I Start with a Bad Hand!

With a single-minded focus on escaping, I pushed myself up from the ground. My legs ached slightly, but that was the least of my concerns. I was about to get caught in the middle of this crazy love drama.

“Pretty.”

Those words stopped me dead in my tracks. Who would say something like that in front of someone who just slapped them three times over a relationship issue? Behind me, I heard an incredulous sound, like a scoff.

“Next time, don’t pretend you don’t know me. Say hi, Dietrich.”

There was no need to escape anymore. Someone behind me slammed their shoulder into mine as they passed by. This student seemed to be good at not only spiking but also blocking. The future of the empire’s sports looked bright.

“Can you help me up?”

My ankle’s a bit hurt from the fall. I think I might’ve sprained my wrist too. Hayden, still sitting on the ground, smiled brightly at me. His right cheek was red and swollen, and his lip was slightly split.

Should I show humanitarian kindness to the fallen or uphold my loyalty to the unknown student who was still walking away, clearly conscious of us? After a moment of deliberation, I reached a simple conclusion.

“If you lean against the wall, you should be able to get up on your own.”

With that, I turned to leave. I could hear low laughter and felt the eyes following me. The student who had been watching Hayden struggle to get up seemed to have been affected. I heard a soft scolding and a reluctant, “Get up already.”

‘If you’re going to fight, do it somewhere else…’

I resolved not to come back to this hallway again.

In a slightly unsettled state from witnessing such an absurd scene, I entered my room and found Agnes sitting at my desk, staring intently at something.

‘What’s going on? She’s not lying on the bed.’

“What are you looking at?”

“Your new script.”

Really? I was just about to hang up my coat without much thought. …New script?

‘Did I write a new script?’

No, I hadn’t started any serious work yet, so what on earth was she looking at? Suddenly, a thought flashed through my mind, and I almost lunged to snatch the script from Agnes’s hands.

“Hey, hey, hey! What are you reading?”

Wow, I was shocked. What I had taken from Agnes was a stack of papers that I had translated, containing the contents of Dietrich’s soul.

“Why are you acting like this? You’ve shown me much more boring stuff before. Did you suddenly get shy?”

‘Thank goodness. She didn’t catch on.’

Translating Lucero into the imperial language and replacing all the names with initials turned out to be a smart move.

“No, it’s just not finished yet.”

I mumbled, secretly sighing in relief. Agnes seemed to lose interest and naturally sprawled out on my bed.

“But why that story? It’s neither fun nor educational.”

“When have my scripts ever been fun?”

“You could’ve chosen something more interesting for the original story.”

…Original? The lingering question in my mind was now clear. Why was Agnes talking about Dietrich’s story, which I had just translated, as if she had read it before?

“Do you… know this story?”

I gripped the edge of the desk tightly, hoping my tension wouldn’t show. Agnes, lying sprawled on my bed, lifted her head slightly to look at me and then flopped back down.

“Yeah.”

Agnes responded nonchalantly.

“This is that story. ‘The Lying Limp.’”

“…It’s an existing story?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

Agnes lifted her head again like a caterpillar and replied.

“Hey… I want to be a stage actress. So I know this stuff. I’ve read it all, from masterpieces to some old, boring foreign plays.”

As she spoke confidently with her chin raised, I made an impressed sound. But what I was curious about was something else.

Is this story related to Dietrich? Or is it just a coincidence?

“Oh, come on. I thought it was interesting and started translating it. So, do you know how it ends?”

“Yeah. But there’s not much to it. The main girl keeps lying to get attention, and her lies become true. The whole story is just about her lying until she dies.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. I told you it’s neither fun nor educational.”

Agnes was now completely focused on the snacks I had collected. She was enthusiastically eating cookies on my bed, crumbs spilling everywhere.

“But from what I know, the original is just a short fable that’s been expanded, so there are several different adaptations.”

Agnes continued speaking nonchalantly, not caring about the cookie crumbs falling on my bed.

“There are versions where she lies about being a duke’s daughter, and in some, she actually is the duke’s daughter but didn’t know it. There are many variations. Hey, where are you going?”

Ignoring her last words, I suddenly dashed out of the dormitory, leaving Agnes’s half-hearted question behind.

‘…Even though there are no new stories in the world, how can this be so similar to Dietrich’s story?’

A strange intuition led me to the drama professor’s office. To turn this intuition into meaningful results, I needed more information.

The drama professor, who I usually avoided outside of class, looked puzzled as I approached.

“I want to reference ‘The Lying Limp’ for my next project… but I can’t find enough material. I’m sorry to trouble you, Professor.”

The professor’s eyes seemed to say, ‘If you’re so passionate about theater, why is your script…!’ but perhaps charmed by my rare enthusiasm, he quickly noted down a few reference books.

I went straight to the library and skimmed through the books.

‘The story’s essence is similar, but the details vary slightly.’

A story about a girl with a limp who lies constantly. And in all versions, the protagonist ends by taking her own life.

Am I being too self-conscious to think these stories are similar to the original novel?

After pondering for a moment, I stuffed all the reference books into my bag.

***

“…That’s what happened.”

“You’ve been through a lot.”

After recounting the story of rescuing Dietrich’s foster parents and showing the black orb that had appeared during the process, I poured out my uneasy thoughts to the priest. He quickly summarized the situation.

“This… is indeed a fragment of Dietrich’s soul. I don’t know how it took on a physical form, but the number of fragments left in the body probably matches the number of gaps in the book.”

The priest carefully took the black orb and replied in a cautious tone. He glanced at the books I had brought, looking as if to say, ‘Did you bring all these?’ I nodded silently. The priest, staring at the books in wonder, finally spoke.

“And this book, although faint, still bears traces of Dietrich. Let’s study this further.”

His response brought an inexplicable sense of comfort to me. However, one thing still puzzled me…

“But have you heard of this story before, Father?”

I understand that I might not know, but it seems quite a few people are familiar with it. The priest paused in pouring tea and replied with a slight smile.

“I’m not very well-versed in cultural arts.”

Indeed, his room showed no signs of personal taste. There were only theological texts and a discreetly hidden bottle of whiskey behind them. To have academic books and alcohol as his only personal items perhaps explained how he reached such a high position at his age.

“Come see my play sometime. My friend and I are working on a drama this time.”

“Sure.”

Though neither of us took the invitation seriously, we exchanged warm thanks. I drank the tea he had prepared, noticing how pale he looked today.

“So, what have you been up to lately, Father?”

The priest only smiled warmly.

“You will find out soon. There is good news on the way.”

Not long after, I found out what the priest had been working on, as he had said.

I wish I hadn’t known. I learned the true meaning of the saying, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

A few days later, when I opened the temple door, the first thing I saw was the priest’s expression, filled with unmistakable excitement. Entering with some noise to announce my presence, I saw him looking more cheerful than ever. After I took my seat, the priest got straight to the point.

“I have news for you, Sister. There is good news and bad news. Which would you like to hear first?”

“The bad news.”

The priest’s expression sobered as he calmed himself and spoke in a steady voice.

“At this rate, Dietrich’s body will soon collapse.”