Delicious Reactions
Am I really okay? Dorothea's eyes trembled as she stared at me.
Lucia couldn't even look at me.
Was she holding back tears? Or suppressing her anger? Ah, probably not anger. Lucia was more delicate than she appeared.
Yeah, it had to be tears or bewilderment. Definitely.
I barely suppressed the grin threatening to split my face to my ears and gently placed my other hand over Dorothea's, which clutched mine.
She flinched and shuddered at the gesture, but she didn't let go.
Her warm, soft hand was trembling fiercely.
Did my 'comfort' please her that much? Her eyes, body, and hands were all shaking.
"Dorothea, you don't need to worry so much."
I spoke in the softest, kindest voice I could muster, soothing her like a child, and her eyes immediately grew misty.
"H-how could you be okay? A terminal prognosis...?"
"There's still quite a bit of time before I die, right?"
At those words, her hand and eyes shook even harder.
...Ah, seriously. I wanted to torment her more. If I pushed here, she'd definitely burst into tears, but I still wanted to.
It was such a captivating expression.
The girl who'd first looked at me like I was some world-class celebrity now wore a face that might crumple at the slightest poke.
Dorothea's expression was a delight, but Lucia was ridiculously delicious too.
The girl who'd normally snap "Don't be ridiculous!" with venomous glares and endless complaints.
Now, slumped on the floor, she gazed at me vacantly through her fingers.
Those faces, those reactions—they were truly a sight to behold.
Yes.
That's the kind of face I wanted. Don't look away to anyone else.
Look only at me.
If I kept staring at Dorothea, I'd burst out laughing, so I turned to Lucia instead.
She still wore that dazed expression.
As I wondered if she needed comforting too and moved to do something—
"...Ilisha."
Lucia called my name in a cracked voice.
I watched her quietly, and she struggled to form her next sentence.
"...Why are you acting like it's no big deal?"
Why act like it's no big deal? What did that mean?
I pondered briefly before grasping her intent.
With a terminal illness, how could I stay so calm? That's what she meant.
Hmm.
Well...
I've heard it so many times it bores me?
My hearing was sharp enough to catch every word from the doctors, mages, and priests who examined me as they reported to my parents outside the door.
They all said the same thing.
Even in the best case, I'd reach adulthood and that was it.
Their skills and attitudes varied the details slightly, but adulthood as the limit was unanimous.
Each time, the examiners sighed, and Mother wept.
Father... well, he probably looked faintly troubled. I couldn't see for myself.
Maybe that's why the terminal declaration didn't scare me.
No.
Honestly, it thrilled me.
Just being born with a terminal illness meant I got attention from the start.
"Because no matter what I do, I can't change my fated end, right?"
Lucia's shoulders twitched at my words.
"Crying, begging, or throwing tantrums won't magically heal me. So wouldn't it be better to smile instead?"
Or maybe because this was my second life.
People die.
Me, you, the idiots sprawled on the roadside, villains, saints, heroes—even the protagonist will die eventually.
A great, obvious law of nature I'd learned from my first death.
So if I'm doomed anyway,
shouldn't I go out differently this time?
My last death was lonely in some rundown room.
This one, I wanted spectacular.
With early death confirmed, I might as well dance a grand last dance.
Of course, I wanted to be remembered beautifully.
As lovable, endearing—someone who brings smiles whenever recalled. Nothing better.
But I knew that was hard.
So if I couldn't be remembered fondly,
then etch myself deep instead. Carve my existence painfully into your hearts, even if it means ripping them open.
That's far better than being forgotten, right?
"Better to smile..."
I shrugged nonchalantly.
"No time to cry until the end. And a smiling face is prettier than a crying one, isn't it?"
Lucia's face twisted even more wretchedly.
Ah.
Lucia.
Don't make that face where everyone can see. It's trouble.
It turns me on.
Lucia fully covered her eyes with her hands again, while Dorothea seemed to be desperately holding back tears.
For both, my nonchalance hurt more than my impending death.
Well, normally people wail, rage, or deny reality. That's standard.
"You..."
Both looked ready to cry.
The fact it was all because of me...
It felt so damn good.
So I put on a very docile, slightly apologetic face and said,
"You don't need to grieve that much. It won't change anything."
Lucia said nothing.
She just wiped her face with her hands.
Dorothea gripped my hand tighter, as if denying my words.
"...Don't give up, Ilisha."
Her voice still trembled, but it carried a strange fervor.
"I'll... look into something. I don't know how long it'll take. Or if I'll find anything. But I'll search. There might be a way, even if I can't see it now. So... so... my disciple. Please don't give up..."
I hadn't expected this reaction, and my breath caught a little.
I widened my eyes, then gave a shy smile.
"Hehe. Thank you, Dorothea. I'll wait for you to find something."
Lucia started to say something to the resolute Dorothea but stopped.
What was she going to say?
Well, who knows...
Probably "Don't give her false hope" or something.
Lucia had a subtly pessimistic side.
She might see even Dorothea's hopeful resolve as poison to me.
Holding hope is free, but reality isn't so kind.
She might think that.
Still.
Sometimes, clinging to false hope is the only way to endure.
I gazed quietly at them both and smiled.
Magic class was a wash, but... I'd reaped an unexpectedly bountiful harvest.
Wasn't this a successful day?
My head was still blank.
Because Ilisha had a terminal illness. Because she knew it. Because she'd abused her body despite that.
Above all, because she could still smile.
My head was blank.
I couldn't understand.
No.
I didn't want to understand.
I didn't want to comprehend what kind of hell it took to stay calm knowing your death date.
I didn't want to know how broken her body was, how little time she had left, yet she stayed composed.
Looking at that face made me nauseous.
Not revulsion, but...
Because there was nothing I could do for someone so resigned.
So I felt like vomiting.
No.
If I could just puke it all out cleanly, that'd be a relief.
Instead, my insides felt black and rotting.
Seeing her giggle with friends over dinner.
Seeing her munch alternative desserts since she couldn't eat chocolate.
I despised myself for being able to do nothing for her.
What kind of friend was I?
"You'll probably die around adulthood."
Those words.
They wouldn't leave my ears.
"...Crazy bitch."
Even cursing didn't help.
It just made me more frustrated.
Even while meeting my brother and listening to his nonsense, I desperately wondered if there was truly nothing I could do.
Attach a physician, dig up ancient family remedies, scour the south for rare elixirs—maybe...
But the conclusion was singular.
Impossible.
Not "it won't work," but "I can't do it."
It was the Airbalt family, no less.
They'd tried every measure a top imperial house could, and still failed to cure her.
Could our family help? Could I?
Impossible.
I knew it.
All too well.
Hope is free, but you can't turn from reality.
Dorothea seemed to believe in hope, but I didn't.
So what could I do?
I couldn't cure her.
Couldn't heal her.
So what the hell could I do?
At best, ease her pain a little. Make her short life a bit brighter. That was it.
Reaching that thought brought nausea surging again.
Short life.
Because I'd already decided she wouldn't last long.
...
She said smiling was better.
Yeah.
Then let's smile. Play along. If she wants laughter, make her laugh.
That was all I could think of.
...Still.
Now that I knew she wouldn't last, treating her like before might be hard.
As those thoughts swirled—
"So, I'm going to get revenge!"
My brother spat something I couldn't just let slide.
"Revenge?"
"That rude Airbalt bitch! The more I think, the madder I get. It's not just face—can't stand our family being the talk of the town anymore!"
...
Before, I might've mocked him as pathetic.
Losers lose, and trying again just looks worse.
But now.
Strangely, no laughter came.
Mistaking my silence for agreement, he raised his voice.
"This time, we'll prepare properly and—"
"Stop."
My voice was icily cold—unbelievable even from me, but not surprising.
"...Sis?"
"I said stop."
"No, why..."
"Just don't."
I cut him off without a sigh.
"Sure, we started it, but our house's honor is tarnished!"
Honor, huh.
A hollow laugh escaped.
What did that dying girl see in prioritizing such things?
"Revenge on an invalid? Win, and rumors spread you're bullying the weak. Lose, and what?"
My brother's face hardened.
As if he'd never expected me to say that much.
...Yeah.
I didn't know.
Whose side to take. Why I was so irritated.
But one thing was clear.
I didn't want Ilisha hurt again over his stupid honor.
"Hmm... yeah, I need to rethink this..."
Realizing he'd backed down, my brother retreated.
Haa.
Of all the annoying people to get tangled with.
...He wasn't planning to slink into some weird scheme again, was he?
Why did I have to care?
My mind complained to her, but my heart couldn't.