Miss, stop committing suicide

Chapter 55

“What are you doing?!”

Vivian’s voice cracked as she screamed, her hands trembling. She quickly gathered her magic and began chanting a spell.

Something about the bound girls and the overwhelming aura of malice radiating from Evan made her feel there was no other choice.

No need for conversation.

Dark sorcerers were meant to be burned alive—or hacked to pieces and fed to livestock.

That was the world’s common sense. Either eradicate them completely or leave no trace behind.

But what if the dark sorcerer was someone you knew?

What if he was your lover? The one who had shared your first kiss, someone you hadn’t officially broken up with yet?

Even if the whole world told you they were a monster, accepting it wouldn’t come easily.

Vivian was no exception.

“Evan, you know this is insane.

Do you think this… this madness will bring Erica back to life?”

Evan took a slow drag from a cigar—one that Erica had smoked before her death. 

He crossed his legs as he sat on a rounded chair, looking at Vivian with an air of mockery.

After savoring the smoke, he finally spoke.

“Vivian, Erica isn’t dead.”

“She is dead! I saw it with my own eyes. No matter how much water or dirt we used, the flames wouldn’t go out. She burned to death!”

“No. She’s alive. She was alive the day you slapped her.”

“What are you even saying? Are you claiming Erica died that day?

Erica’s death is on me! On you! She’s been dead for a long time!”

“Maybe so. But I’m telling you, she’s alive.”

“Get a grip, Evan.

We both saw her burn to death—saw her consumed by flames that wouldn’t go out no matter what we did.”

“I saw it too,” Evan said, leaning forward. “And that’s when I realized—Erica goes back in time whenever she dies.”

Hearing this, Vivian’s expression turned cold.

Up until now, she had been trying to console someone who had strayed down the wrong path, someone she could guide back to their senses.

But now, she looked at Evan as if he were a complete madman.

“Let the girls go,” she demanded.

“Vivian, if we burned Erica alive, then the responsibility for her mutilated tongue lies with these girls.”

“Evan…”

“You were the one who walked Erica to class and picked her up afterward.

Yet you didn’t notice she was being bullied?”

Vivian didn’t respond.

Evan knew she hadn’t noticed.

To Vivian, Erica had always seemed like a sickly chicken. 

Whether the chicken looked a little better or worse on any given day, it was still just a sickly chicken.

And if the chicken, locked in a coop, didn’t complain, how was its clueless owner supposed to know?

Vivian’s relentlessly optimistic worldview made it impossible for her to consider otherwise.

But Evan didn’t feel the need to rub that in her face. He continued calmly.

“On some days, her uniform hem was damp. On others, she’d come back from lunch with hollow eyes, despite seeming fine earlier that morning.

Sometimes, her mouth would be full of sores. I thought it was just stress from being around me—maybe she hated it. But no.

It was these ‘friends’ of hers. They were bullying her in a way careful enough to avoid my notice.”

The bound girls began squirming, muffled cries escaping through their gags as they struggled for freedom.

“Vivian,” Evan continued, “why didn’t you notice?”

Vivian’s trembling hands clenched into fists. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Looking back now, she could see the signs. Erica had been bullied.

But she had thought the only ones tormenting Erica were herself and Evan. 

Now, realizing she had failed to notice other perpetrators, she felt utterly paralyzed by guilt.

All she could do was cry.

“I’m not going to yell at you or get angry, Vivian,” Evan said, his tone almost gentle. “We’re not mentors and pupils, nor family.

We’re lovers—however shallow that title might be.”

“Mm-mphh! Mm—mmphhh!”

Evan took the burning cigar from his mouth, pressing it against the face of one of the bound girls to extinguish it.

The room filled with a faintly acrid smell, mingling with the odor of singed flesh.

Evan smirked as Vivian recoiled, grimacing in horror.

“Saving Erica is saving a person, Vivian.

It’s a noble thing, don’t you think? I called you here because I could use your help. I’m no good at casting complex spells…”

“Enough of your nonsense.”

Vivian’s face hardened as if she had reached a decision. She conjured a sharp icicle and flung it toward Evan’s hand.

The icicle struck his hand, embedding itself deeply. Blood dripped, but Evan remained unfazed.

He calmly removed the icicle from his palm and plunged it into the forehead of the student whose face had been burned.

The girl went limp, her body slumping forward.

Vivian couldn’t stop herself from crying.

If she had aimed the spell at Evan’s forehead instead of his hand, she could have ended this madness.

But she couldn’t do it.

Indecision plagued her, as it always had.

Her hesitation had killed Erica.

Now, she couldn’t even bring herself to kill Evan—a man who had become something else entirely.

Evan tilted his head, regarding her tear-streaked face with amusement.

“Oops, Vivian. Looks like I’ve killed another person.”

His voice was mocking as he grabbed another student by the hair, lifting them like a shield.

The terrified student flailed as Evan’s grip tightened.

“Why stop now? I’ve already killed two. One more won’t make a difference, right?”

Vivian’s spell dissipated midair. She couldn’t bring herself to attack.

Evan laughed darkly.

“You see, Vivian, Erica isn’t dead.”

“Do you really think doing this will bring Erica back?”

Vivian’s voice trembled, her expression a mixture of fury and despair.

“Why? How much pain do you think she was in? She burned without even screaming—she just smiled as she died.

Every time I close my eyes, every time I’m exhausted and my vision blurs, I see her.

And every time, all I can do is curl up, whisper I’m sorry, I’m sorry, over and over again.

But even so… I never thought about trying to resurrect her.”

Evan, unfazed, let out a mocking chuckle. “Quite the speech.”

“I’m not a lunatic like you, Evan. I respect the dead—I don’t mock them with attempts to bring them back.”

Evan took a drag from the cigar in his mouth, a sinister calmness settling over him.

“Vivian, this isn’t the first time we’ve killed Erica.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It sounds insane, I know, but every time Erica dies, she goes back to the past.

Maybe the Duke of Mecklenburg sacrificed a hundred thousand slaves from his estate. Who knows?”

“So… you’re saying you have no intention of stopping this insanity?”

“None. In fact, I’d love your help.”

“Stop spouting nonsense.”

“Was this why?” Evan murmured to himself.

Without another word, he dissolved the girl he’d been holding into a puddle of flesh and bone.

Vivian stood frozen, staring at the horrific sight. Despite the horror, a part of her had expected this. She clenched her fists, drawing magic into her palms as she charged at him.

Combat between mages was rarely about complex spells. Large-scale incantations were reserved for wars or open battlefields. In a confined space, it always came down to close combat.

Vivian, with her innate talent for magic, could cast even the simplest spells almost instantaneously.

She hurled a ball of fire at Evan.

He raised the hair of the writhing flesh pile he’d just created to block the flames.

“Oh dear, that one was still alive,” Evan mocked. “Vivian, you’ve killed someone else now.”

“Shut up, you maniac!” she screamed.

Evan grabbed a glowing orb rising from the puddle of flesh and embedded it into his hand. 

The swirling mass of magic healed the wound on his palm almost instantly.

Vivian tore a chunk of the wall free with a spell, solidifying it into a blunt weapon. 

She swung it at Evan, smashing it into his head with the force of a sledgehammer.

She followed up with a gust-imbued punch to his jaw, sending him staggering. 

Without missing a beat, she leapt into the air and drove her heel into his face.

Evan crumpled to the ground.

He was no fighter. A man who spent his life with books and experiments, Evan lacked the physical resilience to endure an onslaught like this.

His retaliatory curses were little more than distractions—weak attempts to buy time.

And while he could dissolve bodies and manipulate magic, Vivian dodged with ease.

Deep down, Evan didn’t want to kill her.

Despite his resentment, the memories of his time with Erica and Vivian—those fleeting, joyful days—remained his most cherished.

Vivian pounded Evan’s face repeatedly, using her makeshift weapon until it was reduced to splinters. Blood sprayed, teeth shattered, and his nose broke multiple times.

When Evan was barely clinging to life, his face unrecognizable, he whispered through the blood pooling in his mouth.

“Kill me. Like you killed Erica.

If you can, burn me.”

Despite his crushed face, his voice came out clear and steady, as if nothing had happened to him.

Vivian froze, staring at him.

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

Her trembling hands released the remnants of her weapon as her breath came in ragged gasps.

Her mind screamed at her to finish it. To stop him before he could cause more harm.

But she couldn’t.

Her indecision paralyzed her, as it always had.

She cursed her weakness, her wretched inability to act.

And just like before, when she had killed Erica, she ran away.

Just like she always did.