(How disgusting! How awful!)

In truth, Aelia was incredibly lucky. The pastry she’d eaten was made by a little boy—just a bit of sand mixed in, unappetizing to look at, but otherwise untouched in flavor.

Yet human taste is easily deceived by sight. Coupled with Aelia’s subconscious belief that it was utterly vile… she only grew angrier.

Hmm, you’re not imagining things.

Spitting it out? Impossible. Casting a purification spell? Also out of the question. With everyone watching, she had no choice but to grit her teeth and pretend nothing was wrong.

What truly infuriated her was this: after forcing herself to swallow it, not a single person followed suit. A flicker of injustice swelled inside her. Why should *she* be the only one suffering?

She made up her mind—she’d make them pay. Ten times worse than she had.

As the murmurs of praise faded, she cast a spell. Her clear, melodic voice—like a celestial hymn—rippled gently through the crowd.

“Won’t everyone try just one bite?”

Some instinctively moved to obey, but quickly sensed the Saintess wasn’t pressuring them.

Her tone held no command, threat, or doubt—only sorrow and quiet grief.

They also noticed: the orphanage children heard nothing.

Because the Saintess refused to hurt them.

“To be honest… these pastries are truly awful. I needed great courage just to finish mine. I still feel unwell.”

Many gazed at the pink-haired girl with pity. Yet on her breathtakingly beautiful face, not a trace of pain showed—as if worldly suffering meant nothing to her.

Except… her sorrow was real. But not for herself. For others.

“Please don’t worry about me. I am fine… and yet, not fine at all.”

Aelia turned. She looked at Viscount Jorit, guilt etched deep on his face. Then at the confused children. The shabby furniture. The crumbling walls… Finally, her eyes settled on the empty plate before her, glistening with unshed tears.

“Before coming here, I never imagined children in our kingdom lived like this. While we feast in warm palaces, others wear threadbare clothes, eat things barely fit to be called food, and face this bone-chilling winter… Everyone, *we* are fine. Far, far better off than they are.”

The sharp-witted—or rather, the Saintess’s most devoted fans—leapt to their feet.

“Your Highness Aelia, rest assured! I’ll donate to the orphanage!”

“Me too!”

“Count me in!”

This was exactly what Viscount Jorit and the children had prayed for.

Yet the Saintess—emblem of mercy and grace—shook her head softly.

“Thank you for your kindness. But this orphanage needs more than donations.”

“Huh?!” Viscount Jorit, tears of joy still fresh, froze. He wanted to cry *yes, we need money!* but feared offending the nobles. Flustered, he waved desperately at the pink-haired Saintess.

She simply smiled faintly.

“Logically, renovating this place and feeding the children should be well within Viscount Jorit’s means. So why is it like this? Deception? Or hidden hardship? Lord Rod—your thoughts?”

Viscount Rod, the transportation official responsible for roads and tolls—and Jorit’s frequent tormentor—sweated instantly. He caught her meaning perfectly.

“I’ll ensure all supplies reach Viscount Jorit without delay!” he pledged hastily.

Aelia shook her head again.

“Not charity. Cooperation. Raising these children shouldn’t fall on one man’s shoulders. And smooth logistics should benefit more than just this orphanage…”

More pieces clicked into place. Aelia wasn’t just saving the orphanage—she aimed to uplift the entire slum district.

Faces tightened. This cost far more than a simple donation. They wanted to please her… but not *that* much.

“Lord Watt? Your view?”

“Mr. Farmelan—would you partner with Viscount Jorit?”

As she named official after official, realization dawned. Transportation, waterworks, agriculture, commerce, crafts… every department vital to regional growth was represented.

Dumping funds into one area? Wasted. But coordinated investment across all sectors? Suddenly… plausible.

Nobles craved both wealth and fame. Usually, they chose coin over reputation. But *both*? Even at break-even? Desire stirred. Action followed.

“I believe—if we work together—this orphanage, these slums… our entire kingdom will grow brighter.”

And so, swept up in Aelia’s earnest rhetoric, every influential person present joined the initiative, hearts swelling with hopeful visions.

None suspected the “wise and compassionate” Saintess masterminding it all was truly thinking:

*(Think tossing coins erases guilt? Dream on! I know exactly how you twist charity into profit.)*

*(Viscount Jorit—you made me eat that garbage and thought you’d pocket the aid? Heh. Watch me invite *everyone* to take a slice of your pie.)*

*(Yes! All of you—jump in! Spend! Spend hard! You stingy hoarders—earn every single coin!)*

Fueled by vengeance, Aelia transformed simple orphanage aid into a full slum revitalization project. To prevent fading interest, she vowed to monitor progress closely.

(Truth? She just dreaded smelling those stenches again. Hence: sewer repairs, waste-to-fertilizer plans… all suddenly “urgent.”)

Will it succeed? Aelia didn’t care. Not her coin. Not her risk. If it worked? Free fame. Why not?

But Luke would say—it *would* work.

Because while she ignored it, others watched closely.

The Church planned to document every success for the Saintess’s glory. Her fans swore to fulfill her every wish.

Whatever the motive—the project would move forward.

The orphanage’s immediate funds? In Luke’s eyes, never an issue.

Some couldn’t join the grand plan but still wished to honor the Saintess. Others knew raw donations alone were dangerous—starving slum dwellers wouldn’t care about “charity” or “innocence.”

But now? Knights and city guards had pledged security. That fear faded.

*(How is this pink-haired troublemaker so lucky?)*

Watching the shameless pink-haired girl who’d accidentally set it all in motion, Luke couldn’t help but smile inwardly.