No, How Can an Atheist Become a Saintess!?

No, How Can an Atheist Become a Saintess!? – 0

Prologue

I was the type of person who didn’t really care how many religions existed in the country I lived in. As long as no one was trying to convert me, why should I care what others believed? Trying to force my views on people who wouldn’t be persuaded just felt like a waste of time and energy. So, no matter what you said about the real- world religions, and no matter what influence it had on the novel, I didn’t care at all. If I didn’t want to read it, I simply wouldn’t.

But there was one novel I just couldn’t ignore.

It was set in a world where the existence of God was proven—but it wasn’t the God from any of the religions we knew. This new deity’s revelation spread across the world. The story revolved around gates opening to another dimension, unleashing countless monsters, and the battles that ensued to fight them off. It was quite entertaining, with a solid cast of characters.

But there was one thing I couldn’t stand.

“…A theocracy? A state religion? In 21st century South Korea?”

Yeah, that’s right.

In this world where God’s existence was revealed, no one questioned the divine. Up to this point, it made sense. Plenty of other stories had similar setups—modern fantasy with dimensional rifts wasn’t exactly a rare genre.

Though, I had to admit, the protagonist constantly visiting a convent seemed a little far-fetched, but whatever—it’s a story. Gotta have a heroine, after all.

What I couldn’t get over was something else.

Seriously? South Korea becoming a theocracy in just a few years?

Even if life hadn’t changed much, the very existence of a legally established state religion meant the country was no longer secular. That kind of world would be inherently intolerant towards other religions or atheists. How could this make sense in the 21st century, an era ruled by reason and logic?

Especially in a country that had previously guaranteed freedom of religion!

And not even for one of the long-established religions, but for what was essentially a brand-new faith?

Normally, I would’ve just brushed it off and moved on to another novel. But unfortunately for me, I had already gotten attached to the characters after reading the first few chapters, and before I knew it, I had caught up with the latest update.

And the more I read, the more this plot point kept nagging at me.

After pondering over it for days, I finally decided to send a support message to the author.

[Dear Author, does it really make sense for a secular country to turn into a theocracy in just a few years?]

And then, I filled up the maximum number of characters allowed in a support message multiple times over, splitting it into several parts. I argued about how a newly founded religion couldn’t possibly become the state religion when older, more established faiths still existed. I explained why it was impossible to avoid religious conflicts in such a scenario, and even pointed out the historical and logical consequences of mixing religion with secular matters, regardless of whether a god actually existed.

And I wrapped it all up with a polite [I’m enjoying your story. Keep up the good work!]

It wasn’t like I was leaving passive-aggressive comments while threatening to drop the story, or insulting other readers, or even criticizing the core genre of the novel. I didn’t attack the author personally, either.

Yet the next morning, I woke up as a five-year-old kid.

I found myself standing in front of a church, wearing nothing but a flimsy piece of cloth. Nothing in my hands, not even a hint of my former life. Thankfully, a priest who had been returning from some errand spotted me and took me into the church. He saved me, quite literally, and gave me a name. It was through him that I managed to somewhat settle into this world.

I did my best to understand the world I had fallen into. A few words I overheard, the name I was given, the location I was in, and, most telling of all, my reflection—a face strikingly similar to how the novel had described a certain character. Even though I was still a child, I realized with growing certainty which world I had landed in.

And I was horrified.

“…A saintess?”

I muttered in disbelief.

Wait a minute. Are they seriously expecting me to become a saintess?

Someone must be messing with me. I gave genuine feedback and advice, and now they’ve thrown me into this world as some kind of twisted payback, right? Don’t tell me the god in that story was real all along? You’ve got to be kidding me.

Sure, if a god says they’re a god, I’m just supposed to believe them? Yeah, right.

I rubbed the back of my neck in frustration.

Okay, so… a saintess, huh?

The novel was set in South Korea, but for some reason, the heroine was always described as a blonde, blue-eyed white woman, probably of Caucasian descent. And she had the perfect body and a gentle personality.

Sure, it makes sense for a heroine to be beautiful and kind. But why a completely different race?

Even if she was an orphan, it still felt unnatural. The author’s preferences were way too obvious. I never asked them to rewrite the entire foundation of the story. All I wanted was for them to tweak the background setting a little. Maybe adjust the national religion stuff, change the portrayal of government clerics who were basically priests, modify the religious backgrounds of a few characters, and alter the backstory where the heroine’s parents sent her to a convent. Just a few tweaks and it could’ve been a great story, like I said!

But no, instead of making those changes, they threw me into this world.

Whoever did this is downright irrational. If they really are a god, they’d know that fixing a story’s plot would be much easier than reincarnating someone in a completely different world.

…

“Ugh.”

I put my hand on my forehead.

What on earth is going on?

A saintess. Me, destined to become a saintess.

“… Yeah, right.”

I muttered under my breath.

Of course, I had no intention of going along with this.

Fine, from now on, I’ll be the biggest troublemaker around. I’ll mess things up so bad that they’ll have no choice but to kick me out of the convent, and then I’ll tear down this whole ridiculous plan from the ground up.

“You claim to be a god, huh? Let’s see if I’ll ever recognize you as one.”

Let me make one thing clear: I won’t accept that, not in a million years. I specifically called this part out in my feedback—there’s no way I’m letting it slide now!

Seriously, how could any atheist ever become a saintess?