What should I do if the hero is resurrected in the Monster Girl Encyclopedia?

Chapter 196 Drizzling Rain
…The story of how he met Milad?

Obora's lips parted slightly and then closed again, like a fish out of water seeking air.

Those hands, usually fluffy and covered in soft down like a doll's, were now clumsy and didn't know where to put them. She subconsciously clutched the fabric of the coat she was wearing, her fingertips pinching the soft material, as if trying to draw courage from the familiar scent of the fibers.

When she stands on the podium, she is a strict teacher who can silence even the most unruly noble children; when she presides over the regular meetings of the Sabas Order, she is a wise woman whose words even Lord Bafeng must listen attentively to.

But at this moment, under Kieslfield's clear gaze, she was as flustered as a girl caught red-handed by her parents while secretly dating, and even the tips of her ears were burning.

Memories churned in her throat, each crevice of the real past seeping with blood and sin. She wasn't sure if now was the right time, and if it were a carefully embellished version, Obora's conscience would be tormented, and guilt would take over.

"I once..."

The words had barely left his lips when they were uttered by Eborazanjin.

"Well, if Miss Obora feels too embarrassed to say it, I won't force you."

Kissfield suddenly laughed, reaching out to press down on Oprah's trembling hand. The girl's warm palm sank into her soft, black fur.
"So, you fell for the older man because of something, and he accepted you, right?" The touch of fingertips stroking the soft fur made Kissfield's eyes light up. "Oh~ this feel is so soft and comfortable! I've been wanting to say this before, Miss Obora, your paws feel even softer than those cats and dogs that like to rub against people in the alley... How do you usually take care of them?"

The topic shifted abruptly, catching Obora off guard. She paused for a moment before answering, somewhat bewildered, "Um... I... I occasionally use cleaning magic to trim the excessively long hairs between my fingers, but otherwise, I don't really bother with it..."

"Hmm... What about these two corners? Can I touch them, Miss Obora?"

"Yes, yes, that's possible..."

The little spell that Obora had placed on her horns had long ago been removed to make it easier for Mirad to pet them... If the objects were Kissfield and Mirad, it didn't matter how much she touched them. But if it were a certain mischievous demon princess, Obora would absolutely not allow them to touch her even a little bit.

Kieslfield's fingertips caressed her horn... starting with just her fingertips and fingertips slowly touching, eventually covering her entire palm, feeling the warm touch.

"It's warmer and smoother than I imagined. Will the older man stroke your horns like this, Miss Obora?"

"He... will. When he's feeling anxious."

The rain outside the window grew heavier, and Obola unconsciously leaned forward, pressing her horn deeper into the other's palm...

"Uncle, you must be running around in the lower city right now, just like Miss Opola, super busy. But I can only stay in the controlled area, it's so unfair, I really want to help too."

Miss Obora's horns feel amazing! And they even have a mature, uncle-like quality! The other person probably doesn't dislike me... otherwise, they wouldn't have so naturally placed the horns into their palm.

Thinking this, Kissfield smiled brightly, "Hmm... Miss Obora, would you like to come with me for a stroll around the lower town? Consider it a little extra break between work?"

……Um?

Obora's movements suddenly froze, and the expression on her face also solidified.

The topic is... when did it veer off to this point?
"I'm slowly getting to know Miss Obora, and I also want Miss Obora to get to know me."

Kissfield touched the back of her head, her smile undiminished, bright as the sun.

"That's perfect for me too. It's been a while since I've been back to St. Gard's Orphanage... Shall we go together, Miss Opola?"

Baphomet looked at the witches behind the screen, only to see that the witches who had been eavesdropping all gave a thumbs up. Their expressions and eyes clearly said, "Boss, you can leave in peace. We're more than enough here!"

...This blocked her way of using work as an excuse, and also made Obora swallow the words that were about to come out. Anyway, if she didn't agree, these meddlesome kids would do everything they could to make her leave and go keep Kieslfeld or Mirad company.

"Okay...okay."

Opola agreed.

"Waaaaah... Why do I get beaten up every time Lord Mirad calls me over...?"

Hiolitta's sobs echoed in Mirad's group's temporary encampment in the lower city. Her wrists and ankles were bound by cold mechanical clasps. Loran reached out and lightly brushed her soft skin on the inside of her elbow, causing her to flinch again.

Hiolita's body was stretched into a standard "T" shape in mid-air, with slender mechanical arms extending diagonally along the curve of her shoulder blades and cleverly tapering at her waist to outline the girl's waistline.

The fabric, stretched taut like a cicada's wing by the cold, unresponsive machinery, even revealing faint pink marks below her ribs from the bindings.

She swung her toes, the hem of her cotton skirt sweeping across her calves with her movements.
"Even if my little butt gets slapped a lot, it won't turn into a big-breasted slut or a fat-filled teacher like Obora, okay? Lord Mirad, you need to accept this fact... Eek!"

"It's best to keep quiet at times like this, Xiaoxi."

Luo Gen sighed. The waiting mechanical arm received the command, and shadow enveloped the petite peach before any touch could be felt. The hand landed with precise force, causing Hyolitta's body to arch sharply. The restraining mechanical arm on her lower back instantly dug into her skin, leaving a fleeting white mark.

"I don't want it!"

Hiolitta's sobs suddenly rose several octaves, tears welling in her eyes. "Lord Mirad said he'd just teach me a lesson, so why did you, you gray-haired mechanical monster, have to tie me up and beat me up?!" "That makes me seem more pitiful, buddy. Have you forgiven little Hiolitta yet?"

Luo Geng pinched the soft flesh on the inside of the other's arm, then quickly pulled her hand away to prevent the enraged monster from biting her.

She smiled at Mirad, who was focused on writing in the magic mirror. Mirad looked up, his eyes meeting Hyolitta's tearful gaze, his lips twitching.

"Put her down, Luo Gen. Next time... don't take pictures without permission again."

She'll still film again. Mirand said with a hint of helplessness.

She'll still film again. Luo Geng suppressed a laugh.

I will definitely not be discovered next time! Siolitta made up her mind.

Watching Hiolitta being lowered by the robotic arm, rubbing her wrist, Mirand hesitated for a moment before deciding to ignore her outstretched arms seeking comfort; if she got comforted, she'd be incredibly mischievous next time. Mirand cleared her throat and continued speaking.

"During these past few days of investigations in the Xiacheng District, the key target group has been those who recently appeared in the district, found employment and settled there, and whose personal records have significant gaps or contradictory information. Their behavior may have been somewhat strange initially..."

These days, he ostensibly travels throughout the lower city, helping those in need and doing what he can to assist them… but in reality, he's also trying to uncover the saints and heroes left behind by the higher angel in the lower city. According to Eddafrancs, he and Rescueille are likely not the only ones called and under His wing. There are many more potential enemies lurking in the lower city.

"The population mobility in the lower city of the capital is much lower than I imagined... Most people have lived here since their ancestors' generation, and migrant workers need to have free citizen certificates... By cross-referencing the resident register secretly provided by the old king with the people secretly recorded by the radicals, it is easy to find these people who appeared out of nowhere,"

Turning away from the sneak attack of the slightly frustrated Siolitta, who hadn't received any comfort, Loran pinched the bright red little peach. Lilim screamed and threw herself into Mirad's arms, sobbing.
"We've identified 93 suspicious individuals. A significant portion of them are likely just migrant workers… Should we screen them one by one, buddy?"

Mirad didn't reply, but frowned as he looked at the mirror in his hand. A name in the suspicious group of people caught his attention.

...Sister Joanna?

The sound of rain drifted in through the cracks in the window, the pitter-patter never ceasing, forming small puddles on the windowsill that reflected the nun's serene face.

In the kitchen, the thick soup in the earthenware pot bubbled and steamed, the milky vapor carrying the aroma of carrots and peas, drifting over the stove and into Joanna's nostrils. Since Lord Mirad's visit a few days ago, food supplies had been plentiful; on this sudden chill in the summer, a bowl of hot soup should keep the children from catching a cold.

She hummed an ancient hymn, her fingertips gently scraping the rim of the earthenware pot to wipe away the spilled soup.

This is one of the few tunes she can hum... and now it has become the most familiar sound for the children in the orphanage before they go to sleep.

It's raining today, so the children can't go out to play and have to stay in the orphanage to write and draw... which makes her feel much more at ease.

At least, you don't have to risk being arrested by guards while walking down the street.

"Sister Joanna! Look at our painting!"

The wooden door was gently pushed open, and a damp breeze drifted in.

Three children, holding up drawing paper with mud still on the tips of their shoes, hopped towards her like three cheerful little sparrows.

The youngest girl, clutching a charcoal pencil, tilted her freckled face upwards and, standing on tiptoe, proudly presented the drawing paper to Joanna. "It's St. Gard! We drew it based on the picture book, and also on your description, Sister Joanna!"

Joanna put down the spoon, wiped her hands on her apron, and knelt down to take the drawing paper.

On rough hemp paper, childlike charcoal lines outline St. Gard's round shield and banner, with crooked irises adorning the corner of her skirt—it is indeed a common image of St. Gard.

She could have gently praised the children for their wonderful drawings, as she always did.

But when her gaze fell on that face, her breath caught in her throat.

The charcoal-drawn features had contours she knew all too well. Those eyes that always held a smile, that gentle smile that always offered comfort... it was clearly the face of Sister Joanna that she saw in the mirror every day.

"We don't know what Lord St. Gard looks like..."

The girl's voice pulled her back from her daze, "The pictures we found were all so blurry... many only showed the backs of people holding flags. The headmistress and Sister Kissfield both said that St. Gard was the gentlest saint, that she would protect children and defeat the big bad guys!"

As the girl spoke, her small hands were stained black with charcoal. She glanced at Joanna's face and softened her voice, "...We think that Lady St. Gard's face must be as gentle as Sister Joanna's!"

The boy next to her immediately nodded, "Yes, yes! Last time I had a fever, Sister Sister, you held me while I drank my medicine and sang me a lullaby. Lady St. Gard would definitely do the same!"

"...It's really well drawn."

Sister Joanna reached out, her fingertips trembling slightly, and gently stroked the children's soft hair.

(End of this chapter)