Miss, stop committing suicide

Chapter 9

Having a meal together?

Honestly, I don’t get it.

By definition, a meal is eating food at a set time, such as breakfast, lunch, or dinner—or referring to that food itself.

Generally, if someone dislikes another person, they’d rather skip a meal or eat alone than sit down to eat with them.

It’s uncomfortable—there’s the risk of choking, indigestion, or an upset stomach.

So, I never had the slightest desire to share a meal with this girl, Vivian.

Logically, it was because being near her would subject me to subtle hostility. Emotionally, it was because this girl hated her.

Did I truly hate her? Or was I just hating out of habit, going through the motions?

Some people oppose for the sake of opposition, just as some hate for the sake of hatred.

Perhaps this girl was one of them.

Not that it matters.

What mattered was that, for both of us, being near Vivian was uncomfortable and unpleasant.

Even if the meal on the table was cold, soggy tomato-meatball spaghetti.

So, to be precise, it’s not that I didn’t understand her words—I just didn’t understand why she would say them to me.

Why would she want to share a meal with me?

“A meal?”

I repeated her words with a sharp tone, my voice lowered to signal rejection.

Vivian, perhaps not entirely oblivious, averted her gaze slightly before mumbling softly.

“Um… yes, a meal.”

“And you want Evan to join us, too.”

I spoke sharply, almost accusatory.

It wasn’t exactly anger; it was more like an emotional lament, expressed in a low tone.

To someone else, it might have sounded like a mere complaint.

But for this girl, this was her version of anger.

Even when her body ached, she never let go of her poise. 

She walked upright, her posture flawless, and her voice never rose.

If I pressed her about it, she’d respond the same way she always did: I was born this way, and I grew up this way.

“This… this just feels wrong. Don’t you think so?”

The situation felt absurd.

The person loved by the one I once cared for came to me, saying she wanted to make up and be friends.

Even a soap opera wouldn’t script something this ridiculous—though I wouldn’t know since I’ve never watched one.

In the end, I’d just come off as a stubborn fool, defying the protagonist’s magnanimous gesture to reconcile.

How villainous. Arrogant, self-centered, irritable, and thoroughly unpleasant to be around.

Was Vivian even aware of her mistakes?

She didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes darted around, as if searching for the right words.

It was more than likely she’d conclude she hadn’t done anything wrong.

She’d said before that she didn’t understand things like love or affection—those tender, green emotions.

And she probably meant it.

In stories, protagonists rarely tell lies. They may make small mistakes or face minor crises—ones that don’t cross the line into discomfort for the audience—but they don’t deceive.

So, she could honestly say, I like you—not romantically, but I like you.

If spoken sincerely, such words would either come from someone delusional or someone yet to grasp romantic concepts. Or perhaps it would twist the genre into something other than romance.

Even so, I refused to avert my gaze.

Whether or not I was at fault, avoiding eye contact would feel like an admission of guilt or a sign of submission.

I might soften my expression when admitting to wrongdoing, but my gaze would remain steady.

“Vivian, don’t you think you’re being a bit unreasonable?

You already know I liked—or once liked—Evan.

If one party doesn’t want to reconcile, it’s better not to push. I’ve told you time and time again: we’re not that close.”

“But we were so close before the fight!”

“Well, maybe we were. Perhaps.”

I couldn’t remember clearly.

For this girl, it must not have been significant.

But if Vivian says we were, then we were.

That’s how she saw it.

“So, what’s the similarity between then and now?

Back then, I didn’t envy you. Evan hadn’t confessed his feelings for you.

If you think nothing has changed, that’s fine, but I feel like everything has.”

Vivian’s eyes glistened as if she were on the verge of tears.

The first to cry usually wins, but I decided not to care.

After all, just waking up here felt like a loss in itself.

A game I had no chance of winning.

“When I first met you, Lady Erica, you weren’t much different from now.

Back then, we’d bicker like adorable little chicks pecking at each other….”

“Back then, it was just childhood playmates spending too much time together.

Sometimes, such friendships feel like sibling relationships.

And siblings, even if they deny it publicly, are destined to fight.

It’s a silly joke, really.”

When there’s room for mutual understanding, we can brush off each other’s words lightly.

Siblings who lack that space for understanding, however, don’t even talk.

They shut their doors tightly, hoping never to encounter each other.

“I haven’t changed at all.

Even if I’ve grown a bit taller, I don’t feel like the world has shifted the way it seems to for everyone else.

I don’t understand what it means to mature or grow wiser. So why is it that all of you change?

I feel like I’ve always been standing still, right here.”

Hearing this, I realized Vivian wasn’t just talking to me. She was venting about everyone she’d ever known.

Well, with looks like hers, it’s unlikely she’d lived an uneventful life.

Bees, butterflies, and even flies gather around a beautiful flower.

“Why is it that everyone’s feelings change, and they end up disliking me?

I only wanted to make friends when I joined the academy.

Why does it feel like everyone agreed long ago to treat me this way?

Even as a child…”

“Vivian, you’re exceptionally talented, and most of the people you’ve met have been extraordinarily lacking.

Think about the people around you: the prince from the southern kingdom, Evan, who will inherit a duke’s title, the crown prince, the pope’s hidden illegit—”

“What?”

Oh, she didn’t know that yet.

“Never mind. The point is, the people you consider friends are the sort who could rule the world.

And yet, you, the mere daughter of a knight, interact with them without hesitation.

Already, something about that isn’t… ordinary.

Most people would sense something off—or feel an overwhelming burden.”

“But why? We’re just meeting as friends at the academy. Why should that matter?”

“For ordinary people, that line of thinking is impossible.

It’s just how it is. The weight of social status is immense.

But you, you possess a beauty that far exceeds your status.”

“You’re beautiful too, Lady Erica!”

“Thank you, but compared to you, I’m just ordinary.”

“I… I don’t understand.

If I’m hated for being beautiful, how is that any different from being hated for being ugly?

Surely, people wouldn’t torment someone out of jealousy over beauty.

Would they?

My stepmother only tormented me because she thought I was unsightly and annoying—”

Her eyes shifted strangely.

She recited the protagonist’s trauma, which I’d only read about in passing, as if recounting it from memory.

At a glance, it seemed almost deranged.

But she was fine.

She wasn’t the type to falter over something like this. At most, it was just an unpleasant memory from her childhood, far from something that could truly break her.

“There are few normal people in this world. Most have flaws.

And many of those flaws are visible on the surface.”

Humans always crave what they lack.

We’re mesmerized, wondering if we might one day possess what others have.

And when we can’t, envy turns to hatred and venom.

“The so-called omnipotent gods you all believe in made humans this way. Haha.”

“I didn’t choose to be born like this….”

Even she seemed to realize her words didn’t sit well and fell silent.

“Well, yes. None of us choose how we’re born.

Whether as the child of a slave, doomed to toil in sugarcane fields and die young, or as the daughter of a duke, living arrogantly until a swift downfall—it’s never our choice.”