MTO C24

Chapter 24

“Why did you not inform me earlier that such a heavy debt existed?”

The instant they were alone, David pressed Michel hard. Michel had no answer.

The simple truth was that he hadn’t mentioned it because he had absolutely no idea there even was a debt. In the original webtoon, there was never any such information.

But of course—he should have anticipated it the moment he realized the headmaster had been an alcoholic, a gambling addict, and a child abuser. People who lived in vice rarely confined themselves to only one evil.

I was far too complacent.

“…I’m sorry.”

Michel did not bother with the excuse of “lost memories.” At this point, it was a meaningless lie, and he lacked the strength to concoct another anyway. His mind was consumed with worry for the children upstairs still sobbing from the day’s terrors, and anxiety for what lay ahead.

He had once vowed with all his heart never to fall into debt.

Now he remembered a boyhood friend from the orphanage. When that friend left the institution, his real father appeared and promised to take him home. The boy was overjoyed. Yet the father, in truth, had been taking out loans under his own son’s name. When the boy turned of age, he was suddenly shackled with enormous debts. Michel could still see, vividly, his friend’s weary face, sighing with despair despite working from dawn until midnight for wages that only ever grew swallowed by that debt.

That had been when Michel first understood how terrifying debt truly was. He had sworn never to beg from others, not even in death. Yet now, after death itself, with a second lease on life, he was being saddled with loans he had never even borrowed. His spirit crumbled.

“You needn’t let it crush you. Thirty thousand habits is not insurmountable.”

The unexpectedly light tone made Michel glance up. He had thought David furious—but his face was oddly calm.

“It’s not a great fortune?”

“For commoners, it is vast indeed—money they could never touch in a lifetime. But…”

Michel’s shoulders slumped again.

“But Saint, you are a Saint.”

David’s tone turned almost cheerful. Michel stared blankly while the knight arched a brow, as if failing to understand such obtuseness.

“Once your sainthood is formally announced, donations will pour in from across the entire continent. Thirty thousand habits will gather in less than a week.”

“…That fast?”

“At the latest, seven days.”

Michel’s jaw dropped. He had known people revered saints, but had imagined that meant only warm feelings or polite respect. After all, until now the title had won him little except David’s chilly courtesy. David had treated him civilly, but never with awe.

Now to learn that sainthood meant a flood of gold without lifting a finger?

By David’s logic, it ought to be cause for celebration. Yet Michel felt a creeping unease instead.

Once a citizen of twenty‑first century Korea, he could not shake the discomfort at the idea of a religious figure suddenly swimming in wealth. Not every cleric had to starve, true—but still…

“Am I really… allowed to accept all that? Without consequence?”

“What is the meaning of that question?”

“Well… in history, corrupt clergy sold indulgences for coin, and some were even burned at the stake…”

The memories of Europe’s medieval age floated to mind unbidden.

Michel’s seriousness only made David snort in scorn.

“It is not extorting, nor forced. They are desperate to give. Why refuse? As long as you do not squander it on debauchery, there is no issue.”

David stressed that final word—making clear his distrust, remembering Michel’s past life of gambling and drink. But here, Michel was at least secure.

For Jeong‑oh of Korea had abstained strictly for the sake of his health. He never once smoked nor drank alcohol, and was stingy enough to repair socks until threadbare. On lonely nights when food delivery tempted him, he would hesitate a hundred times and then settle for reheated chicken breast. Reckless indulgence was not in his nature.

Seeing a way forward, Michel finally felt his breath ease. Then his brows creased again.

“…The carriage comes tomorrow morning, right? To leave for the castle? It may be difficult to depart so soon. Perhaps I should write to Kaidan—”

“No. You must go. Above all, your promise to the Duke takes precedence.”

David’s voice brooked no debate.

Of course, Michel too longed to declare his sainthood and wipe away the debt. With funds overflowing, even running the orphanage would no longer be a problem.

Yet what if, in his absence, the debt collectors returned? They had promised to burn the orphanage to the ground. Could he dare leave Barbara and the children so defenseless?

“They degraded me horribly today. They’ll come again tomorrow. Please—delay our departure one day. If I show them the saint’s token, they’ll give us time.”

“If your concern is the children, then leave me here. I can protect them.”

Michel begged, but David stood firmer than ever. The offer to stay behind was kind—but Michel’s heart would not rest easy.

Would the thugs truly honor time extensions without seeing Michel himself? What if today’s humiliation drove them to return tomorrow with greater number? Could David, strong as he was, protect everyone alone?

Michel’s imagination swarmed with grim possibilities.

“It is needless fear. Their business is not with the orphanage, but with you, the Saint.”

David even smiled, meant to reassure. Gentle words…but they made Michel’s heart plummet instead.

“…Yes. I suppose you’re right.”

He groped for words but found little. He muttered thanks quietly. He could insist no longer.

The next morning, a grand four‑horse carriage bearing the sigil of Eglence rumbled to the orphanage gates. It was time for Michel to depart.

He delayed his packing as long as possible, but David urged him on—everything he needed would be at the castle anyway. At last, Michel left with empty hands.

Barbara walked him out. Her eyes were puffed double, flushed from crying through the night. Michel could not tell if her tears had been for fear of what was to come… or relief that he was finally leaving.

The night before, he had explained everything to her about his temporary absence. Her face through it all had shifted strangely—confused, hesitant—but in the end she only nodded without a word.

Now, before boarding the carriage, Michel glanced up at the second‑floor windows. Curtains shut every room tightly. Nothing was visible.

Still, he couldn’t pull his eyes away.

Since yesterday’s incident, he had not glimpsed the children again.

“Are they still asleep?”

“…Yes. They were so worn out, they’re sleeping late.”

Barbara turned her eyes aside as she said it. Whether truth or lie, Michel could not verify. He knew only that even if it were a lie, he must not go searching.

He forced his lips to curl.

“Then… I’ll go now. I’m… sorry for yesterday.”

“Please, travel safely.”

They exchanged farewells. Then, dragging each step, Michel climbed aboard. David shut the door, the horses lurched, and the orphanage began shrinking behind.

Alone in the lavish carriage, Michel gazed through the window. All night the same thought looped in his mind, unanswered.

Perhaps this was best. Best never to return at all.

David had said the debt would be quickly paid. But Michel doubted. Could thirty thousand really be all? Could the debauched headmaster’s debts be so few?

In every shadow, he imagined new dangers lurking. And any danger to him was likewise a danger to the children.

Yet David was right, too. The creditors sought Michel, not the orphanage. Once gone, their fury would follow him, not the children.

That was not the only reason, either.

He had tried to reach the children’s hearts—even for just a few days. Yet nothing had changed. They still feared him as much as on the first day, perhaps even more.

And why not? Years of carved scars could not be erased with a few kind words and trifling gestures.

He had hoped, once, for them to open their hearts. Now it struck him as selfishness. For these few days, the poor children had borne terrible stress merely sharing a roof with their abuser, even reformed.

No, leaving truly is for the best.

He thought then—why not simply resign as headmaster altogether? At the castle he could confess to Kaidan, request they appoint another. The Duke would oblige.

After the relief festival, Michel need not return. He could go seek the young dragon instead—a problem already hounding him.

With a new headmaster, kind and wise, not addicted nor indebted, one who would only love and never harm—the children would finally feel safe. They would revere such a guide, follow joyfully.

No more hunger. No more fear. They would be happy.

Wouldn’t they?

“……”

Michel stared motionless through the window. The forest blurred past in surging black lines, like inverted stampeding oxen racing beyond his reach.