Miss, stop committing suicide

Chapter 27

I’m back.

I don’t know why, but I’m holding a coffee cup.

The feeling I had when my head was severed—that unique sensation—suddenly returned, and my whole body jolted upright.

“Ah!”

Because of it, I spilled hot coffee on my pale thigh, scalding my skin just a little.

Instead of taking off my clothes and pouring cold water on it, I just conjured a small stream of cool water from my fingertips and let it trickle down the burn.

“It stings.”

So, where am I?

I’d like to think it’s heaven or hell disguised as my room. But judging by how real everything feels, it’s probably neither.

Actually, this might be my room.

Not the room of this “young lady”—but the room I originally lived in.

Maybe I’m just experiencing an extended hallucination or I had a heart attack and woke up on my own.

With such ridiculous thoughts swirling in my head, I glance toward the mirror.

And, of course, there’s a cute girl sitting there, smirking at me like she’s mocking my thoughts.

I can’t even remember what I used to look like anymore.

If I think about what I’d like to drink right now, it’s oolong tea.

Yeah, oolong tea filled with ice from that cafe five minutes from my old house.

How much was it again?

Two thousand won. Yeah, 2,000 won.

What kind of person was I back then?

Unemployed. I didn’t work.

But I wasn’t worried about money.

Like most people, my family and friends disappeared one by one, leaving me completely alone.

I’d lost too much, to the point that I was the only one left.

What did I want to do with my life?

I’d abandoned my human rights and willingly became a graduate student. I’d dreamed of becoming a professor.

My dad wasn’t a full professor—just a research professor—but still, a professor is a professor.

Then the world turned upside down.

No, not the world—just society.

I was shipped north in a green uniform and came back missing limbs.

And who’s going to hire a cripple?

Not the students, nor the professors. They’d all just give me that irritated look whenever I’d walk by.

Without the right connections, I’d just end up as an adjunct professor, spinning in circles until I’d have to quit.

So, I gave up early.

“But why does any of that matter now?”

I’d killed people to survive.

Was this my punishment?

No, that’s not it. Communists aren’t people, so I’d never actually murdered anyone.

My head suddenly felt clear.

I walked over to my desk and opened a drawer.

Inside, I found a few disorganized gold coins.

I took two of them and decided to head to the academy’s shop that sold luxury items.

I didn’t care what time it was, what would happen next, or what would happen with Vivian.

All that mattered was getting some cigarettes.

The Crown Prince always filled his pipe with leaves—maybe marijuana, maybe something else—but either way, it’s something.

I needed something to smoke, or I’d go crazy.

So, I grabbed a fresh uniform, put on my shoes, and left the dormitory.

At a distance, I spotted a bespectacled figure striding toward the dorm.

It was clearly Evan.

He’s probably debating whether to come in or not.

Since I’d rather avoid wasting energy on him and risk forgetting about my errand, I ducked out of sight.

I passed the dining hall and walked to a street lined with shops selling small trinkets and accessories.

The street was packed with people.

Was it dinner time?

Either way, I made my way to the shop that sold luxury goods like coffee, tea, cigarettes, and alcohol.

The shop’s interior wasn’t too crowded, probably because of its high-end products.

As I approached a small wooden box containing cigars, I reached for it at the same time as someone else’s hand.

“Oh my, it’s the young lady of the Mecklenburg family.”

It was the Crown Prince.

Instead of bowing respectfully, I just gave a slight nod.

“Since we’re in the academy, I’ll spare the formalities, Your Highness.”

“No matter. But how about observing some decorum by offering me that last box of cigars?” he said with a grin. “After all, it’s hardly proper for a lady to smoke.”

“What’s so wrong about finding solace in a little smoke rising toward the sky, hidden away where no one sees?” I replied.

“With logic like that, I suppose I’ll indulge you this time.”

He let go of the box, releasing it into my hands.

“I’ll just have to endure the tedium of another session with my pipe,” he said, sounding tired but amused.

After purchasing the cigars, I left the store and headed back to my room.

But then I remembered something—Evan might be at my door.

My steps slowed to a halt.

I veered toward a bench near a small pond.

This spot had been a common gathering place for me, Evan, and Vivian.

I decided to sit for a while, my thoughts foggy as smoke.

To blow it all away, I conjured a tiny flame at my fingertip and lit a cigar.

The first inhale…

“Ack! Cough! Hack! Gah!”

My throat burned, and I coughed so hard I thought my lungs would collapse.

Right. This body—this delicate young lady’s body—had never smoked before.

From my neck to my whole face, I felt an odd nausea—a mix of familiarity and unfamiliarity that left me reeling.

Of course, my mind remembers being a heavy smoker once. Inhaling smoke should feel familiar, but this body—this girl’s body—was clearly not used to it.

“I figured you were a seasoned smoker, given your choice, but I guess I misjudged,” the Crown Prince remarked.

“Following a lady around isn’t exactly a virtuous quality, Your Highness,” I replied flatly.

“…Perhaps,” he muttered.

I gave up in the end. No matter how many times I tried, I couldn’t smoke it.

Every breath felt like sharp thorns scratching the inside of my chest.

After a few tries of inhaling and exhaling, I gave up. I burned the end of the cigar and set it down.

This girl’s body really was fragile.

I couldn’t even indulge in a simple vice. No, not without breaking down.

Fortunately, I had someone nearby to help.

“One of them’s already lit, but the rest are brand new from the store. Care to take them as a gift?” I asked.

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” the Crown Prince said, his eyes glinting.

I handed him the box of cigars, and he snatched it like someone afraid it might be stolen from him. Then he opened it like a deviant, sniffing the contents with an unsettling grin.

He sat down next to me, one arm’s length away, and crossed his legs. From the box I’d given him, he picked a cigar, murmured something into the air, and a small, wavering flame appeared at the end of it.

He hadn’t conjured the flame himself. Someone else had.

“Have you heard the news?” he asked.

He didn’t seem to expect a response. After taking a drag and exhaling a long stream of smoke, he continued.

“Your family’s going to collapse. It’s not over yet, but it will be.

Whether it’s a deficit, a rebellion, or something else entirely—it’s coming.”

I didn’t reply.

I just watched a small, nameless fish swim in circles around the pond in front of us.

The fish swam around and around, nibbling at bits of food in the water. Occasionally, it would bump into the edge of the pond and hesitate, as if stunned, before going right back to swimming in circles.

“I know,” I finally said.

“Normally, if someone’s alone with someone of higher status who can prop them up, they’d try to get something out of it. But you’re not, huh? Were you abused at home or something?”

Abused? No, I was loved.

I was raised to see the world in a positive light and to be someone who could love others in turn.

But a few words on a page destroyed all of that.

A few lines of text made me a machine—a machine meant to make Vivian feel sadness and nothing more.

If that’s the case, just throw me away when I’m broken.

Stop replacing me. Please.

“There’s no reason for you to help me, and I’m not asking for it,” I replied.

He nodded as if that made perfect sense.

“Fair enough. I’ve got no reason to help you, and you’re not asking for it.

But I’ll still say this—it’s going to get a lot harder from here on out.

Even after you graduate, without a proper backer, nothing’s going to change.

If you’re going to cause a scene, at least do it quietly in your room. People like you—the quiet, calm ones—are the most dangerous.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.

The Crown Prince’s brow twitched, like he’d heard something he didn’t like.

“If you ever see someone cross the line, come to me. I’ll give you a little help,” he said, almost as an afterthought.

“Like I’d be able to get through to you,” I muttered.

He’s constantly surrounded by people, after all.

“I’m leaving,” he said, standing and brushing the dust off his clothes.

“There are too many bugs around here. The smell of fish is awful too.”

With that, he walked away, his steps leisurely but firm.

I stayed on the bench for a while, watching the fish swim in circles.

Then I got up and returned to the dormitory.

Not being able to smoke didn’t make me feel like I’d go insane.

But the smell of smoke mixed with the memory of fish made me feel like I’d go mad.

As I walked, I suddenly dropped to my knees, pulled them close to my chest, and sat there, quietly crying.

“I don’t want to die,” I muttered.

Even the emptiness of a repetitive life—I wanted to feel it again.

That’s what I realized as I flew through the air after my head was cut off.

I realized I wanted to live.

But the world didn’t seem like it wanted me to live, and so I cried in quiet powerlessness.

I didn’t need a reason to want to live.

I just did.