The Priest Wants to Retire

Chapter 28: Playing House

*

There’s a saying that the greatest mistake a person can make is not knowing what they did wrong.

Who the original source of this saying is unknown, but someone must have spoken it for it to circulate among people.

Finding and capturing the wicked perpetrator who gave birth to such words is a task for humanity to live a better life. At least, that’s what I think.

“Oppa. Don’t you know what you did wrong?”

“Sorry. I’m not good with open-ended questions.”

“Saintess, what on earth did I do wrong?”

With no appropriate conversation partner to unburden my feelings, I abruptly asked the only one left, the Saintess, for confession.

It’s been several hours since I was locked in the Meeting Room by the Sister for reasons I can’t grasp at all.

Could it be that I secretly suggested to the priest to add dessert after meals?

Or maybe, I accidentally spoiled the plot of a novel she was reading?

Thinking about why a woman would be angry with a man is said to be an unproductive endeavor.

But leaving my brain to idle away without finding something to do didn’t seem right, so I decided to ponder it for a while.

After many moments of contemplation, I reached this conclusion:

I don’t know.

How desperate must I be to ask the Saintess for advice?

The vile trick of deleting the cause of her anger from the logic of this world while leaving only the fact that she’s angry—my only means to stand against it as a mere man was to seek counsel from someone.

“Hmm?”

The Saintess, perched on my legs, was staring at me blankly, tilting her head.

She seemed to have no clue what I was talking about.

Right. She probably doesn’t know.

Honestly, I never even thought that she might know.

If you have no expectations, you won’t be betrayed—this must be what that means.

Today, I felt like I stepped a little closer to the truth.

“Eat this.”

The Saintess, insisting that I eat the empty bowl, was urging me to consume the void.

I don’t want to talk about how many times it took me to realize that this bizarre act was a form of ‘playing house.’

Just know that in the past few days, I learned what flavors exist on a plate and what happens in my mouth when I eat.

Criminally understating the flavor! Wow! So delicious! Our Welna’s cooking is the best!

My smoke infused with my soul seemed quite satisfying, as the Saintess bounced in her seat.

Still, her expression showed no trace of emotion, but her lips curled up about 5mm, hinting at her excitement.

Playing house at my age is quite a perilous act, consuming a lot of self-esteem, but I decided to submit to the gleeful sight of the Saintess shoving an empty plate towards me until I give in.

Fortunately, the Saintess’s version of playing house didn’t require intricate settings, nor were there many characters.

Brother. Sister. And the role of the ‘older sister’ would be assigned to whatever object the Saintess could grab at the moment.

Since I’m not adept in playing house, I can’t say for sure, but I’ve heard the usual cast is mom, dad, and kids, maybe a puppy.

Though a light doubt flickered through my mind, I eventually shrugged it off.

Honestly, it felt odd to be given a virtual child without even being married yet.

Coming from an orphanage, it seemed rather foolish for me to argue about an ordinary family structure, so I chose to respect the diversity of families.

Still, I had once casually asked, “Saintess, did you have an older sister?”

Though I never received a decent answer, the Saintess, as usual, just blinked her eyes and tilted her head.

Sadly, it seemed like the identity of the older sister in the Saintess’s playing house was something even she didn’t know.

At that moment, while I was deep in recollection…

Poke.

Oh dear.

It was a close call.

Just as the Saintess lunged at me again, trying to plant her lips on mine, I swiftly countered with an Iron Claw.

It wasn’t even intentional.

It was merely reflexive—catching a ball that comes flying at you is a human instinct.

I’m fully aware of how disrespectful it was, considering the other deities would faint upon witnessing such a sacrilege.

Yet, if I didn’t act, an inconvenient rendezvous between my lips and the Saintess’s would have taken place once again.

“Saintess, didn’t I tell you repeatedly that lip pecks are not allowed? Last time, and the time before that?”

“……”

This is why you can’t let your guard down. Seriously.

The monsters in the dungeon gave more thoughtful leeways than this.

“I will.”

“Not allowed.”

“I will.”

“Not allowed.”

Here we go again.

After several attempts to keep the distance from the Saintess, I hoisted her up by hooking my hands under her armpits, lifting her like a cat.

Swinging back and forth like a playground swing, it was quite a sight, but if I laughed now, it would all be for nothing.

Suppressing the laughter that was about to burst out, I furrowed my brow and uttered sternly.

“Welna. What did we promise? How many times a day for pecks?”

“……”

“How many times a day?”

“……Three times.”

How many times did I fall for that woeful voice that evoked human sympathy?

But not anymore.

“Welna. Look at this.”

Carefully placing the floating Saintess back down, I tugged the collar of her priest robe with my index finger.

“What’s all this?”

Expressing my irritation without scaring her, I applied just a hint of pressure on her neck.

Her crimson eyes darted to the marks around my throat, like headlights in the dark.

Given the context, it made sense.

Currently, my neck was adorned with numerous marks that were perfect for drawing someone’s attention.

Because of this, I could never take off my house robe that reached up to my neck, even indoors.

“I don’t know.”

What do you mean you don’t know?

The countless marks the Saintess personally gifted me around my neck were hickeys, the rather lewd affection marks.

While I attempted to limit the number of pecks while gradually reducing them, the Saintess countered by trying to stretch each peck for as long as possible.

The tragic story this caused was precisely this.

“I let it slide earlier because you said it was the last time. How many times did you breach the promise with me today?”

“……”

The rare sight of question marks floating in the Saintess’s expression was quite a spectacle.

With furrowed brows, a distant gaze, and slightly parted lips, she appeared lost in thought, unable to find an answer.

Of course, she wouldn’t know. How could she?

Even I lost count after 30.

Just reflecting on the moment the Sister let slip that I was sleeping in the Meeting Room,

the Saintess must’ve planted at least 10 kisses on me.

“Look at this too.”

This time, I rolled up my sleeves.

From my palm to my wrist.

These suspicious marks, densely tattooed like stamps on elementary students after completing a marathon, were the patterns gifted to me by the Saintess when she asked for a way to revive the Ranobel priest.

Seriously, what am I? A canvas for art?

The Saintess might have thought lightly of it, like a child doodling on their father’s face, but I lacked the fortitude or charm to brush it off lightly.

At least the hickeys would fade with some cold compresses, but these strange patterns showed no signs of disappearing even when scrubbed vigorously with soap.

The fact that I realized these patterns appeared every time the Saintess kissed me was one small blessing.

But as long as I can’t prevent her kisses, my body was destined to become like a refrigerator plastered with delivery coupons.

That fact didn’t evoke any comfort in me.

“What do you think when you see this, Welna?”

“……Pretty.”

I had quite a different perspective on that.

How much time had passed since then?

Thud.

Suddenly, the wooden fork that belonged to the Saintess clattered to the floor, producing a faint sound.

It was just one item falling.

Had it not been for the surrounding quietness, I wouldn’t have even noticed such an inconsequential event.

Yet, inherent value is always relative.

“Sis….”

“Saintess…?”

The trivial item sprawled on the floor had just moments ago been acting the role of “older sister” in that little play.

In that instant, the Saintess’s gaze finally turned firmly towards the once-closed door.

*