Miss, stop committing suicide

Chapter 25

She saw it.

She saw the friend she had once believed in—that woman—her eyes weeping tears, but her lips curled in a smile as her head separated from her body.

Where should this story begin?

Vivian—a beautiful girl blessed with talent in magic—entered the academy. She was intelligent but naive, as intellect and wisdom are not the same. 

Without the support of a man who had claimed to be her father’s old friend after her father’s death, she might never have entered the academy at all.

But that’s not an important story.

It’s not exciting, just another tale of envy-inducing privilege.

If we’re looking for an interesting story, perhaps it’s best to start from the day she was slapped by that pale, worn-out girl.

To put it simply, the three of them were friends.

When Vivian first entered the academy, her first friends were those two.

But as time passed, cracks began to form.

Anyone could see it coming, but the three of them, the people most involved, were too naive to realize it.

To put it bluntly:

One was a pretty-faced fool who’d never had a real friend before.

Another was a girl who’d locked herself away in her own greenhouse, never achieving anything on her own.

And the last was a scholar full of knowledge but lacking in wisdom.

Put simply, they were immature children, like most kids their age.

And when it comes to relationships, immaturity often leads to bad endings.

Vivian had a vague sense that Evan had feelings for her.

She wasn’t sure, but his affection didn’t feel like the fondness shared between close friends—it was something clingier, more possessive.

Erica, who liked Evan, also realized it.

So Erica began to dislike Vivian.

Vivian even called Evan aside once and gently rejected him, but if people’s hearts were that easy to manage, the world would be a much simpler place.

Human hearts are complicated, and yet, in other ways, they’re too simple. It’s easy for everything to get tangled up.

Erica began to push Vivian away, and Vivian simply hated that.

Erica disliked Vivian so much that she began doing things that, from an adult’s perspective, would seem like childish bullying.

She was a noble, after all, and had plenty of followers.

Her actions weren’t much—some harsh words, a few fits of anger, and some clumsy attempts at insults. 

She couldn’t even bring herself to say truly vulgar things, so her attempts at swearing were awkward at best.

The two of them grew more and more exhausted.

The difference between them was that, while Vivian clung to Erica, trying to hold on to her only same-gender friend, Erica gave up trying to separate Vivian from Evan and simply distanced herself from both of them.

Erica pushed Vivian away, and Vivian chased after her.

The day Vivian’s cheek was slapped was like any other.

Erica had left behind the usual crowd of followers and spoke to Vivian earnestly.

She’d asked her—no, begged her—to stay away from Evan, or at least to stay out of her sight.

She’d demanded to know why Vivian went out of her way to seek her out despite being in a different class.

Vivian didn’t answer.

Or, rather, she couldn’t.

She didn’t know what to say.

But she knew.

As she watched Erica’s face—a face that looked so tired and full of frustration—she realized something.

If she let Erica walk away now, their relationship would never be the same again.

And now, at this very moment, she wonders if it would have been better if she’d just avoided Erica altogether.

It was from that day that something felt off, and Vivian knew it.

From that day, it felt like everything started going wrong.

But it wasn’t Vivian who was falling apart—it was Erica.

Every time she approached Erica, Erica seemed more broken than before.

The sting of that slap, and the feeling that she’d lost a friend, had made Vivian cry for a long time.

She’d run into Evan that day and poured out her heart to him.

That same day, she’d heard rumors of a terrible argument between Evan and Erica.

After hearing that, Vivian had clutched her head, confused and overwhelmed. She’d run a bath, soaking herself in warm water for a long time, but she hadn’t spoken about it to anyone.

She’d just held it all in, letting it fester.

Evan wasn’t that important to her.

The friend Evan was important, but not Evan the person.

Erica wasn’t that important to her.

The friend Erica was everything, but not Erica the person.

The same was true for the others.

If Erica had died quietly, in some mundane, forgettable way, she’d have faded from Vivian’s mind.

Vivian would have shed a few tears, grieved briefly, and moved on to a life of learning love and happiness.

But instead, Erica’s end was dramatic.

So now, Vivian’s mind is filled with “what-ifs.”

If only she’d grabbed Erica’s hand that day.

If only she’d stayed instead of leaving when Erica told her to go.

If only she’d offered comfort, instead of anger, when Erica had pointed a gun at her own head.

Would something have changed?

She didn’t spare a thought for the people Erica had killed.

She’d never been close to them, never wanted to be.

Why would Vivian pity them?

They were the kind of people who’d laugh while stuffing Erica into a tiny locker.

They were the ones who’d taken that once-proud, self-assured Erica and turned her into someone so broken that she tried to blow her own head off.

In Vivian’s mind, they weren’t people.

They were beasts.

And so, they deserved to die.

There was no way to save Erica.

Vivian had sought out the most powerful person she knew, even kneeling before him to beg, but it had been for nothing.

The day before the trial—when Erica was still locked away in the underground prison—Vivian went to see the Crown Prince.

After class, as usual, he sat on a bench, pipe in hand, taking slow drags of his tobacco.

“Your Highness Johannes, I have a request,” Vivian said, bowing deeply.

“I told you, you don’t have to call me ‘Your Highness.’” He looked up at her, his tone languid but his gaze sharp. “So, it’s your first request. If it’s possible, I’ll grant it. Speak, Vivian.”

“Can you… can you save Erica?”

At that, the prince snorted.

“Didn’t I say ‘if it’s possible’?” He leaned back, gaze drifting upward as he watched the smoke curl into the sky. “Go back, Vivian. There’s nothing you or I can do.”

He placed the pipe back in his mouth and stared at nothing in particular, eyes lost in the haze of memory or thought.

Vivian remained in front of him for a long while, just staring at him.

Then she spoke again.

“Then… at least let me see her.”

Erica was being held in the underground prison—a place that had barely been used since the academy’s founding. It was once meant to hold rebellious noble children, but it had long since fallen out of use.

Hearing her plea, the prince took the pipe from his mouth and crossed his legs.

“As long as you don’t do anything foolish,” he said, voice low and measured. “With your magic, you could cut through the bars, kill the guards, and sneak her out of the academy. I’m well aware of that.”

“I’d never do that,” Vivian replied, her voice trembling. “I just want to… I just want to see her.”

“Take her,” the prince commanded, cutting her off.

From his shadow, a figure stepped forward—a human-shaped silhouette that guided Vivian toward the underground prison.

But instead of resolving the turmoil in her heart, that visit only worsened it.

She’d expected to hear Erica plead for her life, to hear her beg to be saved, to hear her lash out with resentment, saying, “With your magic, you could break me out of here!”

But all she heard was something far worse.

“I’m jealous of you, Vivian,” Erica had said with a smile, as if it were nothing. “I envy you, and that’s probably why I hate you.”

That’s all she’d said.

And so, Vivian left.

That night, she didn’t sleep.

Her mind was filled with the thought that Erica had become just like all the other girls who’d hated her for no reason.

The next day, it happened.

Just like the day she’d been slapped, Vivian found herself pouring her heart out to Evan.

This time, though, it wasn’t just her. Evan’s mind seemed just as hollowed out as hers.

They weren’t talking like friends or lovers.

They were like mourners at a funeral.

“…Evan, what should we do about Erica?” Vivian asked, voice trembling.

“I don’t know,” Evan replied, his voice flat, empty.

KILL HER!

KILL HER!

KILL HER!

The crowd’s chants drowned out their conversation, a deafening roar of bloodthirsty fervor.

Vivian and Evan stood side by side, their bodies shaking as the reality of what was about to happen slowly sank in.