It was rare for Vatican City to take a break. Rarer still for him to leave his duties behind — even if only for a short while. Yet here he was... Far from the marble floors of the chapel. Far from the soft echo of hymns beneath stained glass windows. And far from the quiet expectations that came with standing beside the Pope during ceremony after ceremony.

Now, he sat beneath the warm afternoon sun, comfortably leaned back in his chair with one arm resting lazily against the side, the brim of his hat shielding his eyes from the light as the faint sound of chatter and distant waves filled the air around him. Relaxed... Almost too relaxed.

His usual composed posture was gone, replaced by something far more casual — his shoulders loose, movements slow, as though he had all the time in the world and nowhere else to be. It didn’t feel like him.

Even the other countryhumans had begun to whisper among themselves, casting brief glances in his direction as they passed by. “Is that really Vatican…?” “He looks different.” “Did something happen to him?” “He’s been like that all morning.”

Still, he remained unbothered, calm, and carefree in a way that seemed entirely unfamiliar for someone who once stood so firmly within sacred halls of the church.

Will you dare to approach the man of the cloth?