Chapter 73

“Absolutely not!”

“Deputy Commander Moon Ah-rin?”

When Moon Ah-rin suddenly shot up from her seat, everyone in the conference room was caught off guard.

Normally, she preferred to sit quietly during meetings unless she had something absolutely necessary to say. Every word from the so-called Saint of Salvation carried a weight unlike anyone else’s…

…or so everyone believed.

In truth, she just stayed silent because she was terrified of how her words might snowball out of control.

“No matter how tight our budget is, charging rent for relics and equipment is beyond absurd—it’s blasphemous!”

“Blasphemous? Who says that?”

“The Outer God of Salvation, of course. They said anyone who dares do such a thing will be punished severely.”

『Fear not!?』

Normally, invoking a god’s name recklessly would invite divine retribution—but since I was pretending to be the Saint of Salvation right now, that much didn’t matter.

Just for today, I was the Outer God of Salvation’s most devoted believer.

“Ahem… a warning from an Outer God, is it.”

“I believe Deputy Commander Moon must have her reasons for such a strong objection, but…”

“As you know, the Bureau can’t move solely by the will of the Outer Gods.”

『Fear not! Fear not…!』

My Outer God’s voice echoed in my head, sounding utterly distraught that I had mentioned someone else’s name.

My chest ached just imagining her pitiful expression—but stopping these bureaucrats came first.

After all, even a god would struggle if their landlord suddenly showed up and demanded rent for the space they were living in.

Of course, with my current mid-rank salary as an Awakened, I could technically afford it. But then I’d have to cut other expenses.

And if I couldn’t pay the hacker who regularly shrank Commander Ha Yeri’s height, I might just spiral into despair and do something drastic—like sell off Velada’s horn to the witches.

The thought alone brought tears to my eyes, my voice quivering with genuine emotion.

“Th-there’s… another reason, too!”

“And that would be?”

“It’s because there are still agents within the Special Unit who rely on rented gear to fight.”

I clasped my hands together in prayer.

Then I urged the shapeshifting tentacles to sprout wings.

Slowly, they pierced through my clothes, revealing pure white wings as innocent as my conscience.

They wriggled awkwardly, but once I added a faint glow using luminescent tendrils, they more or less passed for Moon Ah-rin’s ability.

“Every member of the Special Unit risks their life every day fighting the demons.”

Light radiated from behind me like a halo, bathing the room in warmth.

Moved by that glow, everyone gazed at me as if I were truly a saint.

“They may never be paid what their lives are worth, but to demand rent for the equipment they need to survive—that’s far too cruel.”

“Indeed…”

“Then perhaps we can offer them a discount?”

“It’s not just about the money—it would affect morale as well.”

“As expected, no one cares for the agents like Deputy Commander Moon Ah-rin does.”

Thankfully, my heartfelt plea seemed to work. The proposal was withdrawn without further debate.

If I hadn’t been acting as Moon Ah-rin, things could’ve gone very wrong.

“We’re ashamed of ourselves. We let greed cloud our judgment…”

“No, it’s all right. I just thought it would be nice if everyone could live in peace.”

“Then perhaps you’ve thought of another solution?”

Just when I thought everything was going smoothly, Kang Cho-won decided to ruin it.

As the Deputy Commander of Division 1, he was second only to the Commander-in-Chief in terms of combat power, but unlike Ha Yeri, he wasn’t exactly well-trusted.

His problem? A lack of restraint. He often spoke without remembering his position, and his attitude carried little weight.

Rumor had it he barely passed the personality tests during every promotion review. In short, he was my complete opposite—reckless and unrefined, whereas I (or rather, Moon Ah-rin) was composed and meticulous.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen Deputy Commander Moon this passionate since joining the Special Unit!”

“I only meant to—”

“No need to be modest! You’ve pointed out my oversight, and I appreciate it. But if you’ve got a better idea, don’t hold back—let’s hear it!”

Kang Cho-won’s tone didn’t seem malicious as he asked me—no, asked Moon Ah-rin—for alternative methods of securing funds for the Special Unit.

Now the real problem was… what should I even say?

I could have just said I didn’t know and moved on, but this was a meeting where all the Special Unit’s officers below the Commander were gathered.

It was the perfect stage to lower everyone’s expectations of Moon Ah-rin.

After thinking carefully for a moment, I came up with a good idea.

“Actually, I do have something in mind.”

“Oh? What is it?”

Trains, by nature, were built to transport both cargo and people.

There was a time when state-run companies established branch offices all over the country, like magical towers, specifically to collect fares.

“What if we open the Gyeongbu Line to the public and generate revenue through ticket sales?”

“What?”

Even in this day and age, subways were still operating.

So one might think trains could be approached the same way—but that would be a huge misconception.

For starters, leaving Seoul was practically a death sentence for ordinary civilians.

Monsters lurked everywhere, so even the guild staff never strayed far from the bases where the assault teams stayed.

Even if the train somehow made it safely to the end of the tracks without encountering danger, passengers would disembark into the heart of Busan.

For anyone from Seoul, wandering around that city at night was enough to feel a genuine threat to their lives.

“Is it really okay to open it to civilians this quickly?”

“Besides, the area around Daegu hasn’t fully recovered from the fires yet—it’s basically just tracks laid over burning land…”

In short, it would be a one-way ticket to hell—a challenge only the bravest could even consider.

Unsurprisingly, the Special Unit’s leadership, with their practical minds, was skeptical.

“Deputy Commander Park Mu-cheol, what do you think?”

“Well, we’d need to predict demand, so a survey might be okay…”

“Let’s just leave it as one of the proposals for now. We’ll continue discussing other options this afternoon.”

Afterward, still acting as Moon Ah-rin, I went through the rest of the day: eating twice in the cafeteria, pressing all the elevator buttons and running off as Kang Ha-neul took the lift for patrol, and even sneaking my tentacles into Tartaruga’s meals.

By this point, no matter how respected an Awakened might be, the illusion I created was more than enough to shatter it.

Three days later.

Moon Ah-rin, her skin now soft and smooth, returned from her trip.

“You’re back!”

“Yes, thanks to you, the trip went well.”

“Did you bring any souvenirs?”

“Here you go. If I hadn’t, Hayan would’ve sulked and anonymously posted nasty things about me in the Special Unit Bamboo Forest for at least a week, Yeon-hwa said.”

“I’m disappointed you thought I’d do that. Anyway, thank you.”

I ran barefoot to the Prayer House and carried her luggage for her.

She seemed to get along surprisingly well with No Yeon-hwa—no complaints or messages came from her at all.

In fact, she even got a bit closer to Moon Ah-rin, receiving advice and chatting with her.

Some of it concerned me, and though I was curious about what she said, I decided to wait for another opportunity to ask.

I returned her smartwatch.

“Nothing really happened, right? You didn’t go wandering around acting strange in my clothes?”

“It’s fine. If you’re still worried, we can go together.”

Reading through her backlog of notifications, Moon Ah-rin still looked suspicious.

She still didn’t fully trust me.

I decided to show her firsthand how people’s perceptions had changed.

Naturally, the first place I went was the Outer God of Salvation’s Prayer House.

It was early morning, before any worshippers had arrived.

The moment I opened the heavy door, the head priest rushed out barefoot to greet me.

“You’re here, Saint! We’ve been waiting!”

“Pardon?”

“Thanks to your last confession session, the worshippers’ faces have brightened considerably. Even though you must be busy, we truly appreciate you taking the time.”

Hmm… this was unexpected.

I had merely read the comments aloud, yet it seemed there were actually people who had benefited.

Moon Ah-rin, unaware of the background, looked equally puzzled.

Confessionals are, by principle, places where neither the penitent nor the priest knows the identity of the other.

“Perhaps the results came not from me, but from the other priests working diligently.”

“That may be so. However, there are frequent cases where, in a single confessional, a priest who listens to confessions remains in complete silence for unusually long periods.”

“Ah…”

“That very silence is the strongest evidence that they are genuinely pondering the worries of the worshippers. It’s something no one else could ever imitate.”

I couldn’t possibly tell him that the delay was just because it took time for the comments to appear.

Unexpectedly, Moon Ah-rin’s reputation had risen even further, but I still had a trump card up my sleeve.

The head priest of the Outer God of Salvation lowered his posture and spoke in a small voice.

“Actually… there’s something I need to tell you quietly.”

Finally!

It had to be about the 500-won coin I’d put into the donation box.

Obviously, he couldn’t openly address the Saint of Salvation in front of everyone, hence his cautious approach.

“When the Saint visited our Prayer House, I checked the donation box after Mass… and there was something unusual inside.”

“Unusual?”

“Yes, this.”

The priest pulled a glinting silver coin from his robe.

It was definitely the 500-won coin I had inserted.

At last, Moon Ah-rin’s mask would be revealed.

I was about to savor that moment when, suddenly, the priest dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face.

“P-priest?”

“Saint, please forgive my sins!”

“Forgive… what? I don’t know anything! It’s just a coin!”

“No, this is no ordinary coin.”

“Huh?”

He pointed to the top of the coin, dirtied with his tears and snot.

Above the words Bank of Korea, the year of issue was engraved.

“Do you see this number? It means this coin was minted in 1998.”

“And?”

“That year, the economic downturn threatened the survival of the nation. Coins were produced in extremely limited quantities.”

The economic crisis led to a massive reduction in coin production.

The 500-won coin, in particular, became so rare that collectors now traded it for tens of millions of won.

…Of course, I had no idea about that when I dropped it into the donation box.

“You were the only person to place a 500-won coin in the donation box that day. Not only did I impiously spy on you, but I even doubted your faith for a moment—I cannot forgive myself!!”

“P-please calm down, priest!”

It was just a coin I had taken from a drowned soul swimming in the Han River, using a Choco Pie wrapper as bait.

Yet, somehow, the Saint of Salvation had donated a coin now worth tens of millions of won.