Miss, It’s Just a Cold

Chapter 46: Perhaps

Aria stared at me for a long time before muttering an apology and leaving the bathroom.

She said she would wait outside, but saying that made me feel like I had to hurry and finish washing.

Once Aria left, I rose from the bathtub and quickly cleaned myself off.

All I had done was clench my fists tightly and press my hand over my chest, yet… she wouldn’t hit me. No, she wasn’t someone who’d ever hit me in the first place. So why?

Why did I do that?

We don’t resemble each other at all.

Even our hair colors are different.

How do I cut this off?

Was it a mistake to suddenly ask her to get me a gun in the first place?

But without a gun, I feel like I can’t accomplish anything.

My mother’s words, actions, violence, emotions, expressions—they’re all etched into my mind and will never disappear.

Even if I don’t die of illness but grow old and die of old age, they will still linger.

If I ever got dementia, I’d probably mistake a passerby for my mother, sobbing and begging them to stop hitting me.

That would be too, too painful.

Not that I want to live long enough to lose my faculties, but I doubt I’d even reach that age.

Still, it feels like I could escape, even just a little.

If I could live my life without ever seeing her face again, that would be enough.

I’ve never held a gun before.

But it’s a gun—once it’s loaded, you just pull the trigger, right?

It’s much more practical than carrying a kitchen knife or some odd blade.

If I brought one of those, I might not even get the chance to swing or stab before my mother, barehanded, would kick me down and overpower me.

It’s not like such a weapon is particularly large anyway—barely the length of my hand. At best, it would draw laughs from people rather than fear.

If I ran around waving it, I’d probably collapse after coughing a few times.

My body was just that weak.

Maybe that’s why I felt so miserable.

My eyes began to burn slightly, and before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face.

I wanted to claim it was just soap getting into my eyes, but unfortunately, I’d had them closed the entire time.

Honestly, isn’t this world made not for Aria, but for me?

A story where, after enduring endless oppression, I escape this absurd life with a frail arm holding a single gun.

Of course, who escapes this absurd life remains uncertain.

How unfair.

It’s not like I asked to be born as Emily.

It’s not like I’m unattractive.

If I were where I originally belonged, my face alone could probably ensure I’d never have to worry about money.

Ha.

Why does my mother, so high and mighty, expect so much from me?

In the end, this is the only way, isn’t it?

And yet, the person who promised to help me kept delaying the surest solution and looked at me with that face.

That face my mother made when she looked at me like I was trash!

And she claims to be my friend.

Maybe I really am trash.

Living, breathing food waste.

Not easily burned and left to rot with time.

Suddenly, a happy thought crosses my mind.

Aria eagerly finds and hands me the gun, and the next day, I return to the mansion.

As always, the family eats together.

Maybe even my father will be present at the dinner table, and I’ll hide the gun under my clothes.

None of them ever pay attention to me anyway, so they won’t notice anything odd.

After some idle conversation, I’ll say or do something my mother dislikes.

Or I could hurl curses at her.

And when her face twists in anger and she tries to drag me to the punishment room, that’s when I’ll pull out the gun.

I’ll probably tremble uncontrollably—not just from fear, but from joy!

Even imagining it now fills me with delight, so how ecstatic would I feel in that moment?

Who should I pull the trigger on first?

Daniel will undoubtedly be beside her, insulting me for my audacity.

Yes, let’s start with him.

Meals always begin with an appetizer before moving on to the main course, don’t they?

But when my blissful fantasy ends, all that’s left is the pitiful sight of myself.

No matter how much I drench my mind with thoughts of my greatest desires and dreams, the wretched girl in front of me doesn’t disappear.

Grabbing my neck tightly, I held on for a moment.

Since it was my own hands, the grip simply caused my breathing to hitch a little before my strength naturally gave out.

I stared at the marks left on my neck, forcing my dismal expression into a bright smile and shaking my head.

After washing my face and cleaning the scars on my arms, legs, and hair, I left the bathroom.

When I opened the door, I saw Aria sitting by the door, looking slightly downcast.

“All done? That was quick.”

“…Yeah.”

“Shall we head for breakfast?”

I nodded instead of replying.

Aria slowly rose, supporting herself against the floor, and brought me some clothes.

It was a long outfit that covered all the scars on my body.

“Oh, my mother and father will be at the table, too, but don’t feel too pressured. I’ve already told them you’re a friend.”

“…That’s still plenty of pressure.”

“There’s no helping it. By the way, the clothes look good on you. They didn’t look this nice when I wore them as a child.”

“When did you wear these?”

“Probably around when I was twelve?”

The clothes fit me perfectly, clinging from the sleeves to my chest, waist, and even down to my ankles.

If I’d been able to eat well and sleep soundly, I might have grown to be like Aria…

No, there’s no point in thinking like that.

Aria led me through a long hallway to a warm, inviting space.

The room was filled with the aromas of food, tea, coffee, and fruit.

In the center was an elegant oval dining table with twelve chairs around it.

Sitting at the table were a middle-aged couple and, for some reason, a servant sharing the meal.

I stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do, until the middle-aged woman noticed me and spoke.

“So, you’re the girl named Emily.

I’m so grateful that my daughter’s only friend has come to visit the mansion.

Breakfast is simple, but there’s plenty of delicious food. Come, take a seat.”

“Yes, yes.”

I was welcomed.

Stammering like an idiot, I quickly walked over and sat down.

Aria, sitting beside me, couldn’t seem to stop giggling for some reason.

The middle-aged man, likely Aria’s father, gave me a brief nod before continuing his meal.

That kind of simple acknowledgment was easier to handle.

After all, in this setting, I was the subordinate.

Still, seeing a servant eating at the same table was… unusual.

“Mom, doesn’t this outfit I used to wear look great on her?”

“It does. The girl’s so pretty; that must be why.”

Aria and her mother were deep in cheerful conversation.

Their casual and warm interactions made me feel out of place.

So this is what a conversation between parents and children looks like—lighthearted, saying whatever comes to mind, without calculations or restraint.

I found myself envious of them, a realization that surprised me. Shaking the feeling away, I resumed eating.

Just as Aria’s mother had said, the food was delicious.

It was tasty, though it didn’t lift my gloomy mood.

Still, I needed to take my medicine—the one kept at the mansion.

If I told Aria, she’d probably help me find something suitable.

I placed a slice of smoky, firm cheese on my bread, spread a bit of jam over it, cut it into bite-sized pieces, and popped one into my mouth.

Then, the man across from me—Aria’s father—spoke.

He was gazing at me with a look of concern or perhaps worry.

“You’re from the Reichten family, I hear.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“You don’t resemble the others in your family much, do you?”

“Maybe my mother picked up someone else’s seed along the way.”

The words came out sharper than I intended.

Was I too frazzled to maintain even basic courtesy? Or had I simply grown tired of pretending?

Perhaps it was because I found the sight of servants, parents, and children sitting together to eat unfamiliar—so strange, in fact, that I lashed out.

If I were myself and not Emily, I’d probably think this was a more proper world.

The atmosphere turned cold.

Aria had stopped her conversation with her mother, now looking at me with a slightly troubled expression.

This wasn’t a place I belonged.

“That’s not how I meant it,” Aria’s father said, his tone calm. “But it seems I upset you.”

“I’m sorry. I—”

What was I supposed to say?

That I was in a bad mood?

That I acted out because I thought I could get away with it, seeing someone unfamiliar?

No matter what I said, the truth remained: I had made a fool of myself.

While I scrambled to find a response, Aria’s father spoke again.

“I’ve heard from Aria that you’re not in the best health, and it’s made you sensitive. My apologies, child. If you wish, I can summon a physician at once.”

I was fine.

I wasn’t even that sick.

What was he going on about?

Aria and her mother didn’t look at me with disdain or pity for being unrefined. Instead, their gazes were filled with something akin to compassion, as if I were some poor, unfortunate creature.

I stuffed another bite of food into my mouth and silently waited for the meal to end.

Once Aria’s parents left the table, Aria approached me, her face full of things left unsaid.

Before she could start, I spoke first.

“Aria, I think I’ll just go back to the mansion. I’m sorry for causing such a scene.”

“…Do you realize there’s blood on the corner of your mouth right now?”