A Sharp Blade to the Throat
A sharp blade drove straight up beneath my chin. The sword halted just before slicing in, tracing a thin red line across my skin.
“...Suppressing other students or using force against them is illegal, you know.”
“It’s you, Aren. That’s why.”
An unmistakable flash of disgust crossed her eyes. Absolute distrust. If there was one person in this entire world who believed in me the least, it was undoubtedly Teodora. Others hated or suspected me with at least some shred of reason, but Teodora’s feelings ran straight to the bone—pure emotion, unfiltered and raw.
Without lowering her sword, she turned to the fallen saint.
“Saint, are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere…?”
“Ah, I’m perfectly fine…! More importantly, please stop pointing your sword at him! The Goddess teaches us to share love rather than violence when conflict arises.”
“Huh…? But that’s…”
Teodora hesitated. Even the words of a saint were not enough to break her stubbornness. Whether my throat stung or not, I carefully recalled a past I still longed for.
I should have picked a male character.
In the original game, you could freely choose the protagonist’s gender. I had thought a female lead would be better than some gloomy male one, but I never imagined that single decision would haunt me like this.
If I had wanted, I could have built favor with any NPC and pursued what people called the “yuri” route. Not that I knew whether the Teodora standing before me even liked women. If I had to guess, she was probably closer to bisexual.
Teodora’s eyes twitched.
“...How unpleasant. What kind of disgusting thoughts are you having right now?”
“Just idle daydreaming. My neck’s starting to hurt. Mind lowering that?”
“Only if you promise not to do anything unnecessary.”
Promise. That damned word. Teodora had a special talent for phrasing things in ways that made your blood boil. She misunderstood at will, raged at will, and decided everything at will. Talking to her felt like dealing with a psychopath who believed herself the embodiment of justice.
It was infuriating, yet with cold steel pressed to my throat, I obediently gave in.
“I promise.”
“...I don’t believe you.”
Fuck.
The words nearly burst from my throat. What the hell do you want from me?
Cecilia, unable to watch any longer, intervened.
“P-please stop…!”
“...Understood. But if you try any funny business with the Saint—”
At Cecilia’s plea, Teodora finally lowered her sword.
Throb—
Wet droplets of blood slid down my neck. Without thinking, I pressed a hand to the wound.
“No apology?”
I thrust my blood-smeared palm toward her. Teodora merely responded with icy disdain.
“...Hmph.”
Arms folded, she positioned herself between me and the saint, maintaining a deliberate safe distance. I didn’t even know where to begin with her. With anyone else I would have ignored it. But with Teodora—with her—there were things I truly needed to say.
“Do you actually think you’re justice?”
I hadn’t wanted to spout such cringeworthy lines, yet the words tumbled out anyway.
“I don’t wish to define justice so simply,” Teodora replied smoothly, as though she had rehearsed it. “...However, I don’t regret any of the actions or choices I’ve made. It may be too weak to call it justice, but I want to believe I’m still walking toward it.”
She spoke like a protagonist delivering her grand speech. Which made sense—she really was the protagonist. I was nothing more than a third-rate villain.
It had been the same back then. On the day I was buried beneath countless false accusations. If Illia had set the stage, Teodora had been the heroine of that moment.
You should be on your knees begging for forgiveness, yet here you are deceiving everyone and shamelessly making excuses?
The memories surged up, one after another. A sickening, hateful feeling swallowed my once-peaceful daily life again.
Haah. Haah.
Hyperventilation. Maybe a side effect of smoking too much magic grass.
As my breathing grew ragged, Teodora wrapped a protective arm around Cecilia.
“...Saint. Please step back. Something is wrong with him.”
“Y-yes…? Shouldn’t we help him…? A-are you all right?”
“I’ll handle this. It might be another one of Aren’s tricks.”
Watching her still treat me like a threat, I could only laugh bitterly inside. Just how deep did her hatred run? A whole year had passed, yet her loathing showed no sign of fading.
With a strained smile, I spoke to Cecilia.
“...I’ll give you my answer about the club later.”
“Wait, at least let me treat the wound on your neck—!”
Thud—
I slammed the door shut. I didn’t want to deal with any of it anymore.
“Magic grass… where’s the magic grass?”
Only burnt-out butts littered my coat and desk. I had run out long ago.
Buying more right now is too much hassle.
In the end, I picked up the dusty cigarette that had fallen under the desk. It was filthy, but I didn’t care.
Click. Whoooosh.
My ceaselessly trembling body slowly stabilized. The tension drained away, leaving me limp and languid. The familiar silence welcomed me back.
Just as I thought—outside my room was dangerous.
Even when she was ignored as a commoner and ostracized.
—Teodora, if it’s truly too hard, it’s all right to lean on me.
The artifact he gave her right before midterms when she was struggling.
—Here, take it. Why? Well… we’re friends, aren’t we?
The confession she had attempted even though she knew it would be rejected.
—I’m sorry, Teodora. I understand how you feel, but I already have a fiancée. Let’s remain good friends.
Teodora, still standing in front of my door, let out a long sigh and reassured Cecilia.
“I’m sorry you had to witness such an unsightly scene… Are you all right?”
“I’m really fine. But… why do you hate him that much?”
To Cecilia, it didn’t make much sense. Everyone knew Aren was a scoundrel, but the depth of Teodora’s hatred seemed excessive—uncomfortably so, even for her.
“Because he hasn’t reformed yet.”
Teodora answered without hesitation. It was a question she had heard countless times. Everyone who knew her asked the same thing: why she kept paying attention to such a worthless scoundrel.
Reform. Teodora genuinely believed in it. She believed Aren had not truly repented for his sins. If he had, he could not have looked at her with such indifference. He should have felt guilt. He should have apologized first.
Her unshakable conviction in her own decisions was perhaps the innate quality of a hero.
Cecilia listened, then tilted her head with a slightly puzzled expression.
“Then… who decides whether someone has reformed?”
“Excuse me?”
“No matter how close two people are, you can’t truly know whether someone else is being ‘sincere’ or not, can you? If he knelt down, sobbing bitterly and apologizing, would you really believe he had reformed?”
“That’s…”
Teodora instinctively wanted to say no, but stopped herself. She wanted to argue, yet found she had no words.
“...Still, I believe that if someone commits a wrong or a sin, they must receive proper punishment.”
In the end, she fell back on righteous logic. Her shaken conviction steadied itself again. Her will had grown too firm to be broken by a few words.
But Cecilia was the same.
“Then who delivers that punishment?”
“What? Well…”
“Is it you? From a lower perspective, wouldn’t it be the academy’s disciplinary committee? From a higher one, the Goddess herself?”
Her tone sounded genuinely curious rather than accusatory. Teodora fell silent for a moment before answering in a grave voice.
“...I have a responsibility.”
The duty to reform Aren. If not for that, she would not have patrolled near his room so often. She would not have asked others for news about him every week.
Even knowing it was a distorted obsession, she could not let go. Because this was something he—Aren—had taught her.
All those memories shattered the moment one rumor reached her ears.
The rumor that he had been a scoundrel all along. At first she refused to believe it. It made no sense. Why would Aren, of all people?
But as time passed, the rumor spread like wildfire. Teodora ran everywhere, chasing down the truth. The results were devastatingly real.
Her world collapsed in an instant. A boiling sense of betrayal surged from the depths of her heart.
It was all lies.
The warmth he had whispered, the kindness he had shown her—everything. Once she knew the truth of his past, there was no returning to the way things were.
She should have cut him off. That would have been the right thing to do. It was how she had always lived.
But she couldn’t. She owed him too much. She had received far too many favors.
When everyone had gathered at Illia’s “invitation,” she had desperately hoped he would apologize properly. Just one word. That he was sorry. That he had been too young back then. Any excuse would have been fine. Just apologize.
But what he had said instead was—
“I’ll only tell you all this. The truth is, I…”
She couldn’t remember the rest. The unbearable sorrow had exploded out of her in that moment, drowning everything that followed.
Teodora forcibly cut off her long train of thought.
“You should head back now. I’ll continue patrolling the area.”
She sent the puzzled Cecilia away and lingered nearby, circling the corridor.
It’s fine. Once he reforms, Aren will be okay too.
Her grumbling and scolding—he would forget them all. She wished he would burst out like usual, whisper that everything was fine, that it was no big deal.
She waited for him to come out.
She waited and waited.