Miss, stop committing suicide

Chapter 38: Side: The Lunatics

“Let’s meet again.”

Erica’s voice, subdued and vastly different from the intense tone of moments ago, was immediately followed by the unmistakable explosion of gunpowder.

The bullet from the small firearm shot through Erica’s head with precision.

A moment ago, she was breathing, speaking, and alive. Now, her body collapsed, eyes rolling back, entirely lifeless.

Blood gushed from her ears, nose, and mouth, staining her pale face so heavily that it was impossible to discern its original color.

“What… What is this? What’s… oh…”

A headshot left no chance for survival.

Even if the bullet were removed, even if her destroyed brain were somehow pieced back together and healed with magic, it wouldn’t bring back the Erica they knew.

Erica was dead.

For certain.

A gaping hole large enough to fit a finger marred her right temple, leaving no doubt.

When a bullet creates such a wound, it doesn’t just bleed; it sprays like a fountain, shooting upwards into the air.

The first person to get hit by that grisly fountain of blood and brain matter was Vivian.

“Evaaaan!! Evan!! Heal her! Heal her now!!”

The floor was already slick with blood.

Most of it wasn’t Erica’s, but rather Lydia’s, whose lifeless body lay sprawled nearby. 

Yet no one, save for those who had basked in her trivial authority moments earlier, paid her any attention.

Vivian, desperate, removed her own top to try and stem the flow of brain matter and blood spilling from Erica’s head.

She knew it was futile, that nothing could stop what was already pouring out. But she did it anyway.

Vivian’s once-pristine face twisted in anguish, stained red as her trembling hands struggled to contain the wound.

Evan, stunned by the surreal scene, finally shook himself free from the stupor. He knelt down, muttering healing spells over and over.

But no amount of magic could undo the destruction caused by a hunk of metal that had torn through Erica’s brain. If a wound like that could be mended, no one in the world would die of injuries.

The repeated gunfire had drawn a crowd of onlookers.

Children who shunned public executions as barbaric and only knew combat through the elegant sparring described in books were left horrified by the gruesome scene before them.

A head with a hole gushing pinkish-gray matter, streaked with blood—this was raw violence, far removed from their sanitized world.

And amidst the chaos, a beautiful girl wept and wailed as she tried, hopelessly, to save her fallen friend.

Technically, Erica wasn’t entirely dead—yet.

Though the mind might be gone, her body still clung to the faintest spark of life.

When someone is shot in the head, instant death is possible, but more often, there’s a brief period of involuntary twitching and spasms before the body finally succumbs.

Erica’s right hand still gripped the pistol tightly as her left hand and legs trembled, her body convulsing on the blood-soaked ground.

The surrounding crowd gasped in horror, unsure whether to interpret her movements as a sign of life or death.

From the back of the crowd, the Crown Prince stepped forward, making his way to Evan.

He tapped Evan lightly on the shoulder. The tear-streaked young man looked up, his face a mixture of despair and determination, as he continued casting healing spells.

Without hesitation, the Prince spoke softly but firmly.

“Stop trying to save her. Look, the wound is already closing slightly.

I didn’t realize you were such a skilled mage, Evan.”

“…What?”

The Prince casually brushed Evan’s hands aside, cutting off the healing magic that had been sealing Erica’s wounds and returning her brain to its original state.

The glow of the spell faded, leaving the bloodied scene in stark reality.

Vivian, who had been kneeling beside Erica, stood abruptly.

What she did next shocked everyone present—she grabbed the Crown Prince by his collar.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Had it been anyone else, that hand would have been severed instantly. But the Prince didn’t react with anger.

Instead, he spoke with the same detached composure.

“Vivian, death is a mercy for her.

What you’re trying to save is no longer Erica Mecklenburg.

It’s just a lump of meat that looks like her—a breathing, twitching corpse in her shape.”

Evan found himself nodding, almost involuntarily.

After all, a lump of metal had scrambled Erica’s brain beyond repair. Healing the flesh couldn’t restore what was lost.

Even so, he approached Erica again, staring at the pistol clenched tightly in her hand.

“Why… Why did you do this?”

He began casting another healing spell but faltered, his arms trembling until they finally fell to his sides.

Erica’s body twitched one last time, then went limp.

Yet, even in death, her hand refused to release the gun.

As Evan and Vivian stared, they were both struck by the finality of it.

Erica was truly dead.

“I even begged her to just quietly lock herself away and die peacefully,” the Prince muttered, his voice tinged with irritation.

“She wouldn’t listen, of course. Move the students away and clean up the bodies.”

At his command, shadowy figures emerged from the background. One began removing what remained of Erica and Lydia, while the other knelt and placed a hand on the ground, erasing all traces of blood in an instant.

Evan, still kneeling, wiped his tear-streaked face with his sleeve. When he looked up again, his expression mirrored Erica’s usual blank demeanor.

“Vivian, I think I’ve figured something out.”

“…What is it?”

“I don’t think Erica’s truly dead.

She’ll come back, as if nothing happened.”

Vivian’s eyes widened briefly, then she let out a long, weary sigh.

She crouched beside him, muttering under her breath.

“You’re insane, too.”

Denying reality and refusing to accept it was something Vivian had once done often.

Anyone would, after all, if they came home to find the father they loved and admired more than anyone else hanging lifelessly in their own house, long before adolescence had even touched their lives.

“Why not? Escaping into delusions seems better than obsessively trying to revive a corpse.”

It wasn’t Evan who answered but the Crown Prince.

He retrieved a pipe from his pocket, placing it between his lips, and ignited the tip with a small flame at his fingertip.

The acrid scent of tobacco mixed with the faint sweetness of cannabis began to mingle with the stench of blood in the air.

Vivian bit her lip, seething at the Crown Prince’s complete lack of courtesy or empathy.

“If you ever feel like you’re losing your mind, I hope you’ll at least handle it quietly in your room instead of causing a scene like this friend of yours.”

As the children who had gathered began to disperse, the Crown Prince prepared to leave, making a casual comment over his shoulder.

But Evan called out to him.

“Your Highness, may I… open her head?”

It was obvious whose head he meant.

Clinging to a thread of hope—or perhaps indulging a twisted desire—Evan’s trembling voice asked whether it might be possible to retrieve some fragment of what remained inside Erica’s shattered skull.

Vivian, standing nearby, broke down into wailing, screaming, and bursts of fury, attempting to interject herself into their conversation.

But a woman’s outrage is useful only in times of peace or when the situation is within the bounds of reason.

The Crown Prince smirked, pretending to ponder Evan’s question, before finally speaking.

“Desecrating a body is generally considered an insult to the deceased.”

“Erica is alive,” Evan insisted.

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll send someone later to summon you.”

Hearing this, Vivian, still covered in Erica’s blood, hurled curses and words of royal defiance at the Crown Prince. She even attempted to lunge at him.

But the shadows moved, restraining her with an unyielding grip. They didn’t let go, no matter how much she struggled.

In the end, she collapsed to the ground, utterly powerless.

“You’re all mad,” she spat.