The Villain’s Ending

Chapter 62

Delusion (1)

The room was filled with a mix of dust and the lingering scent of stale alcohol.

Somehow, the ceiling felt familiar.

It seemed falling didn't immediately kill him.

Even until Levina came and held him, his consciousness seemed to linger for some reason.

It didn't hurt.

Perhaps because he fell headfirst.

Only the sensation of something breaking, and the touch of slowly cooling blood, remained vivid.

The smell of garden soil and flowers mingled with the scent of blood, creating a bizarre fragrance.

With a somehow familiar feeling, he got up.Perhaps because he hadn't burned to death this time, his body felt somewhat lighter.

Wandering aimlessly, he suddenly noticed the state of the room.

It was dirty.

He opened the window.

Cold air flowed into the room.

The musty smell seemed to dissipate a little.

Then, he started cleaning the room.

He gathered the empty liquor bottles rolling around at his feet.

About three or four bottles still had about half the liquor left.

He found some random lids rolling around, roughly sealed the bottles, and shoved them into a corner.

The empty bottles were neatly stacked in a corner.

He picked up the scattered trash and put it in the wastebasket.

The ashtray on the table was piled high with cigarette butts.

He emptied the ashtray and wiped it roughly with a cloth that could have been a rag or a dishcloth.

He also roughly dusted the messy bed once and folded the blanket.

Dust billowed thickly.

He coughed a few times.

And then he saw the landscape painting, given to him by Seraphina, that had been shoved into a corner.

Since the wall was bare, he hung the painting back where it used to be.

Then, he saw a familiar envelope lying on the table.

The letter I wrote.

I had sprayed perfume on the outside so Seraphina would feel good when she received it, and chosen an envelope with a lilac design, but now I can't even remember what I wrote inside.

He thought about picking that up and throwing it in the trash too, but instead, he held the letter for a long time.

The thought of opening the envelope crossed his mind, but he didn't.

Finally, he put the letter down on the table and finished cleaning.

He sighed and leaned back deeply into the sofa, spending time idly.

Then, he felt something cumbersome in his pocket.

It was a crumpled cigarette pack.

As an old habit, he rummaged through the crumpled cigarette pack in his pocket and pulled out the last remaining cigarette, putting it in his mouth.

Would he still be afraid to light a fire now?

That thought crossed his mind.

He took out a matchbox and pulled out a single matchstick.

He hesitated for a long time.

Clack.

With a sound, a new flame sparked to life.

The orange flame flickered faintly.

Now, even seeing fire didn't scare him that much.

His hand did tremble, but not severely.

He lit the cigarette in his mouth and extinguished the match.

Smoke entered deeply into his lungs, then slowly spread out.

He closed his eyes for a long time, then opened them.

There was a time when he wanted to smoke a cigarette, but couldn't light it no matter what, and suffered.

When he visited Lineta's house and lit a fire in the fireplace with kindling, such a thought hadn't even crossed his mind.

Perhaps it was from that point on that he stopped being afraid of fire.

When he was with her, it was just something warm.

The thought of wanting to see Lineta crossed his mind.

But she probably wouldn't remember who he was, or what kind of person he was now.

What more needs to improve for me to even go see her?

He crushed the finished cigarette on the now-clean ashtray to extinguish it.

Just then, a translucent window appeared before his eyes.

[Collect the Ending. 4/?]

[Currently Collected Rewards: Lingering Trace, Afterimage]

[Reward: ???]

The words 'Return to Original World' were gone.

Come to think of it, had he even thought about wanting to return lately?

Seeing that, he waved his hand and sighed.

He thought that perhaps what he was wishing for now was the reward itself.

He only thought vaguely of wanting to be happy, but didn't know what to do.

Because he couldn't see what was ahead.

Perhaps the fortunate thing was that even if he stumbled and died, he would at least come back.

It seemed like a disadvantage, but he decided to think of it positively in his own way.

Anyway, he wanted to return, but for some reason, he also felt like he didn't want to.

More precisely, it was even more so after meeting Lineta.

Memories of how he had lived there were slowly fading.

Things like coffee, or laptops.

Only fragmented words floated in his mind; his own image from that place didn't come to him.

If he returned like this, what about Lineta, who had died because of him?

What about all the times he had died until now?

Such thoughts ceaselessly filled his mind.

Only thinking and not acting was his bad habit.

He tore open the new pack of cigarettes, pulled out a cigarette, and put it in his mouth.

He struck another match and lit it.

Since the window was open, the smoke didn't linger in the room but flowed outside.

He stared blankly at the peaceful scenery outside the window, clearing his mind.

Birdsong was heard.

And the sound of wind rustling the leaves.

Just then, the sound of the door opening was heard.

"You called for me, and yet… didn’t you say you quit smoking?"

A slightly trembling voice came from behind him.

It was Seraphina.

He didn't know when she had entered, but she was leaning against the door, arms crossed, looking at him.

When he turned around and met her eyes, he felt Seraphina's gaze waver slightly.

Instead of answering, he crushed the cigarette in his mouth on the ashtray to extinguish it.

"It’s because it’s been a while since I smoked one."

Seraphina, who had been standing behind him, slowly walked over and perched on the edge of the bed.

At her movement, the bed faintly creaked.

"It’s been a while, you say? The room was full of smoke just a few days ago.

Still… at least you opened the window now.’"

Seraphina looked around the room.

The cleaned room, the liquor bottles stacked in the corner, and the painting on the wall.

He recalled that every time he returned after dying, she would lament how bare the wall was, so he hung it up, but now she didn't seem to say much about it.

"The room is neat too. I thought you never cleaned."

"‘I just cleaned it. It’s the day you come.’"

At his words, Seraphina wore a blank expression for a moment.

"Ah, right. It’s, it’s the day I come. Thank you."

Then she slightly lowered her head and asked.

"So, why did you call for me?"

He pondered for a long time without answering.

Right, why did I call her?

He picked up the letter lying on the table.

And handed it to her.

"Right, because of the letter. It’s a gift."

Seraphina took the letter and hesitated for a moment.

Then, right there, she opened the envelope.

She gently placed the envelope on the bed and unfolded the letter.

Her eyes slowly moved across the letter.

Soon after, tears began to stream from her eyes.

He quietly watched her.

"Why are you crying?"

"What am I crying about?"

Seraphina said that, wiping her tear-stained eyes with the back of her hand.

But only damp moisture was left on the back of her hand.

She wore a blank expression, looking at her wet hand.

But her tears did not stop.

She kept wiping away her tears, muttering in a bewildered manner.

"Why am I like this?"

Seraphina gently folded the letter and put it back into the envelope.

And with extreme care, she tucked the envelope inside her clothes.

Watching Seraphina, he looked around to see if there was anything he could give her.

But there was nothing but the liquor bottles gathered in one place and cigarettes.

He wondered if he should approach and offer comfort, but he didn't readily want to go closer.

As he merely watched Seraphina, she got up.

"Right now, I feel a bit… strange. I’ll come again next time."

Leaving those words, she left the room as if fleeing.

The sound of the door closing was heard, and he was once again left alone in the room.

He knew that something always changed every time he died, but he didn't know exactly what changed.

Honestly, it wasn't a very pleasant feeling.

Because if he didn't die, there would be no one to worry about him.

But in the end, everyone he could lean on was just people whose attitudes changed when he died.

Even if he leaned on them, his death wouldn't change.

Still, that child was different.

She was a child he had to help, rather than someone who would help him.

But in the end, he couldn't even protect her.

With those thoughts, he opened a drawer.

Inside was a revolver.

He picked up some rolling bullets, loaded the chambers, and tucked the revolver into his waistband.

The sensation of pulling the trigger towards the Duchess still seemed to linger in his hand.

She was someone he hated so much, someone he detested and who had tormented him until now, but killing her didn't bring him much joy.

He didn't feel nauseous or disgusted, but it wasn't purely good either. He felt a certain refreshing sensation, but it was closer to a feeling of liberation than happiness.

Somehow, he felt a little more at ease.

Because he didn't want to be driven to the point of finding meaning in life in such a place.

It seemed he wasn't the kind of person who would become happy by killing someone.

He got up and lightly washed himself.

He took out the most decent and cleanest clothes from the closet and put them on.

And he left the room.

He walked down the familiar hallway, making his way to a small church at the back gate of the academy.

Sunlight stretched long through the hallway windows.

Students passing through the hallway paused or whispered when they saw him.

Their voices brushed past his ears, but he heard nothing.

He just kept walking forward.