The Priest Wants to Retire

〈 Chapter 51 〉 Black History (1)

*

I hated quiet nights.

The silence reminded me of the guilty thoughts from that day.

If only I could turn back time. If only I could set things right.

That treacherous stillness, which forced me to repeat such futile regrets, was so disgusting and terrifying that it made me shiver.

So, whenever the surroundings began to get quiet, I would yell at the top of my lungs.

To block out everything except my own voice.

I smiled brightly.

Frowning made me naturally confront that dark past, so I had to avoid it.

I put on a mask.

To hide my shabby face, stained with tears and regrets, from the gaze of others.

◈◈◈

If you want to help a vagrant, give them a few coins.
If you want to win the favor of a vagrant, give them half of your money.
If you want to kill a vagrant, give them all your wealth.

A saying that anyone born and raised in the slums would have heard at least once.

At that time, I was still young and didn’t fully grasp its meaning, but I could vaguely guess the essence of the words.

A vagrant who receives a few coins can avoid starvation for that day.
A vagrant who receives more money can live without worrying about eating for a while.
But.

A vagrant who receives an absurdly large sum becomes a target for other vagrants who eye that money.
Soon, they must live with the dreadful weight of uncertainty, heavier than any treasure, wondering when they might lose their heads.

Beware of free favors.

While there may be evil for no reason, there is no such thing as a favor without expectation in this world.

It’s a rule or principle of life that seeps into you just by rolling around in the slums, even without anyone teaching you.

And so,

When one day, unfamiliar adults suddenly told us that they would take my siblings and me into their orphanage, I didn’t let my guard down.

In truth, they seemed to see us as sympathy gathering dolls. Just tools for profit.

I had no particular complaints.

At that time, I was just grateful that my sickly younger sibling could sleep in a roofed house.

They occasionally fed us, as long as we didn’t starve to death.

If they intended to use us, then I thought we could use them back.

They claimed they were looking for patrons to support pitiful orphans like us.

I heard that in this world, there are bizarre folks who can’t handle their rotting wealth and recklessly give it away to those worse off.

Among them, the best targets are:

The clergy, who want to show off their virtue.
Couples who have lost children in unfortunate accidents.
Noble offspring who are oblivious to the world.

Those who scatter meager goodwill randomly, motivated by a desire to fill something lacking in themselves.
They are the optimal means of making money.

The so-called easy targets were the logic of those who took us in.

Having grown up in poverty all my life, their act of giving away their belongings for free to an utterly unknown person was, while unfathomable, something I could vaguely understand.
Maybe because I had seen old men occasionally feeding delicious breadcrumbs to pigeons just to ease their boredom.

But.

Finding a wealthy easy target to support us siblings was incredibly difficult.

If it had just been me, it might have been different.

At that time, my younger sibling, Bigtim, was physically weak and had suffered in unsanitary conditions without proper food, compromising his health.

No matter how much money these bizarre people had,
I knew even with my limited intellect that they wouldn’t buy broken toys or sick pets.

So I stubbornly insisted with all my might.

That I wouldn’t go unless I could go with my sibling.
That I didn’t want to go without my sibling.

Even if the food decreased and I was treated harshly, I believed that was the only way to protect my only blood relative.

Whenever they tried to adopt me alone, pushing my sibling aside, I would cause a big scene and disrupt their attempts.

That’s when people started calling me a ‘brat’ for sure.

It was easy enough.

I just had to mimic the behavior and speech of the rascals I often came across in the slum.

Having lived in the slum, feeding my sibling solely through begging,
I was confident in my acting skills against anyone.

However, there are always limits to such temporary measures.

It was merely a child’s trick.

Looking back now, it’s astonishing that it worked for so long.

Before long, we siblings faced a crisis of being separated.

Like that,

Always inept when it came to thinking, I found myself helpless in that dire situation with no clear answer.

“Hey! Rotten little brats! Finally, the bizarre folk who wants to waste money on you two siblings has arrived!”

That was my first memory.

At that time, I was just happy that I wouldn’t have to be separated from my sibling and didn’t realize it then, but that single moment became a turning point in my life.

◈◈◈

“Isn’t that a creep?”

Looking back now, that was quite a reckless and ungrateful remark, but at that time, I was like a clueless brat without even the basic sense to show gratitude to someone who had helped us.

I didn’t feel a shred of remorse for letting those words slip out.

“Even if they concealed their identity, demanding a personal letter and a picture is clearly a pervert from a noble family, only a child wouldn’t.”

“Sister… No matter what, it’s a bit harsh to say that about someone who’s supporting us…”

“What? Who are you worrying about?”

I’m listening!

That pathetic past me.

Recently, I’ve heard that the younger generation of the system refers to past histories they want to erase as black history.
I believe my black history boasts an extraordinary brightness and depth, incomparable to ordinary people.

Even now, whenever the words I said back then come to mind, the urge to bury my face in a mouse hole surges intensely.

“If I had even a little confidence in my appearance, I would have sent a story about myself. I heard they didn’t even write down their gender. They must be a fat uncle looking to fill their self-esteem with this.”

Shut up. Please, shut up.

“I’ll make a bet! If I’m wrong, I’ll speak politely to every person I meet for the rest of my life!”

“Sister… saying things so carelessly will bite you back one day…”

They say people grow through failure. Indeed, that was true.

I learned the hard way that words are not something to be carelessly thrown around after the failure of that day.

Just half a year had passed since this mysterious figure started supporting my siblings and me.

At that time, I didn’t feel gratitude towards the benefactor who sends us money every month; instead, I viewed them as suspicious because their motives and identity were unclear.

In this world, there is no such thing as a free favor.

Anyone who can’t even be honest in front of orphans, who can be socially considered the weakest, can’t be normal.

I never once dropped the tight grip of suspicion I held. “Sister, listen! Bigtim! This mysterious pervert will suddenly ask you to wear revealing clothes under the pretext of checking your health or request naked pictures! You absolutely must not comply! We’re broke! We may be poor, but we have our pride!”

“Well… if they were thinking that way, wouldn’t buying a slave be quicker and simpler with that money? And, sister, it’s ‘gaori,’ not ‘gaori’…”

“W-What does that even matter now!”

I may have remarkable abilities now through hard study, but during my childhood, I was the somewhat duller sister compared to my intelligent sibling, Bigtim.

In common terms, I was a fool.

Not now though.

“Remember this! In this world, there can be no such thing as a favor without expectations! That person must want something from us, causing them to act this way!”

“B-but… regardless of their intentions, it’s true that thanks to them, you and I can live well together… isn’t it okay to be grateful for that…?”

“No way! Making us feel that way is their tactic! Mom and Dad! They lured us in that way and then ran away! Am I wrong!?”

“Y-yeah… I understand…”

I enlightened my naive sibling to the harsh realities.

I vaguely remember feeling quite proud of myself.

While harshly scolding my sibling, who was still chasing after dreams, I was under the illusion that I had become an adult.

“Never let your guard down with that guy! Keep your letters neutral and don’t get too involved!”

It’s a bit embarrassing to admit, but only a few years later did I finally think about wanting to give him my heart and body.

*