Chapter 90: Chapter 90

Faced with Minuet's interrogation, I blurted out an apology before anything else.

But, of course, that didn’t solve anything.

"Sure, there's plenty you could be sorry for. First, you went and got yourself accused of necromancy. Then, without a word, you vanished. Later, you showed up at the imperial ball unannounced, deceived the emperor, and proclaimed your own innocence—without consulting anyone, I might add. And then, you disappeared again, only for me to find out through the intelligence network that you were sleeping at the duke’s estate."

Her words piled onto my shoulders one by one, heavy and relentless.

By the time she finished, I had instinctively shrunk my neck like a turtle and muttered a weak excuse.

"Well, I had my reasons for all that—"

"But what I want to hear isn’t an apology."

"Do you want to break off the engagement?"

I froze at Minuet’s abrupt question.

"I’m not joking. The more time you spend with the duke, the more you seem to be falling apart. No matter what he does, I’ll handle it, so just go ahead—end it."

"What? You’re not even considering it?"

I had heard something similar from Gavotte, but I thought it was just part of some grand emotional gesture—not that she was actually serious.

Honestly, I had no particular reason to insist on maintaining my engagement with Cruello, but at the same time, I had no pressing reason to end it, either.

With all the new problems I was dealing with, I didn’t exactly have the luxury to think about it.

"Wait... don’t tell me you actually like the duke?"

"W-What?! No! What kind of ridiculous nonsense—!"

I shouted at the top of my lungs.

Liking Cruello would be borderline criminal.

When I first possessed Amy, my original self had just barely reached adulthood.

How could I possibly fall for someone I’d known since childhood? That would be beyond unethical.

Not to mention, this isn’t even my real body, and I still have to return to the temple—so it’s absolutely out of the question.

...Then why do I feel like I’m making excuses the more I think about it?

Minuet narrowed her eyes at me, clearly unconvinced.

"Then... you’re saying you have circumstances that force you to stay involved with the duke?"

"Something like that."

"And once all this is over, you won’t need to be around him anymore?"

"Good. Then, when the time comes, call it off."

Her gaze was filled with unwavering resolve, demanding an answer.

"No matter how I look at it, the more time you spend with the duke, the more °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° danger you seem to be in. Fine, I don’t know the full story. But the duke is completely fine."

"Well, actually, Cruello did get his shoulder pierced this time."

"You were unconscious for a week."

I had no comeback for that.

"You're the only one getting hurt. Even if you're not in a romantic relationship, is that the kind of person you can imagine spending your life with?"

"It’s not like I’m set on marrying him."

"Then that’s settled. Just let me know when you're ready, and I’ll handle the procedures."

"Alright, alright. But Minuet."

"Didn’t you originally want me to marry Cruello? Even aside from replacing you in the engagement, wouldn’t it be beneficial to Bonetti?"

Gavotte had always been dead set against Cruello, but I didn’t understand why Minuet had changed her stance.

Sure, she owed me a favor for certain things, but considering the risk of provoking White Desert, this response seemed excessive.

She stared at me in silence.

The longer the pause stretched, the more I regretted bringing it up.

"At this point, I know you’ll just laugh if I start talking about you being part of Bonetti."

She let out an exasperated sigh.

"But I have feelings too, you know. I have things I care about."

"You go around spouting ‘family this, family that’ to Bati, but what about me?"

I covered my mouth with my hand.

Before I could say anything, Minuet sighed again.

She pointed at the door, making it clear that the conversation was over.

I hesitated before slowly making my way toward the office door.

"You said you're meeting the duke this afternoon. Take the Bonetti carriage when you go."

"...Why are you still standing there?"

"You know, what you just said—basically, you’re saying you’re worried sick about me, right?"

Minuet raised her head, looking utterly incredulous, but even as her sharp gaze bore into me, I couldn’t suppress the grin creeping onto my face.

Her expression grew colder by the second.

I shouldn’t be laughing.

But honestly? I was happy.

I never expected to hear something like that from Minuet.

Aside from Cruello, it was rare for anyone to worry about me.

And for the first time... it felt like I actually had a real family.

Before Minuet could call Presto on me, I threw open the office door.

"Don’t worry! I take ridiculously good care of myself. I’ll be fine—alive and in one piece!"

"If you’re worried, just say it outright. Stop beating around the bush. I’m not the best at reading between the lines, you know. Next time, just tell me straight up—with love and kindness."

"Alright, alright, sis. Love you too!"

I bolted out of the office before she could kill me.

Thankfully, she didn’t open the door and chase after me.

Still grinning, I lifted my head—only to lock eyes with Gavotte.

Judging by his expression, he had overheard at least part of the conversation.

"You... don’t tell me..."

"If you’re about to ask if I’ve lost my mind, save that for Cruello."

"No, I was going to ask if you slept with the duke."

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

"Stop making up new words."

Ugh, and I was in such a good mood.

Grumbling under my breath, I walked past Gavotte.

Then, suddenly struck by a thought, I whirled around and called out.

"Wait—Gavotte! What's today's snack?"

How long had it been since I last set foot in my own room?

I was actually a little emotional.

Of course, what I missed the most was my bedroom, but that would have to wait until nightfall.

I settled onto the sofa and placed the tray Betty had given me onto the table in front of me.

On the ornate plate, lemon-colored macarons glowed like tiny golden treasures.

It would’ve been delightful to just pop one into my mouth and bask in bliss—but unfortunately, they weren’t mine.

They were an offering to Pebula.

Pressing my hands together, I closed my eyes.

How long had it been since my last prayer?

Trying to count back the years made my head spin, so I gave up entirely.

It had been long enough that I figured Pebula deserved at least a macaron.

Besides, the temple elders had already emptied my account, so surely, this much should be forgiven.

I was a poor, penniless follower, after all.

"Pebula, you may not be my only god... but you are, at the very least, the one whose follower has managed to survive the longest. So, to you, the great and mighty one, I offer my prayer."

I am currently facing a great trial and have begun to doubt you.

As pure and innocent as freshly fallen snow, I once believed in your name, but I now wonder—was I merely deceived by the brainwashing of my predecessors?

Could it be that beneath your divine presence, there lies the same wickedness that would accept someone like Nigellia as a disciple?

I beg of you, answer the doubts of this lost lamb, O Pebula.

I have recently learned that your closest servant was the founding leader of a necromancer cult.

Why did you grant such immense power to a man like that?

Or—did you, perhaps, strip him of that power in the end, punishing him for his corruption?

If so, would it not be reasonable to provide me with some clarification?

Surely, you do not ignore me simply because I am not your only follower? Do others pray to you daily and offer extravagant tributes?

If sweets are not to your taste, then the proper thing to do would be to send down a sign and make your preferences known. Otherwise, one might worry that you demand expensive offerings despite knowing my circumstances.

And if—by chance—your preference leans toward human sacrifices, then perhaps it is time you relinquish your divine status—

Maybe it’s because I haven’t prayed in so long, but the longer I go on, the more it starts sounding like blasphemy.

Feeling slightly guilty, I opened my eyes.

Since I had my eyes shut for a while, my vision was a little hazy as it gradually came into focus.

Once it did, I saw the plate.

I reached out and tossed one into my mouth.

There’s no such thing as a one-sided favor in this world. No answer, no offering.

"Forget it! I’m done."

I flopped onto the couch, lying face-down.

Honestly, wasn’t this something Pebula needed to explain to me?

They had no problem sending revelations when they wanted to torment me, but when I needed answers, they suddenly decided to go silent?

"Oh, right, you want me to save the world! Then shouldn’t I get some benefits?! If you won’t answer, at least give me something! You haven’t faded into oblivion already, have you?"

Then again, thinking back, this was the same cold-hearted deity who shoved me into a child’s body without so much as a single revelation.

Yet, for things that didn’t matter, they still made sure to send divine messages just to bother me.

"If this keeps up, I’m converting to magic worship. I will do it."

I whined at the empty air.

Obviously, I didn’t expect a response.

Even back when I lived at the temple, I’d tried this countless times, and not once had I received an answer.

It was just a petty tantrum.

For a brief moment, my entire field of vision shifted into a different color.

I shot up from the couch, but the strange sight lasted only a fraction of a second.

Even so, the image burned into my mind with striking clarity.

There was no mistake.

The soft pink hair. The gentle expression.

The problem was—I had no idea what this meant.

There were no divine words. Was this supposed to count as a revelation? What?

"Excuse me? So what exactly am I supposed to do with this?"

I cautiously tested the waters, but there was no reply.

"Am I supposed to kill him? Save him? Or—wait, are you saying that he’s the fallen saint?"

I slipped off the couch and knelt down properly, folding my hands.

This time, I made sure to adjust my tone into something more reverent.

"Pebula? Would you like a macaron? Which color? Lemon? Purple?"

...You’re not playing tricks on me, are you?

Surely a god isn’t that bored?

Just as unease crept up my spine, I heard it.

The window was wide open.

And perched on the windowsill, covering his mouth, was Cruello.

...I swear to god, I really am converting.