The Doll Has a Name Chapter 32 - A Holy Night

“The ground hardens after the rain. A company that overcomes a crisis will become stronger than before.”

 

“But it attracted suspicion, didn’t it?”

 

“Isn’t that why we put them to the test? Sir, you can only get a chance to test someone when suspicion exists. And only when that suspicion is proven wrong can you truly trust them. Doesn’t trust build up only after suspicion piles up?”

 

The company’s trustworthiness, having shattered the suspicion, would grow even more than before, which meant it had overcome the crisis.

 

Kise lured the old gentleman in with his puzzling talk.

 

So sell it to me. He mentioned it not with words, but with a look in his eyes.

 

This was because he knew that silence, too, carries its own inherent weight, something that cannot be measured by money.

 

After careful consideration, the old gentleman changed his decision. He lightly brushed away Kise’s outstretched hand.

 

“I will not sell.”

 

“Please don’t be like that. You must sell it to me.”

 

“My mind has changed, so let’s pretend this never happened.”

 

“If the price isn’t to your liking, I am willing to offer more.”

 

Kise, who had been speaking temptingly and wrinkling the bridge of his nose, looked at Leonhardt.

 

“How about 108 ducats?”

 

Wow, a fantastic smile!

 

Leonhardt, who had been following her words and movements all along, burst into loud laughter, he could no longer hold back when those words came from her mouth.

 

“Well done, come here.”

 

Kise spread her arms and slipped smoothly into his embrace, drawn into his arms. 

 

A mix of holy intoxication and heart-pounding excitement swirled within her.

 

The old gentleman had rejected even Kise’s final offer, and with each rejection, the price climbed. 

 

The share price, which had fallen to 93 ducats, bounced back like a ball, recovering to the 110 ducat mark.

 

And her words, like a goddess’s prophecy, shattered all doubt. The company’s ship safely made port two weeks later.

 

🫧

 

The morning sun deeply invaded the home, filled with the kitchen’s warmth.

 

Kise covered the lid on the bubbling pot, poured milk, sliced cheese, and straightened the damask tablecloth. She finished preparing breakfast by neatly placing a fork and spoon at each setting.

 

Brushing off her slightly damp apron, she walked out of the kitchen. 

 

As usual, Tristan was sleeping on the living room sofa in front of the kitchen.

 

“Hey, time to get up, Mr. Pinky. Everyone will be coming down for breakfast soon, and you’re still lazing around? Do you want a beating from the old man and have your palms bloom into ten flowers?”

 

She relayed a fact with a high probability of becoming reality.

 

But Tristan, still half-asleep, just mumbled a predictable request for ten more minutes…

 

Kise shoved him aside without ceremony, pulled out the diary he was lying on, and brazenly stole a read.

 

《713 Year, July 9th, Sunday.

 

Weather: Breezy.

 

Title: Romance.

 

I went to the barbershop to get my hair done.

 

While getting my sideburns trimmed, I had a fling with the assistant noona.

 

She was happily saying her dad also has a mole near his ear, but how did she even know that a man can transition from being a dad to an oppa…

 

When paying, she smiled and said, ‘Please come again, customer!’ The fact that she wants to see me again makes me think I must have stolen her heart.

 

This is troubling. Stealing is a crime. Bad boy Pinky. I offer her my soul. Because love is the only drug permitted by the state.》

 

“I should have done something about that head of yours, not your hair…”

 

After reading just a few lines, a fierce and sinister expression naturally formed on my face.

 

That one line, ‘Title: Romance,’ had hooked me, leaving me feeling like I’d opened a bag of chips filled with nothing but nitrogen. I grabbed the pen that had rolled away, slashed lines through the word ‘Romance,’ and properly corrected the title.

 

Title: Fantasy

 

This is a fantasy. 

 

The genre classification is wrong. Then, I carefully put away the record of a severely ill patient, as it was the perfect size for a trivet I needed.

 

Jingle-jangle, jingle-jangle—

 

As Kise, who was heading back to the kitchen, lifted her head, her previously unstoppable steps came to a halt. The bells strung along the edge of the ceiling were swinging as if dancing. 

 

Someone was ringing the doorbell.

 

Who is it? At this early hour?

 

The bell’s chime spread throughout every corner of the house.

 

Thinking it would be fastest if she answered it herself, Kise quickly sprang into action. She slipped out of the north wing, passed through the visitors’ parlor, walking so fast she was slightly out of breath. 

 

The grand mansion, devoid of servants, felt overwhelmingly large to her anew.

 

“Who is it?”

 

The large gate bearing the golden sailing ship emblem creaked open.

 

“May the Goddess’s grace be abundant upon you, Sister.”

 

The visitor was a middle-aged woman dressed in priestly vestments. 

 

Identifying herself as being from the temple, she offered a blessing right away, then cast a demure glance at Kise.

 

Kise returned the greeting similarly, her hawk-like eyes scrutinizing the pattern on the woman’s draped robe.

 

‘Thirteen rods!’

 

The symbol of the Goddess is the Tree of Life. 

 

The temple venerates the Tree of Life, said to have been bestowed by the Goddess in primordial times, and uses the tree with branches spreading in twelve directions as its emblem.

 

But the pattern embroidered on that priest’s robe had thirteen branches.

 

One short line was added, like a stray nose hair, crafted with dazzling and cunning skill. 

 

It would be hard to notice unless one had a keen, discerning eye.

 

Imposter priest. In other words, a fraud, this thought arose just as the woman extended a velvet offering pouch.

 

“Sister, greed is a pestilence we must root out.”

 

“Hmm… Oh, ah, yes.”

 

“Sister, you who are a creation of the goddess, are the one who must stop that pestilence. There are many unfortunate souls in this city. To help them, we need relief funds. Please share the goddess’s abundance and find peace on the holy Sabbath.”

 

“Ah, yes. The holy Sabbath.”

 

The holy Sabbath was in two days. 

 

It was the biggest holiday of the year and a major religious event. It would be social suicide to claim ignorance or forgetfulness, so Kise feigned exaggerated surprise, as if she had only just remembered.

 

As the Sabbath approached, crimes of impersonating priests were rampant, and scams carried out in the goddess’s name were widespread.

 

What an utterly frustrating society. Preaching about taking rest, yet making people wary of each other. Could this, too, be part of the plan contained within the goddess’s divine scheme? 

 

The public security brigade had been running an ardent campaign all week.

 

“Don’t be fooled. Be cautious. Report it. His and her sweet voices. Voice phishing.”

 

For the scammers, this was their prime time.

 

Kise, her lips softening into a beautiful curve, stared at the criminal. Rather foolish.

 

“A donation for the holy Sabbath.”

 

“Before the goddess’s blessing, all of the Sister’s actions will be recorded as sacred.”

 

“The same goes for you, Priest. This is…”

 

Her gentle voice carried on the wind.

 

“…is holy theft.”

 

Since he was impersonating a priest.

 

“The left hand is merely an assistant.”

 

Kise glanced sidelong at the scammer’s left hand, which was holding out the offering pouch, her look full of contempt. 

 

It was a very clear hint that she knew his pouch was filled with the proceeds of theft.

 

“Theft! No, it’s not!”

 

“Oh my? Is an eternal truth coming to mind? Strong denial is strong affirmation, you know. Before you chase after me to catch me, why don’t you just run away quickly?”

 

Strike precisely when an opening appears. It is the most fundamental of the basics in subduing techniques.

 

The swindler, who had lost the initiative, swiftly pulled off the hood of the priestly robe. 

 

It was a game-changing shift in posture. Her identity was already exposed, and she was angry, so she probably decided to throw away the disguise anyway, and Kise agreed with that sentiment.

 

“Right, cool off a bit.”

 

“Sh-Shut up! Don’t look down on me with those eyes! You act all high and mighty because you have some money at home, but I used to have lots of money too! I lost it all and ended up like this, but I was originally rich!”

 

“My, oh my, is that so? I didn’t know. If you had told me earlier, I might have been a little nicer.”

 

“You think having money means happiness?! I hope you all end up ruined like me! I hope you become miserable because of money! How dare a maid wearing an apron act like this!”

 

No, what’s wrong with my apron? This is a new product that came in last week. 

 

Nowadays, even aprons are fashionable. It’s a kitchen look.

 

Just as Kise placed both hands on her hips and tried to strike a bit of a pose, a hand suddenly approached from behind. 

 

It hugged her waist from the back and then began gently untying the strings of the apron.

 

The moment their bodies drew close, Kise wasn’t very surprised because she already knew who it was from the high body temperature.

 

“I’m the one who bought you this apron.”

 

With a soft voice, Leonhardt hung the removed apron on his own arm. 

 

“Is it strange?” he asked, and as he turned his gaze forward, the woman who had been acting defiant blushed.

 

Leonhardt, who had pushed the door open a little wider, stood shoulder to shoulder with Kise.

 

Tristan, who had crawled out late in her pajamas after hearing the bell, and Monique, leaning on her cane—everyone was peering out through the open crack.

 

“Money doesn’t buy happiness. I think I just heard some pathetic nonsense.”

 

“Yes, that’s right. He said it.”

 

Kise promptly tattled.

 

What followed were snorts of disbelief and exasperation. 

 

Everyone who had come to deal with the unwelcome guest chimed in with their own comments.

 

“Money and happiness were never related in the first place. People just want to be rich. They don’t really talk about happiness that much.”

 

“That’s right. Unhappy rich people, happy rich people. Is there really such a thing? A rich person is just rich.”

 

“Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with money! What does happiness have to do with meddling with my money?”

 

“I’ve been without it, and it’s not like I was that much happier, sister.”

 

Who said they wanted to be happy? They said they wanted to be rich.

 

It was over in an instant. The door closed, leaving the stunned swindler outside. Leonhardt led Kise, who seemed to pity him and was showing lingering sympathy, back inside.