Miss, stop committing suicide

Chapter 15

He saw it.

There was a student named Evan, whose age made it unclear whether to call him a boy or a young man.

He had a body that was quite sturdy compared to his peers and a mind that far surpassed not only his age group but also most others around him.

And as soon as this person entered a certain room and stepped into the bathroom, the first thought that came to his well-functioning mind was to curse his own intelligence.

The second thought was the realization that today would probably be the most terrible day of his life.

Evan recalled it.

The girl was dead.

The girl he had a big fight with not long ago was dead.

The girl who had declared that family lineage, honor, and the like were petty, worthless, and useless was dead.

The girl who, just moments ago, had been talking with Vivian and him as if everything were normal was dead.

The girl who had that faintly blurry smile but somehow always made it feel like she was sneering, which left him feeling uncomfortable, was dead.

The foolish girl who had once blown away his head — no, more accurately, nearly took off his neck — was now lying there, dying.

She would die soon, and although he didn’t know what might happen next, that was the situation.

Evan recalled it.

A little… no, that’s not right. Quite… no, that’s still not it.

It was a deeply shocking event. It’s hard to put into words.

When something like this happens, it’s hard to tell whether it’s reality or a dream.

Why?

Why did something like this have to happen?

She had just been talking and laughing like everything was normal.

Although, thinking about it, maybe she wasn’t entirely fine.

Still, she was alive.

She did seem a bit empty, and she looked like she had given up on something.

But I thought she had just given up on trying to get between Vivian and me.

I didn’t think she had given up on life.

You told me, didn’t you? You said I ripped you to shreds with words because I hated you.

But I don’t hate you.

And you… you were the same, weren’t you? You acted like you liked me while tearing me to pieces with just words.

Maybe, as you said, we shouldn’t have fought.

Because we knew too much about each other. Because we could easily guess each other’s thoughts.

Because we knew all too well what kind of wounds each of us carried and which words would hurt the most.

Anyway, if someone were to ask how this half-grown young man named Evan ended up witnessing the death of a girl…

It was because three men, along with Lydia — no, maybe it was one of the underlings Erica used to harass Vivian — came looking for him.

Perhaps they had been wandering around asking random people if they knew anyone who could use healing magic.

One of them, with a panicked face, ran over to him and urgently asked him to follow.

At first, he was going to refuse, but the desperation — or maybe it was the urgency — on their face made him decide to follow them.

Their face was stiff, but the shock on it was a persuasive expression in itself.

The slightly rough-looking, muscular men had swords hanging at their waists. Judging by that, they were knights… no, these days, they called them cadets, didn’t they?

After all, the era of knights riding horses and wearing armor on the battlefield was long over.

Regardless, the two of them grumbled that they had gotten caught up in something unnecessary, saying things like, “We just followed Lydia because she told us to, and now look at this mess.”

The place where they brought Evan was Erica’s room.

As soon as they opened the door and he took a step inside, the sound of splashing echoed.

Looking down, he saw that the room was filled with slightly red water.

At the same time, the stench of blood hit him like a wave.

He wanted to deny it, but he realized it right away — this was the smell of blood.

He had known the scent of the red liquid that flowed from the human body since he was very young.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Water was overflowing from the bathtub.

And inside the bathtub, something that had once been breathing was convulsing, causing the red water to spill over.

“…Ah.”

Legs that were unnaturally stiff and straight.

A white garment, soaked and clinging to the bare skin beneath.

On the left wrist, there was a wound from which red blood flowed, as if paint had been splattered.

Turning his head slightly, he saw a blade stained with a sticky black smudge, as though something viscous had been smeared on it.

In the water, there was a handgun with gold embellishments and an ivory grip, the very same one that Erica had once proudly shown off, saying it was a gift from her father.

Looking at her open mouth, there was a large hole at the back of her throat.

And behind it, as if flour had been thrown and burst into the air, the red spray of blood was vividly spread out.

Her eyes were unnaturally wide open, looking just like the lifeless eyes of a dead fish.

Her cheeks, which always seemed pale due to her poor complexion, now looked devoid of any color at all.

He immediately raised his right hand, placed his fingers on her wrist, and used a detection spell to sense even the faintest pulse.

And at that moment, Erica was still alive.

“Hey, Erica.”

He wrapped his hand in a light recovery spell and brought it to her wrist.

But the magic did not take effect.

“Open your eyes. Come on, say something. I’d even be fine if you told me you’d rather I just die. Just… open your eyes…”

There were two possible reasons why the spell wasn’t working.

One was that Erica was already dead, but he didn’t want to accept it, so he tricked himself into thinking her faint pulse was real.

The other was that Erica had already given up on life entirely and let it all go.

The wound was so painful that she didn’t even think, “I wish it would close.”

Even so, he continued to use the recovery spell.

Then, for a moment, her eyes moved slightly before freezing in place.

Her mouth, which had often spit harsh words at him and struggled to form any sort of expression, was now smiling brightly.

“Don’t… don’t smile.”

Evan’s legs gave out, and he collapsed backward, landing on his rear.

Even so, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Erica’s face.

Her hollow eyes and smiling mouth. Her dark circles, pale skin, and the bright red blood blooming behind her.

That image made it clear.

It was proof that Erica would never again cry in front of him.

She would never again accept an apple from him, eat bread together, and smile like they once did.

She would never again hurl insults at him, exchanging hurtful words and letting their anger simmer between them.

She would never again show him that familiar hollow expression of hers, even as she longed for love but always pretended otherwise.

The boy had thought he knew it all too well.

He had spent so much time with the girl, so how could he not have known? Thoughts like that ran through his mind.

And at the very least, the possibility that the girl might die had never once crossed his mind.

He knew that the burn on the inside of her mouth wasn’t from hot water but from direct contact with fire.

He knew that she’d always hated pain and would immediately whine for someone to use healing magic on her.

But he’d become so lost in the illusion of normalcy and drenched in the ink of love that he’d failed to notice how things around them had changed.

Before they’d grown apart at the academy, before they’d heard the news that Erica’s brother had been executed — back then, she had been a bright, cheerful, and tireless girl. She was more charming than anyone else, and he knew that better than anyone.

“I… I don’t want you to die. Why… No, I can’t even put it into words. Ah… ugh.”

He placed his hand on his chest.

If Erica had been alive, she might have blushed, feeling embarrassed.

After all, her white clothes, soaked with water, were clinging to her body, revealing her form as if she were naked.

But if he’d told her it was necessary to use healing magic, she would have nodded, quietly enduring her embarrassment.

But there was no Erica anymore.

Her heart had already stopped.

His entire body lost its strength.

Had he used up all his magical power?

He didn’t care if he could never use magic again. If only he could bring Erica back to life.

Regardless of the relationship between men and women, Erica was the only person he had ever truly opened his heart to. She was his only friend.

Perhaps he had done something terribly cruel. No, he knew he had.

He had known for a long time that the affection Erica felt for him wasn’t just friendship — it was something a little different.

Perhaps that’s why he had been drawn to Vivian, since she gave him a fresh, unfamiliar feeling, unlike the familiarity he felt with Erica.

“Thinking like this, I’m such trash…”

No, maybe it’s not just “like” trash. Maybe he was trash.

He’d never tried to understand what Erica was doing, how she was living, or what she was thinking. He had only run away.

And Lydia — had Lydia really treated a child from a broken noble family with any kindness?

Bringing two strong men to a girl’s room at this hour didn’t seem very wholesome.

Evan’s thoughts wandered to these conclusions.

Then he recalled his own words and actions toward Erica, comparing himself to them, and sighed deeply. He sat down on the water-thinned bloodstained floor.

At some point, the sun had set.

He glanced around Erica’s room.

There was nothing in it.

There were no items, no furniture, not even a single picture that might mark it as a girl’s room.

But the last time he’d visited, it had been a room filled with Erica’s personal touches, one that anyone could tell belonged to her.

“So this is where you’ve been living, huh.”

There was no reply.

The people who’d brought Evan to this room had long since left.

The only sound was the plip-plop of water overflowing and spilling.

“I’m sorry.”

He buried his head in his knees and murmured words of apology that no one would hear.

“I’m sorry.”

If an arrogant noble bowed his head and apologized, there were many problems in the world that could be solved.

But what could be accomplished by speaking to a lifeless object? It wouldn’t hear, wouldn’t understand.

So, in the end, the boy’s apology was nothing more than a hollow echo, heard by no one.

That’s why Evan remembered.

He should have apologized.

But since the chance to do so had vanished completely, he was left with nothing but despair.

“I’m… sorry. But even so, this is just too much…”

He almost voiced the word “cruel” but swallowed it back down.

His mouth tasted bitter, more so than after drinking the strong coffee that Erica had often enjoyed.

And so, the words that slipped out were simple, matching the situation with just three syllables.

“I’m sorry.”