Miss, stop committing suicide

Chapter 53

The girl.

Yes, the same girl who couldn’t even properly hold a sword when we first met. 

The one I once thought I might be engaged to before Vivian entered my life. 

The girl I’ve treated so cruelly in recent days.

That girl…

She’s burning.

Whoosh.

At the same time, memories began flooding my mind. They rose like tendrils of smoke, forcefully lodging themselves within my head.

Along with them came the realization—a painful truth—that Erica would die and reset time.

The question she asked me earlier, the one I couldn’t answer due to unease, wasn’t mere nonsense.

My thoughts spun.

These memories are emerging now… They could only mean one thing: Erica was about to die.

There was nothing I could do to save her.

Whether I tried or not, the outcome would be the same.

I remembered a different time—a more mature Vivian standing alongside knights, confronting me as the disgrace of the Strelitz family. Back then, I hadn’t simply taken up a sword to end my own life.

I had sacrificed countless others and even myself, all as offerings to achieve something greater.

Though I couldn’t turn back time, I had managed to send fragments of knowledge, dark magic, and my ultimate desires to my past self.

It had been a miracle.

A rational god would have rejected my offerings, punished me, or granted only minimal power.

But the gods who accept sacrifices are anything but rational.

They are curious beings, eager to return favors, and delight in the joy, sorrow, and anguish of the humans who worship them.

Evan—my former self—had studied ancient texts to understand this. And so, he offered sacrifices and made a deal with a god.

To turn back time and save a woman.

Yet, the true offering wasn’t simply the sacrifice of time—it was the agony of losing the woman he loved over and over again.

The dark god, intrigued by the proposal, eagerly accepted.

Suffering always makes for a compelling tale, after all.

And so, Evan became… not quite Evan. A distorted echo of himself was sent into the past.

That first day, sadness briefly overwhelmed him. Human emotions, as potent and volatile as they are, dissipated quickly. A day was all it took for that sorrow to fade.

But as the first day passed and he faced the same blunders of his past self, Evan—or what remained of him—fell into despair.

As always, he was foolish. A sheltered scholar who knew nothing beyond the words in his books.

Even seeing Erica, he could do nothing but feel the familiar pangs of grief, powerless to prevent her from dying.

And so, Erica continued to find new ways to end her life.

Each time, Evan was filled with despair and begged to be spared the sight. But the whisper of his own thoughts reminded him:

“Look ahead. You must pay the price.”

He accepted the guilt, the punishment he deserved for the cruelty of his former self.

And when he lifted his head, he saw her.

The girl, engulfed in flames, was smiling.

How could someone burn alive without screaming? How could she smile?

It was then Evan realized he was holding a piece of Erica’s tongue in his right hand.

It was him—he had driven her to this.

The flames only grew fiercer as he poured water and covered her with dirt.

He thought she had been getting better.

But no, she wasn’t.

She had been breaking. And it was his doing.

Years of suppressed emotions, buried during his time as a dark sorcerer, surged forth. 

He wept, struck by the contradiction of it all—what wasn’t his had somehow become his burden.

It was a cruel irony. The pain and misfortune he endured weren’t the kind ordinary people would ever face.

But he wasn’t destined to be ordinary.

His future self had decided it—if Erica were to die, he would endure a path of torment.

***

A shadowy figure, cloaked with a beard swaying beneath the hood, spoke softly.

“How many times will we watch her die like this?

We’re fools, powerless to properly turn back time.

Perhaps this is all meaningless.”

Erica’s arm twisted grotesquely as it burned. White foam bubbled from her mouth, but no screams escaped her lips.

The smell of burning flesh filled the air, sickening those nearby. The sound of retching echoed around them.

But Evan didn’t turn to look.

His focus remained on Erica, who was burning to death.

He wanted to block his nose, to escape the stench of human flesh burning—a smell so vile it was almost unbearable.

He wanted to cover his ears, to muffle the crackling of her skin and the hiss of her clothes as the fire consumed her. The sound whispered cruelly that the flames would never be extinguished.

He wanted to close his eyes, to turn away from the sight.

But he couldn’t.

Erica, kneeling calmly in the inferno as if nothing hurt, reached out as if to pat herself and tell herself not to cry. It was horrifying.

Evan dropped to his knees, sobbing, pleading desperately for it all to stop.

But the echo of his own thoughts wouldn’t allow it.

When he tried to turn his head, the shadowy figure grabbed his face and forced him to watch.

When he tried to close his eyes, the figure pried them open, ensuring he bore witness.

It was a curse etched into his soul.

“Look ahead. This is the price we agreed to.

As long as Erica’s time repeats, so will ours.

If she simply dies, all will be for nothing.”

Evan wanted to reject the reality before him.

But the scorching heat told him it was real.

And so, he groveled before the figment of his future self, a desperate, pathetic plea spilling from his lips.

He was caught in a storm of revulsion, scorn, and emotion too overwhelming to bear.

“I don’t want to see this anymore. Let me close my eyes.”

Evan sobbed, his voice trembling with desperation.

“I want to stop crying. I don’t want to see Erica smiling like that anymore.

I don’t want to feel this way. These aren’t even my emotions—these are feelings you’ve built up over years.

This wasn’t even my contract.”

“Don’t run away.

If we’re measuring worth, these feelings are dirt-cheap, despicable, and useless. Endure them.

You’ll fail again this time, and the next you will feel them just as deeply.”

Evan wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t.

How could he deny the truth of what he had caused? What else could his sobbing be, if not cheap, meaningless despair?

All he could do was collapse into despair and accept it.

“Don’t try to separate yourself from it. This is your future.

From now on, you will carry this moment in your mind, endlessly repeating it.

We must repeat this cycle endlessly until we finally return to the past, whole and unbroken.

You’re just starting a little sooner this time. Someday, you will become me.”

***

The girl burned to death.

Her body collapsed lifelessly to the ground, consumed entirely by the flames.

Lacking any sense of reality, Evan instinctively reached out to shake her shoulder, as if to wake her.

She crumbled instantly, her remains disintegrating into ash and sinking into the ground.

“Remember,” the echo of his future whispered, searing its words into Evan’s soul.

“Erica died with a hole in her head.

Before that, she bled out from her throat and arms.

There were others, but this time, she burned to death. Remember.

And pass these memories—and these feelings—to the next you.”

The remnants of his future self etched the command deeply into his soul.

At first, Evan had tried to deny Erica’s death, running from it and cursing the wasted time.

Now, the command pressed him to begin the journey to save her without delay.

“How long…?” Evan whispered.

“Until Erica is saved. Or until she dies for good.”

It was a cruel answer.

But it wasn’t as cruel as the man who had pushed a powerless girl to her death, treating her like a plaything for his whims.

Evan remained crouched before the ashes of Erica’s charred body, unmoving.

He thought of her laughing amidst the flames, the image burned into his mind.

When he turned around, he saw Vivian standing there.

Her face was blank, as if her mind had gone completely numb.

Her fingertips had turned a sickly blue, and crimson blood dripped steadily to the ground. She had clearly overused her magic well past her limits.

Anyone else would have collapsed by now, but Vivian stood rigidly, staring at the remains of what had once been Erica.

“Vivian, let’s go,” Evan said.

“Evan… Erica is dead,” she replied, her voice trembling.

To that, Evan answered, “She’s not dead.”

He didn’t add, because I’m going to bring her back.

With the crown prince nearby, it wasn’t worth saying aloud. If he overheard, he’d likely station guards to prevent him from carrying out his plans.

Vivian began to retch.

Thankfully, the overpowering smell of charred flesh masked the stench.

The scent of burning meat had already saturated the entire courtyard.

Evan turned and walked back toward their room.

This time, as he stepped inside, he didn’t let himself wallow in Erica’s death like before. 

He began doing what needed to be done, just as the echo of his future had in its own timeline.