“If this was a scheduled appointment, are you going to just leave?”

A heavy rebuke, unsure if joking or serious, came from right behind her back.

Ibi swallowed dryly as she looked at the Count’s hand placed next to the right side of her face.

That hand was large enough to completely cover Ibi’s face. Moreover, its appearance was very rough.

Aside from the bumpy knuckles and protruding tendons, his hand was full of large and small scars that looked quite old.

She had naturally expected him to have delicate hands like other noble youths of Tienda, but the Count’s hands were as rough as if they belonged to a mercenary.

Thanks to this, Ibi realized anew. The fact that this person was the Commander-in-Chief of Bis, in other words, a soldier who made combat his profession.

‘Is it okay for someone as high-ranking as the Commander-in-Chief to act like such a thug!’

So Ibi protested strongly inside while trying to calmly pull on the door handle again.

Of course, it didn’t budge at all.

The weight of this door was the Count’s determination towards Ibi Ariate, and understanding this, Ibi finally humbly accepted the situation.

“That’s right. I do have an appointment with you today, Count. Ah, I was planning to visit you after the purification ceremony ended, but the conversation went on longer and I completely forgot. Because of that, I made you come all this way again.”

Ibi slipped out of the Count’s arms slightly while cutely blaming herself.

Then she pondered for a moment.

‘Should I thank him for helping?’

That is, thanking him for helping poor me who was being pitifully bullied.

According to Ibi’s great prejudice formed by experience, most men with a hero complex want to hear such words.

And Ibi thought that the Count, who had abruptly taken her out alone where Miel and Rio were, was quite a narcissistic person.

So some proper pleasantries would be necessary, but after brief deliberation, Ibi decided to keep her mouth shut.

Because thanking the Count for helping would be admitting that what happened earlier was bullying, and furthermore, it would be snitching that Miel and Rio were villains bullying a small and precious commoner girl.

There’s the face of the saint candidate to consider, such shallow tattling is absolutely unacceptable.

‘So it’s better to just pretend not to know about what happened earlier…’

It was just as Ibi was thinking this.

“Does that kind of thing happen often?”

“If by ‘that kind of thing’ you mean Miel Sedro’s bullying, then yes, it happens often.”

But the Count asked abruptly, and Ibi naturally blurted out the truth as it was.

She then swallowed a gasp. Even the Count, who had been expressionless, looked a bit surprised.

Flustered, Ibi hurriedly added.

“But it’s not that serious. And it’s also natural. Everyone is sensitive on the day of the purification ceremony.”

Ah, how pathetic.

Ibi evaluated her own statement like that.

Pointing out names like a 10-year-old kid saying ‘she’s a bad kid’, and then belatedly pretending to cover for her.

This looked like clumsy instigation, and sure enough, the Count seemed to feel that way too as his head was tilted at an angle.

“…You came to hear my answer today, right?”

Unable to bear the embarrassment, Ibi changed the subject instead.

Fortunately or unfortunately, the Count just nodded, saying that was correct, without mentioning Miel or what happened earlier anymore.

Finally settling in to negotiate with the Count here, Ibi took a deep breath to swallow her tension.

The Count’s proposal to give up the saint position as a condition for guardianship is of course a rejection. But she must not offend the Count while rejecting.

It’s a burdensome situation either way, but Ibi gathered courage by recalling the recent purification ceremony.

If the Count saw the purification ceremony, he would no longer be able to say that being a saint doesn’t suit Ibi.

Ibi calmly resolved herself and opened her mouth.

“I’ve made up my mind, Count. First, thank you so much for the generous offer. I felt like I was dreaming these past few days when you said you would take care of me.”

Of course, that dream was a nightmare with you in it.

Ibi resisted the urge to say this and explained at length how excited she was by the Count’s proposal.

Then she added very indirectly.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to accept that offer, Count.”

The Count wasn’t very surprised by Ibi’s refusal. Rather, he looked like he had expected it.

With that formal attitude, the Count was about to ask for the reason.

“The reason is…”

“I absolutely want to become the saint.”

“Why…”

“Because it’s my mission blessed by Manyanya.”

“Even so…”

“For the sake of Tienda and Bis as well, I must remain at Manyanya Tower.”

Each time, Ibi answered in a coy voice, cutting off the Count’s questions.

The Count closed his mouth at Ibi Ariate’s conversational style that he had already experienced once before.

After a heavy silence, the Count said in a low voice.

“Do you have a habit of not listening to people to the end?”

“No, I don’t.”

Ibi humbly answered the Count’s annoyed question. Then she smiled brightly while busily sweating behind that smile.

She thought he would be a bit more lenient right after seeing the purification ceremony, but the Count’s attitude towards Ibi was still overbearing.

In the midst of this, she kept making verbal mistakes, so it seemed Ibi Ariate would likely be perceived as a complete idiot by the Count.

And this prediction of Ibi’s hit the mark.

‘What on earth is she doing?’

Sion swallowed a sigh as he watched Ibi Ariate floundering like a rabbit caught by a wolf.

He could understand her being nervous since he suddenly brought her to a place like this.

However, the recklessness that Ibi Ariate kept showing was not something that could be explained by nervousness alone.

The reputation of Ibi Ariate that Sion confirmed in Tienda was twofold.

One was that she was a marvelous being blessed by Manyanya, and the other was that she was pure like a commoner while overflowing with dignity unlike a commoner.

But in reality, Sion could find neither purity nor dignity in Ibi Ariate.

Dignity had already been shattered from their first meeting so there was no need to mention it further, and even if he tried to reluctantly consider it as purity, Ibi Ariate’s tricks were too obvious.

Of course, Sion did acknowledge Ibi Ariate’s ability to purify all that water.

The sight of Ibi singing with her aqua-colored hair fluttering was like the incarnation of Manyanya herself, and Sion had forgotten to even breathe while watching that scene.

However, that was all Ibi Ariate had.

Being bullied in a warehouse after the purification ceremony ended, and when asked if it happens often out of concern, she tattles as if she had been waiting for it, then belatedly acts like she understands everything.

A 20-year-old woman was behaving in a way that 10-year-old students might.

‘This is so different from what I heard.’

Of course, Sion didn’t think that Tienda’s reputation was Ibi Ariate’s true self either.

Reputation is merely an illusion that can be created at will.

So Sion had imagined Ibi Ariate not based on the rough evaluation he got here, but on the words of ‘that person’ who had entrusted Ibi to him.

―Ibi is strong. She’s strong, and clever, and bold, and quick-witted, and resourceful, and eloquent, and on top of that, she works incredibly hard…

―Hey, that’s enough.

That person, befitting someone who had devoted everything to Ibi Ariate, would praise Ibi at every opportunity.

So the young Sion had to cut off his fervent words with disgust.

―And she’s someone more wonderful than anyone, who never gives up until the end. Really.

Then that foolish man would always conclude his words in this way. With eyes full of longing and lingering attachment.

Sion got goosebumps every time.

A significant part of the reason he had postponed meeting Ibi Ariate was actually because of this.

Then, when he could no longer postpone it, he finally came with half expectation and half worry, but lo and behold.

‘Just where is she supposed to be wonderful…’

Sion clicked his tongue as he recalled old memories. Then he focused again on the reality that was contrary to his imagination.

Unlike the many positive evaluations, the Ibi Ariate that Sion saw was far too shallow a person compared to the abilities she had received.

Having confirmed this, Sion thought there was no need to waste any more time and said.

“Why don’t you reconsider?”

“I’ve already…”

“It would be better in many ways for you to give up on your own rather than me forcing you to give up.”

Ibi doubted her ears.

“What are you saying now…”

“If I take action, it will surely cause a commotion, so I think it would be advantageous for both of us to come to an agreement here.”

Ibi smiled with a stiff face and blinked her eyes.

She couldn’t understand at all what that Count bastard was saying.

The Count was declaring with a face as arrogant as ever.

Whichever side you choose, the conclusion will be what I’ve decided, that is, you giving up the saint position.

“Um, Count. My intention is…”

“I respect it, but I cannot approve it.”

Why does this Count keep spouting nonsense with a human face?

‘Then why did you give me time to think?’

As she questioned herself, Ibi found the answer in the Count’s brazen face.

He gave time to think, not the right to choose.

At that clear intention, Ibi inwardly screamed.

‘It was a trap after all! Even saying he was asked to do this was a lie!’

Disbelief filled Ibi’s eyes. As if reading that thought, the Count said.

“What I said before is true. I can swear on my family name.”

At the oath of a great noble, Ibi stopped her condemnation of the Count. Then she looked at the Count with an even more incomprehensible face.

“I don’t understand. Are you saying that you will personally prevent me from becoming the saint?”

“That’s right.”

“And afterwards, you’ll take care of me as promised?”

“Yes.”

“Then what if I, despite your opposition, become the saint?”

“That’s a meaningless assumption.”

Sion answered Ibi Ariate’s question dryly.

At that, Ibi Ariate’s large eyes shook mournfully.

‘This must be a bolt from the blue for you.’

Sion inwardly muttered as he watched the silent Ibi.

He had no intention of backing down, but he felt a little pitiful. So he unconsciously blurted out words that didn’t need to be said.

“Is it harsh?”

It was meant as an invitation to complain if she wanted to. But a completely unexpected answer came back.

“No, I actually like it.”

Ibi Ariate suddenly said vigorously.

So Sion unknowingly furrowed his brows.

“Why?”

“If you’re going to do whatever you want regardless of how I act, that means I can do the same. If I become the saint in the process, then my original goal is achieved so that’s good, and if I don’t, I can receive help from you, so that’s good too.”

Sion felt like he had been hit on the head by Ibi’s bold answer.

And Ibi, who had been intensely honest, inwardly screamed.

‘Ibi is not this petty!’

Because of the curse that burst out at the slightest chance, she ended up reciting even the calculations in her head.

As Ibi floundered, unable to take back those words, the dumbfounded Count opened his mouth again.

“You’re going to use me as insurance?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Is that your original personality?”

“I have a thoroughly calculating personality.”

“Then why…”

‘Stop it!’

As the Count’s questions continued, Ibi, whose mouth had been taken over by the curse, rushed at him in panic. It was to urgently try to cover his mouth.

And that desperate attempt very nicely turned into an accident.

The unevenness of the stone steps, the Count’s posture leaning diagonally against the wall, and Ibi Ariate’s urgency overlapped, causing Ibi to tumble down with the Count with a loud crash.

Caught off guard and pinned down by Ibi, the Count asked while sitting on the stairs.

“What are you…”

But before the question could be completed, Ibi, sitting on his lap, covered his mouth with both hands.

Thus, the Count suddenly found himself pounced on and his mouth covered.

Ibi, who had committed this bold act, looked at the Count with a tearful heart.

At that close distance, the Count was silently looking at Ibi.

It felt like a silent urging to remove her hands, but Ibi couldn’t bring herself to decide whether to remove them or not.

So she just held on, and the Count reached out his hand.

Ibi naturally thought he was going to remove her hands and prepared to back away.

But unexpectedly, where the Count’s hand was headed was not his own face, but Ibi’s face.

The rough fingertips of the Count touched Ibi’s cheek.

Ibi flinched in surprise and pulled back, but sitting on the Count’s lap, she couldn’t retreat very far.

In the end, the Count’s large hand covered Ibi’s face.

Ibi’s eyes trembled anxiously at the unfamiliar touch.

However, the Count, disregarding this, firmly pressed Ibi’s cheeks with his thumb and middle finger.

‘Ugh!’

Ibi, whose face was instantly distorted, was appalled at this rudeness and hurriedly backed away from him.

Then she covered both her cheeks with her hands and looked at the Count in disbelief.

She wanted to protest, but having put her hands on the Count’s face first, she had no words to say.

So as she just swallowed empty breaths while pressing her back against the wall, in the meantime, the Count got up and dusted off his wrinkled clothes.

“I understand your intentions well. There’s no need to worry unnecessarily either.”

The Count also put on the coat that Ibi had handed over. Then he concluded nonchalantly as if nothing had happened.

“The agreement was wrong and it seems we’ll both do as we want, so please let me know after the saint selection is over. How I should take care of you.”

The Count left these words and strode out of the stairwell first.

And only after a long while did Ibi emerge from the shock and lament at his brazenness.