Having sorted out her thoughts, Alia gently pushed open the hospital room door and stepped inside. The room was bathed in soft light; white curtains swayed lightly in the breeze drifting in from the window, bringing a faint chill with them. Marcellus sat on the edge of the bed, and upon seeing Livia standing there—her expression clear, her gaze firm—he couldn't help squinting slightly, as if trying to confirm whether the person before him was still the same flighty girl he had known.
"You seem… different. Has something happened?" His voice carried a trace of curiosity, tempered with cautious probing.
Alia shook her head softly, her eyes catching the light in a way that seemed to carry a clarity that had replaced all former fog. She took a deep breath, as if releasing all the emotions she had suppressed within her chest at once. Her voice trembled faintly, yet every word was sincere and unwavering:
"No… nothing happened. I've just figured some things out. Marcellus, I want to tell you clearly—no matter what, I've fallen in love with you. Yes… I, Alia—the thief from my previous life, the woman who died by your hand—have fallen in love with you."
She didn't avert her gaze; on the contrary, her eyes became even firmer, as though at that very moment she was revealing her true self for the first time.
"But I want nothing from you. I will help you gather all the fragments, revive—or restore—Livia, and then destroy the Holy Grail. As for what happens afterward… that will be left to fate. In this life, I've lived long enough to be content. Life has been vivid and extraordinary; I cannot ask for more."
Her confession poured out in one steady stream, each word infused with fiery determination. The air seemed to freeze around them; even the faint rustle of the wind outside felt distant, as if time itself had paused to listen.
Marcellus froze on the edge of the bed, his breath catching for a moment. Alia's sudden declaration left him momentarily speechless. Deep inside, he felt a jolt—a sharp pain, because he could sense the resoluteness and self-sacrifice embedded in her words; yet alongside that, a hidden joy stirred in his chest, so quietly intense that it was almost impossible to articulate. He understood the source of these feelings perfectly well, yet he did not know how to respond to this intricate mixture of emotions.
He lifted his gaze, locking eyes with Alia's unwavering stare. His lips parted, as if he wanted to grasp something, yet his mind seemed caught in a whirlpool of contradiction and struggle.
"Actually, I…"
His voice had barely escaped when it caught in his throat, choked by a thousand unsaid words that could not find their way out.
Just as he seemed about to speak—perhaps to explain or defend—Alia suddenly extended her slender fingers and pressed them lightly against his lips. The gesture was at once abrupt and tender, like an unexpected command that left no room for refusal, yet gentle enough to carry the weight of undeniable authority.
"You don't need to say anything," she whispered, her voice low but carrying an irresistible firmness. Her gaze was deep, piercing, as if she could see through all of Marcellus's inner struggles and contradictions. "Or rather… whatever you say would be meaningless."
Her fingers trembled faintly, yet stubbornly remained in place, denying him the chance to speak. The night breeze brushed past, lifting strands of her hair, highlighting the glint in her eyes—not hesitation, but a nearly cruel, cold clarity.
"Right now, nothing has been decided." Alia slowly withdrew her hand, tilting her head upward as if staring into a future far beyond the night's darkness. "Let fate… and time decide everything."
In that instant, the room seemed to freeze. Marcellus stared at her, his chest roiling with complex emotions, yet he was powerless against the weight of her words. His lips still tingled with the coolness of her fingertips, silently reminding him—some words, indeed, had already lost all meaning.