At Saint-Ang City International Airport, a private jet sat on the runway. Saint John XII sat on a soft leather sofa, holding the Cross in both hands as he prayed quietly.
When he finished, he asked the man who had come running up, breathless, "Mr. Evan, are the people outside still there?"
"They are, but they should leave soon," Evan said softly.
"Then we'll wait a little longer." Saint John XII gave him an unreadable look, and Evan turned away guiltily.
The moment he heard that Radiance had appeared over Saint-Ang Cathedral, he had boarded a private jet and rushed over. He had not expected a crowd protesting excessive aircraft emissions and air pollution at Saint-Ang City's airport to surround the place and trap him on the plane.
Could you people in Gaul be any more ridiculous?
"We'll do everything we can to disperse the crowd." Evan wiped sweat from his forehead and cursed his superiors inwardly. If you wanted to stall him, why block the airport instead of the road? And if you had to block the airport, couldn't you find more convincing people? They're standing so straight, anyone can tell what they do for a living.
"I hope you can manage it today," Saint John XII said mildly.
Did they really think he did not know what Bilborn had done?
The Papal State's intelligence network was practically nonexistent, true. But after Bilborn gave the order, the presidents of America and the Bear Nation had both called to tell him about it.
You want to keep me here so I can't meet Lisa and Simon and win over those two Supernaturals? Very well. I'll play along. But the outcome won't be what you want.
Saint John XII smiled calmly, clasped the Cross in both hands, closed his eyes, and