A White Rose for Yulia
"Hah. Good grief. Hah. Hahahaha."
Sergei's incredulous sigh turned into a burst of laughter. The students had all left, and while he was grading the test results, seeing Schlus's astonishing score once more made it impossible to hold back his amusement.
"0.01 seconds..."
0.01 seconds. That was how long it had taken Schlus to deploy and cast his spell. In truth, even that figure was imprecise. The artifact's measurement limit was 0.01 seconds, meaning the actual time had been even shorter.
"I couldn't even break through the 0.03-second barrier myself..."
Even Sergei, who had spent decades on the battlefield, had never been able to cast spells faster than 0.03 seconds. That speed alone had been more than enough to handle swordsmen charging right at him. But what about Schlus, with his 0.01-second deployment speed? Cutting down waves of swordsmen from every direction might not be just a dream after all.
"Ah. I shouldn't be thinking like this."
Sergei chuckled and smacked his forehead. It was a bad habit of his. Whenever he saw someone with talent, he couldn't help wanting to turn them into a soldier. His eye for potential was sharp enough that several of those he had mentored had risen to become great generals. One of them was Roman von Bayern—the empire's problem child, the reformer, the war hero. No one could deny his skill as a fierce commander.
"I wonder if that fellow is doing well."
Come to think of it, the last time Sergei had seen Roman was at the military tribunal. The memory brought a bitter smile to his face. Roman had been court-martialed for allegedly undermining military discipline by popularizing the left-hand salute. It had started during the Freya-Trud War when a soldier who had lost his right arm saluted Roman with his left hand, and Roman had returned the gesture in kind. After that, the left-hand salute spread throughout the Third Division and eventually the entire army as a mark of respect for the wounded. The military brass had not been pleased.
Roman had been acquitted, but his radical actions kept landing him in court again and again.
"There's something about him that reminds me of Roman."
From his commoner background to his free-thinking ways and his unyielding confidence no matter where he went—watching Schlus brought back memories of Roman in his younger days. Still, Sergei had no intention of dragging Schlus into the military this time. For one thing, he himself was retired now. And unlike Roman, who had gone through a turbulent youth, Schlus seemed to have a clear goal of his own.
"He seems to be adjusting well to the academy."
Looking out the window, Sergei watched the students walking away in the distance. Unlike the first class, when most had openly despised and loathed Schlus, the atmosphere had softened considerably. It was probably thanks to the incident on Magic Day. There was no need for him to worry anymore. Sergei turned away with a sense of relief.
*
"Hey! Schlus! Want to go play some golf—"
"Sorry. I have plans."
"Tch. Why do you always have something going on..."
Ainz sighed as he watched Schlus's cold back disappear. When would that guy ever give him the time of day? Schlus was the only one who treated the so-called prodigy of the Wigenstein family so harshly. Did he think Ainz wasn't even worth talking to?
'Just you wait. I'll make you acknowledge me.'
Of course, he had shown nothing so far. He would just have to prove himself from now on. If he snatched first place from Schlus on the midterms, maybe he would finally get some recognition.
'Huh? That won't work, though.'
Come to think of it, Schlus had declared he would drop out if he lost the top spot. That would make everything pointless. While Ainz's mind grew tangled with conflicting thoughts, Schlus had already vanished from sight.
Meanwhile, Trie—
"What...?"
She tilted her head and followed after Schlus. His expression had been unusual. To others, it might have looked like his usual blank face, but Trie, who had seen every possible expression on Schlus's face while beating him senseless during their sparring matches, could tell the difference. How to put it... He looked slightly downcast. Was something wrong?
'Maybe he hasn't fully recovered from the stab wound...!'
Trie's face went pale. She had seen countless soldiers and knights suffer lifelong pain or even die from the aftereffects of injuries sustained in war. What if Schlus only looked fine on the outside but was actually enduring terrible complications?
This was bad.
'My magic teacher can't die...!'
Schlus had said he would teach her magic after the midterms. It would be a problem if he died or became crippled before then. She knew a good doctor who specialized in treating the aftereffects of injuries. She could introduce him. So Trie decided to ask and chased after Schlus.
"Huh?"
Following the path where Schlus had disappeared, Trie arrived at the front gate of the dormitory's single rooms and came to an abrupt stop. He was standing in front of the mansion, receiving something from a servant. Upon closer inspection, it was...
'A white rose?'
It was a white rose. Was he planning to give it to someone? When Schlus turned around and headed toward the main gate with the flower, Trie instinctively ducked out of sight. She wanted to find out who Schlus was giving the flower to—no matter what. Asking directly felt awkward, and tailing someone wasn't her hobby, but this time she had no choice.
'He's leaving the Imperial Academy?'
Schlus tucked the rose into his inner pocket and walked straight out through the academy's main gate. He passed through the bustling district, then the new town, then the old town—
'How far is he going?'
They had reached the outskirts of the capital. Where on earth was he headed? There was nothing out here. Except—
"Ah..."
The cemetery.
Watching Schlus's back disappear into the graveyard, Trie let out a quiet sigh. The person he was giving the white rose to was already dead. With a slightly darkened expression, she quietly continued following him.
'Who could it be? The person Schlus is looking for.'
Schlus walked without hesitation. It didn't seem like his first time here. The cost of maintaining a grave here was quite high, so it couldn't be Schlus's parents—they were commoners. He headed toward the farthest corner and stopped in front of a small gravestone. It looked old, at least ten years old.
'Yulia von Iceburg... Huh?'
After reading the name carved into the stone, Trie was startled. Schlus—the man who was always expressionless and never cowed—had tears streaming down his face.
***
"I'm sorry. I searched every flower shop, but this was the only white rose they had..."
"..."
I accepted the white rose from Emilia. It was a bud that hadn't fully bloomed, and it was slightly wilted. Still, it didn't matter.
"It's fine. I'll be back shortly."
"I'll accompany you—"
"No. I'll go alone."
"..."
I refused outright. There might be emotional turmoil once I got there... I didn't want Emilia to see me like that. Leaving the mansion, I headed straight for the cemetery. I didn't know the location, but recalling the description I had written in the novel, I found the way easily. As soon as I arrived, I made my way to the farthest corner. If her grave was here, it would be the smallest stone in the most remote spot.
I had secretly hoped it wouldn't be there. But the moment I found the small, cracked gravestone with its broken edge, I felt my breath catch in my throat.
'Yulia von Iceburg'
It really existed. I hadn't expected it to... Yulia was a character added after the novel had completely fallen apart. Naturally, I had assumed she wouldn't be reflected in this world.
'So she was here...'
A sharp pain stabbed at my chest. Thinking of Yulia always brought that person to mind. It couldn't be helped. Yulia was a character modeled after my dead girlfriend.
. . .
A-rum. Han A-rum.
What first drew people's attention to her was that beautiful smile. We were drawn to each other as if it were fate. I didn't usually believe in fate, but there was no other way to explain it. I was the one who confessed first. She accepted without any of the usual games, without testing me, without the slightest hesitation. With a bright, radiant smile.
We dated seriously for about three years. All the places I wanted to go, all the things I wanted to do, all the things I wanted to see—I did them with her. I couldn't have imagined a life without her back then.
We hadn't even reached the point where couples supposedly get bored of each other. We still believed we would spend our entire lives together. Then, at the height of our happiness, she was diagnosed with an incurable disease. A terrible illness that gradually atrophied every muscle in her body. Even the doctors at the university hospital couldn't identify it. There was something similar called muscular dystrophy, but it usually developed in adulthood, and they said this was the first reported case with these symptoms.
The first thing she lost was her legs. She had loved riding her bicycle so much, but now she couldn't take a single step without a wheelchair. Even then, she didn't like using it. She said she only needed to be with me, that there was no need to go outside. But I knew the truth. She didn't want anyone to see her legs, which had become so thin after losing all their muscle.
She grew weaker by the day. Eventually, it became difficult for her to even lift her arms. I smiled constantly in front of her, but I lost count of how many times I stepped out of the hospital room and cried in silence. She was dying. Slowly, but surely.
Even so, I brought up marriage. I said we didn't need to invite guests—just our families, a small ceremony. But she smiled and said no. I shouldn't have listened to her then. I should have pushed her wheelchair straight to the wedding hall that very day. Because the next day, she left my side.
That was when I broke. I couldn't write anymore. The serialization schedule for the novel I had always written without trouble fell apart. Still, I tried my best to keep going. I only wallowed in despair for three days before pulling myself together and forcing out every word I could. Because she had said she wanted to see the novel's ending.
But it didn't work. Sitting in front of the computer, my mind went completely blank. No thoughts would come. So I took drastic measures... I brought her back to life. Even if only in my novel, I made her live and breathe again.
That was how Yulia was born. Yulia was set as a reincarnator. She was born with an illness similar to the one A-rum had suffered from and died at the most beautiful age, in the prime of her youth. Then she would be reborn somewhere on the continent, looking exactly the same. And she would die again... be reborn again... die again, repeating the cycle endlessly. Unlike A-rum, who never returned, Yulia would live forever. Forever young, never losing her beauty.
Introducing Yulia somehow got the writing going again, but that was all. While Yulia's story progressed, the protagonist and his companions' story didn't move forward at all. Readers complained about this random new character hogging all the screen time. Naturally, the views plummeted. At this rate, even writing another hundred chapters wouldn't get me to the ending. To write properly, I sealed Yulia's story away again. And just like that, the writing stopped once more. I was truly going insane by then.
That was when I possessed this damned world.
"Haa..."
When I came to my senses, tears were streaming down my cheeks. I wiped them away roughly with a handkerchief and knelt on one knee in front of the gravestone. I placed the wilted white rose, its edges ready to crumble, in front of it.
Yulia was probably still alive somewhere on this continent right now. Just like every other character I had seen so far, Yulia would look exactly as I had imagined her. She would resemble A-rum down to the smallest detail, enough to give me chills.
But Yulia wasn't A-rum. No matter how much she looked like her—even if her personality was identical—Yulia could never become her. Realizing that was unbearably painful. A-rum could never come back to life. Yet someone who resembled her so closely was alive and breathing in this world. It was torture.
"Today, of all days..."
Now I understood. Why I had been dragged into this wretched world. I was being punished.
"I miss you so much..."
This was my punishment for failing to protect her. For failing to make her happy. For failing to stay with her until the very end.