The Priest Wants to Retire

〈 Chapter 52 〉 Dark History (2)

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It was a remarkably trivial trigger.

Once a month, I had to force myself to write an update letter to receive sponsorship funds.

Since I had no idea how to read or write, I could only scribble down the crooked words the orphanage director had prepared in advance. I was getting pretty fed up with that mind-numbing task.

While I was grimacing with a pencil in hand on the desk, the orphanage director usually watched me from a distance, but this time, he suddenly said to me,

“Don’t you want to mess with the sponsor a little?”

Before I could even express my doubts about the director’s absurd proposal, he continued with a playful smile.

“Let’s ask him to buy us a fairy tale book.”

It was so absurd that I almost let out a snicker.

Fairy tale book.

A collection of accounts from legendary heroes of the past, or various tales associated with them.

The history recorded on fine paper or low-grade monster skins was strictly prohibited by the Vatican, being the pride of the system and a source of human pride.

Naturally, it was common knowledge within this system that fairy tale books were outrageously expensive, a fact even children who didn’t know the ways of the world would be aware of.

Since we couldn’t use paper or monster skin, we had to use parchment.

Parchment was a luxury that required the slaughter of dozens of lambs to make a single book.

So, of course, the price of a fairy tale book born from such a cruel process was beyond imagination.

Books with rare histories could sell for the price of a house!

No matter how wealthy one might be, giving a present like that to a complete stranger would be a burden.

It was definitely the perfect item to use to mess with someone whose wallet was bursting.

A proposal that no one would suggest, let alone accept, unless they were exceedingly twisted.

But at that time, I was such a foolish kid that I was completely twisted myself.

Ultimately, I found myself doodling per the director’s scheme.

Did I say I wanted a birthday present? No, was it my last wish in life?

I couldn’t quite remember.

I was too busy imagining the director’s expression contorted by my audacity, chuckling to myself.

However.

A few days later, I received a gift.

It was a fairy tale book.

A genuine fairy tale book adorned with large, whimsical phrases stitched into expensive parchment, with a few pictures here and there.

The tales of heroes I had only heard vaguely from third-rate bards filled my retina every time I turned a page.

On the cover was a majestic man raising a sword high into the sky.

I didn’t know how to read yet, but I could tell he was the so-called hero.

And I realized that this book was about the adventures of the hero, even a fool like me could understand that.

“Oh my goodness… He really sent it… Whoa! Hey, kid! Next time, let’s ask for a diamond! Tell him to send a diamond ring! What do you think?!”

I didn’t even notice the director shaking me excitedly.

My focus was completely on the cover of the fairy tale book. I was glued to the short note that sat there.

[Happy Birthday]

The first birthday wishes I had ever received in my life. A congratulatory gift.

I had never once received a birthday present from my only sibling.

It was no surprise.

I didn’t even know when my birthday was.

There were just hungry days and less hungry days.

For us who had nothing, there was no way to have the luxury or motivation to make any day special.

The ability to bless and affirm one’s own birth had since long faded away into the passing of evening.

So.

I shouldn’t handle an expensive item carelessly.

But I vaguely remember wrapping my arms around the fairy tale book with all my might, unintentionally.

This would be a bit later, but that day eventually became my birthday.

Due to my little prank and someone being fooled by that prank, the day I was born into this world became set.

It was a bit tricky to respond to the director’s cunning suggestion that expensive gifts might be enclosed with the letters, but…

Fortunately, it wasn’t all bad.

At least for me, I could be reborn from that day onward.

“Hero…”

That was my second memory.

◈◈◈

You know, change is often not dramatic.

“Hey! Bigtim! Which one of these looks better?!”

It was around the fourth year of the once-a-month family photo shoot that I started to feel myself changing.

Staring at my younger brother with a critical look as I pondered over which clothes to wear and what pose to strike, I finally faced him.

“You can wear anything. The one you wore last time…”

“No way! If we wear the same clothes two months in a row, how will the uncle see us?! He’ll think we’re dirty kids wearing the same clothes all month! Bigtim, don’t just throw on what you wore last month—choose wisely!”

“Ugh…”

“As usual, there’s only one marble film this time! We only have one chance! Don’t just wash with water; scrub thoroughly with soap! Put some oil in your hair too!”

“Why would I put oil in my hair for a photo shoot…”

“Stop talking back! Just do as I say!”

Shooting day was always a battle.

Lately, it had become increasingly difficult to coax and coddle Bigtim, who had become rather cheeky, every time I needed him to do something.

Perhaps it was because there was no longer a lack in our lives.

Before long, Bigtim developed strong preferences and tastes.

He favored certain games and was picky about food.

I was quite surprised when I realized that Bigtim loved soccer but disliked fish.

Bigtim had been a child who spent most of the day asleep.

He was a little brother who would accept anything I gave him, as though it were a great treasure.

But for some reason.

As days went by, I didn’t dislike the sight of my younger brother becoming more childish like that.

“Once you said not to give your heart away. Now you can’t live without the uncle, huh…”

“W-What are you talking about?! When did I say that?!”

This cheeky attitude still annoyed me significantly.

“Okay, strategy! Yeah! This is all part of the plan! We’ll make him think we’re allowing him to trust us, then get him to send us more money! The plan!”

“Seems a bit too genuine for that… Last time, you even inspected what I wrote in the letter…”

“Hey! That was because you wrote in the letter that I wanted to see the uncle’s face and wondered about his name—nonsense! I wouldn’t have sold the fairy tale book he gave me if I was really into him!”

“Alright, alright.”

It was a lie.

By that time, I was already fully prepared to give my everything to someone whose face and name I didn’t even know.

Having experienced my first taste of a cozy sanctuary where I didn’t have to worry about food.

My younger brother and I, who were always lacking in life, could quarrel over such trivial reasons as our hearts began to soften a little.

That indescribable comfort stemming from someone’s consideration and attention was sweet and addictive.

It was true that I had sold the fairy tale book, but…

If it hadn’t been for the realistic reason that I couldn’t just leave such a precious item unguarded in a space with no proper security, I wouldn’t have considered parting with it for a billion bucks.

A fairy tale book owned by a powerless brother and sister living in an orphanage.

Was there a more tantalizing catch for the rascals out there looking for a big score?

That’s why, the day I had no choice but to hand the book over to the director to sell it, I cried out loud without my brother knowing.

“Hey wait, it says this is the property of the academy library… Is that okay…?”

“It’s probably just the kids scribbling. Don’t worry about it.”

I wept so hard that I couldn’t even hear the adults around me as they passed the book back and forth.

Therefore.

The illustration I secretly tore from the fairy tale book. A short note with birthday greetings.

I clung to that tiny support, constantly recalling and cherishing the joy of that day.

It was a moment I began to understand why clergymen blindly believed in a God they had never once seen.

To me back then, the uncle was the only pillar I could lean on, my hero in every sense.

“I wish he could just reply to my letters, even if he can’t come to meet us… Is he shy or something?”

Of course, I had no way of knowing if he was male or female, young or old.

Maybe my usual thought of wishing for a reliable father figure unconsciously influenced that, and by the time I realized it, I was already calling him uncle.

I often thought it would be nice if the uncle could one day be in the family photo we took every month.

I believed deep down that even though my biological parents had abandoned us without a second thought, the uncle would never abandon us siblings.

“Hey! Bigtim! Didn’t your sister tell you to wash thoroughly?!”

“Yeah? I washed thoroughly with soap just like sis said?”

“Stop lying! There’s still a black stain on your neck! What the heck!”

“Huh? That’s strange…?”

Soon, Bigtim fell ill with an unidentifiable disease and curse.

And I, nursing him, wasn’t free from that black monster either.

Even the most renowned heroes couldn’t heal our condition, and in desperation, I wrote several letters asking the uncle for help, but…

As always, there were no replies to my letters.

It was around that time.

The monthly sponsorship we received suddenly ceased.

Unable to accept that fact, I poured every last bit of money I had—better spent on medicine—into paper and ink to write even more letters to the uncle.

But still, no responses came.

As usual. Always. Just like before.

The uncle said nothing to us.

*