Lies

“I hate you, Senior. No… you make me sick.”

Clack—!

Wooden swords collided with brutal force.

“……”

“You never listen to anyone.”

Whoosh—!

Justina’s blade swept in once more.

“And I actually trusted you…!” Her voice broke, frayed with raw fury. “Acting like you know everything, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠going off on your own, and then… and then…!”

She wasn’t wrong.

I loosened my grip on the hilt of my wooden sword.

Thwack—!

Overpowered by her strike, my sword rebounded and slammed into my jaw. My teeth rattled against each other, and the coppery tang of blood spread across my tongue. Her hands trembled on her grip, hesitating for a fraction of a second.

“Pick it back up. You’re not this pathetic, Senior.”

I readjusted my hold on the handle.

I had plenty to say, too. You were the ones who believed whatever you wanted, twisted things however you liked, and passed judgment just as you pleased—exactly like you’re doing right now. I wanted to spit every last word into her face. But I knew better. It was just an excuse.

“Nothing to say again? The monsters were to the east? To the west? When you’re wrong, is it just bad luck?”

Yeah. Lately, luck hadn’t been on my side. Thinking of it that way made the bitter reality slightly easier to swallow.

“You didn’t do it on purpose, right? And next you’ll beg us to trust you just one more time.” Justina glared at me, her eyes burning. “Senior, you were so much better off as the good-for-nothing you used to be. Drowning yourself in alcohol like you did a year ago was actually helpful. Did you really crave the spotlight that badly?”

The lowered tip of her sword scraped through the dirt of the training grounds.

“Was living like that really so miserable? Then you shouldn't have acted like that in the first place!”

I had done my best, too. Two years ago, I arrived in a world I barely understood and foolishly believed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I could play the savior. But apparently, I wasn't the protagonist.

“Say something…!” she screamed, her voice cracking.

“None of you ever trusted me completely to begin with,” I forced out, my voice thick with weary resignation.

I already knew the truth. It wasn’t that they wouldn’t trust me—they simply couldn’t. And I had been far too arrogant.

The tremor in Justina’s voice died, replaced by a terrifying stillness. “How could anyone trust you completely? Not after the things you did in the past.” The gaze she fixed on me turned chillingly unfamiliar. “In the end, all that matters to you is what we think of you, isn’t it, Senior?”

I had no answer.

“Chloe trusted you and followed you, and she’s dead… In that sense, I’m proud of myself for doubting you to the bitter end.”

She took a step forward, and my fingers tightened around my sword hilt on instinct. What had Chloe’s last words been? The moment I tried to remember, a suffocating tightness gripped my throat. Even so, a dry, bitter sense of unfairness welled up from deep within my chest.

“If you had truly trusted me, she would have lived!” The words began to spill out of control, careening past reason, but I couldn't stop them. “So what, I should’ve just stayed in my room getting plastered until the family threw me out and the academy expelled me? That’s how I was supposed to live? My life is better off not existing at all? I should just go back to being the fucking Trash of Belmont and wrecking everything in sight?”

I knew I was straying from the point, yet the dam had broken.

“Damn it, you know it too! I tried! Do you think surviving in a world as fucked up and contradictory as this is easy?”

When had everything gone so wrong?

“That’s not what I meant!” Justina shouted. “Just… just stay out of the way… because you’re useless.”

My mouth snapped shut. The command to stay still didn’t hurt, but the word that followed it lingered like a brand.

“Every moment I was tied to you makes me sick,” she whispered. “The time I spent sincerely believing in you—I want to carve it out of my memory.” She paused, her chest heaving. “When you first taught me swordsmanship… was that all just to make me trust you, too?”

Instead of answering, I looked at her right hand.

“That strike just now.”

“……What about it?”

“Your wrist is still lagging behind.”

Justina opened her mouth to snap back, but closed it. She couldn’t deny it. A year ago, I had told her the exact same thing, and back then, she had smiled and thanked me. It hadn't all been a lie. I had genuinely wanted her to be happy.

All I had to do was tell her no. Tell her that at least that much had been real. But what came out of my mouth was entirely different.

“You still jump to your own conclusions and drown in your own disappointment, Justina.”

I couldn't stomach the thought of having even that small piece of sincerity dragged through the mud and branded a lie.

“You haven’t changed a bit, either.”

Her expression twisted with rage.

“Shut up. You’re disgusting, Senior.”

She raised her wooden sword high above her head. I didn’t raise my guard or try to dodge. But the blow never fell. After a long moment of trembling tension, she hurled the wooden sword behind her into the dirt, as if severing the very last ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠trace of lingering attachment she held for me.

“I wish you would just drop dead.”

Justina turned on her heel and stormed out of the training grounds. I stood quietly, watching her retreating silhouette. Even now, I still hoped only good things would come her way. Whether that sentiment belonged to the original Louis or to me, I had no idea.

Well… good for her.

Cough—!

The cough I had been suppressing tore out of my lungs. Dark crimson blood spilled through my fingers and spattered onto the dry earth. It was far too much to pretend it had come from a blow to the chin.

Because I really don't have much time left.

Venomous whispers clung to my back as I walked down the hall.

“Did you hear? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Someone actually died this time because of him.”

“Everyone’s keeping quiet because of House Belmont, but getting off with just that after killing a classmate?”

“Honestly, I thought he’d turned over a new leaf for a second. Guess a dog can’t change its spots.”

Killed someone.

It was already treated as an indisputable fact, and I couldn't even say they were entirely wrong. So I ignored it. Or rather, I lied to myself that I was ignoring it, because if I broke down any further right here, there would be no coming back.

I quickened my pace, practically fleeing toward the dormitory. The moment I pushed the door open, the sharp stench of stale alcohol and iron blood assaulted my senses—an odor thoroughly unsuited to a room furnished with imported hardwood. Ever since I strictly forbade the maids from entering, nobody had set foot inside to clean.

Gag—

I hunched forward, vomiting another dark clot of blood onto the floorboards. It hurt. The physician had told me I wouldn’t last two months.

Absentmindedly, I reached out and dragged something toward me. A notebook. The very notebook where I had scribbled down every detail of the original story.

Its pages were densely packed with circles and crosses. Toward the later pages, the circles grew scarce, replaced by heavy black X marks blotting out entire sentences. For a while after transmigrating, things had gone surprisingly well. Relying on knowledge only I possessed, I averted crises and believed I was truly carving out a place for myself in this world.

Yet every event I touched gradually spiraled away from my memory. The harder I struggled, the more the world seemed determined to violently reject an outsider. And of all bodies, I had transmigrated into Louis Belmont. Had I occupied a nameless extra, things might have been different, but the vile atrocities this bastard committed didn't vanish simply because a different soul wore his skin.

Does any of it even matter now?

I wiped the blood from my lips against an open page. The red stain smeared across the ink, turning the careful handwriting into a muddy blur. Just a few days ago, defacing those notes would have been unthinkable.

Justina had been right. If I had simply done nothing, Chloe wouldn’t have died. According to the original plot, other students would have perished, and ultimately Justina would have met her end as well. But Chloe would have survived. In the original novel, deaths always served a narrative purpose—a noble sacrifice to protect someone, or a tragic choice to avert a catastrophic ruin.

Chloe’s death was completely meaningless.

I grabbed a bottle of liquor and poured it down my throat. I had told myself I was only drinking to numb the physical pain, rationalizing that I wasn’t an addict chasing a high. But right now, without alcohol burning through my veins, I felt as though my mind would shatter into pieces.

I had intervened, and this disaster was the result. I had failed. The original storyline was warped beyond recognition. My assigned role had only ever been to drown in alcohol and vice, stir up scandals, get expelled from Ers Academy, and be cast out by my family. Why had I ever convinced myself that I could change fate?

It hurt so damn much. I was exhausted.

Let’s just stop.

It took only a moment of thought to reach that conclusion. Lay everything down, surrender, and spend whatever little time I had left in quiet comfort. Pushing the blood-soaked notebook aside, I pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment. Right then and there, I began penning my withdrawal application.

Those who had accepted their approaching death possessed a distinct look in their eyes. Leni knew that look all too well. It was the exact gaze she had seen in her mother’s eyes moments before the woman’s grip went limp after years of wasting away from illness. The eyes were fixed on you, yet inside them, not a shred of desire remained to hold on to anything in this world.

Ever since childhood, Leni had been cursed with a keen nose for the scent of death. And crossing paths with Louis in the academy corridor, she saw that very same emptiness in him.

Her footsteps halted involuntarily.

Louis Belmont—her classmate in the 3rd Year Class B swordsmanship club at Ers Academy. Until barely a year ago, he had been a disgraceful degenerate who dragged his ducal name through the gutter. Then, out of nowhere, he began acting like a reformed saint, even garnering the admiration of younger students. People claimed he had changed.

Yet every time Leni heard those words, she remembered what he had done to her in the past. The way he used his noble lineage to steal her academic achievements and harass her—none of it could ever be erased.

And that isn’t even the half of it.

She had sworn to tear off that hypocritical mask with her own hands someday. Pulling the corners of her lips into a practiced grin, she resumed her stride and lightly tapped his shoulder with her fingertips.

“Hehe, why the long face today? It doesn't suit you at all.”

Louis lifted his head belatedly. After staring blankly at her for a moment, a dry chuckle escaped him. Then, he unfolded the document in his hands and held it up for her to see.

“I’m dropping out.”

The moment she read the words written across the page, a chill ran through her fingertips. After carving permanent scars into her life, Louis was trying to walk away scot-free with a single sheet of paper. Leni quietly tucked both hands behind her back.

“Why?”

Fortunately, the cheerful lilt in her voice remained steady, even as her fingernails dug savagely into her palms behind her back.

Louis folded the document again, pressing along the crease with the pad of his thumb. His casual composure made it look as though he were doing nothing more serious than deciding to skip tomorrow's lecture.

“Because I’m dying soon,” he answered, giving a faint shrug.

Her fists tightened so hard the skin threatened to tear. Leni searched his eyes once more. There wasn't even the slightest plea for her to believe him, nor any desperate bid for sympathy.

There was only a vast, chilling emptiness.