They sat in silence. The mission had failed before it had even begun; the atmosphere had gone awkward as heck.

Minimine swung her little legs, staring at Kalender with no discernible intent. Whenever he met eyes with her, however, she would look away.

I don’t like this situation.

“So, uh…” Kalender said. Minimine still didn’t turn her head, so he continued. “Should I call you ‘goddess,’ or—”

“Minimine,” she said, still refusing eye contact.

“A-alright.” The heck, what’s with this defense? He still wasn’t quite in the flow, failing to get a read on the goddess. There were a few things he could do to spark the conversation, but he needed to be careful—no, no, if I get too paranoid about this stuff now, nothing right’s gonna happen. He’d gone this far without thinking too hard. Even if the opponent was a goddess, it didn’t change anything about him.

Page started playing with Minimine’s hair. Kalender’s eyes shot wide. An opening!

“… Well someone got close to Minimine, huh?” Kalender smiled.

“But isn’t she such a cute kid?!” Page hugged her. The average temperature in the room rose by a single degree, the Clerics in the distance nearly ripping their vestments out with their teeth as they watched this disrespect in front of them.

Kalender scratched his cheek. “You got tips for me, Page?”

“Hm?” She tilted her head. “Just do whatever?”

Casual treatment! It was unbelievable, but there she was, pinching Minimine’s cheeks and fomenting a holy crusade in the background.

Kalender shrugged. It was probably okay to treat Minimine with the same understanding of human psychology as he held—which wasn’t a lot, but he’d like to think that it’s brought him this far.

For these types… Minimine was reserved, but didn’t shrug off other people. Wait—there was this nagging feeling that this wasn’t how Minimine normally was. This wasn’t their first time meeting, but he had foggy memories about when he was still just an incorporeal soul, so he couldn’t be certain. It probably had something to do with the curse, but—ugh, whatever. He’ll just have to ask later. For now…

“Are you the listening type?” he asked. She nodded. Al~right.

“Mind listening to a bit of my life story, then?” Reciprocation worked about 90% of the time. If he talked about himself, then Minimine should open up, in turn.

This forced her to look him in the eye, however, her interest piqued by something else. “How? That’s not possible.”

Even Page was interested. Kal’s past life, huh?

“Because I’m not supposed to remember my past life, right?”

Minimine nodded. “Only broad strokes.”

“It’s actually surprising how much you can figure out about the past with a bit of interpolation. Ah, well, it’s nothing to be 100% sure about. There’s just a feeling of ‘something’s supposed to be there,’ and I just had to do my best with that info.”

Confirming that her attention hadn’t left him, he continued, “I can’t remember people’s … anything, really. I can’t remember where I lived, where I went to school, my parents’ or friends’ names. But, I can still remember certain houses, and I’m sure one of those are mine. I can also remember certain schools and universities, so it’s obvious I should’ve gone to some of them, right?”

Minimine kept quiet. So far, everything was consistent with the effects of the transfer. It had taken her a lot of energy to preserve his auxiliary memories, so it was a relief that they didn’t degrade since the transfer process.

"I also remember some other places and views—air-conditioned arcades, gaming stations, sunsets peeking through a sparse canopy, long roads going downhill. Heck, there was an ice cream stall that consistently kept popping up.

“These aren’t places that I would go to on my own.” He descended one step into nostalgia, feeling lingering love for whoever it was, for whoever they were, with whom he walked with, played with, bought ice cream with. “I was never alone.”

The last thing he remembered was an office filled with computers. There wasn’t anyone there, but there sure as hell was a party-sized pizza box. There were certainly people who could solo those, but not him.

That place surely was where he’d died. At least he’d died surrounded by people he liked enough to have pizza with.

“I find it hard to believe that I never made mistakes,” he continued. “But none of the places I remember make me think that I’d ever regretted them. Not for long, at least.”

Minimine smiled. She had made the right choice in choosing him as her Champion.

“Will … you listen to me?” she said.

Kalender smiled. How could Minimine keep quiet, when his eyes glistened ever so slightly? His eyes were, at once, a window into his own soul, and a reflection of her own.

“I like listening,” Minimine started, “to my followers. I do not have many, but they are precious to me.”

With those words, the storm brewing in the background cleared as if shot through with a world-ending railgun.

“I use MP for each one. Very small expenditure, yes, it is almost nothing for any goddess.” She looked up at the ceiling for a while, her lips moving as if counting something. “But it became a problem for me.”

This raised eyebrows.

“Goddesses do not have infinite power. We have high regeneration, but our total is restricted. So, we must always spend power, or else the regeneration is wasted.”

That makes sense. Kalender made stuff on his downtime so that his passive regen wouldn’t be wasted. At 1 MP/min, the typical human could technically use 1440 MP per 24 hours, but after subtracting hours when they weren’t using up MP, plus the fact that they would typically keep their MP at max for most of the day, the typical human did not use MP beyond the single digits in a day.

Sure, they could set something on fire every minute, but that would be mostly useless.

The number of useful things one could use magic for increased as their maximum capacity did. Only then did using up MP on one’s downtime become practical.

When it came to goddesses who had plenty of applications for magic, the goddess who continuously spent MP reinforcing their domain’s dimensional defenses was more secure than one who, for example, …

“I speak to … 30,249 followers of mine. I think it has increased by 5,000 since the last thousand years.”

Huh? Wait, that’s a lot—

“That is … at 0.0001% MP drain per connection, I spend 3.0249% of my regeneration in talking to my followers.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“… Is that big?”

For the first time, Minimine stood up—on the chair, but stood up, nonetheless—pinning the table under her hands. “It is!”

“There, there, Mimi, you’ll get the chair dirty!” Page manhandled her by the armpits and set her back down on the chair. This inflamed the Clerics once more. They were so close to rioting.

“I-I apologize.” Minimine turned slightly away in embarrassment. “That 3% drain is … wasted.”

‘Wasted.’ The Clerics could not accept that.

Representative of their feelings, Tak came sprinting, coming to a sliding stop on her knees, most respectfully bowing and not daring to catch a glimpse of Her Divinity at so close a distance.

“My goddess! That is not so!” Hearing that their prayers were just waste—it couldn’t be! That wasn’t the goddess she knew. The goddess she knew took delight in listening to their circumstances, and even offered advice in return! Clearly, Minimine is best and kindest goddess! “Also, Lady Turner, I vehemently request that you cease being so familiar with our goddess!”

“Aside from the last part, I think she’s right,” Kalender said. “What’s wrong with talking to them?”

Minimine winced. “It is not as if I do not like it. I enjoy it, even. Also, Priestess Tak, please relax.” She wanted privacy with Page and Kalender, but she also couldn’t push away Tak, not least so after she forced her way into this conversation. There had only been one other mortal in history who had done that … and she didn’t hate it.

“I-I can’t possibly!” Tak replied. A new chair had materialized by the table, clearly meant for her.

“I insist.” “I-I can’t—” A new chair materialized for her.

“I insist.” “I—” A new chair materialized for her. Page giggled. She was braiding Minimine’s hair.

“P-priestess,” Kalender said in a hushed tone. “I think we’ll end up with enough chairs for everyone here if you don’t.”

Between Tak’s fluster from Minimine’s insistence, and her flustration from seeing Page being so touchy (how envious!), she relented and chose a seat closer to Kalender.

Minimine hesitated to continue. One of her followers was here, now. If it were just Kalender, she would feel more comfortable to be out with her confession. On the other hand, she didn’t have the heart to push away her followers. She’d never do that.

She absentmindedly took Page’s hand into both of her own and squeezed it. The gesture left Tak speechless, and Kalender, confounded. Page, herself, picked up on the shift in mood, combing Minimine’s hair with her free hand. Her mom had done this for her when she was little.

Is it because of the Priestess? Kalender thought. Minimine was keeping her gaze fixed on the table. At this rate, she might not continue to speak.

He nudged Tak. She was surprised, then shot him with a look of ‘Rude. What do you want?’ Well, he wanted to know her and the Clerics’ feelings about Minimine, and he wanted Minimine herself to hear these things in person. That was such a vague thing to ask about, though. Maybe something like …

“Why’d you become a Priestess? Why Minimine?” he asked.

“Hm?” She glanced between him and the table, taking care not to look at Minimine directly. “What’s this about?” How is this relevant?

“It’ll smooth over the conversation. Trust me.”

This confused her. How? She almost looked to Minimine, but she managed to divert her eyes to Page at the last moment. Page was giving her a thumbs up. Yeah! Trust him! Tak didn’t know how to feel about the girl anymore, but the flow was going this way, so she relented.

“W-well, I am descended from a noble lineage. My father was a Remian warrior lord, while my mother was a commoner of Kalek descent. Ah, she is a Remian native, otherwise.”

“Oh? That explains your name, huh?” Kalender remarked.

“That, it does. As a half-blood, I could never gain the privileges of a true noble. My father provided material support, enough that I could have been a merchant.” She chuckled. “I was looking forward to becoming one, but it was my mother who pressed me into religious service. It was common enough, and it gave me mobility. She wanted me to get away from there.”

After a pause, Kalender asked, “Was there trouble there?”

“For a while, soon after I had left. I hear it is still reeling, and conditions are harsh for the poor. My father died fighting for the loyalists. I have heard nothing about my mother, ever since.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Tak shook her head. “It has been ten years.”

“I remember that time,” Minimine spoke up, looking to Tak. The Priestess could not tear her eyes from her goddess’s, this time. Minimine continued, “What a lost child, you were.”

A soft expression, the first Kalender had ever seen from her, spread across Tak’s face. “So I was, my goddess.” She looked down at the table.

Kalender allowed time to seep before he asked, “You didn’t say, why did you choose Minimine?”

“T-that’s, well …” She couldn’t believe she was about to say this in front of her goddess. W-well, she is best and kindest goddess. “… to be completely honest … it’s only that it had the least competition to enter the temple.”

Minimine coughed. She wasn’t that particular about being popular, but the Isles of Rem was called the Terithian Center of the Minimine Faith, you know? Where was the justice!

“B-but the people were really nice!” In that moment, Tak believed she had been the first mortal to have ever inflicted damage on divinity. She must be the first to heal one, as well! “I still remember disbelieving in the ‘rumors’ that once you get an Occupation change, the goddess will speak to you. I dismissed it as some sort of cultish propaganda, so imagine my surprise when my goddess spoke to me! My fellow sisters were giggling as I floundered about, looking for the source of the voice under the beds and in the closets of the dormitory…” She hid her eyes and turned away. “Oh, my goddess, I am so sorry for this unbeliever.”

Minimine giggled. “You were funny.” Tak further retreated, almost sliding under the table.

Kalender smiled. Minimine was a lot closer to her followers than he’d originally thought, but … I don’t get it, he thought. If they’re this close, what’s Minimine hesitating for? The last thing she was talking about was something about a 3% MP drain being ‘wasted.’ It didn’t look like a waste from where he was sitting, and she did say that she enjoyed it, as well.

Minimine’s smile gave way to a slight frown. She was looking down at the table again. As much as Kalender wanted to cheer her up, that wasn’t something that he should be doing. From what he was seeing, she was standing in front of a wall. The appropriate response was to help that person get over the wall; instead of telling them “Don’t worry, it’s just a wall,” it should be “There’s two of us, and one of it.” The worry would always be there, but to push on despite it was what he wanted to help her along with.

Now that Tak and Minimine “shared a heart” through Tak’s recounting, he was sure she could push on. Just a little nudge.

“What is it?” Kalender asked. Minimine looked to him, then to Tak. The Priestess picked up on her goddess’s worry, properly looking at her, this time, and showing a face bereft of reverence, and filled instead with sincerity.

It was the first time one of her followers showed her that kind of face. She appreciated it.

“That 3% MP drain,” she continued, “spelled weakness for my domain’s defenses.”

Though still attentive, Tak showed more confusion than understanding. Only Kalender really understood what this meant.

“By speaking to my followers, for as much as I did, for as long as I did, I have derelicted my duty as a goddess of Reincarnation …”

Tak’s face contorted from even more confusion. That’s not…

“By my calculation, that 3% MP drain, over a span of a thousand years, should have been enough to accumulate defenses to resist the intrusion of the ###### God. Now, my only Champion and myself are touched by his curse—”

Tak stood up, the legs of her chair scratching as she pushed it back. “My goddess, judge me for what I am about to say.”

Minimine’s surprise radiated as a wave of magic. There have been many firsts today, but to have one of her followers angry at her—no, what type of anger was punctuated by wet eyes?

“I would rather the world end tomorrow than to have never known your kindness,” Tak said. "My father was a bastard, and my mother saw me as a reminder of her melancholy. They were not cruel to me, but neither were they kind.

“I may not have chosen this Temple to You, but goddesses below take me, I chose to stay.”

The Clerics were watching. Minimine’s emotions, naked as the magic she obliviously radiated, kept them glued to the scene. Even Page, who had been playful until a while ago, had taken to keeping an assuring hand on Minimine’s shoulder.

“Why?” Minimine couldn’t understand. “My purpose is to guard the very cycle of life in this world. My failure almost cost this world all of its futures, and it surely credited Kalender a curse upon his person. Shouldn’t you, a Priestess, understand that better than anyone?”

“Mortals are not wise, and neither am I,” Tak replied. “But destitute of the things I hold dear, I would be the same as an Unalive—a copy of myself, moving and breathing as I used to, but missing of the things that give me a true soul.”

Why is this familiar? Minimine, to a greater extent than she expected, understood her—to a greater extent than wanted.

They stared at each other for a time. Minimine remained seated, while Tak remained standing, the dams of her eyes holding strong.

Page whispered something into Minimine’s ear. She nodded. She dropped down from the chair, approaching Tak with shy strides, hands clasped together.

Tak gasped. Like a flower, her goddess looked up to her, her arms slowly blooming wide. Why, after all I said?

“Go ahead,” Kalender said. She looked to him, unbelieving. He gave her a single nod. “She needs it.”

She looked back down at the goddess that welcomed her—over and over, she’d welcomed her; when she’d entered the temple, when she’d sat with her just a while ago, and now again, uncaring of the blasphemy she had just committed. Why doesn’t that matter to you? Why, my goddess?

She carefully knelt before her. Their faces were the closest they had ever been. To have the fortune to peer into a goddess’s soul, and the misfortune to see oneself in reflection, she held her breath.

Until little arms wrapped around her

Until she closed her eyes

The world went dark

And it was warm

Before she gave it back

.

.

.