From as far back as my memory stretches, I've always held the position of priest in this chapel. I have no recollection of a birth or a death that could confirm my suspicions of being a transmigrator. 

My existence is akin to a blank canvas, utterly void. However, there is one exception: my purpose—praising and spreading the name of my God.

The chapel I oversee is known as the Chapel of Secrecy. Nestled in the heart of suburban Tokyo, it stands as a modest and unassuming sanctuary. 

Amidst the bustling urban landscape, this chapel radiates an unparalleled tranquility, even rivaling some of the city's grandest shrines. This serenity persists due to the absence of visitors, the chapel's very essence left undisturbed.

"But that's alright."

It's alright because truthfully, I don't particularly enjoy having visitors here either. I'm not the kind of person who relishes conversation, let alone delivering sermons. I must admit, I'm a bit shy when it comes to being on any kind of platform.

Fortunately, the God I'm meant to serve appears to be understanding. There's no sign of displeasure in how I've been managing things, despite failing to gather even a single believer for Him since my awakening. Hope he doesn’t smite me.

"Praise be to—"

Just as I was about to offer my praise to the higher power, a soft sound of footsteps reached my ears from outside the chapel. My attention snapped to the entrance, immediately halting my actions of cleaning the statue. The rain was coming down heavily today.

In the midst of the double doors stood the petite silhouette of a child, a girl judging by the length of her hair. The dim lighting obscured her face, but her shivering form betrayed the chill in the air. 

Despite my preference for solitude, children were an exception. I suppose many introverts, myself included, still possess some communication skills, especially when it comes to interacting with kids.

"Do you need help?" I inquired, my footsteps carrying me towards her. 

I reached her position and studied her closely. She possessed light red, pale auburn hair. Her gaze shifted from the towering statue of the deity I worshipped towards me, her eyes a vibrant shade of yellow.

"C-Can I come in?" she ventured.

"Huh? Oh. Of course. Yes, absolutely," I responded. "You can take a seat over there while I fetch you a towel, alright?"

I dashed down to the basement, where I usually slept, and swiftly grabbed an unused towel and a spare one I had on hand. My daily workouts paid off, as I covered the distance in less than a minute. I also snagged an extra water bottle for the girl.

"Here, dry yourself off and take some water. You must be thirsty," I offered, handing over the items.

She began drying her hair while struggling to drink at the same time. It seemed like a challenging task, so I gently took the towel from her and started to dry her hair myself.

"Let me help you with that, little lady," I said, removing my black gloves which stood in contrast to my white clerical attire. As I dried her hair, I attempted to ease the tension in the air by initiating a conversation.

"Thank you," she softly uttered.

"You're welcome. So, where did you come from? Are your parents around? With this heavy rain, did you get lost? If you did, I can assist you in contacting the police—"

Before I could finish my barrage of concerned questions, she interrupted me, her voice trembling.

"No, please, don't call the police."

An unsettling feeling crept over me. Having watched numerous movies on Netflix over the past months, I recognized this phrase as a red flag for trouble. However, my moral compass prevented me from turning away this helpless child.

Although cautious, I continued, "You might not be aware, but I can't simply provide you shelter here. It's against the law. I don’t want to sleep behind bars. Unless you share your situation with either me or the authorities, I can't help you."

Her head drooped, and her voice was barely audible amidst the rain's deluge, but I still managed to hear her. "I hate my parents. They're always beating each other up. Things escalated earlier, and I decided to run away before things got worse."

Ah, that was the crux of the issue. Unfortunately, it wasn't uncommon for families to find themselves in such dire circumstances. Even as we spoke, countless households across the globe were likely experiencing similar turmoil.

"If that's the situation, then why resist calling the police? Your mother could be in danger, you know," I reasoned as I continued to dry her hair using a towel that I had spent $30 on.

The girl moved her head beneath the towel, locking her eyes onto mine. An unexplainable shiver ran down my spine, giving me pause. Her next words left me stunned.

"Don't bother, mister. It'd be better if they both just died."

“Pardon?”

I almost choked on my own saliva upon hearing her words. My eyes widened, and I struggled to formulate a response, but her gaze silenced me. What was it about this child that made me feel so uneasy? Despite my introverted nature, I rarely found myself so easily intimidated.

"That's not something you can just mention casually, young lady," I remarked. "Even though I can hardly consider myself a priest and this place an actual church, it still holds that role from what I can gather. Speaking casually about one's death remains inappropriate, especially regarding your parents."

I met her gaze, her brows furrowed. "That's the problem, mister. They were meant to be my parents... but they never fulfilled that role. Never became true parents."

She had valid points. Her words were blunt, not something a child should utter, but if I were in her shoes, I'd probably react similarly. Wishing ill upon those who made my life unbearable. No, I'd likely do something unthinkable in her situation.

"I understand your sentiment. However, I can't overlook this. If I don't contact the police about their altercation, I'd essentially be an accomplice, no?," I explained. "I won't let them harm you, though. I know of an orphanage nearby; I'll persuade the authorities to keep them away from you."

"Orphan? O-Okay..." she replied weakly.

With that, I retrieved my phone from my pocket and stepped a few paces away, dialing the police. I succinctly outlined the situation and received the desired response.

[Rest assured, Mr. Yukimura, we'll address this promptly. We'll also pick up the child tomorrow. Knowing she's in your care reassures us.]

Yes, I did have connections in the police force, given my local recognition as the “Priest of the Believerless Church.” While many locals knew me, they seldom attended the chapel for sermons. I appreciated that fact.

"Thank you very much."

[No gratitude necessary. This is our duty, after all. Take care tonight; the rain is quite intense.]

"You too. Have a good night." I ended the call.

My attention returned to the little girl, who was fiddling with the towel I had handed her. An important detail crossed my mind. I had inquired about her situation, even her address for the police report, yet I remained unaware of her name, addressing her as 'little lady.' I resolved to inquire.

Stowing my phone, I settled on the opposite side of the pew where she sat. "I realized we're both in the dark about each other's names. I'm Akira Yukimura. If you prefer, you can simply call me Priest A."

“Priest A? That’s a weird nickname.” She glanced at my outstretched hand and replied, "Uh, but, I know your name, mister. I heard it from the phone."

Oh? Did her hearing truly extend that far? I had to employ speaker mode just to hear on my end, yet she, several meters away amidst the pouring rain, could discern it? That was beyond remarkable.

"Is that so? That's an impressive talent you got there. But I still lack knowledge of your name, may I have the honor of knowing it?," I inquired.

She gave a short nod and accepted my hand, her touch warm, and the shivering had subsided. She met my gaze, her eyes strangely captivating—hypnotizing as she introduced herself.

"My name is Makima."