“All right, it’s done.”

At the astrologer’s words, young Ibi lazily opened her eyes. Then, seeing the clear view in front of her, she exclaimed loudly.

“I can see clearly!”

Ibi felt her head become lighter and shook it side to side. Her braided hair swung along with the movement.

The bangs that always poked her eyes were gone, and her messy hair was now neatly arranged. Ibi found it so fascinating that she tried to look at the ends of her hair.

The astrologer sitting behind her laughed at the sight, then belatedly remembered something and took something out of his pocket.

“Ah, I have this too.”

It was a blue ribbon.

Even at a glance, it looked like a nice item, and Ibi’s eyes widened. Meanwhile, the astrologer used it to decorate Ibi’s hair.

With the ribbon in her hair, Ibi awkwardly touched it and muttered.

“This doesn’t suit me.”

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“What’s the use when it’ll be taken away soon anyway. The bad guys living here say everything valuable belongs to them.”

Ibi responded roughly to the compliment. Then she firmly removed the ribbon from her hair.

But as if she still had lingering affection for it, she fiddled with it instead of returning it to the astrologer.

The blue ribbon felt nice to touch and had a pretty color. But as soon as it touched Ibi’s hands, it quickly became dirty.

Startled by the ribbon getting dirty, Ibi dropped it, then quickly pretended nothing happened and said.

“This kind of thing, it only suits those kids who live in Tienda. The nobles who never get dirt on their hands.”

While Ibi was saying this, the astrologer just quietly smiled.

Reassured by that silence, Ibi flopped down on the legs of the astrologer sitting behind her.

This allowed her to see both the chin of the astrologer wearing a deeply pulled-down hood and the underside of Tienda blocking the sky.

Seeing her favorite things at once, Ibi grinned. Then she picked up the ribbon that had fallen on her knee.

“But I’ll keep this anyway. I’m going to Tienda later, so I’ll use it there. It’ll surely suit me well then!”

.

.

.

Eight years have passed since that bold declaration, and three days have passed since Count Sion Laurel visited Ibi’s mansion.

Those three days were the time Ibi had banned going out under the pretext of self-reflection, and also enough time for rumors to spread to every corner of this wide yet narrow Tienda.

“Heave-ho.”

Ibi, who entered the study carrying a box, upended it onto the silver tray on the desk.

Papers spilled out of the box.

Those palm-sized papers were brief status reports left daily by anonymous helpers working throughout Tienda.

Ibi regularly collected and checked these notes to know her reputation.

‘Well, let’s take a look…’

Although it was a weekly routine, Ibi opened the notes with a more tense face than usual.

As expected, most of the stories about Ibi that came in this week were related to the banquet held at Laurel Castle.

– Many were surprised, saying it was the first time they saw Ibi Ariate act so defiantly.
– Considerable opinion that someone who doesn’t know their place shouldn’t be made a saint.
– Heard praise once for Ibi Ariate’s courage in confronting a great noble.
– Everyone wonders why Count Laurel looked at Ibi Ariate.

“…This isn’t as bad as I thought?”

Ibi, who had opened the notes with an anxious heart, blinked at the unexpectedly moderate reactions.

As expected, the nobles gathered in groups were obsessed with the story of Ibi and the Count.

Nevertheless, there was no public opinion yet that Ibi Ariate, who had attacked a great noble, should be stoned. Although there were some negative stories, they were at a similar level to usual.

Ibi checked more notes with half belief and half doubt, and the more she checked, the more certain it became.

The status that Ibi had desperately raised did not crumble with one outburst. Rather, everyone seemed to wonder, ‘Why did that gentle Ibi Ariate lunge like that?’

‘Ah, thank goodness, really…’

Confirming this, Ibi heaved a big sigh of relief.

She doesn’t know how much she’s been on edge because of this for the past three days. She kept having trouble sleeping, dreaming of returning to that abyss every night.

But the reaction of the noble circles was more ordinary than expected, and Ibi was relieved and relieved again at that fact.

Ibi, who had finally put her mind at ease, belatedly lit a candle. Then she burned the notes she had checked while unfolding the rest.

– Someone’s joke that this is Ibi Ariate’s counterattack against Duke Laurel. Seems foolish.
– Many opinions that Count Laurel also seems to dislike Ibi Ariate.
– Occasional questions about why Laurel is surprisingly quiet about such a serious matter.

Ibi rested her chin on her hand as she looked at the notes with Laurel’s name written one after another.

‘Come to think of it, why is Duke Laurel still quiet? He should normally be fuming and demanding my imprisonment.’

In fact, Ibi thought she might be confined in the tower because of the incident she caused at the banquet. That’s because it’s the biggest punishment that the high nobles of Tienda can impose on Ibi.

If another commoner in Tienda, say someone working as a servant or merchant, had insulted Count Laurel like Ibi did, they would have been imprisoned or exiled, or in the worst case, even executed.

But Ibi was different. Belonging to the Manyana Tower, Ibi could only be disciplined by the tower master, so even that Duke Laurel couldn’t touch her directly.

So by now, the Duke should be making a fuss to the tower master, but strangely, there’s no news from that side either.

‘Could the Count have mediated?’

Ibi recalled, just in case, the proposal that Count Laurel had thrown before leaving three days ago.

– So I plan to take care of you from now on. As sincerely as possible.

– But there’s a condition. Give up on becoming a saint.

That Count surprisingly said such things.

Thanks to that, Ibi had to ponder day and night whether the cup the Count offered was a toast or a poisoned chalice.

If those words were true, the Count might have dissuaded his brother from trying to punish Ibi.

Of course, it could be the same even if it’s fake. It might turn out that the Duke and Count are in cahoots, trying to lure this lowly commoner with sweet words to prevent her from coveting the position of saint.

As all sorts of speculations and doubts floated in her head, Ibi quickly shook her head. Then she repeated the conclusion she had already reached.

‘Whether it’s real or a trap doesn’t matter. Because I’m going to refuse anyway.’

Ibi had already made up her mind to refuse the Count’s offer.

Because she couldn’t accept the condition of giving up on being a saint.

This is the same even if the Count volunteers to be not a guardian but a footrag.

Ibi had to become a saint no matter what, so the Count’s offer was not valid at all. Rather, it only added the burden of refusing.

‘Come to think of it, it’s tomorrow.’

The day the Count said he would hear the answer. At the same time, tomorrow is also the day of the purification ceremony at Manyana Tower.

Already worried about the next day, Ibi burned the note in her hand with a tired feeling.

But the next note was just as tiring for Ibi.

– Multiple speculations that Sion Laurel and Ibi Ariate already know each other getting responses.
– They clearly weren’t treating each other like first meetings, they must have met in Bis, want to knock out the front teeth of the noble bastard spitting while saying this.
– Minor suspicions that the two are in a romantic relationship, or that the incident at the banquet was a lovers’ quarrel.
– Rumors that Sion Laurel visited Ibi Ariate’s mansion also spreading suspicion.

‘Lovers, who on earth…’

Ibi laughed emptily, dumbfounded.

Right, I knew such talk would come out. Because it’s the most interesting story when it’s all mushy. But who knew they would even create a rich backstory of meeting in Bis.

Ibi was snickering at the absurdity, but stopped laughing when she saw the next note.

– Heated claims from some young ladies that Ibi Ariate doesn’t suit Sion Laurel.

This too is something to just laugh off, but coincidentally, a certain expression written on that note reminded her of the Count’s words.

– Above all, it doesn’t suit you. Being a saint, not at all.

Three days ago, the Count said this with an utterly indifferent face. Without a shred of doubt, as if stating an immutable truth.

Although she didn’t show it then, Ibi felt quite bad.

‘I know too, that it doesn’t suit me.’

Ibi bit her lip, recalling the Count’s cold face.

The Count’s words are right. Ibi is the most likely candidate for sainthood, but that’s only achieved by acting out the image of a saint that people desire.

In reality, Ibi’s nature and true feelings are far from the noble illusion of a saint.

Still, she had been struggling desperately for the past two years to somehow fit herself in, but to such an Ibi, the Count spoke so insensitively.

– If you’re sick of the hardship, it would be better to stay as my ward than as a saint.

He said.

‘How ridiculous, without knowing anything.’

Ibi held back a hollow laugh at the Count’s arrogance.

The Count seems to believe he’s bestowing a great favor, but that’s truly a huge misunderstanding.

What the Count offers on the condition of giving up sainthood is something Ibi could grasp if she just set her mind to it.

Ibi, now twenty years old, has already received marriage proposals from several noble young men.

Among them are pathetic fellows eyeing Ibi’s popularity or abilities, and there are also upright young men who truly admire Ibi.

If she just held out her left ring finger to them, Ibi could be incorporated into a noble family.

But Ibi didn’t do that. Because it would be of no use if she couldn’t become a saint.

Five years ago, Ibi, who was staying at an orphanage in Bis, caught the eye of the tower master and came up to Tienda in the year she turned fifteen.

However, it was two years ago, when she was eighteen, that Ibi first set foot in Tienda’s social circles.

During those three years in between, the place Ibi stayed was not some comfortable mansion somewhere in Tienda, but deep underground in Manyana Tower.

She thought there would only be paradise in Tienda, but the place Ibi arrived at was an abyss more terrible than the slums or orphanages she had passed through.

But by the time she realized she had set foot in the wrong place, it was already too late.

Ibi was confined in the tower’s underground, and there she had to grovel like a slave for the nobles of Tienda.

It was as if she had ended up buried in an even more hellish underground while trying to escape the dark slums and prison-like orphanage.

Nevertheless, Ibi didn’t give up.

She endlessly yearned to become a difficult person as she had declared when young, and so she bet everything she had.

– You want to become a saint?

– Interesting. Alright, go ahead. If you succeed, I’ll let you go as you wish.

– But if you fail, you’ll live in this basement for the rest of your life. Along with that ragged dog.

There, the tower master accepted Ibi’s proposal. Because the sight of a child with nothing boldly making a bet was cute and amusing.

To the tower master, it was a whimsical game, but to Ibi, it was the only chance in her life.

Becoming a saint meant that much to Ibi.

The words about wanting to become a difficult person were Ibi’s own language for wanting to live like a human being.

‘Alright, stop thinking about it.’

Ibi slapped both her cheeks with her hands. Then she shook off her heavy mood and cheerfully opened another note.

– One young lady expressing her inferiority complex, saying Ibi Ariate was openly flirting with the Count, how uncultured, just like someone from Bis!

“Huh.”

Ibi immediately burned that note. Not satisfied with just that, she even burned the remaining notes on the tray.

Ahahaha, burn it all!

Ibi Ariate, the saint candidate enraged by the world’s ugliness, eventually committed arson on the tray.

As a bonfire rose, an unexpected rebuke was heard from the doorway.

“Playing with fire at that age?”

At the voice full of fatigue, Ibi turned her head.

Dies, dressed in a black coat, was standing in the doorway, having returned at some point.

“Ah, you’re back?”

Ibi flapped her hands to put out the fire on the desk. Of course, it was of no use.

Dies approached, taking off his gloves at that commendable effort. Then he covered the blazing tray with the lid that matched the silver tray.

After a moment, when the fire went out and the smell of burning permeated, Ibi changed the subject with an embarrassed face.

“How was the investigation? Did you find out anything?”

Dies had left the mansion for the past three days to look into Ibi’s curse.

So Ibi looked at Dies with expectant eyes, and the capable butler answered quite confidently.

“There was considerable progress. We are tracking the one who cast the curse.”