Miss, stop committing suicide

Chapter 39: Side: The Lunatics

Perhaps I had unknowingly grown accustomed to death.

After all, the only real encounter I’d had with it was seeing my father’s body hanging lifelessly when I was young, after he gave up on the world. And yet, just that one memory seemed to linger far longer than it should have.

Vivian, on the other hand, was only just now realizing how excruciating it could be to witness someone die—especially by their own hand. 

She could never fully understand the perspective of the one pulling the trigger, but watching it happen was torturous enough on its own.

Compared to swords or spears, which require human strength to swing, thrust, and cut, firearms—simple machines capable of dealing death at the press of a trigger—felt impersonal and merciless. They ignored even the smallest shred of human empathy.

Even a pistol, small and lacking in power, was more than capable of ending a life. 

The metallic click of the trigger and the sudden explosion of the gunshot were immediately followed by a spray of crimson against the wall—a visceral reminder of its finality.

Vivian replayed the scene in her mind: the moment Erica raised the pistol, aiming it at herself after hesitating to pull the trigger on Vivian. 

She remembered how Erica had stared at her for what felt like an eternity, struggling to decide whether to pull the trigger.

Perhaps Erica hated Vivian, but not enough to kill her.

When she shot Lydia, there had been no hesitation. But faced with Vivian, Erica faltered. And when the hesitation grew unbearable, she turned the gun on herself instead.

If only Erica had aimed at Vivian instead. At least then Evan’s defensive magic might have stopped the bullet. 

Erica might have been subdued—harshly, yes—but only Lydia would have ended up dead.

Now, Vivian clung to Erica’s body. Realizing that Erica was still barely alive, she had called upon the most skilled mages she knew to try to heal her.

But could Erica truly survive such a wound?

Even Vivian, who had brushed off most subjects outside magic and swordsmanship, knew well enough that damage to the brain couldn’t be undone—not by priests, not by grand magicians.

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to let Erica go. As she watched the faint signs of life slowly flicker in Erica’s body, the Crown Prince intervened, ordering the healing to stop.

That was when Vivian made an unthinkable decision. She grabbed the Crown Prince by the collar.

Had anyone else done this—Evan, for instance—their wrist would have been severed before they even got close, and they’d be dragged away to rot in a dungeon.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“Vivian, it would be better for her to die.”

The Crown Prince’s words hit her like a hammer. Tears welled up in her eyes, even before he finished his sentence—because she already knew what was coming next.

“She’s just a lump of meat now.

A lump of meat that happens to resemble Erica Mecklenburg.”

The Crown Prince hadn’t needed to step in or say any of this.

Cold and unfeeling, he was known for his ruthlessness, and Vivian knew that somewhere in his heart, he held a strange fondness for her. 

Yet this wasn’t about earning her favor; it was about sparing her from the agony of clinging to false hope.

Vivian couldn’t abandon Erica’s body—not because she was sentimental about life in general, but because, for some inexplicable reason, Erica was special to her.

The Crown Prince didn’t fully understand Vivian’s feelings, but he knew they would only lead her into deeper misery if unchecked. 

That was why he stepped in—to show her there was no saving Erica, to force the decision she couldn’t make herself.

Evan, too, had already accepted that Erica was gone. The only thing left was her ruined body, which needed to be buried in a coffin or cremated and stored in an urn.

And then it happened.

The healing magic stopped. The blood that had been gushing out of Erica’s head slowed, then ceased entirely. Her faint breaths faltered, and her twitching limbs stilled. Erica was dead.

Completely, utterly dead.

But Vivian couldn’t find a way to express the storm of emotions swirling inside her.

She had grown up rejecting the violent games nobles played with each other—rejecting the so-called “careful considerations” of the aristocracy. She loathed how nobles could justify anything, from retrieving runaway slaves to murdering a commoner who dared fall in love with a noble daughter, or even arranging “accidents” in duels that conveniently eliminated rivals.

Vivian had always despised these things, which had left her father sick at heart.

Evan, meanwhile, seemed like he had completely lost his mind.

The Crown Prince, who had long since learned to discard human life without hesitation, seemed almost alien in his indifference. Power had stripped away his humanity, leaving him incapable of ruling with compassion.

It was like when a cat brings home a dead mouse as a gift for its owner—no matter how earnest the gesture, the recipient cannot help but recoil.

What was worse, Evan seemed to be taking Erica’s final words—about turning back time after death—seriously. He mumbled to himself as if trying to brainwash himself into believing it.

The Crown Prince watched him with an amused expression, almost entertained by Evan’s unraveling mind.

Then he made an offer, his voice calm yet laced with eerie implications.

Specifically, he offered access to Erica’s remains—particularly her head, now reduced to ruin by the bullet.

Vivian, shaking her head, could only mutter bitterly:

“You’re all lunatics.”

“Vivian, go to your room and rest for a while,” the Crown Prince replied.

“I value you because of that principled, stubborn part of you. Don’t lose it.”

Had Erica not blown her head off in front of Evan, he might have spoken up to brush aside the Crown Prince’s words, dismissing them as unnecessary flattery.

But now, Evan merely blinked, seemingly uninterested, and bowed slightly before leaving the scene.

His thoughts shifted from magic to Erica, then to her shattered head.

***

The next day, a note slipped under the door to Evan’s room.

He picked it up, read it, and headed out.

Of course, there were no classes that day—how could there be, after what had happened?

Evan walked for a long time, leaving the academy and heading toward the cemetery.

As he reached the gate and raised a hand to hail a carriage, he saw Vivian waiting nearby, dressed in black.

“…You’re going to see Erica, aren’t you?”

Vivian couldn’t bring herself to ask if he was planning to tamper with Erica’s brain, though the thought weighed heavily on her mind. 

Even after witnessing death, she was far too composed and dignified to voice such a question.

“Yes.”

“Can’t you just leave her alone?

Hasn’t it been awful enough already…”

“If Erica is truly dead—

If this is all just the delusions of a madman—

Fine. But let’s entertain the possibility for now.”

Evan spoke quickly, as if he might stop breathing if he paused.

The way he spoke, it was clear he genuinely believed Erica was still alive.

“If that’s true, then I killed Erica.

The day you told me she slapped you—that same day, Erica’s family fell apart completely.

The heir to the family, her brother, was already dead, and while they called it an accident, her father passed away too. You know what that means.

That day, I went to see Erica. Not for her sake, but to win your favor and comfort you.

I wanted to yell at her, but when I started talking to her, she didn’t show any sign of pain. Not one.

There was a huge shard of glass stuck in her foot, causing a massive wound, and blood was pooling at her feet.

But she just laughed, like it was nothing.”

“I don’t even remember what I said—I was so flustered.

As we kept talking, Erica asked me to save her.

I didn’t understand what she meant back then. I thought she just wanted help if things got too tough, so I gave her a cheap ring with a communication spell embedded in it.”

Calling the ring “cheap” seemed unfair—it was the sort of jewel most would call extravagant. But to Evan, it was nothing, just one of hundreds he could acquire with his wealth.

“And yet, I never went to her. Not once.

Today was the first time I went to see her. And what happened?

She blew her own head off.

That makes it my fault.

If I can’t find proof that Erica is still alive, then I killed her.”

Evan gripped Vivian’s shoulders with wild, desperate eyes, his words tumbling out in a frenzy.

To an ordinary person, his intensity would have been terrifying, enough to make them cower. But Vivian merely sighed and replied calmly.

“Evan, you’re insane. Completely mad.”

“Maybe so.”

“Take me with you.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t leave a madman alone with a corpse.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Thanks.”

Vivian wasn’t surprised by how much Evan’s demeanor toward her had changed.

After her father’s death, even the stern knights who had once terrified her tried to comfort her, awkwardly attempting to appear softer and more approachable.

Perhaps death was the ultimate force for change in people.

As the carriage swayed and rattled along the road, Vivian’s thoughts wandered.

Only after Erica’s death had Evan shifted his gaze away from her and toward Erica.

But in Vivian’s mind, it didn’t feel like a death worth much at all.