saint had been walking along in tears ever since she entered the orphanage. Naturally, the children crowded around her, squealing. Lively faces and plump cheeks—not a hint of poverty anywhere. The only person in this orphanage who looked impoverished was Ivan...!

The facilities were excellent, and every door swung smoothly on clean, well-oiled hinges. Soft foam had been thoughtfully attached at the ends of corridors and to the corners of furniture. Such attention to detail...!

With tears in her eyes, the Saint looked at a large drawing scrawled on one corner of the orphanage building. Some mischievous child had drawn a bearded oddball handing out presents with a scowl on his face... The children’s love came through so strongly that at last she pressed her fingers to her eyes and leaned against the wall.

“You have already become a good father...”

“Oh, heavens.”

“The finest bonds are those born of the heart... Brother Cyril... I am simply dazzled... O Lord...”

“She must be trying to make me die laughing. My disciple, this is getting a little much for me. Can I leave first?”

“No.”

Enrique clutched her forehead in agony.