Jeanne stared at the perfectly calm Lemuen for a long time before confirming that her friend wasn't pulling her leg. In Lemuen's eyes, this sort of thing was indeed as normal as breathing.
"Oh, don't worry! It's probably just someone who felt like blowing something up, so they did. There are people supervising these things, and once they're done, they have to restore everything to how it was!"
Seeing Jeanne still looking bewildered, clearly not grasping the meaning behind her words, Lemuen began to explain the specifics.
This only made it harder for Jeanne to understand. Were explosions really that common in Laterano? If so, why did Lemuen's sister have such a notorious reputation for blowing up her school? Wasn't that just a daily occurrence? And was the local spirit here truly that fierce? Blowing up things in the street... in any other city, that would be considered a high-risk criminal activity.
Seeing that Jeanne was still struggling to wrap her head around it, Lemuen decided to take her to the site of the recent explosion to see for herself. Besides, she was curious which unlucky pillar had suffered today.
"As I thought, blowing up this wall makes me feel much better. Honestly, there haven't been many demolition sounds around here lately, and I haven't been sleeping well because of it."
As they walked, several more explosions rang out. The rhythmic booming gave Jeanne the distinct feeling that she had stepped back onto a battlefield.
Coming closer, they saw three Sankta gathered around a collapsed courtyard wall, discussing something. Their expressions varied: two were incredibly excited, while the third was as calm as a cloudless sky. A group of onlookers had gathered to watch the fun, though they didn't stay long before moving on.
"See? I told you it was a very ordinary matter. Look, there are even people from the Notarial Hall watching nearby; nothing accidental will happen."
Lemuen pointed toward a Sankta wearing a uniform who was currently speaking with the two enthusiasts. Through their overheard conversation, it became clear that the two had been debating whether the wall they had built themselves could withstand a blast. Driven by curiosity, they had simply acted on it.
Hearing this reason, Jeanne gained a whole new understanding of what the Pope meant when he called the local customs "peaceful." If this personality could be called peaceful, Jeanne truly couldn't imagine what a "fierce" culture would look like. Did everyone walk around with revolvers and fire into the sky for minutes when they were happy? Was Laterano just a cowboy's dream come true?
"If explosions are so common here, why is your sister a legend? Is it because she blew up her school an unusual number of times?" Jeanne asked, still puzzled. Even if little Lemuel (Exusiai) was more lively than most, surely it shouldn't be that exaggerated? "School Building Terminator" was quite a title.
Before, when Lemuen mentioned her sister was known by everyone in Laterano, Jeanne had pictured her as a standout among a crowd of people with personalities like Executor. But now she realized Executor was the outlier! His serious "art style" seemed slightly out of sync with the actual reality of Laterano.
"You mean little Le? Well, there are two reasons. One is that blowing up your own school seventeen times in a row is an exceptionally rare record. The other is that she did it without any supervision."
Mentioning her sister reminded Lemuen of the times she had to clean up the messes left behind after every blast. It wasn't that Exusiai hadn't been reported to the Notarial Hall; it was that after they approved the demolition, she had triggered the bombs seventeen times before the official supervisor could even arrive!
Lemuen still remembered the look on the school leaders' faces as she supervised her sister clearing the rubble.
"Little Le... is there something you two aren't happy with regarding school life? Is there something we've done inadequately?"
The feeling of having to force an embarrassed smile while apologizing was truly the worst—especially after the tenth time, when the principal's expression clearly said: Just destroy me, I'm tired.
"You Sanktas... you really live life with the 'off' switch removed," Jeanne remarked. She had expected Laterano to be a place of endless, stifling commandments and rules. Instead, it was a place that fully illustrated the concept of "everything not forbidden is allowed."
"Haha, I suppose that's what makes Laterano special compared to other nomadic cities. In any other country, ordinary citizens wouldn't even be allowed to hold a gun, right?"
Lemuen understood how unbelievable Laterano appeared to outsiders. But as she said, it was this pile of unimaginable things that built the Laterano of today.
"First, let me welcome you safely back to Laterano, Mostima. Although this might spoil the mood, could you explain what happened with your reports?"
On the other side of town, Velliv had brought Mostima back to her office. She pulled a stack of papers from her drawer; every page had less than half a side of text on it. Mostima knew exactly what they were: her submitted mission reports. Clearly, it was time to settle the score.
"Aren't those my reports? Is there a problem?" Mostima asked innocently.
Is there a problem? You have the nerve to ask! Two words per report doesn't count as a report; even a ghost wouldn't be fooled by such lack of sincerity!
Fiammetta, acting as the background decoration, gave Mostima a silent eye-roll from behind. This wasn't just a matter of the higher-ups being unhappy; even Fiammetta felt like pinning Mostima down for a beating. Evidently, Cardinal Velliv's patience had grown significantly.
"I remember telling you that your reports must be no less than two thousand words, right? So how do you explain this pittance? Look at Fiammetta's!"
Velliv pulled out a massive stack of documents from her desk—enough paper to sell for a decent price at a scrap yard. Ever since she took over managing these two, her paper consumption had skyrocketed.
"But didn't I co-write those with Fiammetta? Surely some of the content in her stack counts as my contribution?" Mostima argued. Since both names were on the reports, and Fiammetta wouldn't rat her out right now, maybe she could bluff her way through. If she could just stall until after the festival, she'd be leaving Laterano anyway, and Velliv wouldn't be able to reach her.
Mostima was currently channeling the spirit of a procrastinating dokutah, hoarding her sanity: if she could delay a task by one day, she absolutely would not work early. It wasn't like they could dock her pay.
"You have the audacity to say that? Don't think I don't know—if your actual contribution to those reports totaled fifty words, it would be a divine miracle! You're really going to haggle with me over this?"
Velliv looked at Mostima, who was lying through her teeth without even blushing, and felt a twinge of "admiration." If she had this much gall, she might have been able to trade a few verbal blows with the "old man" during the last election.
"Take these individual reports back and fill them in! Preferably before the holiday, so I don't have to spend my festival arguing with you about it."
Velliv tapped the desk and handed the reports to Mostima. Mostima's smile instantly froze, her lip twitching helplessly.