When Steve returned to his high-end Shinto apartnt, he wasn't greeted by the buzz of TV nor family chatter, but by the solemn, almost sacred sound of an organ.
The music thundered through the spacious modern living room—a force both majestic and complex, as if echoing from a grand dieval cathedral, yet mingling in odd but harmonious contrast with minimalist décor.
At the center stood a pipe organ with twin keyboards and giant pipes—bizarre against the modern furniture. Sitting ramrod-straight on the bench was a silver-haired, petite girl adorned in an elegant black dress. Barefoot, her white toes danced gracefully upon the pedals. It was Caren.
Steve, not wanting to disturb her, slipped into slippers, cast himself onto the soft sofa, closed his eyes, and let himself drift with the rolling fugue Bach. He found it funny—was there anyone else in the world who practiced such a monstrous instrunt in their city apartnt?
Likely only Caren, whose mind was forever tied to so ancient monastery, could make such an outrageous demand (which he had gladly indulged, even using a few tricks to get the massive instrunt up to the thirtieth floor without a hiccup).
When the song ended, the final note faded slowly into the air. Silence returned to the living room, leaving only the distant city noises beyond the windows.
"You're back?" Caren spoke without turning. Her voice, calm as a still lake.
"Yes, I'm back."
"Practicing 'Toccata and Fugue in D Minor' today? Impressive. But aren't you worried about complaints from the neighbors?" Steve quipped lazily.
"No, this apartnt's already soundproofed, rember?" Caren's retort was as precise and sharp as ever. "Rather than worry about the neighbors, you should worry about your hobbies."
"What could be more satisfying than listening to a beautiful adopted daughter perform organ solos? Beats spending your days at the arcade, doesn't it?" Steve joked right back.
"But you only ever play heavy religious music. Why not try sothing brighter? You're only fifteen—it would suit you."
"I have no interest in pleasing others," Caren said, standing and turning her back to him as she tidied the sheet music, ending the topic then and there. Yet, after a pause, she gently asked, "What about dinner?"
"I ate out with friends."
"Mm."
Silence again.
But Steve sensed sothing moving beneath the quiet—a sudden urge to confess, after a day spent running around and dealing with various matters. Sothing deep inside longed to share his loneliness, his doubts about choices that could change the fate of the world.
Glancing around, he figured that only the equally warped saintess before him could ever understand his twisted psyche. He fixed his gaze on Caren's back, intense and focused.
She sensed his stare, pausing in her arranging. "…Do you have sothing you want to say?" She still didn't look back.
After a mont of silence, Steve rose and walked quietly to her side. With a serious, almost pleading tone, he said, "Caren, I'd like to confess to you."
Caren's shoulders trembled slightly. Turning halfway to face him, her silver hair cascading down her cheek, she showed no surprise in those golden eyes—only a faint understanding and powerlessness.
She sighed softly. "Again? You're no lost sheep, and I'm not a priest. This trick is just an excuse for Father to act cute around ."
Despite her words, her actions told another story. Instead of returning to the piano bench, she kneeled elegantly on the soft wool carpet and gently patted her thigh—an unspoken invitation.
Steve bead in triumph, approaching obediently and very carefully resting his head on the soft, springy lap draped in black fabric. Through it, he could feel her warmth, slling that faint, sacred scent like church incense that always soothed his nerves.
Caren's slender fingers slowly ran through his hair, gentle and rhythmic.
"Speak."
Her voice was as gentle as if afraid to break the mont. "Are you troubled by sothing today—or do you simply want to be pampered, like a child that never grows up?"
"I suppose I do." Steve closed his eyes, relishing the rare mont of peace, then asked in a low voice, "Caren, let ask you: If you had the power to prevent sothing bad from happening right from the start—sothing that might otherwise bring suffering to many people—and doing so didn't cost you anything… would you do it?"
Caren paused in her stroking, giving the question serious consideration. After a while, she shot back, "What personal gain do I get from this?"
How very Caren, Steve thought, smiling as he continued the self-dissection. "As for benefits… if I stopped it, everyone else would benefit and the world would be peaceful and stable. But for alone, life would beco incredibly boring."
"However, if I were to allow the tragedy to happen—even if it ant endangering a whole city, or even all humanity—I would derive imnse joy from it. What would you choose?"
This ti, Caren stayed silent even longer.
The living room was so quiet you could hear their breathing. Steve sensed her legs—under his head—grew tense, as she thought deeply.
At last, her soft, gentle voice sounded in his ears, like the chi of midnight. "Father, the real problem lies in your question itself."
"Oh?"
"The first option—preventing tragedy—sounds virtuous, but it's actually a kind of arrogance. You're depriving people of the chance to experience misfortune, to struggle, and in so doing to show ugliness and beauty. You're turning them into house flowers—safe, yes, but with no reason to bloom."
"Without sin, what need is there for redemption? Without suffering, how precious can happiness really be? Erasing it all from the start is the most boring thing for God, and the most loveless for mankind."
Her fingers began stroking his hair again, a hint of devilish charm in her voice.
"And your second option—to wallow in tragedy for pleasure—is far too simple. That's pure evil, the stuff of third-rate villains. Watching the play just for the fun of it gets shallow real fast—like eating only dessert, soon you'll be sick."
Steve said nothing, knowing her real answer was yet to co.
"So I would choose neither option."
Caren leaned even closer, her whisper barely above a murmur. "I'd choose a third way. I would let the tragedy happen, let everyone be drawn in. I would watch their struggles, prayers, betrayals, and loves. Every gesture made in despair—ugly or beautiful—is proof of what it ans to be human. And then—?"
Steve asked softly.
"Then—" Caren's lips curled in a sacred yet cruel smile. "Then, as everything moves irrevocably towards its end and everyone cries out in suffering, I would descend as the Savior and offer the only salvation. Because first you must give the greatest suffering, then offer ultimate rcy. That is the highest love, the most noble and eternal joy, Father."
Steve's eyes snapped open. In that dim living room, he seed to see the silver-haired saint gazing with pity at the suffering from atop the cross, her lips curled in a devil's smile.
This was Caren Ortensia. His adopted daughter, the only one who truly understood him.
"Mm." He took a deep breath, letting go of his final doubts and confusion.
"Thank you, Caren."
"Good."
He stopped talking and simply rested his head in her lap, savoring the gentle mont. He wasn't simply a pleasure-seeking villain, nor a world-saving hero. He was just a playwright—setting the stage, writing the script, and taking the last bow at the end of the night.
Ti slipped by unseen. Eventually Caren spoke above him, gently but with a note of complaint: "Father… my legs are going numb."
"Your head is heavy," she added.
Steve chuckled, rising reluctantly from her lap. He looked at the girl, whose serious expression barely hid a hint of relief. Reaching out, he ruffled her silver hair.
"Good night, Caren."
"Good night."
He turned and walked for his own room, both their steps light but purposeful, a new certainty settling in his heart.
…
Next Bonus chapter at 300 PS
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