Miss, stop committing suicide

Chapter 43

When I opened the front door, Evan was standing there, motionless.

Oddly, he didn’t carry the same presence as before. Instead, he radiated an air that reminded me of… how should I put it?

The closest comparison would be the old executioner I’d seen once—a man who’d undoubtedly cut down more lives than anyone else.

“Ah, long time no see, Evan. Come in. I was just having tea.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t throw a childish tantrum about only being here for tea. He simply nodded and stepped inside.

There was something unsettling about him. Was this the feeling a country mutt gets when facing a dog butcher?

“Take a seat over there. What kind of tea would you like?”

He grimaced slightly before answering, though I wasn’t sure what part of my question he found offensive.

“Whatever you recommend.”

I poured the tea leaves the Crown Prince had suggested into a cup and added hot water.

The room’s aroma began to shift again.

Evan stared at the steam rising from his teacup for a long time before turning his gaze to me.

His eyes trembled slightly, and a tear slipped from his right eye. He wiped it away with his sleeve and returned to his expressionless state, as if nothing had happened.

“Usually, you’d be tailing Vivian or studying magic. I’m honored you’ve spared me some of your precious time.”

I threw in a sarcastic remark, intentionally trying to provoke him.

“So, why are you here?”

Evan took a sip of tea, raised an eyebrow slightly, and answered in a sly tone.

“To drink the tea you made, of course.”

“Don’t lie. You know what happened between Vivian and me today. You must have heard.”

At that, his twitching eyebrow stopped, and his face returned to that strange, stiff neutrality.

It was unnerving, like watching a robot with frozen facial muscles.

“I heard.”

“Then, if you had to pick one reason for coming…”

Before I could finish, Evan interrupted.

“To yell at you.”

“And now?”

“Not at all. I don’t feel any strong emotions—anger, frustration, nothing—toward you.”

His detached tone suggested he no longer intended to act on his earlier anger.

Something had changed. This wasn’t how Evan typically behaved.

“You came here intending to be angry.

To put that pathetic, powerless noble who dared to mess with your precious Vivian in their place.

Maybe even earn some points with her, right?”

I mocked him, mimicking his tone at the end for added effect.

But Evan didn’t react. It was as if his ability to feel emotion had been replaced with something mechanical.

“At first, that’s what I thought I’d do.”

“Really? Then what’s stopping you? Yell at me, get angry.

Tear me down and praise Vivian. Even if she doesn’t like it, at least she’d see you as an ally, wouldn’t she?”

I kept goading him, trying to recreate the scene I knew from the future.

For some reason, it felt like I had to do this.

“That’s what I thought when I came here.

But then, when I saw your face, all those thoughts disappeared.

Instead, I felt this overwhelming sense of longing and… sadness. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Evan looked at me, but it felt like he was staring at someone—or something—else.

Who could he be seeing in me?

To him, I was just a sheltered flower in a greenhouse, steeped in privilege, someone who made tea from the wreckage of others’ misfortune.

“Maybe you finally realized Vivian deserved what she got.”

“I don’t know. Just moments ago, I was pacing outside, furious.

But suddenly, I felt so sorry, so sad. It’s not normal.”

“No, you’re not normal.”

“Then what changed? Why do I feel so different now?”

Evan suddenly gripped my shoulders tightly, so much so that I could hear my bones creaking. The pain was excruciating.

“…Let go, Evan. You’re hurting me.”

What on earth had he experienced to make him act like this?

His eyes were red, and though I asked him to let go, he just shook his head, gripping me even harder.

“I said, let go!”

In the short time since I last reset, nothing I could think of should have changed him like this.

Was there someone else turning back time?

But even if that were true, it didn’t explain why Evan’s emotions had become so erratic.

“I said it hurts!”

I yelled, and finally, Evan seemed to come to his senses, loosening his grip.

“Ah… I’m sorry.”

“So, why are you acting like this all of a sudden, Evan?

You’re supposed to hate me, despise me, find me annoying. That’s who you are.”

“I don’t know.”

“When we’re upset, we’re supposed to hurl insults, tear each other down, and trash each other’s families without hesitation.

So why aren’t you staying the person I hate?”

“Just moments ago, I was angry while standing in front of this door.

Then, out of nowhere, I was filled with sadness.

It’s like I’ve caught some kind of mental illness. But now, seeing you, I feel strangely at peace, as if I’ve made the right decision.”

“And what kind of nonsense is that supposed to be!?”

I lost my temper and hurled the teacup at him.

It didn’t shatter; it merely spilled tea all over Evan.

He didn’t dodge, didn’t yell.

This wasn’t Evan.

The Evan I knew would have screamed at me, shoved me, maybe even stormed out.

He was indecisive to the point of cruelty, selfish and small-minded, only growing colder once he became “someone else’s.”

“Why now? Why are you changing now of all times?

Why are you caring about me now? What’s different?

Nothing! Nothing at all! The family’s ruined, and my personality’s twisted beyond repair!”

I kept shouting until my head felt light, like all the blood had drained from it.

My vision blurred, and dizziness set in.

Evan, the infuriating bastard, approached me, as if to console me with a pat on the back.

His touch wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

But the overwhelming sense of wrongness made me slap his hand away.

“I have nothing to say except that I don’t know what to say.”

“Really? That’s impressive.

Some of us live in constant misery and curses because nothing ever changes or gets better, while others like you can have their entire mindset and way of life flipped with just the right trigger, even when time resets itself.

How enviable. I wish I could be like that.”

“Do you, really? It’s strange—I feel like my mind’s broken.

Every time I close my eyes, I see myself killing ordinary villagers. I see an older version of me, beard thick, murmuring your name while offering sacrifices.

I don’t even seem that old in those visions.”

“Evan, how about leaving for today?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Then please go. It’s exhausting.”

No matter how much I struggle, I can’t change my fate or the future I’m doomed to face.

But he… no matter how many times the same events repeat in the same timeline, he can transform completely, with a new perspective and a new way of living.

Is that what makes him a protagonist?

It’s hard to decide whether that’s ridiculous or enviable.

Maybe he really is the male lead.

If not, where else would he use that brilliant mind of his?

He glanced around my room and then cast a spell.

Suddenly, necromancers emerged from the deep corners of the floor, reaching for Evan with their hands.

It was a terrifying sight, but… what had just happened?

“Take the broken glass and water bottle on the floor and throw them out or clean them up outside.”

“If the glass shards are too much trouble, I’ll take care of it later.”

A single bullet to the head could offer quick freedom, bypassing labor and anything else.

They say there’s no paradise to escape to, but even a sliver of respite is something.

“No, Erica. I’m sorry for visiting you today.

I’ll be dropping by more often from now on, though…”

The words “more often” made my mind go blank for a moment.

Was he declaring his intent to come here and torment me more?

Of course, he’d insist he didn’t mean it that way, and based on his demeanor, it really seemed like he wouldn’t do that. But I couldn’t shake my unease.

I was the type of person who felt perpetually anxious, always ready to run at a moment’s notice.

Because it’s scary.

I still remember the wretchedness of dying slowly the first time, foolishly trying to end my life in a bathtub.

The second time, I believed that my inability to die was suicide itself, so I walked to the gallows, hoping to be killed. 

I endured the mob’s horrifying violence to reach the hangman’s noose, only to feel abandoned even in death—it felt like my fault.

The third time, I found myself among a group of madmen, endlessly making poor and twisted decisions. It all culminated in the worst ending possible—a prophetic disaster.

It wasn’t as though Lydia’s bullying had driven me to that point.

I had promised myself to endure no matter what.

But as people say, the person who goes into the bathroom isn’t the same as the one who comes out.

As disgusting as that analogy is, all I wanted to say was that humans are just part of nature.

“In any case, don’t come by too often.

I’m… afraid of you.”