“How can you tell that’s a grave? Are your eyes failing you or something?”

Faced with that accusation, Leticia naturally refused to admit anything.

Her worldview was completely different from that of the people in this world. To her, those who’d been burned to death were nothing but pitiful victims. She felt sorry for them. The people of this world didn’t.

Quite the opposite. Those people would probably have loved to scatter even the Witch’s ashes to the winds. Why would they build her a grave?

If anyone found out what she’d done, she might be branded an accomplice of the Witch. The consequences would be very serious!

“Heh. Keep pretending. I don’t just know that’s a grave—I can also tell that person wasn’t a good one!”

Stano snorted. He really had only stumbled across a few clues about the grave by chance. He hadn’t thought much of them, but little by little, they’d started to add up to something strange.

After all, he’d picked out a spot and would occasionally pull up a couple of weeds there. It couldn’t be that he’d just gotten a whim and planted something, could it?

So much time had passed, and nothing but weeds had grown there. That was enough to make you wonder what he was really up to.

How could Leticia know that this kid had so much time on his hands he’d come watch this “commoner’s” everyday life whenever he had nothing better to do? He’d even gradually learned to do two things at once.

People really did get bored when they had too much free time. He must’ve been too well-fed, and with no phone or computer, this was the only way he could pass the time.

“You’re overthinking it.”

At this point, all Leticia could do was stick to her story and refuse to budge.

That’s right. It was all a coincidence. Just your imagination!

“Heh. Fine.”

Stano’s voice was light and casual. “So, what can you come up with now?”

He seemed to have suddenly calmed down. He was perfectly clear-headed when it came to needling Leticia, but hopelessly muddled about the crucial question of how to save his uncle.

“I’ve got the upper hand now, Bamboo Pole. What can you do?”

“Tch...”

Leticia was at a loss for words, because she really had no idea what to do.

She’d never had the upper hand to begin with!

Still, there was one small mercy. The religious beliefs in this world included something like “Sunday is a day of rest.” They believed that the supreme god had decreed a day of rest, though the day itself was different.

On that day, the church would close, keeping only the minimum number of cleaners and assistant priests on duty. Pastor Marshall had told Leticia long ago that she didn’t need to come in to study that day and could spend her time however she liked.

So she had plenty of time to deal with this brat.

But only one day...

This was suuuuuuuuuuuuper frustrating!

“I think...”

Leticia said weakly, “You definitely won’t be able to save your uncle. Why are you so stubborn about it?”

Besides, Leticia had a strange premonition: if things kept going this way, the kid was heading for the worst possible outcome.

“But I want to try!”

Just as she’d thought. There was no reasoning with this little punk. He was like an ox—he wouldn’t turn back until he hit a wall!

No, Leticia figured that even if he slammed his head against that wall until it went bang, bang, bang, he still wouldn’t learn his lesson!

Leticia took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down.

“Stano Bansen.”

“What?”

Stano still sounded as laid-back as ever, but for some reason, hearing Leticia call him by his full name made him feel a little...

uneasy?

“Starting today, I’ll do everything I can to cut off this connection between us.”

Leticia spoke softly. “So for today, I’ll do what you asked.”

“...”

Stano didn’t say a word.

He felt the wall between them—once as thin as paper—growing solid again.

And this time, he was the one who’d built it with his own hands.

The feeling of a stone weighing on his heart made the kid miserable. He had to admit that Leticia’s words could throw him into a panic, because somewhere inside, he truly wanted to preserve this friendship with her—a friendship that had nothing to do with power or status.

But fate always seemed to bury the purest things. It forced people to make choices, to destroy the good things they had, and then gave it a fine name:

“Growing up.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Leticia was calm as still water—yeah, right. She set off, silently cursing the little punk where he couldn’t hear her, and praying she wouldn’t get herself killed this time.

“We need plenty of time, so we have to leave now.”