"How did I come to be possessed by the spirit of Evelina, the 49th Saint? I cannot fathom it myself.

I recalled my former self before inhabiting her body.

The ward I resided in was a gathering place for long-term patients. Day after day, they lay in their beds, receiving examinations, injections, and meals at prescribed times. Given that many of them found it difficult to move freely, the patients sought ways to pass the time while confined to their beds.

The most suitable diversion was playing games or watching videos on their smartphones. And when they grew weary of that, they turned to books.

I, too, spent my days in such a manner. Having been hospitalized for a long time, my parents visited only once a week, and my friends, who hadn't come to see me in ages, no longer attended school either. In the early days of my hospitalization, I busied myself with various activities born out of boredom. While installing social media apps on my phone, a person in the neighboring bed spoke to me.

"There's no point in doing that. Once you're done, you'll only feel worse."

Why would someone utter such words to someone about to start something? I furrowed my brow and disregarded their remark. However, it didn't take long for me to understand the reason. Being confined within the hospital all day long, the only posts I could share were always the same. Instead, I found myself witnessing the daily lives of those outside.

A person posting a photo of themselves boarding the subway, claiming they were running late for a meeting with friends. Another person excitedly shared pictures of finally attending the concert they had eagerly anticipated. And someone else posted pictures of their newly adopted cat, exclaiming how beautiful it was.

At every available opportunity, I became transfixed, observing the ordinary lives of others. Then, one day, I suddenly experienced an inexplicable seizure and was rushed into the intensive care unit, only to emerge later. Regaining consciousness and returning to my hospital room, the first thing I did was turn on my phone.

Naturally, I received no messages. Gazing at my phone, devoid of any notifications, I launched the social media app I had grown accustomed to using. Soon, I felt a sense of emptiness wash over me. While I had been on the brink of death, the world outside had remained remarkably peaceful. People continued to share their daily routines and post photos portraying happiness and joy.

In response, I promptly deleted that social media app. It was then that I finally comprehended the words uttered by the patient in the neighboring bed. They were right—I would only feel worse. Their words had been accurate.

From that point on, I immersed myself in books. Within their pages lay extraordinary tales, diverging from the mundane. These stories always reach a conclusion.

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In retrospect, I realized I had found comfort in the notion of endings. Characters meeting their demise before me. A world that experienced its end. It was shameful, but I found solace in those lives that I, confined to the ward, could regard with a tinge of self-deprecation. Although I recognized it as a wicked thought, I yearned to read the stories of those more unfortunate and pitiable than myself. In comparison, I wished to perceive my own existence as relatively fortunate.

In the meantime, my body grew increasingly frail. My parents, who used to visit once a week, became harder to see. I harbored no resentment. At some point, their faces displayed a weariness more profound than mine, evident whenever they visited.

Therefore, I felt a sense of relief when my parents didn't come. After all, I was the one burdening them.

"I should be grateful for covering my hospital expenses, at the very least."

Despite my deteriorating condition, I maintained a desperate facade. I could sense, even within myself, that I wouldn't live past this year. Amidst the passage of each day, I discovered a book in the lounge on the same floor as my ward.

Initially, I thought it belonged to the lounge, but the book was in pristine condition, devoid of any markings or indications that it belonged to the hospital. So, I pondered whether to leave it on the table and return, but instead, I carried the book back to my room. I planned to read it once and then ask the nurse to find its rightful owner.

Lying in bed, I examined the book cover. Its title was "Iris," followed by the number 2.

"Is this the second volume?"

I felt a lingering sense of regret. If only it had been the first volume, how delightful it would have been. Contemplating whether to search for the preceding book on my cell phone, I soon grew weary and picked up the book once more.

"Let's just start reading from here."

It wasn't a book I was particularly eager to read anyway. Thus, I began delving into the second volume of "Iris." Even without reading the previous installment, I could surmise the content of the opening chapters. "Iris" was indeed the tale of a girl named Iris. The second volume commenced with Iris realizing that her supernatural power was the ability of vitality. Simultaneously, it depicted the disappearance of a saintly figure named Evelina, who possessed extraordinary powers.

The subsequent chapters chronicled Evelina's malicious deeds. Anxious about the loss of her own powers, Evelina behaved even more recklessly. Instead of attending the prayer gathering where her powers were to be showcased, she enticed men who spoke honeyed words into her sanctuary, spending the night with them.

Lured by flattery and swayed by sycophants who dismissed righteous priests, Evelina lavished treasures and assets from the temple under her name.

In truth, one might think the title of the book should be "Evelina" since the earlier portions were filled with more of Evelina's story.

Contrary to Evelina's misdeeds, Iris opposed her actions with her own power, aiding those in need. In doing so, Iris met many individuals and formed friendships.

"Let's see... the commander of the knights, the prince, the king of the wizards. As expected, the protagonist is the heroine."

Before being entangled with Evelina, Iris had already established a rapport with the male protagonists. Hence, when Iris found herself in danger, they swiftly took action. After engrossing myself in the book for quite some time, I realized that I had progressed to the part where Evelina was to be put on trial.

That was the fake saint's final moments.