Please Don’t Die, My Lady

Chapter 20

Ariana dragged me through the empty hallway, her grip unrelenting.

At first, I thought she intended to shove me into some hidden corner by the stairs, but the journey lasted far longer than expected.

What is she planning this time?

Panting, I cautiously asked, “…It’s almost time for class. Is this okay?”

“Magic class, isn’t it?”

“Uh… yes.”

No further explanation followed.

So, magic class makes it fine?

Maybe she bribed the professor.

Come to think of it, whenever Ariana got particularly creative with her methods of torment, it often coincided with magic class.

Perhaps she had some arrangement in place, which wouldn’t be surprising.

At the academy, skipping classes or pushing lessons aside was more common than you’d think.

For the Emperor, the academy wasn’t about actual education but more about presenting a prestigious façade to elevate his standing.

The academy’s classes were, in a way, a useless trinket—neither remarkable in quality nor indispensable in practice.

Sure, they hired competent professors to maintain appearances, but that was the extent of it.

The rest of the academy’s focus was on security, ensuring students were entirely isolated for three years.

With such a system, it was no wonder that rot set in, producing people like me.

It’s easy to cover up a death in such an isolated environment.

Congratulations, Your Majesty, for creating this endlessly amusing institution.

A small, bitter laugh escaped me amidst my labored breaths.

No point digging deeper.

I stopped thinking about it and simply allowed myself to be dragged along.

“Here we are.”

We finally stopped as the bell signaling the start of class rang.

We stood in front of one of the rooms in the dormitory wing.

Without warning, she opened the door and shoved me inside with such force that I tumbled to the floor, rolling several times.

“Wait, ugh…”

The partially healed bones in my body protested loudly, twisting and creaking with every movement.

I didn’t expect gentleness, but this was excessive.

The room’s interior felt eerily familiar.

Of course—it was in the same building as the dormitory room I used every day.

Dormitory Block B.

Ariana Warton’s personal room.

Her private sanctuary.

And here I was, thrown into it, unable to resist.

What she planned to do next was all too obvious.

I steadied my trembling body and surveyed the room.

The dimly lit space had a strikingly modern aesthetic, inconsistent with this world’s typical style.

What stood out, however, were the torture instruments hanging here and there.

If bloodstains were added, the place could easily pass as a horror movie set.

In some ways, it suited Ariana perfectly.

She seemed outwardly polished, but just beneath the surface lay hidden thorns.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Duchess?

I apologize for failing to keep those lowlifes in check.”

I’d managed to pull myself upright and leaned against a nearby table when I heard Ariana’s voice.

I turned to see her seated on the edge of the bed, legs elegantly crossed.

The posture was quintessentially Ariana, exuding poise and confidence.

Yet something felt off, like she was trying too hard to appear her usual self.

Her behavior raised more questions than it answered.

People unnaturally orbiting me.

Individuals seemingly confined to their own roles, never crossing boundaries.

A chain of events, punctuated by just enough healing to keep me alive.

Torture carefully calibrated to stop short of killing me.

Every time I felt ready to collapse, someone kind or supportive conveniently appeared.

It was all too… deliberate.

Even I, as slow-witted as I can be, couldn’t chalk it all up to coincidence anymore.

From the start, was it a mistake to believe I’d escaped the organization’s control?

Where does the performance end, and where does the truth begin?

If not you, Ariana, then what about Sena? That maid?

What about Hans?

The tangled mess of questions spilled out of me, unbidden.

“…Who’s behind you?

Someone must’ve sent you to approach me, right?

I had my suspicions, but you—”

“Enough.”

Ariana cut me off, pressing her fingers to her temples as if nursing a headache.

Her vibrant, lively demeanor was replaced with a weary, disenchanted expression, making the difference all the more stark.

“…I really must’ve said something unnecessary.

This is why I hate losing my composure. Holding back makes it all the harder to control.”

Her voice, too, had lost its usual liveliness, now low and drained.

She seemed like a completely different person, shedding the girlish pretense she typically wore around me.

What remained was a jaded, almost decadent woman.

Is this her true self?

Everyone puts on a mask to some extent, especially those who deal with people regularly.

The greater the difference between someone’s true self and their outward persona, the thicker the mask they wear.

Torture, too, is a kind of performance, albeit an extreme one.

The thicker the mask, the greater the shock when it shatters.

Her façade breaking was proof that my suspicions were close to the mark.

But it also dashed any hope of getting straight answers.

Why would she admit the truth when my words had struck such a nerve?

This conversation was little more than amusement for her, a way to pass the time.

I wasn’t a person to her. I was a pet.

“Let’s establish one thing clearly.

I have no intention of answering your questions, Duchess.”

“…Of course not.”

“So, let’s talk about something else!

We’ve had a break over the past few days, haven’t we? Both of us, avoiding each other.”

No matter what I said, Ariana held the reins of the conversation.

She openly announced she was steering the topic elsewhere, and there was no room for resistance.

If I pressed further, it would only lead to more pain later.

In the end, my questions remained unspoken, buried in the back of my mind.

“Still, it was quite the effort on my part.

Every day, I thought about how to give you satisfying pain while ensuring nothing truly dangerous happened.

I really worked hard, you know.”

Ariana’s tone shifted, her earlier weariness vanishing as she returned to her usual lively demeanor.

Her sudden cheerfulness was so stark it felt as though the somber, drained persona from moments ago had never existed.

This wasn’t just a return to her professional façade; it was a warning.

Don’t even think about overstepping—her message was clear.

I understood it well and silently watched as she opened a wooden chest resting on the bed.

Not a sound escaped me.

Of course, I listen well.

Even though the foundation of everything I’d trusted was crumbling, I wasn’t panicking or asking questions.

Just because someone told me to stay quiet, I was obediently silent. Ha.

“In the end, this was the solution.

I spent several days finding something with low mortality but high addictive and withdrawal effects.

It was exhausting. Do you know how many traps there were?

No wonder Father always avoided drugs—they’re such a hassle.”

From the chest, Ariana pulled out a syringe that looked slightly different from the last one I’d seen.

The liquid inside was clear and colorless, like water.

Compared to the blue hallucinogen she had used before, it looked far less dangerous.

But things that appear harmless often aren’t.

Her hands didn’t stop with the syringe.

She pulled out a white powder in a pouch, oval-shaped blue pills, sugar cube-like solids, and a flask of luminous scarlet liquid.

It looked as though she was preparing for a drug market, laying out the array of substances neatly on the bed.

Ariana smiled proudly, like a child showing off her toys.

“Last time, we used hallucinogens, so today we’ll explore stimulants and suppressants.

I’ll mix and adjust them to give you an excellent experience—you can look forward to it.

Let’s keep things relaxed and just enjoy ourselves today, okay?”

“…….”

“Come on, your response?”

“…Sure, I’ll look forward to it.”

“Good.”

Her voice dropped again, quieter and more deliberate.

Ariana picked up the syringe she had initially prepared.

Stepping down from the bed, she knelt before me, closing the space between us until our breaths mingled.

Her knee pressed against mine, pinning me in place.

Though the restraint was familiar, her soft whisper near my ear made it feel different.

“No one will interrupt us.

Relax your body and take a deep breath.”

As she spoke, her hand gently stroked the back of my neck.

Her touch was unnervingly calming, as if she had mastered the art of pacifying others.

The tension that had gripped my body dissipated before I realized it, leaving me strangely pliant.

It was a clear reminder of how thoroughly I’d been conditioned.

Perhaps it didn’t matter anymore.

Even the duchess within me seemed to have stopped resisting.

I used to think Ariana was just a parasite feeding off her past host, but after seeing her unmasked moments ago, that belief crumbled.

The emotions she showed toward me—jealousy and faint expectation—felt so starkly detached, as though deliberately suppressed.

The duchess despised pity and concern, but Ariana wasn’t one of those sympathetic saints.

She treated me clinically, like a hired torturer doing a job.

Ultimately, there’s someone behind her too, isn’t there?

“…Heh.”

I let out a quiet laugh and closed my eyes.

What am I even thinking?

None of it changes anything.

As her hand continued to stroke my neck, Ariana began to speak softly.

“If you’re relaxed, let’s begin.”

Not that I was truly relaxed, but at this point, she could do as she pleased.

I let my body go limp, signaling my resignation.

Ariana rolled up my sleeve and ran her fingers over the pale skin of my arm.

Having done this before, she worked quickly, tying off my arm to expose the veins.

The needle’s point approached, pricking the crook of my elbow with a sharp sting.

I felt the syringe’s contents seep into my veins, the tepid liquid spreading within me.

From where the needle pierced, an indescribable sensation began to creep through my body.

Ah, here it comes.

That was all I could think of.