The Gloomy Saintess Obsessively Clings to Death

I’ve heard such words before.

They say humans are creatures of adaptation.

There’s some truth to that.

The reason the gods created humans, who belong neither to good nor evil, was because of this very fact—to survive in any environment and create their own world.

Thanks to this adaptability, humans evolved in ways the gods couldn’t predict and developed a complex structure of emotions and desires that even the gods couldn’t fully comprehend.

Yes.

An existence that endlessly accepts change and defines itself within it.

The ability to transcend both good and evil and carve out one’s own path—that is humanity’s greatest power.

It’s been over a week since I began living with such humans.

“Mr. Death, wake up. It’s morning.”

“…Huh? Just three more minutes.”

The blanket that had been covering me up to my neck slipped down to my shoulders.

I curled up at the sudden cold.

I felt a soft laugh and then a gentle hand shaking my shoulder.

“I warned you before you went to clean up, and you said just three more minutes. It’s already been thirty.”

“…This time… it’s really it.”

“Nope. Wake up.”

My arms were pulled reluctantly, forcing me to sit up. My eyes still closed, I shuffled my feet at her prompting.

“Seriously. If Mr. Death is this weak to sleep, what’ll you do? Hurry up, wash up, and let’s eat breakfast, okay?”

“…Gods don’t even need to shower….”

“Nope. Here—.”

“…Ugh.”

The rough sensation inside my mouth was soon followed by a sharp minty taste that numbed my tongue. My face automatically scrunched up, but my eyes opened slightly.

“…I’m tired.”

As I sluggishly brushed my teeth, I glanced at the saint. She smiled sweetly the moment our eyes met.

“Haha, you’re finally looking at me, Mr. Death.”

“…Mmph.”

“Good morning, Mr. Death.”

“Good morning, Saint.”

“Yup!”

The saint, who had been waiting, enthusiastically embraced me, beaming. A soft laugh soon escaped from her lips.

“Hehehe—.”

“…Uh?”

Before I realized it, my hand had moved to stroke her hair. When I came to my senses, she had her eyes closed, looking relaxed. Like a cat, she gently rubbed herself against me.

“…I hope we can continue every morning like this, Mr. Death.”

“Yes, if that’s possible.”

When she opened her eyes, she smiled brightly and nodded.

“Don’t know why, but my throat feels itchy. So, what would you like for breakfast today?”

“Meatballs!”

“…I’m sorry, but we’ve finished those.”

“Aaaahh….”

“I can’t help it. You’ve eaten nothing but meatballs for three days in a row.”

Her lips pouted before she grabbed my hand.

“Then, Mr. Death, you recommend something. I’ll eat whatever you choose.”

“Hmm, something Hestia made….”

“…I don’t like that.”

“It tastes way better than instant food, so why do you keep rejecting it? …Then, how about a cup of rice?”

“Yes! I like that!”

After finishing our meal, the saint would visit the Detention Center to care for the people, morning and evening.

Since I detest gore, I wait outside the door whenever she goes in.

Though it’s better not to witness directly,

the low groans and murmurs seeping through the cracks still made my nerves tingle.

‘Soon, I have to put them at peace.’

While standing there, I continuously thought about how to bring about their mortality.

When her footsteps approached, I infused the center with the power of death to check if any souls had passed.

“…Three today, it seems.”

The instant I finished sensing, the massive door creaked open.

The detention center’s door gently opened, revealing the saint. Her forehead, dotted with beads of sweat, indicated how hard she’d worked.

She asked in a slightly weary voice.

“Are there any today?”

“Yes, there are three.”

The saint’s face immediately brightened.

“Really?! There weren’t any yesterday!”

“Good flow today from the very morning.”

“Waaah—!”

The saint clapped palms with me and burst into laughter. The happy news seemed to rejuvenate her as she bounced on her feet in excitement.

I delicately wiped the sweat off her forehead with a handkerchief.

“Let’s go inside soon? There are also cases to handle downstairs, so we need to hurry.”

“Yes, understood.”

The saint firmly grabbed my hand. As I looked down at our intertwined fingers mid-motion,

she gently squeezed my hand. When I looked up, she stared at me and smiled.

“…Mr. Death.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you so much today.”

Hearing her words, I hesitated for a moment before nodding.

“You’re the one I should thank. Please take care in the evening as well.”

“Hehe, yeah. I hope there are cases in the evening.”

“Me too.”

In response to her words, I closed my eyes.

The sound of a creaking door rang out.

I slowly and cautiously took each step, relying on the saint’s guidance.

Close-range moans of pain assailed my ears, while, at the same time, the saint’s soothing voice wrapped around them.

“I clapped my hands while singing this morning.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah. To be honest, I’m not very confident in my singing….”

“Last time you sounded good though.”

“Awww….”

I hadn’t bluntly spoken of the condition of death,

but had subtly given the saint, who visited here daily, some hints.

‘Every time you’re here, try doing something different.’

The conditions of mortality I’ve observed so far are, indeed, truly random.

Destiny is cruel to those who defy it,

but if the defiance isn’t intentional and doesn’t greatly disturb the order of destiny, a reprieve is granted.

Of course, those who’ve already been erased from the flow of destiny

are destined to live under the watchful eyes of the afterlife until some unpredictable condition of mortality is met.

‘…One of my duties is this surveillance.’

They, without experiencing the natural death destined by fate,

linger somewhere between life and death, waiting for their conditions to be met.

This process can either be long and painful or short and insignificant.

A human I once knew couldn’t die for around a thousand years.

During that long confinement, to alleviate his boredom from being alive, we watched movies together.

Since movies mean popcorn,

I absentmindedly put some in the microwave.

Not long after the two of us idly watching the popcorn pop, he passed away.

When his condition of mortality was finally fulfilled and his name appeared in the Book of Life,

the condition was written like this:

“[One experienced in battle will hear 30 consecutive explosions]”

Though random, the conditions of mortality often reflect the elements of life that the one destined to die must experience.

Originally, his fate was meant to end in a battlefield showered with gunfire,

but he had hidden himself in a secluded place, fearful of war, using forbidden magic.

Through that choice, he obtained safety but lost rest.

So, anyway, that’s why I gave the saint a hint.

Attempting something, even if it doesn’t fulfill the condition of mortality,

is far better than struggling endlessly in unending pain.

“Ah! Mr. Death, there’s something … uh… three steps ahead.”

“Hehe, you’re not being specific anymore. Thank you.”

“Hey, you only laugh like that when I wear the mask. That’s so mean.”

“You’re mistaken.”

“Ugh, you’re so mean….”

Every morning and evening, once this repetitive routine was over, we returned to our respective rooms.

…But not long after, a “knock-knock” sound came at the door.

“Mr. Death, are you asleep?”

“Not yet.”

The door opened, and the saint popped her head in, holding a pillow.

“Heheh, still not asleep? I came to read a manga.”

“I was about to go to sleep.”

“Ugh, just one! I promise, just one before I go.”

“…Didn’t you say that the last time?”

A moment of silence followed as our eyes met.

Slightly shrinking back, the saint hugged the pillow and looked down, appearing crestfallen.

A small voice cautiously emerged.

“…Do you not want me to?”

“…If you promise to read just one more.”

“Yes!”

The saint brightened up as if she had been eagerly waiting, entering the room with a broad smile. She threw the pillow she was holding next to me and took her seat naturally.

Why do I keep giving in like this even though I know?

It’s slightly frustrating that I can’t stop her.

“What manga do you want to read today?”

“Do you have the next volume of the one we were reading yesterday?”

“No, that one is the latest.”

“Uh-huh….”

The saint stared at the bookshelf, gently biting her finger as she pondered. The deliberation went on for a while, and eventually, once again, I ended up picking something based on her tastes.

“Would you like this one?”

“Yes, let’s.”

Whenever I handed her a manga, she would always lean against my shoulder while reading. The light rhythm of her breathing and warmth were subtly felt.

Still…

there’s one thing I’ve figured out through this repeated daily routine.

“…Saint, it’s time you return to your room.”

“…”

If the saint’s breathing becomes sluggish, something undesirable will happen.

Therefore, I carefully focused on her breathing, trying to gauge whether she was about to fall asleep.

As I removed my shoulder to wake her up, the saint subtly drew closer to me.

“…Can we sleep together?”

“No. Why do you always insist on sleeping in my room? There’s not even a bed here.”

“Then, uh… Should I make one? A big one?!”

“I don’t need that.”

The saint eventually stood up as if giving up.

After guiding her back to her room, I thought I could finally enjoy my own time…

“…Why am I adapting to this lifestyle?”

Suddenly, doubts crept into my mind as I dropped my head in disbelief.

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