Chapter 2: I’m going to visit my family home

After coming out of the Great Temple, I decided to head for my parents’ house for starters.

I’ve been living in the temple since I was five years old, so I have no one else to turn to.

I don’t even remember the directions well.

I know that my family is called Safka.

But the last time I spent time in that house was twenty-three years ago… When I was brought to the Great Temple as a Saint, I came in a carriage with curtains drawn, so I had no idea where in the capital I had to walk to get home.

(I mean, I don’t even remember my parents’ faces.)

In the past twenty-three years, my parents never came to see me.

Sometimes Mary would come over and talk about them, but sometimes they would just pop out of her mouth. I didn’t feel any emotion when Mary told me how much her parents loved and cared for her.

(…In the meantime, right?)

I start to walk away without a clue.

Since I couldn’t pay for a carriage, I had to go on foot instead.

(I don’t know if I’ll make it!)

This country, Rasta, the royal capital of the Holy Kingdom of Snazil, is a growing city that is crowded with people.

The royal palace where the king resides, the great temple that is the symbol of the Holy Land, as well as the Knight Training School and the Nobility School… There are many buildings in Rasta where people gather.

I must have been out and about a lot when I was a little kid.

But after five years, maybe because the plots and streets have been organized, there is nothing that I recognize anywhere I look or walk… It makes me feel a little sad.

And when I came out to the main street of the royal capital, I recognized it clearly.

(Yeah, impossible.)

I almost got swallowed up by the crowd, and gave up early on.

As expected, it was impossible to go back to my family home, relying only on my intuition.

After all, Rasta is too big. Even if I were to walk through it on foot for a few days, I’m not sure I’d make it to the Safka house.

Then there’s only one way to go.

—Ask someone for directions.

It’s the only way.

(I want to find someone who’s as friendly as possible!)

Scurrying around, lost in thought, I decided to talk to a housewife who had just finished buying some vegetables.

Because there’s no sign of the children at her feet… Maybe they won’t treat me so badly. I want to believe that.

“Um, excuse me. I was wondering if I could ask you for directions.”

When I called out to her, she raised an eyebrow.

“Where would you like to go?”

“I want to go to a family named Safka.”

“Ah, the Saint’s family home. She’s really popular.”

“Eh?”

I tilted my head, not understanding the meaning of the words.

“Popularity, you say?”

“You’re a fan of the Saint, aren’t you? There’s a lot of people like that.”

The housewife nodded repeatedly as if to say, “I know, I know.

“—I want to see, just for one glance, the beautiful house where the Saint was born and raised! I’m often asked for directions by people who say, “How do you get here?” And there’s a lot of tourists.” 　

(…Is that so?)

I had never heard of it. No one had ever told me that before.

In the first place, my face is not publicly available to the public, beautiful saint or not.

During national rituals, I, as a Saint, sometimes appear in front of the people. However, as it has been a rule since the founding of the country, they always cover their faces with a white veil, and since they are far away from the people, you can only see their physique at best.

So I don’t think anyone actually knows what I look like.

…It doesn’t make me feel bad to be called a beautiful Saint or something, but it does make me feel kind of bad.

(They’ll be disillusioned when they see the real thing!)

“I don’t mean to disparage the family of the Saint, but that family is also a bit of a miser. I’ve heard that they are charging these people a lot of money to come visit, so you should be careful.”

“Ah, yes…”

I didn’t understand what she meant, but when I nodded my head — the housewife told me with gestures.

“To get to the Safka house, go straight down the main street until you reach the end, then turn right… Then you’ll see a sign for a clothing store called “Weltz”, turn left there. Then take another quick left and keep going and you’ll see a brick mansion.”

“Thank you so much!”

The explanations are also very easy to understand.

I have a feeling I’m closer to the place than I thought.

I bowed my head and she lowered the corner of her eyes.

“Did you come to visit the capital alone today?”

“…E”

“You really should be more careful… Look, there’s a group of people watching you right now.”

With these words of advice, she leaves with a wave of her hand, “Bye”.

When I was left behind, I was so shocked that I could not speak for a while.

(Someone’s looking at me… I mean, I’m twenty-eight years old this year!

How old did I look in her eyes?

I’m tempted to ask, but I also feel like I shouldn’t.

And as I somehow recovered from the shock, I remembered the housewife’s last words… I scampered around.

A few men whose eyes met mine turned away and left in a panic.

I felt more and more depressed.

(They probably think I’m a bit of a nervous wreck…)