After parting ways with Lynn, the saintess headed toward the confessional room.

She moved with grace, her posture upright and impeccable, hands folded over her abdomen. Her steady stride caused her pale golden hair and the hem of her white gown to sway in unison, like sunlight and clouds stirred by an evening breeze.

"Good afternoon, Your Holiness."

The passing nuns and clergy, no matter how busy they were with their tasks, would involuntarily slow their steps and bow respectfully at the sight of this breathtaking figure.

"Good afternoon."

The saintess responded with a smile and a polite nod to each person she encountered. Then, her clear gaze shifted and settled on a young novice nun who was hurriedly attempting to leave unnoticed.

"Please wait a moment."

"Eh?"

The novice froze in panic. She hadn’t expected the saintess herself to call out to her and assumed she must have done something wrong, either in her duties or perhaps in her etiquette.

As her distress grew to the brink of tears, a pair of hands encased in white silk gloves—warm despite their coverage—reached out gently and began tidying the front of her garment with care.

"You must be new here, aren’t you?"

"Eh... Y-Yes!"

Being so close to the saintess—someone she had revered for so long—sent the young novice’s mind spinning. Her face flushed, her knees weakened, and she scarcely managed to remain standing.

"Reporting to the saintess! I’m a new trainee nun. I just started my duties at Emil Cathedral last week. If I’ve done anything wrong, p-please punish me!"

"Don’t be so tense; I don’t bite."

The saintess maintained her serene smile, her divine aura radiating from every strand of her hair. Being in her presence felt as if one were floating among clouds, utterly entranced.

"There, all done."

She secured the novice’s loosened button, smoothing out the wrinkles on the front of her gown.

"Even if the tasks you’ve been assigned are complicated, always remember: in front of the goddess, maintaining composure and dignity is important."

"Y-Yes!"

The novice’s face turned an even deeper shade of red. The mere thought of being graced by the saintess’s personal attention to her attire made her tremble with overwhelming joy, nearly causing her to faint.

When she finally regained herself, she realized the saintess had already turned away, her graceful figure now retreating into the distance.

"The saintess... How kind she is."

With hands clasped tightly, tears welled up in the novice’s eyes.

Gentle, sacred, powerful—legend had it that simply hearing her voice could extend one’s life, seeing her face could bring happiness.

And yet, despite the adoration of so many, she remained approachable. Even to someone as inconspicuous as a trainee nun, she patiently offered guidance, responding to the requests of all believers.

Each day, at the same time, she would faithfully arrive at the confessional room, offering repentance to the goddess for human sins.

Such a person was nothing short of… perfect.

The perfect saintess.

Although no one understood why such a perfect saintess had recently announced her intent to step down, surely, whoever she selected to be her successor must also be... perfect.

"As expected of the saintess!"

The young novice passionately swore to herself:

"This attire touched by Her Holiness... I’ll never wash it again."

…

The confessional room.

The saintess paused at its entrance.

As the saintess of the Life Church, burdened with guiding legions of followers, she devoted an hour each day to this sacred room, which belonged solely to her.

Although referred to as "confession," it was, in truth, more akin to quiet contemplation.

Here, she could attain peace of mind.

But today, as she stood before the familiar door, she hesitated briefly.

Her gaze subtly swept over the doorknob and then inconspicuously scanned the surroundings.

Finally, she extended her hand and opened the door.

Inside stood a statue of the goddess, an iconic sight throughout the Holy City—though this one was crafted with remarkable precision and extraordinary lifelikeness.

Yet amid the dim light of the confessional room, smoke mysteriously drifted upward, curling around the goddess’s compassionate visage before vanishing into the dark heights of the space.

The saintess’s expression remained unchanged as she stepped in, closing the door behind her.

The room grew even darker.

Clasping her hands tightly to her chest, she devoutly began her confession to the goddess.

"Oh, great goddess, please forgive my sins..."

And then.

She released her hands.

Turned around.

Clenched her fist.

Swung it.

Unleashing a fierce and swift straight punch!

Seamlessly executed.

Accompanied by a gust of wind that swept away the surrounding smoke, her punch landed with precision—directly onto the body of Pink Bear, who lay nearby, drowsing with a cheap cigarette hanging loosely from his snout.

*Squelch...*

The flesh of Pink Bear’s stomach visibly caved in, emitting a gelatinous wobble. Jolted awake by pain, he opened his eyes in fury:

"Who—"

Before he could even utter another word, his anger dissipated entirely as his gaze met a pair of icy, unyielding eyes.

"You’ve turned my confessional room into this mess. Do you want to be hung outside the door of the apostates by a rope woven from sinners' hair, Pink Bear?"

The saintess's usual soft demeanor was nowhere to be seen. Instead, her lips curled into a cruel smile, her words venomous—completely unbecoming of one referred to as a saintess.

"Oh... it's you."

Pink Bear flipped upright, simultaneously extinguishing his cigarette. He rubbed his chunky bear paws and grinned sheepishly.

"Haha, if you wanted me to wake up, a few kicks would’ve done the job. No need to be so... enthusiastic."

"I didn’t want to disturb your dreams."

"Now that’s uncalled for! No dream could ever be as important as seeing you."

"…"

Amidst the lingering smoke, the saintess narrowed her beautiful, almond-shaped eyes as if probing the man hiding within the comical bear costume.

But before long, she abandoned her scrutiny, simply extending her hand toward Pink Bear.

"What?" Pink Bear hesitated.

"Give me one."

"Huh?"

"I said, give me one." Her icy gaze grew sharper.

After a short pause, Pink Bear nervously handed over a cigarette.

One glance was enough for the saintess to wrinkle her nose in disdain.

"This? Has your luck run out so badly?"

"Haha..." Pink Bear chuckled awkwardly. "Due to certain reasons, this is all I have left..."

"Is that so?"

Her gaze lingered briefly before she swiftly delivered another practiced straight punch to his stomach, catching him off guard once more.

Then, without hesitation, she grabbed Pink Bear’s distorted mascot face, shoving her hand deep into his mouth, fumbling around.

"Wait... ugh... too rough... too deep... it's too big... I can't take it... pull it out..."

Amid Pink Bear’s garbled cries of agony, the saintess withdrew her hand, grasping an aluminum cigarette case.

"Ah, still holding onto your prized possessions, I see."

Giving the case one dismissive glance, she ignored Pink Bear’s crestfallen expression and pulled out the premium cigar he had painstakingly hidden from Professor Pulan—the one he cherished so much he'd yet to smoke.

Snipping the end and lighting it, she drew in a deep breath.

Wispy smoke spiraled into circles as it emerged teasingly from her rosy lips, blending with the faint holy light radiating from her figure. The juxtaposition of sanctity and allure was striking.

"Speak."

The saintess dropped herself into a chair, adopting an uncharacteristically casual posture that would surely shatter the faith of any devout follower who saw it. She crossed her pale, bare legs and asked languidly:

"What do you want from me?"