Take the Bomb
“The young lady requires a lot of care.”
A low, chuckling voice echoed damply down the corridor. “Meals, washing up, bedtime. Serve her without a single slip-up. Isn’t that what you used to do? Do it right.”
The Black Magician stopped in front of the iron bars and jerked his chin toward the cell inside. I reflexively looked up.
A woman sat inside the prison. Even on the rough stone floor, she showed no disarray whatsoever. Silver hair cascaded loosely past her shoulders, and her pale face was rigidly cold. She looked like she’d been cut out of a different painting entirely—completely at odds with her surroundings.
She was beautiful. Really. No, stunningly so.
But what startled me wasn’t just that gorgeous face. It was her eyes.
The gaze she lifted toward us was unbroken, vivid. Cool, sharp, filled with blatant disgust. Especially toward the Black Magician standing beside me—it thickened even more.
Wow, she’s pretty, but scary as hell.
The thought had barely crossed my mind when the Black Magician snorted.
“What? Having some weird thoughts?”
“N-no.”
“Don’t lie.”
He snapped his fingers lightly. A shrill keeeen scraped through my ears.
Instantly, my stomach lurched. Breath caught in my throat, like someone had clamped down below my heart.
Ah, this again.
[Warning: Self-Destruct forcibly activated.]
[Command non-compliance judgment imminent]
“You know what happens if you don’t do it right, don’t you?”
“Y-yes. I’ll do it properly.”
Just like that, the churning heat in my gut vanished as if it had never been. Cold sweat trickled down my neck.
This guy’s temper is the worst. I feel it every time, but I’ll never get used to this.
The Black Magician lifted the corner of his mouth in satisfaction. “Good. That’ll do.”
He turned his leisurely gaze toward the cell. “Well then, Lady Estella. This girl will attend to you for the time being.”
Estella?
My mind snapped alert. What?
I looked back at the woman in the cell. A blue ornament dangled long through her silver hair. At the end of the slender silver chain hung a familiar crest. Wings of a bird overlapped.
The Estella Countess Manor family crest.
Wait. For real?
I couldn’t help stepping closer to the bars.
Estella. This was that event.
…She got caught here?
If I play this right, maybe we can escape together.
Relief washed over me. For real. At least it didn’t mean rotting away here together.
Plus, the original Estella was a classic tsundere. Cold and pushy on the outside, but soft on the inside. She had a particular weakness for young girls my age.
Especially girls just like me.
The Black Magician vanished, and the corridor fell silent. Only the metallic tang of rust and the damp stone smell lingered.
Estella said nothing. She didn’t seem inclined to speak first. She just watched me with cold, guarded eyes.
Well, fair enough. Who’d welcome some girl sidling up next to the Black Magician?
Still, I couldn’t just stand there.
“Um.”
I called softly. No response.
“You must be thirsty. I’ll get you some water.”
“I’m fine without it. Just leave it.”
I picked up the water bowl from the end of the corridor and approached carefully. As gently as possible. No scaring her. No pressure.
Just as I was about to set it down right in front of the bars—
Thwack!
My hand flew back as if swatted. The bowl slipped from my grip. The pottery shattered on the floor. Water splashed, and a sharp shard raked a long gash across the back of my hand.
Ah.
Blood welled up along the red line.
Estella’s expression froze for a split second. Her gaze lingered on the wound, then slowly rose. Her eyes wavered faintly, but her voice was ice-cold.
“Why would I trust anything a Black Magician’s lackey brings me?”
“Don’t come closer.”
It hurt. More than I expected. My hand burned.
“I’m sorry.”
I cupped the wound with my other hand. “I didn’t know you’d hate it.”
I crouched and gathered the shards one by one. They stung my fingertips, but I could bear it.
“Next time, I’ll leave it farther away.”
Her gaze from beyond the bars never left me the whole time.
The gash on my hand lingered longer than I thought. Days later, the red mark still stood out vividly.
Every time I brought water or pushed in food, Estella’s eyes would linger on it briefly. She never said sorry, but she stopped knocking over the bowls like before.
“Here’s your water.”
No reply. But when I turned away, a little would be gone.
A few more days passed, and she started leaving less food—the stuff she hadn’t even touched at first.
Then one day, right as I set the bowl down by the bars:
“It’s cold.”
I thought I’d misheard.
“Ah.”
I snatched it back up. “Sorry. I’ll bring it sooner next time.”
After that, short exchanges like that happened now and then.
“The bread’s stale.”
“Sorry. I’ll try something else.”
“Too noisy.”
“Yes.”
Her words still had thorns, but compared to being ignored like air at the start, it was progress. She was voicing her dislikes now.
That was advancement.
Soon, she didn’t bare her fangs even when I got close. Still frosty, but she stopped dumping out what I brought.
Sometimes she even spoke first. Short, curt, just a single word tossed out.
“Name.”
It came suddenly, around when the wound was almost healed.
“Pardon?”
“What’s your name?”
I finally smiled. “You’re asking now?”
Estella’s eyes narrowed instantly. “Don’t want to say? Fine.”
“No, I’ll tell you.”
“It’s Ria.”
“…Ria.”
She murmured it once, quietly. Then fell silent again.
That was it.
After that, we talked a few more times. Nothing long. I’d start, she’d snap back briefly, silence, then maybe one more word. After a few rounds, rare bits slipped out—stuff not even in the original story.
“I had a little sister when I was young. Not anymore.”
It came out of nowhere. I shifted my seat awkwardly.
Estella continued without looking at the bars. “Didn’t like her. She was a hassle, noisy… always clinging.”
Her tone was flat. Like someone else’s story.
After a pause, she added lowly, “Just like you.”
Our eyes met quietly. It was brief, but somehow I knew. In her gaze, I wasn’t the only one—someone else overlapped.
Nothing more after that. I didn’t pry.
Instead, the next day as I slid in the water bowl, I caught her staring at me with a stiffened face.
Wondering why, I followed her gaze down. To my hand.
Her eyes rested on the long scar.
Estella turned away as if nothing happened. I played dumb too.
That was enough.
At first, I’d stuck close just as an escape lifeline. Now, I genuinely cared about Estella.
One day, as I set down the bowl and stood, I saw her hand lift—just for a moment. Toward my hair, almost touching, then flinching back. Like she’d startled herself.
Her hand withdrew quietly.
“…Hurry and get out.”
The words tumbled out awkwardly.
I wasn’t sure what she meant. But oddly, my steps felt lighter leaving that day.
That day was ordinary too. Grabbed the tray, headed underground, stepped down the slick stone stairs, stopped at the prison door.
Inside with Estella was another person. A man in a black robe.
Huh?
Before the thought finished, a shadow lunged.
My mouth was clamped, back slammed against the wall. The tray clattered loudly. A cold blade pressed under my chin—close enough that one twitch would slice.
“Stop!”
Estella’s voice rang out sharp as a scream.
The Robe Man didn’t pull back the blade. “Miss. Witness.”
“Take her too.”
His eyes hardened. “Impossible.”
Short and firm. “Plan was for two. You and me, slipping out. Path’s cleared for that. One more throws off the route.”
Estella didn’t answer right away. Lips pressed tight. She gnawed her thumbnail unconsciously.
The blade pressed a fraction deeper. Thin pain stung.
“Pursuit catches us, none escape.”
Estella’s brows twisted. Her gaze turned to me—shocked face, barely breathing, frozen small body before the blade. Her eyes stalled.
Then, slowly, grinding her teeth: “We’re taking her.”
“Miss—”
“That’s an order.”
Lower voice, but steady. “We’re taking her too.”
Short silence. He sighed. “...You’ll regret it.”
Estella didn’t reply. I knew too. He wasn’t wrong. Me tagging along made escape way riskier.
Yet Estella wouldn’t look away from me. No idea why.
“Moving.”
The Robe Man spat it short. The blade finally left my throat. My legs nearly buckled, but I held.
Estella reached out, snagged my wrist without hesitation. “Don’t let go.”
Short, clipped. Her hand trembled slightly.
We bolted down the underground passage right after. Robe Man ahead clearing the way, collapse sounds and footsteps closing from behind. Not just one or two.
Whoa. This is bad. For real.
“Left!”
Robe Man barked low. Twisting, my foot slipped. As I staggered, the grip on my wrist tightened.
Estella. “Run straight.”
“Yes.”
Something exploded behind. “They’re already on us.”
His voice roughened. “Quiet.”
Estella snapped, but her tone lacked its usual edge. Urgent, frayed.
The passage narrowed. No time to breathe. Turns upon turns, but the presence behind grew closer.
Robe Man stopped first. “No good.”
Breath ragged. Ahead, a half-collapsed narrow gap. Squeezable, maybe. But someone had to hold the rear to reach it.
I got it.
“Three won’t make it.”
He gritted. “Someone covers the back. Or we’re all caught.”
Estella stepped right in front of me—shoving me behind her. “Shut up.”
“Miss.”
“I said shut it.”
He closed his eyes, opened. “Not the time for emotions. Your safety first.”
“She’s coming too.”
“Impossible.”
Firmer. “Told you from the start. Odds drop with her.”
Estella’s lip quivered visibly. Fingers rose, bit her nail once. Then dropped, aware.
“Still taking her.”
Low, resolute. He shook his head. “Can’t now.”
Pursuers louder. Dust rained from above. More arguing, and we’d all die.
Hah. Ends like this.
Hate the pain. Never gets easier.
Sighed short, spoke. “Leave me.”
Estella whipped around. “What?”
“Easier without me, right?”
Forced a smile. Not sure if it landed. “I’m fine. I have a way.”
“No.”
She cut in. “You can’t.”
Her hand dug deeper. Fingers shook. “No, Ria. Not like that again…”
Voice cracked. She clenched her teeth. “I won’t let you die in front of me again.”
Her wildly churning eyes held not just me—but her dead sister overlapping.
A laugh bubbled oddly. Weird to think it now.
“I won’t die.”
Softly. “Even if it looks like—”
“Stop.”
Estella cut trembling. “Don’t say it.”
Robe Man stepped forward, done waiting. “Miss, forgive me.”
“Let go!”
Too late. He yanked her back. She clung to my wrist till the end. Nails dug into my hand. The unhealed scar throbbed.
“Let go! We don’t move now, all three die!”
“Ria!”
Her voice, that desperate—first time.
Hand slipped free. He half-dragged her back. She thrashed. “No! Let go! Ria!”
“Go.”
Forced smile. “Really okay. Hurry.”
Robe Man turned without looking. Estella twisted back till the end. Reaching, struggling, shouting—fading.
Gone from sight.
Silence. Only footsteps swelling behind.
Haa.
Short breath. Ends like this.
Hate the pain.
Or rather… not sure if this’ll even work. Never tried.
But staying means all dead. No choice.
[Would you like to use Self-Destruct?]
[User dies upon activation.]
[Resurrects in nearest village after death.]
I hesitated. Just a moment.
Then murmured softly. “Yes.”
KABOOOM.
An ear-shattering blast rocked the underground. Passage collapsed, walls split, ceiling caved.
Pursuers’ presences swept away in screams.
In the gap, Robe Man shook them off safely.
Estella looked back till the end. The small shadow there moments ago—gone.
Then it hit her. Ria had said, laughing, she was an experiment with a bomb inside.
Ria brushed it off as a joke, but no laughing matter.
And one more. That small hand clinging till the end.
The long, red scar on its back, unhealed.
It flashed before her.
Ah. Should’ve apologized then.
When I first caused that wound.
At least, every time she saw the mark, said sorry once.
Never did.
Till the end.