Time passed, and Sunday finally arrived.
After days of relentless classes, the academy was hushed, the usual echoes of hurried footsteps and clattering voices replaced by a rare stillness. Students were left to their own leisure, some vanishing into the city beyond the gates, others nesting in their rooms with books, letters, or long hours of rest.
Inside the girls' dormitory, tucked to the right of the main building, one particular room carried a warmth unlike the others.
Lace curtains swayed gently at the windowsill, their edges embroidered with tiny floral patterns. A vase of fresh lilies stood on the desk, filling the air with a faint, sweet fragrance that mingled with the scent of polished wood.
Sunlight poured in through the half-open window, scattering across the floor in golden streaks, as though the morning itself had stepped inside.
Before the mirror stood a young lady, her posture graceful even in such a simple moment.
A light-purple dress, soft and airy, draped over her figure, its fabric decorated with delicate blossoms of dark lavender at the hem and sleeves. Each fold shimmered faintly in the sunlight, giving the impression of petals carried by a gentle breeze.
Her hair—long and coffee-brown—gleamed as her maid brushed it with slow, practiced strokes. The bristles caught and released the light with each pass, and the sound of the brush was a soft, rhythmic whisper in the quiet room.
The girl's lips curved into a smile, shy yet radiant, as she studied her reflection in the polished glass. For a moment, she tilted her head slightly, as if wondering whether the person in the mirror was truly her.
"Fufu," her maid chuckled warmly, eyes narrowing with fond amusement. "My lady, you look so beautiful today. Any man who saw that smile of yours would surely lose his heart on the spot."
"Mou, don't tease me so early in the morning, Daisy," Emilia pouted softly, her cheeks warming as she turned her gaze aside.
"Still, my lady," Daisy pressed on with playful persistence, "if you truly wish to capture your man's heart, you mustn't hide that smile. The world would be far less dull if you let it shine more often."
"R-Really?" Emilia stammered, fingers lightly touching her lips as if uncertain about the curve of her own smile.
"Yes, my lady. I daresay young master Evan would tumble head over heels if he saw you smile like that," Daisy said with a knowing chuckle.
"O-Okay… I'll do that," Emilia replied, her words shy yet resolute, her expression softening into something almost childlike.
That determination, so small yet sincere, only made Daisy laugh a little more.
Today wasn't just another quiet Sunday. For Emilia, it was an important day—a day for her and Evan.
Her thoughts slipped back, unbidden, to that painful moment when everything between them had begun to crumble.
The memory of that duel still weighed heavily on her chest. She remembered running to him afterward, desperate, her heart begging him to listen. She wanted to explain, to clear the fog of misunderstanding, to confess the guilt that gnawed at her for the mistakes she had made.
But Evan… Evan hadn't listened. His eyes, once so familiar and gentle, had looked at her like a stranger's. That cold, distant gaze—so utterly foreign—still haunted her. And when he turned and walked away, leaving her behind, it felt as though something inside her had broken.
The next day, she had waited. All night, she had held onto that fragile hope—Maybe tomorrow. Maybe he'll let me explain.
When morning came, she rushed to his door, her heart trembling with anticipation. But no matter how many times she called, no matter how she pleaded, the door never opened. Silence was her only answer.
In class, her mind had been adrift. She couldn't focus, not with that weight pressing on her. And when the bell rang, she fled—running through the halls with no thought to her grace or reputation, desperation stripping her of everything but the need to find him.
When at last she caught sight of Evan seated in the classroom, her heart nearly gave way in relief. For just a moment, seeing him there had been enough to make her feel she could breathe again.
When she came closer, her resolve had already been set—no matter what Evan said, no matter how harsh his words might be, she would take it all. She was ready.
But against her expectations, he didn't lash out. He remained the same—smiling faintly, playful in that usual way, as though nothing had ever happened.
Later, when the two of them finally left the classroom together, alone—hidden from the stares and the whispers—Emilia could no longer hold herself back. She let everything spill: the guilt, the shame, the betrayal she herself had committed.
Her words tumbled out like broken glass: her interference in the duel, the magic she had used, how it caused Evan to lose his weapon in front of everyone.
And yet, even now, she couldn't understand why she had done it.
Between her fiancé and her best friend, why had she chosen Lucas? Why had she acted in that moment? What had been so important that she risked everything?
Was it pity? Was it fear?
She remembered Lucas's bloodied face, the desperation in his eyes as Evan toyed with him—graceful, untouchable, cruelly confident.
Did she step in because she couldn't bear to watch Lucas fall? Because she couldn't stomach his defeat? Because she knew, deep down, if Lucas lost, he would lose everything—the academy, his dignity, his mother's fragile hope.
But what about Evan?
What about the boy she was bound to? The noble son of House Ravenshade, a marquis's heir? Even if he lost, nothing would change. He wouldn't be stripped of his title, nor cast aside. No duel could undo an engagement, not when Lucas had no power to change the terms.
So why? Why had she interfered?
Why, when her heart should have been on Evan's side, had her hands moved for another?
Even now, Emilia didn't know. And that ignorance—that terrifying, unexplainable truth—was what hurt her most.
But then, the fears that had been clawing at her chest, threatening to swallow her whole, scattered all at once.
Because in that quiet moment, when the corridor felt deserted and the air was heavy with her guilt, she heard him.
Evan leaned slightly toward her, his voice low—almost a whisper meant only for her.
"I forgive you."
Her eyes widened, her heart stopping for a breath. For a second, she thought she had misheard. But then came the rest, gentle and disarming.
"I understand… and I was at fault too. I treated you like a prize to be won, like a trophy on display. I didn't even realize it until now."
Those words—simple as they were—struck deeper than any reprimand could. They unraveled her defenses, thread by fragile thread, until her tears spilled freely down her cheeks.
In that instant, she broke. She didn't think, didn't hesitate—she threw her arms around him, embracing him with all the desperation she had buried inside.
Her fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt as if he were the only anchor keeping her from drowning.
She forgot, for a fleeting moment, that he was still recovering—that he wasn't yet well. All she knew was that she couldn't bear the thought of losing him. Not again. Not ever.
And as she buried her face against him, trembling from the rush of emotion, she understood something crystal clear: this man was the one she didn't want to let go.
Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever.
And today—today was the day Evan had chosen himself. A special day he had set aside, telling her with that usual, playful smile of his, "Let's cast the worries away. Just for today… let's be us again."
-----
---
The carriage came to a gentle halt, the soft jolt barely disturbing Emilia as she lifted the hem of her dress and stepped down with practiced grace.
The capital city of Everlight stretched before her, vibrant and alive even on a calm Sunday afternoon. Stalls lined the streets with merchants calling out their wares, children darted between adults with laughter trailing after them, and the fountain at the city's heart glittered under the sunlight. Unlike the hushed corridors of the academy, the capital breathed warmth and life.
A few curious gazes fell on her as she descended, though most quickly looked away. Students from Royal Academy weren't rare visitors here, after all. Nobles often slipped out on their free days, blending into the bustle of the capital.
Still, Emilia's presence drew its own share of whispers, her delicate figure and refined beauty standing out like a flower in full bloom amidst the crowd.
Daisy, who had stepped down behind her, wrung her hands nervously.
"My lady, are you certain you'll be all right? Do you want me to come along, just in case?"
Emilia gave a small shake of her head, her lips curling in a soft smile.
"No, Daisy. Evan said… this time, it should just be the two of us. He wants us to simply enjoy the day together."
The maid still frowned, her worry plain.
"Even so, Lady Emilia… the capital may be bright, but it's not without its shadows."
Emilia laughed lightly, her tone teasing.
"What could possibly happen in broad daylight? Besides, don't forget—I'm quite a capable mage. I can protect myself, you know."
Daisy puffed her cheeks in defeat but finally bowed.
"Just… promise me you'll stay alert, my lady."
"Yes, yes. I'll be careful," Emilia answered with a playful wave of her hand, before turning and making her way toward the meeting place Evan had chosen.
As she walked, voices followed her—whispers slipping through the crowd.
"Isn't that Lady Emilia of the viscount nightshade?"
"She's even prettier in person…"
"Like a painting come to life…"
Emilia's steps didn't falter. She was used to such words, and today, her mind was elsewhere. Her heart beat quicker the closer she drew, anticipation warming her chest.
And then she saw him.
Standing by the fountain, waiting in silence with his hands tucked behind his back, Evan looked almost ethereal. The spray of water behind him rose and fell in steady rhythm, as though the world itself had stilled to frame him there. Even in casual clothes, his presence was striking—sharp enough to catch every passing eye.
She wasn't the only one who noticed. A small group of young ladies lingered nearby, pretending to admire the fountain, though their eyes never strayed from Evan.
Soft giggles carried over, their gazes shameless in their admiration.
Emilia puffed her cheeks and let out a small, annoyed murmur.
"Mou… honestly. How dare they ogle my fiancé like that?"
Her pout deepened, but only for a moment. Straightening, she lifted her chin and strode forward, her skirts swishing as she quickened her pace. A faint glare cast toward the other girls was enough to make them falter, their whispers stuttering into silence.
Her eyes, however, were fixed only on Evan as she hurried toward him—her heart skipping with every step.
The sound of hurried footsteps drew Evan's attention. He turned his head, eyes quietly observing before softening at the sight of Emilia making her way toward him.
For a moment, he simply stood there, gaze lingering with a calm thoughtfulness, until his lips curved into that familiar, teasing smile of his.
"Well, well… look who we have here. Who might this pretty lady be?" he said, voice playful as ever.
Emilia raised a brow, her pout faint but charming. "That pretty lady happens to be your fiancée."
"Hmm. Then I must be quite the lucky person," Evan replied without missing a beat. He gently reached for her hand, lifting it with practiced ease before brushing a soft kiss against her knuckles.
The gesture made her heart stir, though she tried to hide it behind her usual grace.
"Shall we?" Evan asked, offering his arm.
"Yes," Emilia answered, her smile carrying a trace of warmth she didn't bother to conceal.
The date Evan had suggested was unlike the elaborate ones they usually attended—no glittering ballrooms, no grand banquets. Instead, he had chosen something simple, ordinary even. A day where they could walk side by side through the bustling streets of the capital, not as nobles bound by expectations, but as a young couple simply enjoying each other's company.
And to Emilia, that idea was unexpectedly wonderful.
They moved together into the flow of the city, where every corner brimmed with life. Merchants called out to advertise their goods, children darted past with laughter trailing behind them, and the aroma of fresh bread and roasted chestnuts hung in the air. Street performers strummed instruments while passersby paused to listen. It was noisy, unrefined, and yet… it was alive.
"Quite different from our usual outings, isn't it?" Evan remarked with a small grin as his eyes wandered the lively scene.
"Different, yes," Emilia said softly, watching the vibrant world around them. "But it feels… refreshing."
----
--
The restaurant they entered wasn't extravagant—it wasn't draped with chandeliers or noble crests like the high-end places they were used to. Instead, it carried a cozy charm.
Wooden tables polished smooth, sunlight slipping through patterned curtains, the air fragrant with herbs and freshly baked bread. The kind of place where people laughed easily, not worried about etiquette.
A young waitress approached their table, tray in hand.
"Here's your tea, ma'am. And for you as well, sir. Would you like me to add the sugar for you?"
Evan shook his head lightly, offering her the kind of polite smile that seemed to come naturally to him.
"That won't be necessary. I'll add it myself, and for the lady as well. You may go—thank you."
The waitress gave a small bow. "As you wish. If you need anything, please call for us. Please enjoy your time." She left them with steaming cups, the faint tendrils of tea curling upward like smoke.
Emilia's lips curved faintly as she picked up her spoon, tapping it lightly against the rim of the cup.
"You didn't have to dismiss her like that, you know."
Evan reached for the sugar jar, his movements unhurried. He lifted a cube with the tongs and let it drop into his own tea, the faint plink followed by ripples across the surface. He repeated the gesture for Emilia's cup before setting the jar aside.
"I wasn't dismissing her. I just prefer not to let strangers decide how sweet your tea should be."
"Besides… it wouldn't sit right with me, letting someone else decide how sweet your tea should be."
Her cheeks warmed faintly, though she covered it by stirring the tea with delicate precision. "Flatterer. You make it sound as though sugar were some grand gesture."
"Depends on who it's for," Evan replied, leaning back as if the answer was the simplest thing in the world.
"So, how have you been these days, my lady? Does the academy bore you or do you enjoy it?"
"Well, a little of both. As a professional mage, I have to study more, as the complicated elements of magic require much more understanding."
"Hmm, quite the studious type, hmm?"
"Well, I also quite enjoy my time with my friends."
"Hmm, oh, I remember. You're friends with the elven princess. How is she?"
"Well, speaking of Seraphina, she looks cold on the outside, but she's gentle on the inside if you know her. But why are you talking about her? Have you suddenly developed an interest in her?"
"Well, no, just curiosity."
"And why so?"
"My lady, don't worry. My eyes will remain only on you, so let's just change the topic, okay?"
"Hmm, I'll let this slide, this once."
"Hehe. Well, let's finish our tea and go. I have a place we must visit."
They both finished their tea.
Emilia set her cup down, intent on rising, but the world betrayed her.
A wave of vertigo hit her like an iron fist to the chest. The walls of the restaurant stretched and twisted, sunlight bleeding through the windows like molten gold.
The chatter around her dulled into a distant, hollow murmur, a soundscape muffled under the crushing weight of impending doom.
Her legs failed her, wobbling like frail reeds. She collapsed back onto the chair, fingers clawing at the edge, gasping, each breath a struggle.
"Oh… Ema, are you alright?" Evan's voice cut through her panic, smooth, unnervingly calm, like a conductor observing an orchestra. Not a note of fear, not a flicker of care.
She met his gaze—and it was gone. The warmth she'd relied on, the promise of affection, had been siphoned away.
A void stared back, deep, unyielding, consuming. The man she loved had become an observer of suffering, a predator savoring the moment before the kill.
Her mouth opened to speak, to plead, but no sound emerged. Her throat constricted, an invisible vice crushing her windpipe.
Then came the first cough—a violent, scalding eruption that tore through her chest.
She coughed again, sharper, hotter, as if molten needles shredded her esophagus.
Her body shook with each convulsion, violent spasms that rattled her frame. Panic clawed at her like talons, sharp and merciless.
She reached for water, anything to relieve the burning, but her trembling hands found only Evan's unmoving figure.
He did not flinch. Did not speak. Did not blink. Her desperation went unanswered, swallowed by the cold, calculating eyes that watched her suffering with the precision of a surgeon examining a corpse.
The next cough tore free a thick, dark spray of blood. It stained the tablecloth, glistened in the sunlight, a grotesque tapestry across pristine white linen.
She tasted iron and fear, the metallic tang of mortality filling her mouth.
"Wh-what… are you… you're… Evan?" Her voice cracked, a brittle, shattered plea, as if speaking aloud might bridge the chasm between life and death.
He did not move. Did not answer. Just stared, a predator fixated, analyzing every ragged breath, every tremor of panic.
Her hands, slick with blood and shaking uncontrollably, reached toward him. He brushed the water aside with a subtle motion. No help. No mercy.
Then she collapsed completely, body convulsing, choking, a ghostly white fog of breath curling from her mouth.
The cozy restaurant became a tomb. For a moment, a stunned silence hung in the air, until a scream finally tore through it.
"Aaaagh!"
"What happened?!"
"The lady! The lady at the table! She's collapsed!"
Chaos erupted. Chairs scraped, people shouted, and panic spread like wildfire.
Evan remained seated, motionless, a marble statue of cruelty.
The panic that flooded the restaurant barely grazed him. People scrambled toward her, attempting aid, shouting for someone to do something.
But Evan's gaze never left her. Her struggle, her blood, her life slipping away—it was merely a lesson, an observation, an experiment.
"Hey! That's the girl you came with! Why aren't you—doing anything?!" someone shouted, their voice laced with a mixture of horror and outrage.
Evan's hand dipped into his pocket. A list, neat and organized, peeked out from inside.
He extracted a pen, its click barely audible amidst the growing turmoil. His fingers moved with a calm precision, ticking an item off.
Killed by poison this time. Let's see where this goes.
Around him, people scrambled to aid her.
A healer pushed through the crowd, his face pale with alarm. The manager of the restaurant began shouting orders, but their voices and actions were a distant, meaningless noise to Evan.
Amidst the panic, a new, ominous message flickered into view, glowing red in the air like a dying heart:
WARNING. WARNING. WARNING.
THE SCENARIO HAS BROKEN. THE MAIN HEROINE IS DEAD.
Evan's lips curled into a subtle, unreadable smirk. He watched the healer reach Emilia, his hands glowing with a failed spell as her body went limp.
"Guess I failed this time as well… fifth iteration, isn't it?"
"What the hell were you mumbling—"
The man's voice was filled with frantic, rising anger, but he never finished the question.
Time froze. The chaotic shouts, the panic, the scent of blood—all halted in a suffocating stillness.
The dust motes in the sunlight stopped in midair. Silence pressed down like a tombstone, heavy and absolute. The world was unmade, a puppet show where the strings had been cut.
And then… Fush.
The sound was not a chime, but a violent tear in reality. A brutal, disorienting force that ripped him from the moment and hurled him back. He was standing again.
The fountain of the city gleamed before him, the bustling crowd a blur, and the warmth of the sun mocked him. The same city. The same place.
But the horror of what had just occurred lingered, like a shadow clinging to his soul. The scent of her blood was still on his hands, a phantom sensation he couldn't wash away.
He knew. He knew what he had just done.
And he knew he would do it again, and again, until he got the answer he wanted.
"How many times must she fall before I decide to let her live?"