Celia slept deeply and peacefully.
In her dream, there was no devilish teacher forcing her to train, nor those strange tentacled plants—only endless fields of Cheese Custard Tarts and rivers flowing with that blissful, sweet drink for couch potatoes.
Celia drifted like a happy salted fish, swimming through the river, taking a bite of tart crust whenever she got hungry.
Is this Paradise?
But, the collapse of Paradise often takes but an instant.
“Ce—li—a—!”
A lively shout shattered Celia’s beautiful dream.
Immediately after, her blanket was yanked away by brute force, and the cool morning air rushed in.
“Who?!”
Celia sprang up from the bed like a startled cat.
“Don’t sleep anymore, I’ve made a new outfit again!”
A magnified, pretty face appeared right in front of Celia.
It was Yuna.
“How did you get in?” Celia looked bewildered, glancing at the door.
Elent stood at the doorway, raising his hands in helpless surrender.
“Priestess, I tried to stop her, but…”
“But I also gave him a box of the new donuts.” Yuna took over confidently.
“So he’s an accomplice.”
“……”
Celia flopped back onto the bed, covering her face with a pillow.
“I’m sick. I have a serious case of Holy Light Allergy. I can’t let anyone see me.”
“Cut it out.”
Yuna yanked away the pillow and pulled a piece of parchment from her little satchel.
“Is this the contract we need to sign?”
“No, this is your consumption list for the past half month at my Shop.”
Yuna pointed at the long string of numbers, smiling like a devil with a bill in hand.
“Fifty-eight Cheese Custard Tarts in total, twelve Red Sun Fruit pies, and three barrels of Extra Thick Milk.”
“As per our original agreement, these are all free.”
“On one condition—” Yuna stretched the words, leaning forward with an overwhelming aura.
“You must be my Model for the Fashion Festival.”
“Now, there are less than two days left before the Fashion Festival opens.”
“And my showstopper design needs final adjustments.”
Yuna snapped her fingers.
“So, get up and get to work!”
……
The cathedral hall was turned into a dressing room once again.
But this time, the atmosphere was even more tense than before.
Celia was like a marionette, letting Yuna measure her everywhere with a tape.
“Your waist seems a bit chubbier?”
Yuna frowned at the numbers on the tape.
“That’s because I’m wearing thick clothes.” Celia sucked in her stomach, trying to salvage her dignity.
“No worries, a bit of chubbiness is good—it fills out the dress.”
Yuna opened up the suitcase she’d brought.
“I’ve already decided on the theme this time.”
“To wow everyone at the Fashion Festival, I’m ditching those vulgar laces and frills to go for an avant-garde, rebellious style!”
Yuna pulled out a set of… clothes? If it could still be called that.
It was a black nun’s outfit.
But unlike the traditional, all-covering style Celia usually wore, this habit had been radically transformed.
The skirt, originally ankle-length, was cut to mid-thigh with a high slit.
The collar was hollowed out into a heart shape, revealing her collarbone and a small patch of skin.
Most outrageous of all, Yuna had added chains and metal buckles as decorations, giving the whole outfit a forbidden punk vibe.
“This is called ‘Fallen Saint’s Redemption.’”
Yuna introduced it with intoxicated pride.
“The collision of divinity and downfall, the intertwining of abstinence and temptation.”
“Celia, I made this just for you!”
Celia’s eye twitched madly as she looked at the outfit.
No matter how she looked at it, it was eerily similar to those bunny girl costumes from her previous life.
Should she say Yuna’s taste was ahead of its time? Or ahead of its time? Or, well, ahead of its time?
Celia wasn’t averse to these sorts of clothes. On the contrary, in her previous life, she’d even used them as materials for spellcasting when relaxing.
But when the clothes were actually put on her, it was a different matter altogether.
“I refuse! Are you trying to get me arrested by the Inquisition?”
“If my teacher sees me in this, he’ll definitely shove me into the Alchemical Freezer and freeze me into an ice sculpture.”
“What are you afraid of? Bishop Kosuren is already gone.”
Yuna waved it off.
“Besides, this is art. Art isn’t bound by worldly views.”
“Come on, try it on!”
……
In the end, under Yuna’s tyranny and the looming threat of a massive bill, Celia was forced to yield.
A few minutes later, the curtain was drawn open.
Elent had just been drinking water. When he saw Celia walk out, he spit it all over the floor.
The Celia before his eyes was nothing like the one he was used to.
The short black habit hugged her petite figure, metal chains clinking crisply with her movements.
Her usually lazy green eyes, in this outfit, gained a hint of dangerous allure.
Especially those torn black fishnet stockings on her legs—they layered a strong sense of taboo over her usual sanctity.
“So this is the Fallen Saint?”
Elent felt his nose getting warm, a surge of hot blood rushing through him.
Where had the always-robed, ever-ordering Priestess gone? When did she become this forbidden nun before him?
“How is it? Isn’t it perfect?” Yuna excitedly circled around Celia.
“Elent, wipe your drool, don’t let it drip on the floor.” Celia deadpanned, trying to hide her embarrassment with an icy facade.
The fabric of this outfit was just too minimal, letting in air everywhere.
The worst part was the chains, brushing her skin with every step.
The constant, strange sensation reminded Celia just how shameless her current state was.
She instinctively pressed her thighs together, her flushed cheeks even warmer than the cold metal.
“It really suits you, Priestess.” Elent nodded honestly, “It’s just like a witch from a bard’s tale, the kind that seduces heroes into ruin.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Of course!”
“So should I reward you with a Fireball Spell?”
As Celia and Elent bantered as usual, Yuna pulled something else out of the suitcase.
A spiked collar with a long iron chain attached at the back.
“Wait a second.”
Celia took a step back, eyeing Yuna warily.
“What’s this for?”
It looked nothing short of ominous.
“It’s a prop!” Yuna said matter-of-factly.
“To display the theme of bound and fallen, this collar is the finishing touch!”
“And, just having the fallen one isn’t enough.”
Yuna’s gaze suddenly shifted to Elent, who’d been watching the scene unfold.
“Since she’s the Fallen Saint, how could there not be a Guardian Knight trying to save her—yet ending up falling together?”
Elent felt a chill run down his back.
“Me?”
“Yes, you!”
Yuna nodded.
“Elent, your physique is pretty good. You’re perfect for the Guardian Knight role.”
“You don’t have to wear much. Just a pair of battered leather pants and some makeup for wounds.”
Yuna eyed Elent up and down, as if seeing his muscle lines right through his clothes.
“Wait, I have to join too?!”
Elent panicked, looking to Celia for help.
But this time, Celia didn’t side with him.
Looking at the heavy-looking collar in Yuna’s hand, and then at the terrified Elent—
The saying goes: if someone has to die socially, better them than me.
If someone could share in this humiliation, maybe the shame would be halved?
Celia’s lips curled into a smile befitting a “Fallen Saint.”
“I think Yuna’s right.”
Celia walked over and patted Elent on the shoulder.
“Mister Hero, for the sake of art, just sacrifice a little.”
“Priestess?!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll have Yuna make you look cooler.”
“Don’t come any closer!!!”
Well thats just illicit.