Still, I Long to See You Once More
Imperial Cemetery. Among them, the spot most touched by nature—what folks commonly call the "sunny side." A solitary grave and tombstone sat there.
—Hey, Woojin.
A conversation from some time ago whispered in my ear as I gazed at it.
—Woojin.
—…
—Hey, Kim Woojin. Why're you so quiet?
A cramped room. The guy who had come to my solitary darkness, lighting it up.
—Why.
As I answered, he finally flashed a shy smile.
—…Hey.
Looking straight into my eyes, he repeated it clearly.
Trembling lips. Shaky breath.
—Wanna get married?
…Back then, I couldn't give him an answer.
Was it because I wasn't ready?
Or because I misunderstood his feelings?
After that far-too-young little brother left the world so cruelly, I'd been living like a broken wind-up doll. Moving as if something inside was busted, occasionally flailing in fleeting emotions.
So, I thought you pitied me.
That without you by my side, I wouldn't be able to keep going. That I'd just keep breaking down endlessly.
I mistook it for you staying out of pity and sorrow.
—…Kidding, kidding. Why take it so seriously?
I said nothing to you as you pouted those words like a joke.
I didn't want you wasted on a broken mess like me.
I wanted to show you I could stand on my own.
—What're you doing!
Another day, he slapped my shoulder lightly and set something down.
—Here. Take a look.
It was a brand-new tablet. I furrowed my brow at the sight.
—What's this?
—Yours.
—…Isn't it expensive?
—Yeah. Pretty pricey.
—Wha… How's your wallet situation? Didn't you say you wanted something?
He grinned like an idiot.
—Hehe. That was it. Wanted this. To give to you.
—…
I silently flipped the tablet over, inspecting it. Definitely expensive.
Glancing at my reaction, he rested his face on my shoulder.
—Hey. They say there are two kinds of happiness. Giving happiness, receiving happiness.
—…Yeah?
—Yeah. If it's only receiving, the world wouldn't turn. It's like a well-designed algorithm, just like in our game.
Saying that, he hugged me.
—…So. I like giving to you, Woojin.
His embarrassing words tickled; I ended up laughing.
—Lucky me. I prefer receiving.
I opened my eyes again. The reminiscence was vivid, but reality remained unchanged.
The tablet probably popped into my head out of nowhere because I'd drawn this game on it.
“…”
I knelt on one knee before her tombstone, placing a single flower on the grave.
Yuarra von Fairgis Mainnihht
But no tears came.
It was time to forget now. A year was plenty to bury her in memories.
At least, for Deculein.
…However.
“Still, I do long to see you once more.”
I removed my glove. Traced her name with bare fingers.
Just the cold, hard feel of stone.
“…Hah.”
Ifrin watched Deculein from not far away. Gripping with sweat over nothing.
“Did you… did you just hear that?”
Of course, she wasn't alone. The "red-furred munchkin" nestled in her arms was with her.
—I heard.
The cat perked its tail with a huff. The twitching pointed fur tickled Ifrin's nostril.
“Ahchoo.”
—Hmph. "Still longs to see her."
The cat shook its head. Ifrin knew it was disrespectful, but that look was murderously cute.
—Who knew the professor was the type to live on lingering regrets.
“…Disappointed?”
She cautiously placed a hand on its back, pretending nonchalance.
So soft.
—Who knows.
The cat said.
—I wouldn't know. I've no such experiences.
“Hmm… I see. Umm…”
Ifrin stroked the soft fur, mumbling dreamily.
—But that kind of life doesn't look so bad.
“…That kind of life?”
—Yes. If it's just living ordinarily and dying ordinarily, like some noble lady.
The cat propped its chin on its tiny paw. Its face melted into sentiment.
Adorably to death.
—Being forever etched in a man like Deculein's memory…
Ifrin nodded unwittingly.
Among the living things she knew, the one least likely to know love or bonds was Deculein.
For someone to be that deeply embedded in his heart… it must be something special.
—Well then, I'm off. Class time. Yeriel or whoever keeps yapping beside me.
“Pardon? Oh, yes.”
The reason Sophien came as a cat instead of her true form was Yeriel.
On the way out of the university, she'd bumped into Yeriel by chance. Amid the back-and-forth, she'd been dragged along with "class is starting soon."
Ifrin had been speechless at Yeriel treating the disguised emperor so casually, but revealing it would cause a bigger mess, so she'd just stood there dumbly.
“Farewell.”
—Right.
The cat's eyes went blank with a smirk. Possession lifted.
“Phew. Finally—”
Nyaong—!
The cat yowled.
“Ack! W-wait. Stay still…”
Nyaong—! Nyaoooong—!
Thrashing to escape her arms, clawing everywhere, total chaos—
“Yaaack! Stop…?”
Then, a long shadow fell.
An ominous silhouette.
Gulp—Ifrin swallowed.
Creeeak—she looked up, body freezing solid.
“…Ah.”
Deculein. The professor loomed over her, having approached unnoticed.
The cat shrank at his presence, quietly ceasing its fuss.
“P-Professor—”
“What business here.”
Deculein said. Hostility clear in his face and tone.
Ifrin calmed her pounding heart, clutching the cat like a shield.
“N-no, it's not that. I wasn't spying or—”
“Gilteon.”
“…Huh?”
Ifrin's eyes widened. She whipped around.
“…Ah.”
There, as Deculein said, was Gilteon.
Sylvia's father, one of the Luna family's archenemies. Her face naturally soured at the sight, but soon tilted in confusion.
“…What's with his condition.”
Gilteon's complexion was off. No, his whole frame had shrunk.
Like all fat melted away, pure bones now.
“Deculein.”
Gilteon said. Deculein frowned. Ifrin stuck close, mimicking the expression.
But Gilteon's next words were wildly unexpected.
“Help me.”
…
—Supply and demand is a very basic law, but from a managerial perspective, it's hard to call it practical in itself. It must always have utility. Allow me to introduce several examples that defy this law…
Emperor Sophien attended class. Or rather, did quite a few things.
Hand jotting notes on the business economics lecture she already knew by heart; mind pondering Go moves, imperial policies, plans to exterminate the hidden Altiegue in the desert…
—Still, I do long to see you once more.
Deculein.
That bastard's voice echoed unbidden. Lingering in her ears.
He who killed hundreds, thousands; pinned every atrocity on himself—yet buried eternal longing in a corner of his heart.
Perhaps Sophien envied him now.
The nameless woman who was his object of longing.
“…”
Currently, the palace brimmed with Deculein's purge winds. Sophien knew it well.
But as one who'd regressed, she trusted him—gladly leaving it to his hands…
“Hey. Aren't you taking notes?”
An elbow nudged her. Deculein's sister, Yeriel.
"I am. Notes."
This girl had her big bro's nosiness, unlike him.
No idea why she cared, but Sophien moved her pen again. Mumbled casually.
“Lady Yeriel. Rumors say the central politics are in uproar lately.”
Yeriel's face stiffened briefly. But only for a moment; she dove back into notes.
Sophien glanced sideways, adding,
“And it's your big—”
“You're from the palace, right?”
Yeriel's words half-pierced the truth. Sophien smiled inwardly.
“Knew from the start. But you're too obvious.”
“…”
“How? You reek of palace. Etiquette and formality, straight imperial.”
But this girl missed the crucial part.
Or never even considered it.
Her disguise magic was top-notch, and who'd believe the emperor attends university?
Yeriel smirked.
“In-law? Heard His Majesty has relatives.”
Half-right again.
Sophien nodded calmly.
“Indeed. Thus, I have questions—”
“Why ask me? Everyone knows we bicker and hate each other.”
“…”
Sophien eyed Yeriel steadily. Yeriel met it with calm.
Then—smirked.
—Short break.
Perfect timing. Yeriel leaned back, just like her brother.
“Still, if you need a report… That guy's not doing this for personal gain.”
Sophien listened silently.
“It's all his way of serving His Majesty. Tell him to stop, he will. Tell him myself? Falls on deaf ears. I hate the risk too. Getting real-time reports on every arrest name and number.”
Yeriel turned, tapping her left ear. A crystal orb-like thing.
Sophien probed once more.
“How does the palace trust it?”
“Hmm…”
Yeriel crossed arms. Pretended to ponder, but she'd anticipated this. Imperial contact was inevitable.
“He's sent me tons of letters. All full of His Majesty. How to help him… that stuff.”
“…”
Letters. Deculein wrote his sister too?
As Sophien pondered silently, Yeriel said,
“Wanna see? Mostly bossing me around, but you'll get it. Deculein admires His Majesty.”
“…”
Admires?
Sophien nodded, face slightly frowning. Yeriel chuckled.
“Different, right? Yeah. After class. Gotta pee first.”
“One more.”
Sophien grabbed rising Yeriel. Yeriel blinked curiously.
“I want everything—his hobbies, past, all related.”
“…”
Yeriel's perpetual composure cracked.
Sophien pressed firmly.
“Reporting would benefit you too. You two have a 'publicly' nasty sibling rift, no?”
“…Hmph.”
Yeriel narrowed eyes. Sophien waited silently.
“Want me to double-agent now?”
“…”
Slightly off, but close enough.
Sophien nodded.
“Fine. Needed palace connections anyway.”
Yeriel agreed surprisingly readily.
Pour—tea filling cups. Steam rising from three, placed before each.
“…”
“…”
“…”
Heavy silence in Sylvia's mansion.
Ifrin couldn't grasp this situation. Somehow swept here like a wave.
“The mansion's empty.”
Deculein said. He didn't touch his cup.
Gilteon smirked.
“No master, naturally.”
“Not satisfied with news of the child who left?”
Sylvia was magic world's hot topic.
Her ever-evolving Tri-Color talent. Floating Island papers claimed it touched "divinity."
“…Didn't expect her to stray.”
“Stray.”
“Yes.”
Gilteon gripped his cup with trembling hand. Gritted teeth.
“Sylvia's being swallowed by the devil.”
“…’Voice’?”
Ifrin asked. Gilteon glanced, said,
“Yes. ‘Voice.’ Inside it, Sylvia's with her mother.”
“Huh? Mother?!”
“Quiet.”
Deculein covered Ifrin's mouth. Gilteon smiled weakly.
“Yes. Mother. The Voice revived Cielia; Sylvia's trapped there willingly. She'll become devil's fragment, not archmage.”
To Gilteon and house now, Sylvia was "everything."
Ilayde's last light, hope.
Such talent falling to devil's servant? Endless despair.
“Thus, I seek formal aid. Devils are Yukline's domain, no?”
“…”
Deculein met Gilteon's eyes. Stared at sunken sockets.
“Pitiful, Gilteon.”
“…”
“You've lost your 'self' already.”
No self left in Gilteon. No pride as Gilteon in Ilayde or his heart.
All bet on his daughter.
“Save Sylvia, my life gladly yours. She's Ilayde itself. So—”
“Gilteon.”
Deculein leaned back arrogantly, crossing legs, glaring.
“Your life holds no value now. Who'd want such a pathetic neck.”
“…Deculein.”
Gilteon glared back. Faint flame in eyes.
“The ‘Voice’ holds your lost love too. Think you won't be swayed—”
“I won't. Unlike your frail daughter.”
Deculein rose decisively. Ifrin gawked up, then shook head.
“Wait, hold on. So, Gilteon—you know how to save Sylvia?”
Gilteon clutched cup. Bubbling—tea boiled hot.
“I do, Ifrin. You heard then too.”
But Deculein answered.
Ifrin tilted head blankly.
“…Huh? What is it?”
“Kill the devil in her mother's form again.”
“…”
Bang—Gilteon's cup exploded. Ifrin's mouth agape.
Deculein said calmly.
“I'll gladly do it.”
“…”
“…”
Gilteon's face brightened; Ifrin's twisted sourly.
ZZZzt—!
Sudden frequency on Deculein's communicator.
Deculein held the communicator to his ear.