The Third Reader Was Praying
I spoke as calmly as I could.
“Not knowing each other is the best way for us to live long lives.”
“That means you already know something, doesn’t it?”
“You have a talent for cutting straight to the heart of things, President.”
“It’s one of my strengths.”
“It’s a disaster I can’t afford to deal with.”
Laetitia opened the notebook beside me.
“Senior Aria, it’s written right here.”
“No… don’t read that.”
“Women You Must Never Get Close To.”
“First: Laetitia Arkan. Second: Aria Vertia. Third…”
I grabbed Laetitia’s wrist on reflex.
It was cold.
The word “cold” didn’t even begin to describe it. It felt like grasping metal buried beneath frozen earth; a chilling sensation seeped from her fingertips.
She looked down at my hand.
“Senior, you wrote that holding my hand would end your life.”
“I just sacrificed my life to stop the third name from being revealed.”
“Then I’ll take responsibility.”
“That sense of responsibility is exactly what makes you the most dangerous.”
Aria quietly picked up her quill.
“May I record this conversation?”
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s fascinating relational data.”
“That phrase alone is already dangerous.”
When I released Laetitia’s wrist, a layer of cold lingered on my palm.
The real problem was that my notebook had begun reacting on its own.
Shff, shff.
The pages started flipping by themselves, as if caught by an invisible wind.
After more than three years in this world, I’d grown numb to most things. But having my collection of death causes move on its own was an entirely different matter.
Letters surfaced on the page.
Emergency Branch Occurred.
Third Page External Leak Confirmed.
Time Limit: 28 Minutes.
Upon Successful Retrieval: Reader 3/7 Registered.
Aria’s eyes narrowed.
“If it’s an external leak, does that mean other pages of this notebook have also been copied?”
“It seems that way.”
“Your security management is abysmal.”
“Please don’t add a security audit to my list of causes of death.”
“Who’s the third?”
When I stayed silent, the notebook spat out ink on its own.
Camilla Ivren.
Saint Candidate.
Current Location: Old Chapel.
Aria stood up without hesitation.
“If she’s the Saint Candidate, she’s in charge of the blessing ceremony at the festival eve.”
“Yes.”
“If dangerous information leaks to her, it will affect the festival operations.”
“It won’t just affect them. The festival will turn into a funeral rehearsal.”
“Is it that serious?”
“My descriptions are usually the toned-down version.”
Laetitia replied in her calm, quiet tone.
“Let’s go.”
“Neither of you should follow me.”
Aria’s lips curved into a faint smile.
“I refuse.”
Laetitia nodded in agreement.
“I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“I need to make sure you don’t kill me.”
“I must confirm that Locke is diligently performing his duties as a special audit assistant for the festival preparation committee.”
“One’s watching for murder, the other for attendance. My cover story is falling apart.”
I opened the door and ran.
Two sets of footsteps followed behind me.
The Old Chapel stood deep in the forest east of the academy.
It had once been a sacred place, but now it was an abandoned, forgotten space swallowed by cold darkness. Because students kept choosing it for confessions, rumors of unknown ghosts had only grown louder over time.
“Why would Lady Camilla be alone in the Old Chapel?” Aria asked again as we hurried along.
“She probably went to pray.”
“Is that dangerous?”
“A Saint Candidate praying alone is always dangerous.”
Laetitia spoke softly from beside me.
“Senior says everything is dangerous.”
“Because most things are.”
“Even me?”
“Especially you.”
“Yet you tried to save me.”
The girl I had once seen only as a source of terror sometimes pierced straight through my thoughts like this.
Aria didn’t miss the opening.
“What future of Camilla Ivren do you know, Locke?”
“President, from now on, please don’t record anything I say.”
“Why?”
“Because if you record it, you’ll try to handle it through official procedures.”
Aria’s steps slowed ever so slightly.
I continued after seeing that change.
“Camilla Ivren is a good person. The problem is that she’s too good. That goodness is exactly what will drown the Saint Candidate in corruption.”
“Being good is a problem?”
“She’s the kind of person who thinks it’s fine to use her own body as fuel as long as someone else gets to feel warm.”
The Old Chapel came into view at the end of the forest path. Through the cracked stained glass and the broken-winged angel statue, a white light was leaking out.
A tense expression crossed Aria’s face.
“Blessing mana?”
“More precisely, it’s on the verge of overload.”
I pushed the door open.
Creaaak.
The sound of the old hinges echoed deep into the chapel.
Camilla Ivren was kneeling before the altar.
Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders, and the white hem of her ceremonial robes spread like silk across the floor. On the backs of her clasped hands, a golden Holy Stigma glowed faintly, like a bruise.
Between her intertwined fingers was a single thin sheet of paper.
The third page of my notebook.
Camilla slowly turned her head.
Her eyes were bloodshot, yet she wore a chilling smile. Only someone who had decided to offer herself as a sacrifice could smile with such quiet resignation.
Looking at me, Camilla spoke softly.
“Are you Senior Yulian? What do you mean by saying I have to die for the festival to be safe?”
I cursed my past self once again in my mind.
What the hell did I write on that page?
As Camilla unfolded the paper, her voice rang clearly through the high ceiling of the chapel.
“Camilla Ivren. Saint Candidate. Faith compulsion. Sacrifice addiction. Do not say thank you.”
“……”
“During the Holy Stigma ritual at the festival eve, she will absorb the participants’ curses excessively and collapse.”
A faint smile appeared on her lips.
“Final options: Isolate Camilla before the ritual, or destroy the Holy Stigma and strip her of her candidate status.”
A slight tremor entered her voice.
“Did you think I would survive if I were no longer a Saint Candidate, Senior?”
I let out a long breath.
Camilla Ivren.
In the original story, she saved more people than anyone else—and lost just as much of herself in the process.
At the festival eve, during the blessing ritual tainted by the Black Constellation’s echo, she would draw every ounce of the students’ anxiety and curses into herself.
Three days later, she would collapse with a smile on her face.
When she awoke, nothing remained but the hollow shell of a saint. No human warmth—only the endless cycle of sacrificing herself until she broke.
“You’re wrong.”
Camilla’s gaze wavered uneasily.
“I am?”
“Yes. You’re wrong.”
I walked toward her.
“You’re not someone who has to die for others to be safe. You’re the person who becomes the biggest problem if you die.”
“A… problem?”
“Yes. If you break, the festival will fall apart, the Holy Empire will be thrown into chaos, the student council will be held accountable, and the ducal houses will demand answers.”
Aria’s voice dropped low.
“Locke.”
“Just a moment. This is the safest approach right now.”
Camilla stared at me blankly.
I stepped closer.
“So stop pretending to be kind and swallowing everyone else’s curses. That’s not salvation—it’s unauthorized ingestion.”
“Unauthorized… ingestion?”
“When people see you smiling while gladly drinking poison others have discarded, they won’t feel relief. They’ll feel their hearts breaking.”
The light gathered at Camilla’s fingertips trembled faintly.
“But if I endure, then the others…”
“Do those others even know what you’re enduring?”
Camilla opened and closed her lips, at a loss for words.
“They don’t. Because you hide it. You hide it, suffer alone, and later smile and say you’re fine. So they never know. And if they find out later, it’s even worse.”
I took the paper from her hands.
“That kindness will only return as a burden. Lady Camilla, by pretending to save people, you’ll only bury them under a mountain of guilt.”
The chapel fell silent.
A single tear fell from Camilla’s eye.
Her lips, pressed tightly together to hold back more tears, looked unbearably fragile and young in that moment.
“Then what should I do?”
“Ask for help.”
“A Saint Candidate?”
“Does being a Saint Candidate give you four hands instead of two?”
“No, but…”
“Then don’t try to do everything alone.”
Laetitia continued in her calm tone.
“Lady Camilla, Senior’s words are rough, but they seem mostly correct.”
Aria’s voice also scattered like a sigh.
“From a procedural standpoint, handling the blessing ritual alone is dangerous. I’ll reassign personnel for the Holy Stigma ritual.”
Camilla’s gaze passed over the two of them and settled on me.
“It means you’ve been watching over me all this time, doesn’t it?”
No. Don’t go in that direction.
I shook my head immediately.
“It’s surveillance. I was secretly observing you.”
“Not because you were worried?”
“It was information gathering for the sake of survival.”
“Will you continue gathering information from now on?”
“I’d rather stop if possible.”
A faint smile spread across Camilla’s lips. It was a softer laugh than before.
“I’ll watch you too, then.”
“Why does everyone want to watch me?”
Laetitia spoke quietly.
“Because you watched us first.”
Aria added,
“It’s only natural for the observer to be observed in return.”
Camilla nodded carefully.
“I’ll also offer a prayer of thanks.”
“Don’t. That’s the most burdensome thing you could do.”
At that moment, the notebook in my arms grew hot again.
When I took it out,
Shff.
The pages flipped to the very last one.
Reader 3/7.
Camilla Ivren Confirmed.
Emergency Branch Phase 1 Stabilized.
I was about to let out a sigh of relief. But the notebook had no intention of letting me off so easily.
New text appeared.
Joint Branch Opened.
7 Days Until Festival Eve.
Laetitia Arkan’s Stigma.
Aria Vertia’s Inspection Authority.
Camilla Ivren’s Holy Stigma.
As I read the sentences, a hollow laugh escaped me. Maybe laughter really does come when a person reaches their limit.
These three branches are not separate.
They will all reach their catastrophic end at the festival eve.
A cold sediment stirred in Laetitia’s eyes. The smile vanished from Aria’s lips. The Holy Stigma on the back of Camilla’s hand twitched faintly.
I closed the notebook.
Closing it wouldn’t erase the ominous words. I simply wanted to block them from my sight, even if only for a moment, so I could turn away from the fate rushing toward ruin.
All three called my name almost simultaneously.
“Senior Yulian.”
“Senior.”
“Yulian.”
I couldn’t bring myself to answer. The moment I did, it felt like I would have to shoulder this heavy responsibility completely.
But it was already too late.
“Please look at my Stigma.”
“We need to review the inspection documents together.”
“Will you help prepare the Holy Stigma ritual too?”
I looked up at the ceiling.
Amid the faded mural of angels on the chapel’s old ceiling, one figure with tattered wings gazed down at me, smiling strangely.
The survival rule I had clung to for three years had shattered today.
Cause of death: suffocation.
The persistent gazes of the three women were tightening around my throat.
“I wonder if angels even exist.”