(Ugh, I knew I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.)
After stepping down from the carriage, the little figure in Aelia’s mind went completely numb.
Dawn Orphanage was founded by Viscount Jorit, a man of fairly modest means who also served as its director and lived on-site permanently… So in Aelia’s mind, the orphanage’s hygiene should’ve been noticeably better than the slums.
Reality, however, fell far short. Compared to the outside world, it wasn’t much cleaner—aside from the absence of visible filth, dirty children were already splashing in mud, locked in messy mud fights right at the entrance.
(Ugh, are they doing this just to fake “innocent liveliness”?)
Seeing mud deliberately flung near the knights, Aelia felt even more speechless.
Though Luke usually battled imaginary foes, this time he had to admit the pink-haired brat’s judgment was spot-on.
The fool who’d coached the children to act this way? None other than the middle-aged man now stepping forward to greet them: Viscount Jorit.
“Welcome, everyone!”
Despite his warm, eager tone, the bishop and noble officials instinctively frowned at the chaotic scene. Their opinion of the orphanage dropped a notch.
Don’t misunderstand—this wasn’t what Viscount Jorit wanted. Luke called him foolish precisely because the Viscount genuinely believed this would win favor.
Tracing the thought’s origin left Luke sighing in quiet helplessness.
During Jorit’s last sponsorship attempt, the inspector, seeing children lined up neatly in rare clean clothes, had remarked:
“Are these really slum orphans? They look like Boy Scouts—zero liveliness… Viscount Jorit, you wouldn’t be scheming something, would you?”
Panicked, Jorit overcorrected this time—vowing to fix past mistakes, he swung too far and made a grave error.
(Deep trace!)
Luke subtly activated a stronger ability, then sighed.
Reading faint residual impressions, he uncovered the inspector’s true intent: a veiled offer to collude and skim kickbacks from funds. But Jorit, utterly missing the hint, doomed the deal.
Previous sponsorship failures followed similar patterns. No one believed the once-affluent Viscount ran the orphanage selflessly; all assumed hidden motives, wanting a slice of the pie.
Some even copied him—launching fake aid schemes, returning nobles’ funds untouched while splitting public donations 30-70, the lion’s share greasing officials’ palms… Trust evaporated. Even genuinely charitable Jorit was tainted, unable to raise a single coin.
His so-called wealth had long drained from taking in ever more orphans. He’d sold family antiques, calligraphy, paintings, furniture. His family had cut ties… Fail this inspection, and he’d face an impossible choice: orphanage or family.
He’d always believed himself different from other nobles. Yet at this crossroads, he knew he’d have to sacrifice one.
Luckily, Saintess Aelia was here. Jorit staked everything on the renowned Saintess.
Luke could only think: Jorit misplaced his trust.
Because that pink-haired brat, since stepping from the carriage, thought of nothing but escaping this filthy place ASAP.
The suffering of commoners? Noble corruption? Never crossed her mind. She didn’t care at all.
She cared only for herself.
(Ugh, it stinks—the outside odor seeped in. Everything’s grimy, worn-out… What’s Viscount Jorit thinking? A noble running an orphanage like this… Is he faking hardship to scam funds?)
She even projected her cynicism onto him, painting the truly kind Viscount as just another black crow in a flock of villains.
Hoping she’d save the orphanage was less realistic than waiting for a pie to fall from the sky.
Worse, she planned to exploit the misery to win sympathy—deliberately wearing a pained, heartbroken expression.
“Ah, as expected of Saintess Aelia—truly compassionate!”
“With Saintess Aelia’s boundless compassion for the realm, our nation shall surely flourish!”
The crowd erupted in awkward praise. Rarely, some stayed clear-headed, noting the filth—and that even the Saintess seemed barely containing her discomfort.
Not entirely wrong: while building her reputation, Aelia also used that expression to ease the strain of her act.
Sadly, Viscount Jorit wasn’t among the perceptive.
Seeing her performance, he instantly believed it genuine, heart swelling: *Heaven rewards the diligent.*
After ushering officials into the modest main hall, Jorit rushed to the kitchen. Facing already nervous, trembling children, he exclaimed:
“Everyone! Our chance is here! Saintess Aelia shows us deep concern. One more push, and we can save the orphanage!”
Burdened by pressure, the children lined up, carrying tea and snacks into the hall to serve the distinguished guests.
This move, however, was a disastrous blunder.
(No way. No servants? Making kids do this? The smallest… barely seven or eight? Heartless child-labor boss—this act is way too staged.)
Not just the pink-haired brat—others instantly branded Viscount Jorit a hypocrite.
But heaven knew: Jorit had dismissed all non-essential staff, keeping only the cook and the dorm matron (who doubled as doctor). Older children cared for younger ones, all to save coins for a literacy teacher visiting once a week… Sadly, few could read minds. Luke couldn’t reveal his power to help.
Alas, misfortune loves company.
Orphanage kids matured fast and stayed resilient. But piled with so many debuffs, even the calmest grew uneasy.
Unsurprisingly, the most nervous girl stumbled.
Her foot slipped. Her balance wavered. The teapot tilted—scalding tea drenched the person beside her.
“You wretch! What have you done?!”
Nearly every official leaped up in fury.
The children and Viscount Jorit froze, faces etched with despair.
For the one soaked in hot tea was none other than their last hope—the one they’d staked everything on: Saintess Aelia.
