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Hoo-doo-doo.
Crumbling wall particles pounded the floor like hailstones, and the dust stirred up by the sun's blinding rays added an eerie sense of foreboding to the dingy alley.
''Kah, kah, kah!''
A man framed against a crack-ridden wall that looked as if it might collapse at any moment let out a muffled groan.
''If I were to explain to anyone the circumstances of our current mess, there is one thing that must be said before I can even begin to discuss the dangers of the situation.
I am not guilty. It's not my fault. I'm not bad, this society is bad.
I'm the one who casually threw the man who tried to punch me, I'm the one who sent him flying without a single scream, I'm the one who pinned him to the wall, and I'm the one who crumbled under the immense kinetic energy of the wall.
It's a bit unfair to put all the blame on me, isn't it, and my head was throbbing like I'd just gulped down a big glass of bad wine, as the defense mechanisms in my brain screamed out for defense.
''Hah----.''
I washed my face dry with both hands, trying to calm my racing thoughts.
He said he was in control.
That's when he swung his vicious arm, nearly the size of my torso, to punch me in the face.
My sinful reflexes, the coward that I am, screamed some sort of command to my body before my brain had a chance to intervene.
The two familiar plosives that followed.
Billion. Kwajik.
When I cautiously opened my tightly closed eyes, the sight before me was the shabby form of a man thrown against the wall like a soaked wad of toilet paper.
Immediately afterward, the thought that blossomed in my mind was simple and clear.
''I'm done----.''
It was all because I was caught up in the physical torture my old comrades had unwittingly subjected me to in the name of discipline.
Teeth strong enough to chew and crush rocks. Skin tough enough to bounce off steel.
It was the theory of my old comrades, and indeed my old leader, that in order to fight the demons that came standard with such hideous parts, one must first train one's own flesh to match them.
A great man once said that those who fight monsters must be careful not to become monsters themselves in the process, so slamming their fists into the ground was a cop-out.
They were too young and too eager to realize that there was something wrong with such an approach, and I was not strong enough to resist the tide of their power.
I was fortunate enough to have the physical ability to keep my body in one piece against most low-level demons.
However, I, a mere mortal, lacked the skill and guts to handle such power. Occasionally, I would get into a fight with a mere mortal who was unable to handle magic, and catastrophe would ensue.
It wasn't a problem in everyday life, as I didn't have to strain my body and mind, but when I had to pretend to be someone else, it was an emergency.
We were living in a dungeon, a dangerous place where we had to keep our senses on high alert because we didn't know when or where any demon would attack us.
It was the most intense emotion that an intellectual body can generate, and the body had no choice but to react to it, even if it didn't want to.
Luckily, in this case, he didn't seem to be in any sort of life-threatening condition or broken, so there was no need to use prayer to heal him.
''Ahhh----.''
Now that I looked, the top of my priestly robes was torn.
It seemed that when I was thrown down in the same position that I was swinging my fist, the man's fist swung in the air and grabbed my collar.
I want. This is why I hate fighting.
I don't want to be hit, I don't want to be punched, I don't want to win, I don't want to lose, I don't want to be hurt, and I don't want to be hurt.
I suddenly remembered a saying that the elderly pastor of my childhood orphanage used to tell me from time to time.
The only time a man should hit a man is when he's a bully, a man who covets another man's woman, or a man who's stealing from the wrong person.
The old people weren't wrong after all. A sincere admiration leaked out from the depths of my heart.
''Dao, thank you so much for your help, Priest----!''
''You're welcome, I just did what I had to do.''
I stopped the passerby from thanking me with my hand, even as I dragged his injured body.
I understood his sentiment, but now that I had lost all the cloth covering my upper body, I didn't like having someone's eyes glued to me, especially since I had so many things tattooed on my body that I didn't want them to see.
The tattoos on my right arm aside, I don't think I'd ever want to show the world these manly marks, buried like land mines from just below my chin to near my collarbone.
A priest of repute shouldn't go around with what can only be described as the marks of flirting with women on the town's main street.
So, with one hand covering his neck, he was in the middle of trying to figure out how to get out of this embarrassing situation when he suddenly lost his top.
''Excuse me! Excuse me, priest!''
The stranger I'd rescued clutched the hand opposite mine with which I'd been playing, his glassy eyes flashing, and he suddenly began to speak up.
''I realize that I'm being ungrateful for the help I've received, but if you'll excuse me, I'm wondering if you'll grant me one request!''
The man who had been beaten to a pulp only moments before was now stout and robust.
His clothes, though stained with dirt and dust, were of fine quality, and the glance at the expensive-looking trinkets dangling from his fingers and ears gave a vague indication of his generous lifestyle.
The son of a wealthy merchant, wandering around town unescorted, had been mugged and robbed of his money.
As I was roughly sketching out the situation, his grip on my hand suddenly tightened.
''Actually, I'm working on a groundbreaking business in this neighborhood, but we've always had trouble finding enough talented people for it, to the point where I, as the president, have to go out of my way to recruit them myself!''
''Ah, yes----.''
''Ah, this is the wrong one.
I've always been good at intuitively sensing that peculiar ominous feeling that comes when a smooth journey is about to take a wrong turn, and my inability to avoid it is my problem.
''And then I took one look at you and realized that you were the untapped gemstone I had been searching for, the once-in-a-hundred-years talent of the century!''
''Look, I understand----. Can't you let go of this hand and talk to me----.''
Scout.
Well, I had kind of expected that.
For a merchant who has vowed to navigate this harsh world with money and wisdom, not sword and sorcery, having a strong backup is indispensable.
It's not uncommon for a retired adventurer to find employment as a bodyguard for a prominent merchant family.
Perhaps he sees me as cheap labor, having just blown away a burly thug.
If so, I wonder if the fight with the bully earlier was an unexpected accident during the recruitment process.
As I was gradually piecing together the logic of the situation.
He called out to me in a booming voice.
''Priest!''
''Excuse me, sir, but I'm supposed to be dedicated to God----.''
''By any chance, are you willing to become a prostitute!''
Immediately afterward, Reason managed to control his fists that had unintentionally become stronger.
Where and what kind of business this man was conducting was currently unknown.
At least, he had a rough idea of why he was being beaten.
◈◈◈◈
I was confused and disturbed.
The young man, who identified himself as Rengel, offered me his spare clothes as payment for saving his life, so I was spared the worst of what would have been a naked return to the monastery.
As he handed them over to me, those cheerful words stuck like darts in my head, and I couldn't get them out.
A simple exterior that specialized in catching women off guard. The lean muscles, not too much, not too little. To his priestly status, where precocious women go to die.
The archetypal man who makes naive women swoon. A being combed by the gods to fulfill the duties of a manwhore.
If it weren't for the innocent smile on his face, devoid of even a hint of malice, I would have taken those words as an insult to me, a challenge to a duel.
In fact, I even folded and unfolded the Rosario blade at my throat a couple of times.
His fists wept.
For that one moment, I could intensely relate to the strange words that often come out of the mouths of those whose brains are ruled by pride.
''Whoa----.''
I tossed away the note he'd handed me with the location of his shop, asking me to visit him in the near future if I was so inclined.
A part of me wanted to tear this fake priestly robe he'd given me to shreds, but I restrained myself. I had to put up with it.
According to him, the fake priest's robes were "event" robes, worn by the staff when entertaining guests.
He was repeatedly warned to be very careful when handling it, as it could be easily torn by a woman's strength, and when it got wet, its contents would show through.
I felt like tears of shame, but I couldn't spill the water, because I didn't want to get my clothes wet.
''Pick up a book, go into your room, and cry quietly----.''
The breath that just came out of my mouth was so cloudy that I wondered if it wasn't breath at all, but black soot.
''Man, nothing is working today.
It was at that moment, as I was chewing on those nasty thoughts, that I fumbled open the door of my favorite old bookstore.
A thud.
It was a soft bump.
Perhaps it was because he was feeling a bit down, he didn't recognize the person who was about to come out of the bookstore and bumped into him.
''Oh, me, sorry----.''
''Oh, no, I'm the one who's sorry----.''
My vision slid spontaneously in the direction of the voice, and immediately afterward, my dull, cloudy eyes lit up with fire.
The red hair was soothing, yet I could feel the fiery desire within it, as if I were looking at the graceful crimson color of autumn's ripe maple leaves, the embers of which would soon spread and spread throughout the forest.
And those golden eyes, glowing fiercely, like the eyes of a predator eyeing its prey in the crevices of those red reeds, were one of the most intense abstractions ever imprinted on my mind.
To not know the woman at the source of that abstraction was unthinkable.
''Ah, Apis?''
''Huh?''
''Ah! Hap!''
Boom!
She slammed her mouth shut and slammed the bookstore door with it.
I recognized her, but maybe she didn't recognize me.
Like some miraculous theory I'd seen in a Western movie once, that if you pick up food that falls on the floor in five seconds, it's okay to eat it.
One second.
At best, you had a second of eye contact.
It's kind of hard to be certain, based on that one uncertain circumstance, that I ran into her, that she recognized me.
''Hey.''
''----''
''Open.''
Wamun says. It's so weird.
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