Seeing the Pope personally come out to welcome Jeanne and Lemuen, the soldiers responsible for security in the area were naturally overcome with curiosity. Was this lady—whose racial traits were so hard to discern—a high-ranking dignitary from another nation? Or perhaps the long-lost descendant of some ancient sage?
They debated her identity in low voices. Anyone who could prompt the Pope to personally greet them at the door surely held a status that was anything but low. However, none of them guessed she was the Saintess. Although rumors of the Saintess had spread throughout Laterano, very few had actually laid eyes on her. In most people's imaginations, her physical traits varied wildly, but there was one point everyone agreed on: she had to be a Sankta. Not only did the Sankta believe this, but even most Liberi felt the same. In their eyes, who could be more suited for such a role than a Sankta?
Amidst their whispers and curiosity, the Pope led Jeanne and Lemuen back to his private chambers, where afternoon tea had already been laid out. However, this "afternoon tea" was significantly different from what Jeanne understood the term to mean.
In Jeanne's mind, afternoon tea was a social activity involving tea and a few light snacks. Here, the ratio was completely reversed. Surrounded by a mountain of sweets were a few lonely, almost pathetic-looking teapots and cups. The relationship was entirely inverted! It wasn't afternoon tea so much as an afternoon dessert feast, where the tea served merely as a secondary tool to wash down the sugar.
Good grief, Jeanne thought. Sankta must have some biological mechanism to neutralize excess sugar; otherwise, with this frequency of consumption, their odds of avoiding diabetes would be slim.
"Sit, sit. No need for formalities here. Just think of it as keeping a lonely old man company for a pleasant afternoon," the Pope greeted them warmly. It was hard to tell if his high spirits were because of Jeanne's arrival or simply because he finally had someone to eat dessert with.
"Would you two like to try this cupcake? The baker told me it's a new creation, a recipe never before attempted in Laterano," the Pope said, picking up a cupcake and introducing it. This old man ate significantly faster than either of them; if Laterano ever held a speed-eating contest for desserts, Jeanne felt he'd have a winning streak lasting from the first tournament until today.
Jeanne took a cupcake and examined it. To the naked eye, it looked like a perfectly ordinary cupcake. But her intuition told her that something else entirely lay hidden within! Eating it might just open the door to a whole new world.
Yet, no matter how powerful her intuition was, it couldn't suppress a person's determination to court disaster. Besides, it wouldn't actually hurt her; it was just a chance to try something new. With these thoughts in mind, Jeanne took a somewhat nervous bite.
Immediately, a wave of spiciness surged alongside the sweetness on her taste buds. It was... truly a combination she had never tried before. But what sane person uses chili sauce as a cupcake filling?! Even just hearing about the combination felt incredibly eerie.
The reality, however, was that as Jeanne chewed, she found the taste quite fascinating, and the texture was actually acceptable. Jeanne began to suspect there was something wrong with her tongue.
"It's actually spicy. A recipe never before tried in Laterano, indeed. I worry that if that baker ever opens a shop outside, he'll get beaten up," the Pope remarked, having already finished his own. Clearly, even his tolerance for this specific creation was low; he didn't touch a second one.
Seeing the expressions on their faces, Lemuen guessed the taste wasn't great. Having been a step slower, she hadn't picked one up yet. A spicy cupcake? She decided not to let such an "evil" creation ruin her beautiful impression of desserts.
"So, is the name of this dessert 'Wrath Of Laterano'?"
For a dessert that strayed so far from the beaten path, the first thing Jeanne thought of was the legendary "Wrath Of Siracusa" she had tried in Lungmen. That design—chocolate sauce on pasta—shared a similar spirit, functioning as a specialized mental attack against people from a specific region.
Of course, the actual effect depended on the individual. Exusiai had once taken Texas to eat it; Texas had finished the plate without changing her expression, only remarking that it was "too sweet," which had dealt a heavy blow to the shop owner.
"Hmm, the dish was just an experiment. But I think your suggestion is excellent! I'll tell the baker that name later."
And just like that, a dessert named "Wrath Of Laterano"—christened by the Saintess herself—was decided. Jeanne wondered what the Sankta who tried it in the future would think of her.
"But speaking of which, you've returned to your duties as Pope so quickly? It seems Laterano handles these transitions quite fast," Jeanne noted, looking at the man who appeared to have been back in office for some time. She had assumed there would be at least a period of campaigning or selection before he was reinstated.
How much time had actually passed? It looked as though he had walked in on his second day back and just started working. Were the people of Laterano really that indifferent? Among so many people, was there really no one else interested in the position of Pope?
"Ha! That. It was actually settled in the first week. It's thanks to those other candidates digging a hole for themselves that it went so smoothly."
A look of genuine amusement crossed the Pope's face as he recounted the process. It had been even easier than he'd imagined.
"Those fellows knew they couldn't beat me in a theological debate, so they decided to let a lucky draw determine how the winner would be chosen. The result? We drew 'arm-wrestling.'"
Hearing this, Jeanne couldn't help but admire the "luck" of whoever drew that lot. They had intended to make things difficult for him, but who could have foreseen this? On that thick arm of his, there wasn't a speck of fat. If he were just a bit younger, he'd be the type of expert who could carry a rotary gun and blow up the streets!
"However, even so, they managed to cause me a bit of trouble. So now, I am officially Yvangelista XI.V (11.5)."
At the mention of this title, the old man's face twitched slightly. The "Eleven-point-five" at the end was simply too bizarre. But there was no other way—he had left Laterano by resigning the papacy. Since the 11th had resigned, the successor had to be the 12th. Yet, Laterano had no precedent for a person holding two separate terms. The position was essentially for life; the title stayed with you even after death. To serve two terms would theoretically require you to die once and then be reborn to take office again. Not a very likely scenario.
"What can be done then? You can't just go around with the title 'XI.V' forever, can you? Honestly, the name is a bit strange," Jeanne said. Both she and Lemuen were trying their best to suppress their laughter. It was a struggle to maintain a calm expression in front of the old man.
"You needn't worry about that. I can just change it at the next meeting. It was only a joke, after all. Who would cling to it so stubbornly?"
The Pope was very optimistic about reclaiming his title as the 11th. He had already gathered plenty of supporters for the move. Everything was going smoothly; he just had to wait for the meeting next month! There was absolutely no way an accident could happen. He had full confidence.
Jeanne looked at the old man, who was so brimming with confidence he looked like an old general on a stage—only his back was absolutely covered in "flag" poles.