Shel had never felt pressure like this.

Not when surrounded by vicious bandits.

Not when hunted by fanatical cultists.

Not even when manor lords’ henchmen scoured the land for him.

Nothing compared to facing the Pope—the Eternal Father’s living voice—and the continent’s strongest Sword Saint, after learning their deepest secret…

—he felt like he might be silenced at any moment.

"Shel, I’m begging you," Monroe said earnestly. "My daughter adores your picture books. His Holiness has collected every one. He reads them to Catherine daily. She’s seen every story you’ve ever made. So… please. Give her happy endings. Fun ones. Whimsical ones. To cheer up this poor child."

The kindly Pope added, "Catherine is prone to mood swings… and naive. She never grew up. She can’t tell stories from reality.

"She truly believes ‘Mr. Shel of Ipoli’—the author—is a god. That your tales are real lives in a world you command. That every character’s suffering or joy is your design.

"She honestly thinks you can rewrite fate. That you control who lives or dies in your stories.

"So… Shel. Change these tragedies. Give them perfect, joyful endings.

"Cardstock, paints, and brushes are ready in the next room. Please hurry. Her tantrums grow worse each day. I can barely soothe her anymore."

"…………"

After a long silence, Shel spoke. "Your Holiness… I’m afraid it’s not enough time. Honestly, I made these books years ago just to cheer up my two students. Pop-up picture books take days to craft properly."

"No need to remake entire books," the Pope said gently. "Just add new illustrated pages to these tragic tales. Rewrite their endings."

Anyone meeting her would mistake her for a doting grandmother. "If you finish tonight, she might finally sleep peacefully."

What choice did he have? He accepted the tragic storybooks—*The Nightingale and the Rose*, *The Little Mermaid*, *The Fisherman and His Soul*—Earth’s classic sorrowful tales.

And his own creations:

*The Knight Who Carried Duty*, where a hero trades limbs, senses, even his heart to demons for power to slay a rampaging dragon—only to become a monster himself, dying alongside his foe.

*Valley of Heaven*, about an ageless wanderer who finds peace after lifetimes of loss, settling alone in a valley until his quiet death.

*The Fallen Doctor*, who sought a cure-all medicine, realized his folly, and returned to healing others—only to perish from the plague he fought.

…………

All classic tragedies: sacrifice, mortality, shattered dreams.

Even his students Hilna and Lofna had disliked them. That’s why he’d sold these earliest.

Now? With the Pope’s command? He grabbed brushes and raced to redraw happy endings.

For the knight: after slaying the dragon, he used its heart to mend his broken body. A master mage reforged his flesh. Together, they destroyed the demon who’d corrupted him—and he reclaimed his humanity.

For the wanderer: across centuries, reincarnations of old friends found him. He taught them, cared for their children, then their children’s children. The Valley of Heaven filled with laughter. His loneliness vanished.

For the doctor: though he never found the miracle cure, his untainted soul moved the heavens. He became an angel of mercy, walking among the sick. In the end, he *was* the cure he’d sought.

…………

Past midnight, yawning, Shel handed the revised books to the waiting Pope and Monroe. Catherine had waited silently the whole time.

Pope Saint An IV lifted Catherine—a woman a head taller than herself—onto her lap. She flipped open the books and read the new endings aloud.

Just like a grandmother reading bedtime stories.

Catherine listened intently. No smile, no movement—but Shel sensed her joy when she saw the heroes’ happy illustrations.

Monroe stood rigid as a guard throughout.

When the last page turned, Catherine rose from the Pope’s lap and faced Shel.

Her eyes—mirrors to countless futures—locked onto his. Shel flinched, turning away. He couldn’t meet the gaze of this ageless child.

Then she did the unthinkable.

She knelt before him.

Pressed her palms together in prayer—the gesture reserved for thanking the Eternal Father.

Praying… to an ordinary man.

In front of the Pope herself.

Shel nearly turned to stone.

If witnessed, he’d burn at the stake for this.

"No harm done, Shel," the Pope said calmly, lifting Catherine up and stroking her hair. "She simply doesn’t understand. She believes you’re a god who heard her prayers. That you used divine power to rewrite those tragedies. Her gratitude is… misplaced."

"Th-thank you for your mercy, Your Holiness," Shel wiped sweat from his brow. "My heart nearly stopped. Is… is there anything else I can do?"

"Not tonight. You may go," Saint An IV said. "Though Catherine will surely summon you again. She has many more endings to fix—and if you’d make her pop-up books like the ones for your students… we’d be grateful."

"We’d be grateful," Monroe echoed.

"But… Catherine’s condition. I’m not sure I can—"

"You can, Shel." The Pope’s eyes sharpened. "When Hilna was seven, about to unleash destruction on Ipoli’s town… you calmed her with patience and kindness. You raised her into a good child. If you could care for Hilna, you can care for Catherine."

"You know about that?!" Shel had thought only Prince Noren, Lofna, and he knew of Hilna’s childhood awakening.

"Of course. Since Hilna came to the City of Glory and stood beneath the Holy Light in the preaching hall… I know all her history." The old woman’s gaze turned piercing. "All past and future rests in the Eternal Father’s hands. Mortals’ secrets… cannot hide from the Holy See."

Shel had no words.

"Good." The Pope nodded. "You may leave."

"Yes…"

As Shel turned to go, Catherine suddenly tugged his sleeve. She tiptoed to a wooden box in the corner, lifted out a glowing pearl, and offered it to him with hopeful eyes.

"What’s this?"

"A thank-you gift," Monroe explained. "Or an offering to the god she believes you are. Take it. No taboos here."

And so they left the house.