My Nerdy Neighbor Is the Master of the Magic Tower
Chapter 17
Chapter 17
“Archbish—no, Priest-nim. This is the Saintess.”
It was a warning of sorts, telling him not to cross the line since his counterpart was the Saintess. Now that she thought about it, the reason Sir Miguel had accompanied him was likely to keep this man in check.
“It seems I’ve ruined things again. Sir, if possible, could I borrow that sword hanging at your waist?”
“I refuse. Archbishop—no, Priest-nim.”
‘Didn’t Sir Miguel just call him Archbishop?’
She had been listening quietly, but really.
When he had stopped at ‘Archbish’ and fudged the rest, she had tried her best to pretend she hadn’t heard, but this was going too far.
From Miguel, the Vice Commander of the Holy Knights, treating this man with such deference, to the man insisting that a ridiculous rope was a measuring tape—and above all, the fact that a male tailor had come to take a woman’s measurements.
There was only one answer that could explain this absurd situation.
Just as she had suspected, the man before her was not a mere tailor belonging to the Temple, but an actual Archbishop.
Cecilia looked at the two of them, who weren’t even trying to hide his rank anymore, with an incredulous expression.
“If I didn’t mishear, Kiar-nim, you are neither a tailor nor an ordinary priest, but an Archbishop, correct?”
When she asked, already knowing the answer full well, the man slowly lifted his head and met her eyes.
With eyes that had sunk deep, the man muttered gloomily.
“Do you know the saying that those loved by God return to His embrace early? If status is proportional to the magnitude of God’s love… then yes, I am a man who deserves to die.”
To think someone could acknowledge being a high-ranking official of the Temple in such a way.
It was truly a marvelous talent.
While she was left speechless, Sir Miguel bowed his head first.
“I apologize for the deception. As you said, Kiar-nim is one of the Archbishops. Since he has been put in charge of this Relief Festival, he came to meet the Saintess in advance, as she will be performing the ritual alongside His Holiness the Pope.”
“I see.”
Miguel didn’t explain further, but she could guess the reason they had kept his identity a secret.
He must have been displeased that someone who wasn’t even the official Saintess was participating in a ritual with His Holiness, and he likely wanted to see for himself what kind of person she was.
Perhaps that series of crazy actions had been an extension of his testing her.
“Then the formal wear was just an excuse after all. I suppose it would be too much for an Archbishop to pretend to fit my dress…”
“It wasn’t a pretense.”
“Pardon?”
“It is also true that I came here as a tailor. Because the formal dress is important.”
“…Ah, yes.”
“Because the formal dress is important.”
What the—this is creepy. He said it twice.
She didn’t even want to know why a man with eyes like a dead fish was so obsessed with a dress. It was even more chilling to realize that his behavior up until now hadn’t been an act for the sake of the test.
‘I want to run away.’
Regardless of her desperate wish to escape now that the situation had become a hundred times more burdensome, the fitting proceeded quickly and smoothly.
She chose one from among several drawings of similarly white, flowing garments, and had her height, arms, legs, hands, and feet measured.
‘I have no idea why he even had to measure my head circumference, though.’
She hadn't even done anything particularly grand, yet she felt utterly drained. Cecilia, who felt unfairly exhausted all by herself, muttered weakly.
“Is it finally over?”
‘Oh, no.’
Cecilia hurriedly covered her mouth.
To think she had uttered a forbidden line similar to ‘Did I get him?!’
It was a cursed law: the moment you mutter ‘Did I get him?’, an undefeated enemy appears, and the moment you mutter ‘Is it finally over?’, things are nowhere near finished.
No sooner had she realized this than the Archbishop approached her gloomily, like a final boss.
Then, he thudded something down from within the folds of his unnecessarily wide sleeves.
“Archbishop-nim…?”
“His Holiness the Pope requested that I deliver this.”
“What is this?”
“A portion of the records regarding the Temple’s rituals. You are to read it through by the time the Relief Festival begins.”
Cecilia gingerly flipped through the book with her index finger as if touching something horrific.
The letters were smaller than an ant’s antennae, and to make matters worse, it was a handwritten book in a script that was difficult to decipher.
“You don’t need to feel pressured. However, if you fail to finish it, His Holiness will be disappointed, grow sickly, become unable to participate in the ritual, the Relief Festival will be unable to start or conclude, and I, as the person in charge, will be held accountable and ultimately end up with my neck in a noose.”
“…….”
“Anyway, that is how it stands, so I look forward to your cooperation.”
‘I wish the Temple, the Pope, and everyone else would just disappear.’
Cecilia stared blankly down at her teacup, which hadn’t emptied in the slightest.
Now, in a different sense, she really wanted to bang her head against the wall.
*
*
*
Cecilia Weberdin did not want to live a diligent life.
Especially not after grinding her body and soul to dust during her grad school days before her reincarnation, and certainly not after all the crazy things she’d done to somehow return home after being reincarnated.
But for the past few days, her daily life had been filled with the word ‘diligence.’
Though it wasn't her intention, her days were too short as she struggled to read through the mess the Archbishop had dumped on her, taught herself how to manipulate divine power, and attended etiquette lessons all at once.
While her stamina and patience were gradually wearing thin, the things that kept her going were ‘cute beings.’
For instance, there was Charles, who would give her a massage with his paws when she returned to her bedroom exhausted, and then there was Lien, who still couldn't hide his nervousness during every dance lesson even though he should have been used to it by now.
“I’m sorry! I stepped on your foot again.”
“It is alright. You have become quite proficient.”
In the deepest room of Lien’s mansion.
Cecilia, who had been continuing the dance to the music just as she had in their first lesson, watched his reaction. Even though this was the fifth time she had made the mistake of stepping on his foot, Lien didn't even grimace; he simply gave her a gentle smile.
‘Get it together.’
She resolved herself inwardly, but regaining focus once it had crumbled was quite difficult. Following his lead, Cecilia spun around once, but ultimately lost her balance completely.
“Oh!”
“Are you alright?!”
She felt the hand that had been resting lightly on her waist tighten its grip, and her small frame was suddenly tucked firmly into his embrace.
It wasn't exactly intentional, but it was a perfectly timed move.
“I’m sorry. I think I’ve been overdoing it lately; I have no strength in my body.”
Instead of pulling away, Cecilia pretended to be struggling and took a little moment for some emotional healing. The warm body heat transferring to her was nice, and the solid yet stable feeling of being wrapped in his arms—like being swaddled in a blanket—was also pleasant.
And best of all was his face, visible when she tilted her head up sharply.
What a delight those features were to look at.
As the time she spent admiring him stretched on, Lien asked in a rather serious voice.
“Did you perhaps hurt your ankle…?”
“No, I think my body was just a bit startled.”
“Even so…”
He seemed genuinely worried, as his gaze wouldn't leave the area of her ankles. Watching that blatant kindness, Cecilia suddenly reached out to him and lightly lifted the edge of his hood.
Whether it was because he was hot from moving around while wearing a robe indoors, or for some other reason, the exposed skin was as red as a flower petal.
“You don’t look like you’re in great shape either. You look very hot.”
“I can endure this much.”
I don't think so.
Using her subjective judgment as an excuse, she leaned her leaden body slightly closer to him. Then, she asked in a suggestive voice.
“Would you hate it if I took it off?”
As intended, agitation followed quickly. The floral flush that had been coloring his cheeks soon spread all the way down to his neck.
“…I would not hate it.”
Lien slowly shook his head.
For the sake of her own selfish desires—no, for the sake of the overheated Lien—Cecilia willingly peeled back his robe. He must have truly been hot, as his hair was slightly damp with sweat.
“Thank you.”
Lien smiled shyly as he brushed back his disheveled hair.
‘This is true welfare. This is a masterpiece.’
It was a sight so breathtaking that she would have been momentarily tempted even if Lien were truly the trash the rumors claimed him to be.
“…Um, Cecilia-nim?”
She had simply been silent, the way one is rendered speechless before great nature or a work of art. But Lien seemed to have found another reason for her long lack of answer or reaction.
“Is it too difficult after all? Shall we end today’s lesson here?”
“Mhm, it is a bit tiring.”
Since she couldn't confess that she’d lost her mind admiring his face, Cecilia just nodded vaguely. It was also true that she was exhausted because her basic physical strength was poor.
When she readily agreed, Lien gently removed the hand that had been touching her. He immediately pulled a handkerchief from inside his robe and carefully wiped the light beads of sweat that had formed on her skin.
“Thank you. Give me the handkerchief. I’ll wash it and return it to you.”
“It is fine.”
“Pardon? But it’s dirty now…”
“It is not dirty.”
Lien, answering more firmly than usual, added in a very small voice.
“…Rather, having your scent remain is more…”
“Pardon?”
