Miss, stop committing suicide

Chapter 26

She saw it.

“Screw all of you, you pathetic idiots. I hope everything burns to the ground. You, you, and you—I hope you all just die…”

Squish.

The sword didn’t cleanly sever her neck on the first swing. Instead, it got stuck halfway through.

It must have hurt, but Erica didn’t scream. She only blinked slowly, her face expressionless, as if the pain wasn’t real.

How could she stay so calm? It’s supposed to hurt.

The crowd, which had been roaring for her death, suddenly fell silent.

Even if she was a criminal, she was still just a 17-year-old girl. Watching her like this made them pause, if only for a moment.

The boy holding the sword wiped the sweat from his brow, then raised it high and brought it down again.

Her head flew through the air.

Her eyes met mine as she soared.

If I’m not mistaken, she looked at me—and she smiled a little, her lips curling up ever so slightly.

They say the blood of an executed criminal brings good luck.

And the higher the status of the executed person, the greater the fortune.

The fact that she’d been a living, breathing girl just moments ago didn’t matter to the crowd.

All that mattered was that her blood rained down on them now.

And so, the mob surged forward, rushing to catch the blood as it spilled from Erica’s severed head. 

They reached their hands toward her head, still airborne, desperate to seize it for themselves.

Even Evan and I reached out our hands.

But Erica’s head didn’t fall into our hands.

Instead, it was caught by strangers—people who weren’t even related to her, people who’d never spoken to her, people who clawed at her hair, pulling and yanking as if fighting over a precious relic.

“E-Evan, shouldn’t we do something?” I asked, panic rising in my voice.

“Ah… ah… ugh… ah… Erica… ah…”

Evan’s mind had shattered. He was completely useless.

So much for being her childhood friend.

If someone had asked Erica who her favorite person in the world was, she’d have answered “myself.” But if asked for her second favorite, she’d have said “Evan.”

What the hell was he doing?

If that had been someone else’s head, I’d have thought, “How can people be so cruel?” and felt a little sad about it, but I wouldn’t have done anything.

I’d have just walked away.

But this was Erica.

Maybe it didn’t mean much to anyone else, but it meant something to me.

Rage boiled in my chest, and before I realized it, the air around me grew hot.

A rush of wind gathered flames—not hot enough to burn anyone to death but hot enough to make them scream.

It wasn’t me. At least, that’s what I told myself.

The flames surged toward the mob, making them scatter in all directions, screaming as they fled.

“Why… Why are you people like this?” Evan’s voice wavered, barely holding back sobs.

“She’s dead now. Just let her be. She had it rough while she was alive, so why can’t you just let her rest?”

Evan’s legs gave out beneath him, and he sat there on the ground, staring at his hands as if they’d done something unforgivable.

I heard him muttering to himself.

“Not that I have the right to say that…”

I pretended I didn’t hear him.

If Evan started blaming himself, I’d start blaming myself too.

This wasn’t the place for that kind of self-loathing.

The skin on my arms felt a little warm, but no one had been burned. Of course not—I’d controlled it carefully.

A man, maybe in his 40s, with a scruffy beard, held Erica’s head like it was a prized possession.

He wasn’t going to let it go.

I conjured several sharp icicles in the air, each one pointed directly at him.

“Drop it,” I said, voice cold as frost. “There are plenty of severed heads to collect up there.”

“I… I found it first!” the man protested.

I spun one of the icicles, then fired it into the ground near his foot.

“Next one’s going in your arm,” I said softly.

The man’s face paled, and he quickly set Erica’s head down on the ground like it was made of glass. Then he ran, disappearing into the crowd.

I walked toward Erica’s head, crouched down, and picked her up.

Her face… her eyes were still half-open, her pupils slightly unfocused. But she’d been smiling, even now.

The crowd parted as I moved, like a sea splitting before me. I didn’t care why.

I reached out and closed Erica’s eyes.

Even with her eyes closed, the dark circles beneath them were so deep, her face looked as if it had aged decades.

Her skin hung loose, sagging like she’d been worn down to her bones.

“You hated me, didn’t you?” I murmured.

“I’m holding you with my bare hands right now. So if you want to slap me for it, go ahead. But get up and do it yourself.”

No answer, of course.

I turned to Evan, who was still crumpled on the ground.

“Hey, Evan. Erica’s dead.”

……

But was it just my imagination?

Evan didn’t respond either.

He was lost in his own turmoil.

The last words he’d exchanged with Erica had been sharp, words intended to wound and tear each other down.

So, when the time came, he couldn’t stand up for her.

If he’d done nothing, those wretched people would have taken her eyes, her skin, her hair—everything.

But he’d chained himself up with thoughts like, “Do I even deserve to help her?”

Maybe, in those final moments, Erica had been begging for help.

He should have gone to her when the news of her family’s downfall spread.

He should have gone to her when her brother was branded a traitor and executed.

But instead, he’d used that knowledge to attack her.

His words had cut deeper than any blade.

In the end, the only person Erica could have relied on at the academy was Evan.

But he’d slapped her away, just like she’d slapped Vivian.

He’d known Lydia was Erica’s subordinate, practically her shadow.

He’d known that if her family fell, Lydia might turn on Erica.

And yet, all he’d thought at the time was, “Maybe if she suffers a little, she’ll finally realize her mistakes.”

How pathetic.

“Urgh…ugh…!”

His thoughts spiraled, and he collapsed onto the street, vomiting bile.

There was nothing in his stomach to throw up, so all that came up was bitter stomach acid.

All he could do was sit there, crying and feeling disgusted with himself.

They claimed Erica’s body and left the execution grounds.

The place they’d left behind soon grew noisy again with cheers and roars.

New prisoners were being dragged up to the stage, one by one.

Unlike Erica, these prisoners screamed for mercy, begging for their lives until the very end.

But Erica—Erica had let go of her life long before they’d taken her to that platform.

Vivian knew it too.

That day, when she’d visited Erica.

There had been two bullets in that revolver.

……

“I should have done something when she told me, ‘I’m not going to use it on myself.’”

If she wasn’t going to use it on herself, then it meant she was going to use it on someone else.

Her father had taken an “extreme choice” as well.

Maybe she’d meant to follow him.

“When she told me she’d lost everything, that all she could do was laugh like a fool… I should’ve hugged her.”

She’d looked so fragile then, her face worn and hollow, her spirit crushed.

Vivian should have stayed with her.

Even if Erica had pushed her away. Even if Erica had hated her.

“When she asked for the revolver back, I should’ve smashed it or thrown it away instead of giving it back to her.”

If only she’d known.

But of course, she hadn’t known.

No one did.

“When she pointed it at her own head and pulled the trigger, I should’ve destroyed it with my magic.”

Vivian thought back to all the moments she’d failed Erica.

She’d mastered swordplay, she’d mastered magic—she could’ve stopped her.

But Erica only had that one thing, that one revolver.

Without it, maybe she wouldn’t have been able to kill anyone at all.

“When she asked me to jump off the terrace with her, I should’ve used flight magic and jumped with her.”

If someone can suggest such a thing so casually, then maybe—just maybe—they might actually pull the trigger on themselves.

Even if they’d said they were joking.

Even if they’d smiled.

Even if it was Erica.

“She said she hated me.”

“She said everything that happened to her was my fault.”

“I’ll believe it. If Erica says so, it must be true.”

“I’ll carry that with me.”

Vivian’s face twisted with grief.

“Hey, Evan,” she said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

“What should I do?”

For a week, she’d been holed up in a dark room, mumbling to Evan, who hadn’t responded.

“Was it my face that was the problem?” she asked, her voice quivering.

“Or was it the fact that you fell for me?”

“Or was it because I didn’t want to grow apart from Erica?”

“Was it wrong to cry to you that day when Erica slapped me? Was it wrong to ask for comfort?”

“I never wanted love in the first place.”

“But they all say they love me.”

“They all come to me with confessions of love, and everything falls apart.”

“I’ve lost my family, never had a real friend in my hometown, and none of them showed me a shred of kindness.”

“Except Erica. She was the first. And later…”

Her voice cracked.

“No one in this academy has shown me kindness, not without wanting something from me. Except Erica.”

“Even the Crown Prince pretends he doesn’t care but watches me all the same. Even the boys.”

“I’m sick of it.”

“Hey, Evan. What went wrong?”

Evan’s hollow voice answered from the bed.

“It was me. I was the problem.”

“Yeah,” Vivian replied. “Me too.”

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t break down.

She didn’t weep like she had before.

But she couldn’t hold it all in, either.

A single tear rolled down her right cheek.

Then another.

The tears soaked into her handkerchief until it was completely drenched.

She went to her room, filled the bathtub with warm water, climbed in, and wept.

“How am I supposed to live like this?” she sobbed.