Miss, stop committing suicide

Chapter 50

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was Vivian seated in a chair, sipping tea and reading a book.

She glanced at me briefly before speaking in an indifferent tone.

“Nothing happened, right?”

“Yeah.”

I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my face in them as I replied.

“Nothing happened.”

Vivian closed her book, stood up, and brought me a cup of tea and some cookies.

I took them without complaint and ate quietly.

They tasted good.

And that made it worse.

Even if the food had been bland, even if it had been something as uninspiring as turnip bread, I would’ve preferred to eat it in freedom.

I wanted attention, but not the kind that came from a vertical relationship.

I had only ever wanted to be seen as an equal, as another person.

But to these people, I wasn’t a person.

To Evan, I was likely just a tool to maintain his relationship with Vivian. To Vivian, I might be something special, but I didn’t know what that “something” was.

Maybe first friendships are supposed to be extraordinary.

I thought about Evan, my first friend, and wondered if things would’ve been different if he weren’t the opposite gender.

“Shall we go if you’re done?” Vivian asked.

“…Yeah.”

We acted like nothing had happened the night before.

But even if we buried what happened under casual behavior, we couldn’t truly erase it.

My heart was already in shreds, and whatever small or deep wounds I had inflicted on Vivian and Evan, the scars would remain.

“You’re not going to let me leave, are you?”

As we walked down the hallway, I directed the question to Vivian.

She answered firmly, “No.”

After that, Vivian tried to lighten the mood with small talk, but I only nodded in response.

Tears occasionally welled up, but I quickly wiped them away with my sleeve before she could notice.

“Nothing happened, right?”

I asked again.

“Yes.”

Her answer was as cold as ever.

It felt like she was telling me not to even think about leaving, not to entertain the idea of living as a person.

Her words tore at the little hope I had left, leaving me feeling as though my soul was rotting.

Was it just my imagination? I didn’t know.

***

Two weeks passed.

During that time, I endured Lydia’s petty bullying—or what felt petty compared to the confinement and control Vivian and Evan imposed on me.

Two weeks of eating, walking, and existing alongside them without expressing any emotion.

I rarely spoke.

When tears threatened to spill, I let them fall and wiped them away before anyone could see.

I became a “good dog.”

I didn’t bark, bite, or cause trouble.

I ate whatever scraps they threw my way, held in my urges, and obeyed every command.

My master said nothing happened.

So nothing had happened.

***

Another month passed.

Lydia escalated her harassment. It wasn’t bullying anymore—it was torture.

She’d place layers of wet handkerchiefs over my face and pour water or tea over them from a teapot.

Using clumsy magic, she’d dry my soaked uniform and skin, leaving no evidence. It was cruel, cowardly, and effective.

I cried.

I cursed her.

But instead of hitting me, she continued her routine, pressing cloth onto my face and pouring water.

I stopped drinking tea. Just the smell of it made me nauseous after it repeatedly went up my nose.

One day, my two “masters” announced they were officially dating.

Evan awkwardly avoided my gaze while making the declaration, and Vivian couldn’t even meet my eyes.

How could a lowly dog like me object to my masters’ union?

I smiled brightly, as though their announcement filled me with genuine joy. I congratulated them warmly, pretending I’d long since overcome my pain.

They seemed relieved and worked harder to draw closer to me.

A well-behaved dog is welcomed anywhere, after all.

I was a cute dog—at least by my own admission.

Not as dazzling as Vivian, but far more beautiful than most.

Living as a dog was easier.

I wasn’t human. I’d deluded myself into thinking I was.

But someone who’s taken lives like I have could never be human.

I was a dog.

And I was cast into this hell to be punished, to live as one.

God must have decreed it.

One day, during another round of following my masters’ orders disguised as polite invitations, the Crown Prince sought me out.

He asked Evan if he could borrow me, as if I were a pet. He claimed we needed to discuss family matters.

Evan told the prince to return me after their conversation.

The prince laughed warmly and agreed, but his eyes were icy.

Maybe I was the only one who noticed.

Dogs are more sensitive to human moods than people are.

He led me to a bench by the pond where carp swam lazily, and I glanced at the nearby tree—the one where I had truly become a dog.

“Not going to kill yourself?”

That was the first thing he said, his voice harsh as he exhaled the thick smoke of a cigar.

“Give me one.”

“Of course. A royal favor from me to you.”

He handed me a cigar and lit it for me.

I took a drag, letting the smoke linger in my mouth before exhaling slowly.

The cigar’s smoke filled my lungs, and my head spun. My heart raced, and dizziness washed over me—likely because it had been so long since I’d smoked.

“Living as a dog seems worse than dying as a person,” I muttered.

“I’ve died as a person plenty of times already,” I replied, my voice flat.

The thought lingered—the hope that if I died outside the academy, perhaps this cycle would finally end. Or maybe if someone else killed me, this wretched loop would break.

It was the same naive hope I’d had before, back when I dreamed of a future where death might set me free.

“Hah, there are always people who value their lives above all else,” the Crown Prince remarked. “Still, I’ve been observing you recently. I’ve also looked into how you’ve lived since your family fell.”

“You’re the one who ruined it,” I said bluntly.

He looked genuinely surprised.

“You don’t have to worry. I don’t plan to blame you or cry for mercy,” I added. “So rest easy.”

“I can’t tell if you’re rational or just foolish.”

“It’s neither. It’s just meaningless.

What’s the point of walking up to a block of iron and yelling at it? Or hitting it with a wooden stick? Nothing changes.”

“Is there anything you want? I could grant one or two wishes.”

“Pity?”

“Sure.”

“One or two wishes granted directly by the Crown Prince—surprisingly generous, even for destroying a family.”

“Indeed. Usually, you get nothing—or worse, you lose more.”

“It’s impressive how you can say that so casually.”

“So, what do you want?”

“A pistol. Six bullets.”

“Hm, it’s a bit dangerous to give a gun to a lunatic. How about a rope instead?”

“I don’t like pain.”

“Jumping from a building, then?”

“I just said I don’t like pain.

And I don’t want to die in such an ugly way unless I absolutely have to.”

Truthfully, I hated the thought of falling to my death. The terror of plummeting, the chance of surviving in a crippled state—it all scared me.

That would be the worst fate of all, leaving me unable to die until old age took me.

The Crown Prince tapped his chin thoughtfully, puffing on his cigar before speaking again.

“Do you resent the two who keep you confined?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even resent Your Highness, despite you being the one who destroyed my family and killed my brother.”

At the mention of my brother, he fell silent.

The royal family had concocted a flimsy excuse, branding my brother a traitor before executing him.

Even if it hadn’t been the Crown Prince’s decision but rather the Emperor’s, the result was the same.

It was like a natural disaster—predictable only in hindsight. My father’s failure to placate the Emperor was the real sin.

“But I still want to escape,” I admitted.

The Crown Prince turned to one of his attendants and whispered something before tossing me a small vial of clear liquid.

I caught it, studying it curiously.

“You said you don’t like pain. Drink this, and you won’t feel much.”

I took another long drag from the cigar, watching the smoke curl in the air.

Was he giving me permission to die because I wanted it so badly, or because he pitied me? It didn’t matter.

“Do you have enough magic for a small flame, even if not for fire?”

I nodded.

“Then burn yourself.”

I imagined the flames consuming me. Nothing would remain—no face, no human features, only ashes. It didn’t seem like such a bad way to go.

“I’m quite greedy, you know. I’ve taken your family, but I think I’ll take the one standing beside you as well,” he said, a cruel smile forming on his lips.

“What could burning me alive possibly accomplish?”

The Crown Prince paused to think before responding.

“Not much, perhaps.

But for those who spout noble ideals, leaving them with the scandal of driving a girl they treated as family to burn herself alive—well, that’s a stain they’ll never erase.

For knights, even a small moral failing can be a serious blow.”

“Heh, I like that idea,” I replied with a bitter laugh.