"May the dawn light that pierces the gloom guide you, sir." After seeing off the last penitent believer, Sister Loraine let her practiced smile fade and rubbed her temples wearily. Lifting her gaze, she spotted the armored figure stepping through the cathedral doors.
*Mr. Fate—still punctual to the second. Never stays a single moment past shift end,* she mused. *Well, Bati City’s generally safe. Unless you’re wildly unlucky, trouble rarely happens.*
As closing time arrived, believers began filtering out of Dawnbreak Cathedral. Loraine turned toward the break room to change.
Just then, a shrill cry—sharp on the surface, trembling beneath—cut through the hall.
"Let me go! What are you doing? You’re breaking my wrist! Is *this* how Dawnbreak Cathedral treats worshippers?!" A gaunt man, thin as a bamboo pole, shrieked, his face turning ashen with pain as his wrist was clamped tight.
Loraine turned, startled. There—Fate held the man firmly.
"Mr. Fate, release this gentleman at once."
"Sister, please uphold justice for me! I’ve done nothing!" The man’s tone flipped the moment Loraine intervened.
Fate ignored her. His clear, piercing gaze shot from the helmet slit, seeming to pierce the man’s soul.
"Do you truly claim to have done nothing?" Each word fell deliberate, calm.
"Of course! Stop framing an innocent!"
"Very well." Fate lifted his chin. "Sir, you’ve missed your chance to confess voluntarily."
"What confession? I don’t understand!" The man’s voice rose as onlookers gathered. "Everyone saw it—you, a Dawnbreak Cathedral guard, bullying a worshipper in public!"
Loraine’s expression tightened. She knew mishandling this could stain the cathedral’s reputation—locally and beyond.
"Bullying? If you’re innocent, why the rush?" Fate’s voice remained even.
"Rush? You grabbed me out of nowhere—wouldn’t *you* panic?!"
"Then," Fate stepped back and addressed the murmuring crowd, "please check your coin purses before leaving. Sometimes, watching closely pays off."
Believers exchanged glances and patted their pockets.
Three discovered their purses gone.
"Fear not," Fate said calmly. "The culprit hasn’t escaped."
All eyes—including Loraine’s—locked onto the gaunt man.
"You—! Calling me a thief? Don’t slander me!"
"Words prove nothing. I rely on facts," Fate stated, turning to him. "If you’re innocent, show your pockets. Let us see what lies within."
"Why must *I* prove innocence?! I’ve done nothing!"
"If I’ve wronged you," Fate held his gaze steady, "I’ll resign on the spot and kneel to apologize. Showing your pockets is simple. Refusal only deepens suspicion."
His tone carried unwavering conviction.
"You—!" The man pointed, face flushed, words failing him.
"If I framed you, I’ll make amends," Fate continued, stepping closer, cold armor looming. "But if not—you answer for your actions."
"You’re insane!" The man twisted to flee. Fate moved faster—seized his collar, pinned one arm, forced him to the floor, knee pressing firm against his back.
The three victims exchanged a look and searched his pockets.
"This is mine!"
"Ha! Caught red-handed! Knew he was trouble!"
"Y-You planted them to frame me!" the man stammered.
"Do *you* believe that?" Fate tilted his head slightly. "Why frame a stranger with no grudge? And I’ve stood guard at the door since dawn—when would I have stolen them?"
The crowd murmured in agreement. They summoned the constabulary at once.
By law, only knights held arrest authority. The constables detained the man pending judgment by a knight dispatched from the Inquisition Tribunal. Imprisonment or labor—his fate was no longer his to decide.
As the crowd dispersed and Fate prepared to leave, Loraine watched him thoughtfully.
Today reshaped her view. She’d suspected his knight credentials were fabricated—a nepotism hire coasting on connections. Now? He clearly had skill. Having him guard Dawnbreak Cathedral would ward off countless minor troubles.
*But…* A flicker stirred. During his speech, she’d felt a sharp sense of déjà vu. The voice didn’t match—but the cadence, the phrasing… hauntingly familiar.
