The Fake Saintess
Regardless of what the real Cecilia’s attitude might have been, she freely used the nickname she had once bestowed on her immature little brother.
The harsh words didn’t seem to surprise him much; Nox finally let go and stepped back.
“Ta-da. All better now. See? You only need your big brother, right?”
He said something as ridiculous as that.
He doesn’t even look surprised. Maybe the original Cecilia’s attitude was a lot like mine now.
Siblings really were siblings, it seemed.
Romance-fantasy big brother, my ass.
The idea of affectionate sibling bonds had always been the creepiest thing imaginable to begin with.
“If you’re just going to keep spouting nonsense, get out of the way.”
Cecilia flipped her attitude as easily as turning over a hand and brushed past him into the dining room.
At the head of the unnecessarily long table already sat the head of House Weberdin, Marquis Patrick, whose golden hair was the spitting image of his children’s.
As Cecilia took the empty seat to his right, the marquis spoke as if he had been waiting for her.
“You and your brother exchanged quite a lengthy greeting.”
He had clearly overheard every bit of nonsense she had traded with Nox.
“I’m sorry. That one—I mean, my brother wouldn’t let go of my head.”
“...Your head?”
The marquis cleared his throat softly and inquired after her health.
“Ahem! Anyway, I hear you’ve been taking walks more often lately. Is your body fully recovered? No lingering issues?”
She had suffered such a severe fever that whenever the marquis ran into Cecilia in the vast manor, he always checked on her condition like this.
“Yes, I’m perfectly fine.”
Cecilia’s “body” was indeed fine, so it wasn’t a lie.
“How regrettable—I mean, how fortunate that you’ve become so much more spirited than expected.”
Nox, who had followed her in and taken the seat to the left, added the remark with perfect nonchalance.
“Nox.”
The marquis shot a sidelong glare at his shrugging son before turning back to Cecilia.
“That’s a relief.”
Beneath the calm voice, she could feel the heavy weight of his affection for his daughter.
Ah.
In that moment her mouth went dry and gritty, as if she had swallowed sand.
Because the person standing before him right now was not his beloved daughter, but merely a stranger from another world.
At first she had only trembled with anxiety that someone might discover her true identity. Not knowing the original Cecilia’s personality, she had no choice but to keep her distance and act awkwardly. Yet when no one suspected her at all, a subtle discomfort only grew instead. It felt a little like guilt, perhaps.
I’ll find a way to get out of your daughter’s body as soon as I can.
She swallowed the apology she could not bring herself to voice.
While Cecilia hung her head and, in her complicated feelings, mercilessly mashed the greenery that had been served as an appetizer, the marquis continued his conversation with Nox.
“Is the capital still the same?”
“Yes. Still a bloodbath.”
“And the approval?”
What on earth was this “approval”? Nox furrowed his brow slightly for the first time.
“I made the request, but it was rejected. His Majesty said that if we want the approval, the person in question must come to the capital herself.”
“Hah, it seems His Majesty wants to pick a pointless fight. Just thinking about those Dylanche bastards running wild already gives me a headache.”
Having lost his appetite, Patrick set down his knife and fork and clicked his tongue in displeasure.
Dylanche? And approval... Is it related to the heir?
Cecilia, who had been quietly eavesdropping, abruptly stopped poking with her fork.
She still didn’t know much about this place, but from what she had researched while looking for a way home, the imperial family and the Temple were currently at odds. So of course the sacred House Weberdin and the imperial family were not on good terms.
So the imperial family shouldn’t be able to interfere with Weberdin’s choice of heir, right?
Just then the marquis, who had been pressing his temples as if nursing a headache, spoke up.
“Cecilia.”
“Yes?”
Cecilia, who had been lost in thought, snapped her head up. Before she knew it, two pairs of eyes were fixed on her.
“There’s less than a month left until this year’s Alms Festival... This time, you’ll have to attend in the name of House Weberdin.”
“What?”
The Alms Festival was an annual event hosted by the Temple, a massive charity where they emptied the Temple’s storehouses to feed the hungry and the priests personally treated the sick. As the second-largest event after the Founding Festival, the attendance of the “Saintess”—the face of the Temple—was essential.
She understood that now that she had recovered she had to participate in the Alms Festival, but she could not grasp why the topic had come up so suddenly. More than anything...
“Not as the Saintess?”
Attend in the name of Weberdin rather than as the Saintess. When she asked in confusion, Nox let out a light sigh.
“I told you, we couldn’t get the approval.”
“Approval?”
“Cecilia, it means that for you to be officially approved as the Saintess, you have to go to the capital yourself and meet His Majesty.”
What?
Cecilia doubted her ears.
“To be officially approved as the Saintess”... Doesn’t that sound like she’s not the Saintess right now?
“S-so that means right now, I’m not exactly the Saintess?”
When she stammered out the shocking question, the marquis nodded right away as if she were asking something perfectly obvious.
“It’s frustrating, but for the time being, that’s how it is.”
Clang!
The fork finally slipped from Cecilia’s hand.
What the hell are you saying, Marquis sir?! I’m a fake Saintess?!
“I’m a fake...”
After the meal had somehow wrapped up, Cecilia trudged through the garden like someone who had lost something important. Her walking companion, Charles, rubbed against her ankles in comfort, but none of it registered.
It wasn’t that she was attached to the authority or position of Saintess, but...
If this was the case, why the hell have I been locked up all this time?!
More than anything, the fact that Cecilia was a “fake Saintess” was quite the shock in itself.
Then don’t call me Saintess in the first place!
She had learned that Cecilia was the Saintess right after going through Plans B and C. For reference, Plan B had been to stay in bed and keep falling asleep until she woke from this long, ridiculous dream; Plan C was to give her head a strong impact.
After progressing from Plan B all the way to C, priests had naturally appeared before her eyes.
“The Saintess injured her head?”
“Yes, it’s quite serious.”
“Hmm, the skin is torn, but it’s not a severe wound. As expected of one under God’s protection, even after an accident...”
“She hit her own head with a rock.”
“Oh, my God!”
And that was to treat both the outside and inside of her own head.
“If a scar were to mar the Saintess’s sacred body, God would be most sorrowful.”
The priests who came one after another had lectured her thoroughly like that and left, so...
Of course I thought I was the real Saintess.
The very reason she had been certain that if the book-transmigration theory was correct the genre would be romance fantasy was this position.
But regarding the fact that I was a fake...
When she pressed Melanie for answers, she learned that if no one with outstanding divine power appeared, the title of “Saintess” was bestowed upon the eldest daughter of the sacred House Weberdin, which had supported the Temple for generations. After that, she needed the emperor’s approval to be officially appointed as Saintess.
“No one surpassing House Weberdin’s divine power has appeared for three generations, so this time Cecilia will definitely become the Saintess!”
Melanie had declared it confidently, but Cecilia had actually been skeptical. In novels with this kind of setup, the real Saintess always showed up later!
“So is the real Saintess the protagonist?”
Lost in deep thought, Cecilia suddenly realized something and let out a short exclamation.
“Ha, so I really am the protagonist.”
Villainess transmigration stories were all the rage these days, after all! It might be the kind of story where the transmigrated fake Saintess does all sorts of things for her own safety before the real Saintess appears, and ends up becoming the true protagonist.
Anyway, if this really is a book transmigration, maybe I can go back once I see the ending.
The confusion lasted only a moment; Cecilia quickly formed a new hypothesis—and Plan E. Originally, Plan D had been to enjoy herself “until she went back.” In other words, the more new plans she had for returning, the better.
But even Plan E—seeing the story through to its ending—had a major wall in the way.
Namely, my completely empty head.
If only Cecilia’s memories had been patched in like the language, how nice that would be. To progress the story, a trip to the capital was indispensable, but the problem was that she was a complete novice at etiquette and dancing. A prince who perfectly leads a protagonist who can’t dance only exists in fairy tales; she would just be awkwardly dragged around and end up looked down on by her partner and the surrounding nobles alike.
It’ll be the most useless knowledge since the folk dance I learned for the talent show in kindergarten, but there’s no other choice.
She would have to ask the marquis to find her a tutor.
“I have to study even in this place...”
And of knowledge that would be completely useless once she returned to reality—noble greetings and cultured dances and the like.
She was in the middle of this pointless, meaningless lament when—
“Meow!”
Charles, who had been trotting a few steps ahead, let out a small cry to catch her attention.
“Charles?”
Then, as if to show off, he turned his body in a familiar direction. Guessing where those little pawprints would lead, Cecilia reached out belatedly.
“Charles! You can’t go over there today!”
The excitement about picnics and whatnot had evaporated long ago. More than anything, right after taking a hit from the reality she would have to face going forward, she wasn’t in the mood for any nonsense.
But Charles, flaunting his unnecessarily sharp intelligence, slipped away with a swish—straight toward the place with the gap in the fence.