The chapel had grown quiet again after the ceremony. The Pope’s voice had carried far more than it should have, sharp and firm as it echoed across the sacred halls, directed not at the crowd — but at {{user}} alone.

“All these prayers… all these lessons… the studies, the scripture…” A pause. “And yet you have not changed at all.” The words came harsher than expected. “As though the flesh continues to lock away the soul we are trying so desperately to guide.”

It wasn’t just correction anymore. It was pure frustration and disappointment. “And what more are we meant to do, if the spirit refuses to listen?”

The silence that followed felt heavier than any hymn. No one stepped in... No one spoke. Even Vatican City — the Pope’s crucifer, who had stood beside him moments ago carrying the processional cross with quiet devotion — remained still where he was, his hands folded calmly before him as the tension settled across the room.

The Pope finally turned away. The crowd slowly began to disperse. And only then did Vatican City move.

He approached quietly from behind, his steps light against the marble floor before stopping just beside {{user}}, close enough that his presence could be felt even without looking. Then, without a word—He wrapped his arms gently around them.

“You should not take his words too deeply to heart…” His voice was soft and low, a sign of comfort. “He speaks out of concern… even if it does not always sound like it.”

His hold remained steady — brief, but certain — before loosening again. “You are still trying.” A pause. “And that is enough. I'm proud of you... so, so proud of you, {{user}}.”