*clack* The chopsticks fell onto the table for the third time.

The elderly priest in his stiff clerical robe trembled uncontrollably—whether from age or something else, his hands had never stilled since I sat down.

Well… it was only natural. After what I’d done to him. But this awkward standoff? That was entirely the mischievous nun’s doing. She’d planned it perfectly. Not once had she considered saving my soul out of conscience.

Saintly name aside, Sister Maria possessed not a shred of gentleness—not in her explosively muscular chest, nor her long, sculpted legs. She delighted in openly teasing others.

The priest remained the same man, yet his East Asian features held exotic nuances. Among Asians, bloodlines carried subtle distinctions. His nose dominated half his face; his eyes were unexpectedly small, nearly slits. His broad forehead made the scar there look even more vicious. All in all, a striking face—strikingly terrifying.

It was this terrifying priest I’d nearly given a heart attack days ago.

"Don’t mind me," he rasped. "Old bones grow useless. Can’t even hold chopsticks steady. We only have simple fare here at the church. Make do."

"Not at all. I’m the one intruding, Father."

He tried to maintain a stern expression, masking his panic with holy authority—but his trembling hands nearly flung the rice bowl away. Maria’s laughter only grew louder. She clearly enjoyed tormenting people. "Really? You seemed perfectly capable hauling water this morning."

The priest’s face fell. He could only puff out his cheeks and glare over his bowl.

Awkwardness hung thick. Only one person savored it like a comedy show while eating—and impressively, this foreigner wielded chopsticks with ease.

But I’d come seeking answers. Why was I sitting here eating? The priest looked utterly broken, his appetite gone, clearly wanting nothing more to do with me. All thanks to the nun’s meddling with my appearance. This long ponytail beneath my tennis cap wasn’t dashing at all—it looked soft. No wonder the priest was afraid. Damn her utterly…

"Sister Maria."

Both the nun and priest turned toward me in the humble hall.

"Hmm?"

"Could you… cut my hair again?"

Maria licked her lips. "How short?"

To prove my resolve to the priest—and to bury those embarrassing memories for good—I declared firmly: "Bald!"

The priest’s slit-like eyes snapped wide open, his eyelids twitching. After a stunned pause, Maria burst into unrestrained laughter. We’d just met—what a terrible person!

"Planning to become a monk? Wrong place. This is a *church*!"

"Of course not!"

"Really?"

"Absolutely!"

"No regrets?"

To hell with waist-length hair. To hell with that she-devil. To show the old priest my determination, I nodded solemnly.

Maria smiled mysteriously. "Fine. If that’s truly your wish… no charge."

"Outrageous!"

The priest’s chopsticks clattered onto the table for the fourth time—this time flung down with a sharp slap.

*Outrageous?* Had I misheard? Had the kind old man who once gave me earnest advice changed his heart too? Or was a bald Wu Ke simply too much? Maybe just a trim would suffice…

Just then, commotion erupted from the chapel’s front hall. The priest waved a hand. "Maria. See what’s happening."

The nun rolled her eyes and shuffled out, grumbling.

The old priest set down his bowl, facing me as if we’d returned to the confessional years ago. "Child… though the timing is poor, I must say—I’m truly glad to see you here again."

*You didn’t look glad at all just now…*

"I’m glad you and Sister Maria are well too."

"You just said… that thing about…"

"Bald!"

"Ah, yes. Bald. Why?"

I spoke with righteous conviction: "Sister Maria’s right. I’ve erred repeatedly, stalled by my own indecision. I’ve lingered at the crossroads too long. I can no longer tolerate this version of myself!"

"Eh?" The priest blinked, clearly unprepared for my passionate declaration. He fell silent, then sighed. "So… you still don’t understand."

"Understand what?"

He shook his head. "Only one part of what you said was true: you *are* stalled. Do you recall why I sent you out of the confessional that day?"

I hung my head in shame. "Because… I was beyond saving?"

"No."

"Then…?"

"‘Erred repeatedly’… Child, the confessional is for confessing sins. Perhaps, in some eyes, you *have* erred. But after living this long…" He met my gaze. "I’ve never believed you committed any true sin."

"How could I be blameless? I—I—"

"You see?" His voice softened. "Even you don’t know what you’ve done wrong. How can you change without knowing? There are things my position forbids me to say… but *you* must think clearly. Return when you’ve found the answer."

Was this riddling? Zen paradoxes?

My expression twisted wildly. *No—I just couldn’t bring myself to confess my crimes! Are you expecting a written self-criticism like a schoolteacher…?*

"O-okay."

*CRASH!*

A thunderous noise echoed from the front hall—like something heavy hitting the floor.

When the priest and I rushed out, we found Maria surrounded by seven rough-looking men at the chapel entrance. At first, I thought they were clients of the Bible-illiterate nun—their appearances were absurd. Red hair. Blue. Green. Every primary color imaginable, plus others. All seven had different hair colors. Together, they formed a bizarre Rainbow Brigade.

"What’s this?" The priest frowned at the overturned bench.

Troublemakers harassing the nun? Protection racket thugs? As the only able-bodied young man present, I stepped forward to help. Maria’s face was dark enough to drip water.

She stretched lazily, arms crossing, her voice icy. "Back again, you persistent pests."

The priest sighed deeply, closing his eyes. "The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness. For he is truly his brother’s keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers."

At these words, Maria’s face lit with a delighted smile—as if granted permission. The Rainbow Brigade paled and tried to flee without a word.

What followed left me dumbfounded. Even in her restrictive nun’s habit, Maria dropped all seven men in under five seconds. Power. Speed. Precision strikes to vital points. I began to suspect this barber from the old district was a retired soldier.

By then, the priest had reached the verse’s end. I finally recognized the words.

"And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee. Ezekiel 25:17. Amen."

Eyes still closed, hands clasped behind his back, the priest walked back inside—every inch the master.

My voice came out hoarse. "What… what did they want?"

"Protection money. But the old man refuses. Calls it ‘unclean’."

Maria cracked her knuckles, exhaled comfortably, and unceremoniously tossed the seven battered bodies out the chapel doors.

*Protection money?* They’d come with good intentions—why beat them? I stared in horror at Maria and the priest’s stooped backs as they walked away. I had no idea why thugs would offer money… or what to make of a Bible-quoting priest and a Bible-illiterate nun.

"Oh," Maria turned, sweetly smiling. "Still want that bald cut?"

"N-no… thank you."