Miss, It’s Just a Cold

Chapter 52: Brushing It Off

What a bland person.

Ernst, that is.

If he doesn’t say anything, I won’t know anything.

No matter how much he might already know, if he doesn’t speak it aloud, then I remain in the dark.

But, in the end, there was nothing surprising about that.

“Just for one night. I’ll sleep here. That’s fine, right?”

“I’ll call the butler to have a room prepared for you right away, so just wait a bit—”

“I’ll just sleep on that sofa.”

Ernst tried to say something else, but I let it go in one ear and out the other. I walked straight to the sofa and plopped down on it.

The elaborate decorations on the ceiling, the bright light whose source I couldn’t even guess, and the various paintings all over the walls made me let out a hollow laugh.

The ceiling in my room is just rotting wood, soaked with dampness, giving off a putrid stench.

Maybe I was more exhausted than I thought because, as soon as I lay down and closed my eyes, I was fast asleep.

***

Morning arrived quickly.

Though, judging by the bright sun outside, it didn’t feel like morning anymore.

Regardless, since it was when I woke up, I considered it “morning.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“…No, not really.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate.”

Seeing the dark circles under his eyes, I couldn’t help but snicker.

“The clothes you wore have been washed and dried by the servants, so you can put them on whenever you want.”

I muttered a word of thanks and accepted the basket Ernst handed me.

I pulled out the dress and undergarments from the basket. They smelled faintly of oak, like they’d been dried over a campfire. I draped them over the back of the sofa for now.

The clothes I’d slept in were folded neatly, and I put on the fresh, crisp outfit.

As expected, the faint scent of oak wafted up.

I didn’t dislike it.

I like the smell of wood.

“…Hey, where’s the gun?”

The basket didn’t have the gun. The bullet pouch was missing too.

“I left it with the butler.”

“…Why aren’t you giving it back?”

“…If I do, you’ll just shoot someone.”

He didn’t specify who I would shoot.

Maybe he didn’t want to put it into words.

“…You gonna stop me?”

“…I don’t know.”

“Honest, huh.”

I stood up, grabbed one of the savory snacks Ernst had prepared for me yesterday, and popped it into my mouth.

Maybe it had gone stale since half a day had passed. It was damp, and the floury texture clung to my teeth.

“Hey, what do you think is more important — the mind or the body?”

Philosophical, huh.

I don’t really like complicated stuff like that.

People who go around pondering the essence of humanity are all a little insane, in my opinion.

That’s why philosophy-lovers were the ones who started two world wars.

And while they were at it, they decided to clean up the stinking Jews by turning them into soap.

There are a lot of people like that around here too.

My mother, my siblings, those noble scumbags.

Ah, I guess I should include myself in that category too.

Anyway, it’s all exhausting.

All of it.

The endless thoughts swirling in my head, coming up with schemes to go back to that mansion and endure the miserable life awaiting me.

But in the end, the conclusion is simple.

Just send them all away.

“…If you can’t answer, well, whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

I tapped my temple lightly with my finger.

“For me, what’s in this head of mine is the most important.”

The dull throb in my head worsened, so I decided to stop tapping.

I swallowed down the headache creeping up, stretched out the last syllable of my words, and continued.

“That’s why I have to crush the people who tried to kill me.

When you read fairy tales or novels, the heroine in distress is always saved by some prince or a handsome, rich guy.

But unfortunately, I’m not one of those lucky girls.”

A cliché story. A cliché ending.

A cliché…

That’s the kind of life I wanted to live.

An ordinary, simple, happy life.

Yeah.

Just like Aria’s.

People would probably scoff and say, “What part of that is ordinary?”

But to me, it seemed like the most ordinary life imaginable.

There wasn’t a single new or unfamiliar thing about it.

“Maybe that’s why nobody helps me.”

“I did say I’d help—”

“Forget about fancy meals, grand mansions, and beautiful clothes.

I don’t want any of that.

You know what I really want.”

All I want is freedom.

It’s not some grand, lofty goal. It’s exactly what it sounds like.

I’m not like those people who shout about “freedom” while demanding lawlessness.

I just want to breathe freely, love who I want, and walk wherever I please — all without fear.

If that’s too much to ask for, then it’d be better to just die.

“…”

“I can do anything.

I’m not someone who deserves to be treated the way my family treated me.

You think so too, don’t you?

How could a girl who barely learned to read be this clever?”

“…Even if I don’t go back home, as long as my mother is alive, I’ll always be trash.

I’m a misfit, a failure, someone who’s helpless without a parent to hold their hand.

I’m a useless wreck with no skills, no purpose, and no future!

But I’m not that kind of person.

I’m smart — way smarter than that.”

For someone who claims to be smart, I sure get swept up in my emotions a lot.

Even so, compared to others, I don’t think I’m particularly lacking.

That, too, might just be wishful thinking.

“Ernst. I could’ve done so much more.

I’m not just some commodity waiting to be sold off. I could’ve done so much more, you know?”

Honestly, I should have grabbed a kitchen knife and stabbed my mother ages ago.

Though, knowing her, she’d probably kick me away before I even got close.

“You wouldn’t know this, but I’m really good with instruments.

Not like those pathetic idiots at the ball who play those sloppy, brainless songs. I’m way better than them.

I can dance too — not that boring, spinning-in-circles nonsense. I know other dances too.

I’ve forgotten a lot of it lately, though.

And I have so many stories inside my head.

Most of them are tales created by other geniuses, but since those people don’t exist in this world, I can just borrow them like they’re mine.

On top of that… yeah. No matter how much I try to list everything I can do, it’s never enough.

That’s right. I bet I could solve problems better than most mathematicians in this world.”

“…What are you even trying to say?”

“Nothing, really. It’s just a shame, that’s all.

Sometimes I think, maybe I could’ve lived like Aria.

No, not ‘maybe.’ I could have done more. I could’ve done more, met more people, and lived a better life.

I could’ve had a perfect life.

Yeah, I’m sure it would’ve been perfect. Even if it wasn’t, I could’ve made it feel that way.

Like the kind of life you’d read about in a storybook.”

I wouldn’t have had to torment myself with thoughts like these.

Even if I’d pursued nothing but shallow desires like the empty-headed fools who only care about indulgence, I would’ve been fine.

Sure, I might’ve ended up locked away in a convent, but in that case, I’d just hang myself or escape. Simple.

“If, and I mean if —

If I gave you back your gun, and you returned to that mansion, and, well, you did it…

What will happen to you after that?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

It doesn’t matter at all.

What’s important is that I get away.

“Not even a little. Not one bit.

Every single night, in every single dream, no matter who’s lying next to me, it just spins and spins in my head.

My mother’s words, her actions, her attitude toward me…”

This isn’t about running away. It’s about solving my problems with my own two hands, and freeing myself from the things that trap me.

“If you’re only doing this out of concern for avoiding some ‘incident,’ and you’re not planning on giving me back my gun —

Then just kill me right here.”

The plate on the table was beautifully decorated.

Its round edge was adorned with all kinds of delicate patterns.

I picked up a cookie from the plate, put it in my mouth, and then tilted the whole plate, letting the rest of the cookies scatter onto the floor.

Then I slammed the plate against the desk, shattering it.

“Ah, and if you’re going to kill me, make it flashy.

I don’t want to die like a dog.

I don’t want to die meaninglessly, either.”

Ernst didn’t even flinch.

He just looked at me with a troubled face, as if trying to figure something out.

I picked up the sharpest shard of the broken plate and placed it in his hand.

His fingers closed around it, his grip tightening, and blood began to drip steadily from his palm.

It probably hurts quite a bit.

But it probably doesn’t hurt that much.

I would know.

I’ve cut myself before.

“And if you don’t have the guts or the will to do it, then just hand me back my gun.

Stuff some candy in my mouth, say something sweet and meaningless, and send me on my way.”

Ernst glanced at the jagged shard of glass in his hand.

Then, with a lazy flick of his arm, he tossed it aside and left the room.

After a little while, he returned with a gun and a pouch of bullets.

Something felt off, so I checked.

Of course.

All the bullets had been removed.

I loaded the bullets into the chamber, one by one, until it was full.

Then I pulled back the hammer.

My whole body started trembling uncontrollably.

I hugged Ernst tightly and gave him a light kiss on the cheek.

Then, slowly, I walked out of the mansion.

My face… was probably stiff.

Anyway, what should I do next?

What do I do after it’s all over, like Ernst said?

Maybe I could blow my head off in some spectacular fashion.

Or I could hang myself from a rope.

Then again, there’s got to be something a little more unique, right?

I’m not going to cause a scene as soon as I arrive.

I slipped the gun into the wide waistband of my skirt.

Then, slowly, I walked toward the one place I hated more than anywhere else.

The one place where I didn’t even want to breathe.

The place that made me feel like I was dying a little more every day I spent there.

But right now, at this moment, it was the one place I was so desperate to enter that it was driving me insane.