“What on earth are you doing right now?”
A voice echoed in the now quiet hearing chamber. I couldn’t quite place who it was, though the deep and resonant tone was notable. Well, at least it wasn’t the President. Perhaps it was one of the ministers.
“What do you mean, what am I doing?”
As I merely tilted my head to ask, the President spoke up, his voice laced with irritation.
“We’re in a place where people are asking questions of one another. Trying to project a higher will over a person’s free will is essentially disregarding their autonomy, isn’t it?”
Wow, he really lacks awareness.
“I do believe in free will.”
I turned my body to face the source of the voice. Fittingly, it belonged to a broad-shouldered and tall individual. While not as imposing as the Principal, this person must have been someone important in their prime. The Hero Association’s president was a slender woman, so perhaps this guy was a high-ranking official in defense.
“Because I believe in free will so much, I know very well that oaths sworn on laws can be broken with alarming ease.”
Of course, not everyone lies. Most people would think about the repercussions of being caught in perjury, genuinely consult their conscience, or simply avoid lying publicly for various reasons.
However, this guy’s the head of an intelligence agency. He could easily spin a lie if needed. If pressured by a greater power, it might be inevitable.
But then, doesn’t that make greater power an infringement on human free will?
Naturally, bringing this up would lead to endless arguments, causing us to get sidetracked from the actual questions that need to be asked. Moreover, those folks have been in politics for ages. Whether their logic is impeccably sound or absurdly erroneous, I don’t entertain the notion of winning a word battle against them.
Thus, I will try to suppress them with even greater power and move forward.
“So, yes, I plan to impose limitations on that free will. As the head of the Church, I need to show that telling lies to me comes with consequences. But don’t worry. Right now, there won’t be any serious repercussions for your lies. However,”
I paused for effect and turned my gaze back to the Director of the Intelligence Agency.
“Far in the future, when the soul leaves the body to be judged by the gods, there may be consequences. If you happen to place your dedication to the nation above your faith in God, then you might lie. That’s your ‘freedom’, isn’t it? I haven’t completely stripped away your free will. I am merely preparing for assured penalties regarding criminal behavior. By entrusting judgment to the one who possesses the most legitimate and unwavering power in this world.”
“…Do you think this country is a theocracy?”
Ugh, here we go again with the pointless rebuttals. How annoying.
“Isn’t it?”
I turned my head again toward where the voice came from. I could hear the collective gasp of those around us. Was there really a need to be shocked? It’s just common sense. Back in my original world, there was no concrete evidence of a God, so it didn’t matter what religion one followed or whether they believed in God or not. But in this world, there clearly exists a God. Two of them, in fact.
Immense beings that could bestow their divine powers to create their representatives, truly straight out of a mythological textbook.
And the constitution explicitly states that the one serving that God holds the same authority as the President. The power of a President, elected by the whole nation, and the power of one chosen by a God are defined as equal. Even if that power may not be practically exercisable.
What else could that be if not a theocracy?
“If you truly don’t think it’s a theocracy, then if you give me some time, I could show you a legitimate way to create one.”
Unable to hold back my annoyance any longer, I blurted out, and it was then that the President really stepped forward to inquire.
“What do you mean by that?”
Why, do you feel a sense of crisis regarding your power? What could you possibly be worried about when you’re someone who could lose your reelection if I start running my mouth? After eight years in the seat, do you plan to wield some behind-the-scenes power as a former president?
“In this country, the age requirement to run for president is 35. I’m only fifteen.”
I turned my body fully to glare at the President.
“Shall I contest the presidency based on twenty years of national support after eliminating all witches and exterminating the demonic forces? If I legally achieve unification of the government and the Church, wouldn’t that truly be a nation of the gods?”
Of course, I had no intention of running for president. Having more power here would mean being swamped with unending work. I wouldn’t be able to pursue any of my own desires. Not even a leisurely coffee at a café would be possible, surrounded by bodyguards.
Moreover, I have no intention of taking twenty years to accomplish all that. I’ll get it done within five. Whether I can escape or not is uncertain, but at the very least, I don’t want to feel guilty about what happens next.
The expressions of the government’s high-ranking officials were pure astonishment. I might not know exactly how the general public perceives me, but there’s enough potential there for them to react this way. If it weren’t, they wouldn’t even have stifled a laugh.
“There’s never been…such a thing…”
An elderly man started to speak, his pronunciation somewhat off, likely due to dentures, so I stared at him in response. He closed his mouth tight after that.
“There’s never been, but who’s to say there can’t be? What legal code states that a Saint or a Pope can’t run for president?”
Most saints were too busy battling demons and beasts, and typically, individuals who became Popes were at least in their sixties. In reality, they simply hadn’t had the opportunity to consider running for president; given the age and spare time, there’s no reason they couldn’t.
Church power is a gift from divine favor, which naturally carries over, adding more authority obtained through the rightful support of the populace.
Should someone ever manage to catch all the witches, wipe out thousands of demons and beasts, and bring about an era of peace, how could that person not be popular?
Moreover, members of the Church, both laypeople and clergy, including the Pope, were all legitimate citizens of this nation, meaning they could exercise their precious vote in elections.
Putting it that way, looking long-term, the Church would have the advantage in maintaining power over the government.
The reason such a case hasn’t occurred up until now lies in the lack of that level of support and time.
“…”
My words left them speechless, and the hearing chamber fell into utter silence.
“Well, can I proceed?”
I stretched out both hands toward the Director of Intelligence, offering him the Bible.
“Go ahead, swear.”
It’s no surprise that the Director looked as if he were staring at a ghost.
*
What kind of person is Clara Anderson?
A Saint the Church has produced after fifty years, someone handling deeds that humanity couldn’t accomplish in five centuries all by herself, and still, she doesn’t rest on her laurels, opting to keep her face out of the media as much as possible. A girl with stunning beauty, arguably representing the very essence of what it means to be beautiful, someone whose future prospects are just as bright.
Even those who aren’t deeply invested in the Church or religion had definitely heard her name at least once recently. Though she doesn’t expose herself directly to the media, photos and footage of her are regularly circulated.
Perhaps due to the vastness of her teenage accomplishments, some may view her unfavorably for no discernible reason or express concern that she might one day disrupt democracy, but the majority write off such thoughts as needless worries.
To become President, she’d have to wait a full twenty years. Moreover, becoming a member of parliament wouldn’t change that she wouldn’t be able to do anything alone, so most people simply laughed off such conversations as the ramblings of a dreamer.
Thus, the attention from the public was solely focused on her current position, her appearance, and her every action.
Preferring to stay out of the spotlight, unless absolutely necessary, only distant and poorly captured photos and videos existed. The few high-definition shots and video snippets captured by professional paparazzi would end up fetching high prices from media outlets.
It was under these circumstances that she would make her first official visit to the 1st District since her canonization.
Naturally, it was hardly surprising that this became a hot topic.
Particularly excited were media outlets now granted the opportunity to officially capture her.
From the moment she arrived at the airport, they set up countless cameras, ready to capture her every move until a press conference held in the Beastman Region granted them a clear shot of the Saint.
And when they saw her, they undeniably recognized her as a figure of divinity.
Just stepping off the plane, the audience she faced seemed momentarily at a loss for words.
Dressed in garments reminiscent of the Pope but with a unique kind of beauty, her outfit managed to convey both elegance and sanctity. The veil framing her dark yet beautiful hair exuded a holy aura, shimmering with a soft golden light—one might even mistake her for a blonde at a glance.
As her gaze lifted from the ground to meet the audience, they erupted into cheers as if they had forgotten to react. When she smiled and waved, the uproar intensified.
And at the moment she faced the President, once again, silence enveloped the crowd.
Seeing the President’s rigid expression and the hesitation as he held out his hand left an inkling that something unpleasant had occurred between them.
“By the way, wasn’t this meeting requested by the government first?”
“Oh, right! I think that was mentioned. Did it originate from the Church?”
Observed by a reporter furiously jotting notes into his smartphone, a colleague with a camera replied.
“They claimed it was an unofficial request…but there’s no evidence of that.”
“Hmm.”
As a reporter pondered while resting his chin on his smartphone’s corner, he swiftly returned to recording the recent conversation.
“Well, let’s inquire with the Church later about that. Who was the source of that info again?”
“It wasn’t someone I knew; I think it was a friend of mine who enjoys drinking, though…was it Turner the Priest?”
“Turner…Turner…wait, you’re not speaking of Matthew Turner the Priest, are you?”
“Oh, yeah! I think that’s the name.”
While a reporter had their eye close to the camera viewfinder, taking shots of the Saint, a senior reporter’s voice boomed from behind.
“Hey, why didn’t you mention that sooner?!”
“Eep! You scared me!”
Startled by the sudden shout, the junior reporter fumbled, causing their photo to shake and turn out poorly.
“Why are you yelling all of a sudden?”
“Why? Because you could’ve ruined everything! Get a move on, now!”
“No, it’s such a rare opportunity—”
“I’m telling you, you’re about to miss an even rarer chance, so stop questioning and follow me!”
Dragging his laptop bag from the side, the senior rushed off, prompting the bewildered junior to follow, head cocked in confusion.
“Seriously, what’s wrong? You need to tell me the reason…”
Casting a sideways glance at the incessantly questioning junior reporter, the senior reporter scanned the surroundings and lowered his voice.
“Matthew Turner, who loves to drink, if it’s the same guy I know, is a Miracle Investigator. The nun who used to assist him is now aiding the Saint.”
“Really?”
His eyes widened in surprise, the junior reporter raised a finger to his lips and whispered, “Shhh!”
“Right, he’s a rare acquaintance of the few Saints in the Central Church. I don’t know how close they are, but if that guy is the source, then it’s not merely a rumor but a credible lead.”
The senior journalist began walking briskly. The junior, carrying equipment, hurried to keep up.
“He merely overheard something while drinking? Don’t pull my leg. That guy is famous for his drinking prowess—he could hide expensive alcohol without saying a word. He wouldn’t babble nonsense while drunk. He definitely meant to hint at something.”
“…Is that true?”
The junior reporter raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
“We’ll figure out the truth when we go. For now, let’s grab a strong bottle at the duty-free shop. Just make sure you don’t overdo it. It’d be a problem if you pass out before the interview.”
“Just a sip wouldn’t hurt…”
Even in this situation, the senior reporter felt the urge to scold the junior, yet recalling that this younger reporter was the one who brought him this intel, he decided to hold back for now.
*
Once someone is under intense pressure, it’s often said they calm down when faced with the situation.
I can feel it now; perhaps the same applies to fury.
When someone boiling in rage crosses a threshold, they suddenly become calm. That infuriating situation fades away, and with a composed mind, they can see how absurd things truly are, even chuckling at the irony.
What? They attempted to penalize Seo-A for defiance against the government?
They’re trying to sideline the good-natured Association President and place obedient bureaucrats in the seats of retired heroes?
And they want to drag me into their mess to keep their hands clean?
Is that truly how one ought to behave when sitting atop one of the organizations upholding this nation?
“Phew…”
As I rested my forehead on my palm while slouching in my chair, someone among this assembly swallowed hard. They were all tense, intimidated by the so-called “symbolic figure” of the Church.
Well, it’s not merely symbolic anymore.
Earlier, when the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency placed his hand on the Bible to echo my words, the swirling black and white light emanating from the tome solidified that fact.
While the white light might be believable as my doing, the black light is just impossible in reality. That’s clear evidence of divine intervention.
In truth, I had brought the Bible as a little ruse.
What’s jotted inside regarding Baal hardly fills a single page, and it’s all speculation.
Though I could have simply held his hand for the oath, I had no desire to offer my hand. Additionally, it’s the authoritative symbol of the “Bible” rather than my juvenile form that holds visual significance. Stubborn politicians may find this method more persuasive.
Looking at their reactions, it seems my thoughts were spot on.
The divine involvement beyond the will of humans was glaringly evident.
With every reply given by the Director, the Bible seemed to glow. Whenever he hesitated, black light would seep from it, and when he spoke the truth, it shone white.
At my command, a God was literally judging every word of this mere human for its truthfulness.
A single misstep would mean heresy.
And one might find themselves branded as a witch.
The Inquisition?
Of course, those are merely job titles. Furthermore, that title has, at times, confused people, making them forget that the one truly selected by God is the most qualified Inquisitor of all.
The one being interrogated here, the one under judgment, is not just that single person. Since he can’t weave a false confession, he’s only a witness standing before the deity.
Everyone present here is under the same scrutiny.
And the verdict will be rendered through my mouth on behalf of the deity.
Well, it’s hard to believe without directly witnessing it.
“What’s your decision?”
After lying propped up for far longer than the initially scheduled time, I finally opened my mouth once my thoughts had collected.
If you wield power, then you must bear the responsibility.
“First, let’s hear your demands. I’ll entertain them.”
I will listen.
But whether I comply or not is entirely my discretion.
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