After witnessing Cruello’s tears, my very soul felt frozen.
As my mind slowly began to function again, questions arose.
What did he an by no? What exactly was I in danger of dying from right now?
A mont ago, he had ntioned... Bonetti.
I opened my mouth to speak, but my vision lurched violently.
My knees buckled, and my strength drained away as I collapsed into the chair.
I tried to steady myself, gripping the table with desperate fingers, but my eyelids grew unbearably heavy.
"Wait, I..."
My trembling hand clenched and unclenched over the tablecloth.
Sowhere far away, I heard the sound of a teapot and teacup shattering against the floor.
How strong was the sedative he had used?
What exactly had happened at Bonetti?
No—more than that, a far more pressing question surfaced.
"Cru... ello..."
You put to sleep—what are you planning to do?
With no clues to grasp onto, my emotions spiraled out of control.
It felt as if a thousand needles were pressing against my chest, right on the verge of bursting my heart.
No.
Whatever this is, it can’t happen.
I won’t let it happen.
Cruello watched my struggle in silence.
When our eyes t, he let out a quiet ah, as if he had finally understood sothing.
Then, he chuckled.
"Are you afraid?"
He moved behind , his large hand covering my eyes.
The sudden plunge into darkness filled with dread.
I tried to pry his fingers away, but they wouldn’t budge.
It’s okay.
"I was scared too, but everything got better in the end."
"You’re... going to... do what...?"
"Sleep well, my love."
His mana pressed down on my already fading consciousness.
No...
"Sweet dreams."
His terribly sweet voice was the last thing I heard before I was swallowed whole by the pitch-black void.
As his fingers slipped away, her tightly shut eyelids ca into view.
Siora Bonetti had fallen asleep.
"...It’s done."
Her na had been Amy.
She had been Viga.
She had been Siora.
Or perhaps even that was a lie.
She was, and always had been, an enigmatic woman.
And yet—he had believed her.
Because he wanted to believe.
Because he had to believe.
Whether sothing so blind and reckless could still be called faith was another matter entirely.
Even now, knowing the truth, that thought lingered.
That Amy, Viga, and Siora were all the sa person.
That none of them had truly died.
It felt too much like a delusion, a self-indulgent fantasy.
At one ti, Cruello had denied Amy’s death so completely that he saw her in every woman he t.
It had been a symptom—a sign of imbalance.
And yet, here was the truth.
They had all lived.
They had all been the sa person.
At the mont of realization, Cruello had felt relief—but he had also paid a price.
Because he now knew that even what he had thought to be pure kindness had, in reality, a purpose.
The only rcy was that he was not in a position to complain about that fact.
Better this than having to watch her die again.
Cruello let out a quiet laugh.
Even if Amy, Viga, or Siora had approached him with ulterior motives, how did that compare to the agony of their deaths?
Compared to that, their deception was little more than a thorn prick.
He had no intention of embracing a corpse ever again.
Even if it ant giving up his own life instead.
A small part of him, however, wondered—if he died, what kind of expression would Siora make?
Maybe, buried beneath all the emotions flooding his chest, there was a trace of revenge.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead and rose from his seat.
His steps as he left were strangely light.
After all—death was never as heavy as life.
It never had been.
Not since that day when Viga had co to his chamber.
***
"Young Duke, are you awake?"
The night Viga had co to find Cruello, the boy had been awake.
He had heard her voice clearly.
And yet, he hadn’t answered.
Perhaps out of pettiness.
Perhaps out of betrayal.
When Cruello had first realized his feelings, he had believed Viga must have felt the sa.
If she hadn’t—why else would she be the only one to approach him, the wretched heir no one wanted to associate with?
Why would she have gone out of her way to try and cure his madness?
So of the servants had gossiped, calling Viga an opportunist trying to flatter soone in power.
But Viga had never once sought a reward.
Even if she had wanted sothing from him, he wouldn’t have cared.
His wealth was limitless.
If she desired it, he could have kept her close for life, forcing her to wear a mask forever.
Even if...
Even if his dead friend had never wanted that for him.
But in the end, his little calculations had ant nothing.
Because Viga had left.
Even when he forced conversations with her, she rejected him without hesitation.
Without even thinking about it, as if it had never been a question at all.
And that was when Cruello had finally understood.
Her kindness had been just that—simple kindness.
To her, he had never been special.
And yet...
What tornted him more than anything was that, despite that, he still could not let go.
Months passed, and he still thought about her.
He still wanted to look into her eyes.
To talk to her.
To do more than that.
After Amy’s death, his heart had been left dry and cracked, starved for even the smallest drops of warmth.
It swallowed those few drops greedily, only to cry out for more.
Even he could not understand himself.
Even if she had cured his madness, was it not ridiculous that the entire world now seed to revolve around her?
Perhaps, on so unconscious level, his soul had always recognized who she truly was.
But the boy he had been at the ti had known nothing.
anwhile, Viga’s life had continued unchanged.
Even after his warnings, she still went out at night, carrying out dangerous work.
"Young Duke, I might die soon. You told not to do anything reckless, but I went and did it anyway—with everything I had."
She’s openly confessing it.
Why?
Sitting on his bed, Cruello clenched his fists and lifted his head.
He had known she was involved in sothing dangerous.
He had even inspected her body on multiple occasions, searching for traces of mana, but found nothing.
There was no way she had been so secret agent dispatched for a special mission.
Personal revenge?
So misguided sense of justice?
Shallow curiosity?
He couldn’t grasp what she was thinking.
I don’t know. And I don’t care anymore.
Burying his face in his hands, the boy muttered to himself.
Let fate take its course.
This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.
Viga and I are nothing to each other.
Whatever happens to her—whether she’s hurt, sick, or even if she dies—I won’t care.
The insolent maid kept mumbling a few more words.
Cruello listened to them all without blocking his ears.
"My standards are so high they might as well be touching the heavens—that’s why I rejected you, Young Duke. But I’ll give you credit for having good taste."
"......."
"Next ti, try liking soone better. There must be soone out there who’s better than a pretentious maid pretending to be your friend."
No.
There isn’t.
In my entire life, only three people had ever approached first.
Eden, Amy, and Viga.
And now, there was only one left.
Cruello suddenly found himself recalling the faces he longed to see.
Tomorrow was his birthday. Eden would co, of course, but that alone wouldn’t be enough to fill the hole in his chest.
He clamped his mouth shut.
"Young Duke, I—"
Viga hesitated for a long mont, then finally left with a simple good night.
The boy pricked his ears, listening as the sound of her footsteps faded.
Until her presence disappeared entirely.
Cruello lifted his head.
Is she... gone?
Had she secretly stolen so liquor or sothing? The things she said made no sense.
Her words had sounded strangely ominous, but the boy shook his head.
Even if she was about to walk into danger, she wouldn’t have the ans to do so.
She had no mana.
No matter how deep she tried to dig, she had limits.
If she had really gotten herself into sothing dangerous, she wouldn’t have even made it to his door in the first place.
So... he should be able to rest easy.
But then, he suddenly rembered—tomorrow was his birthday.
Birthdays had never been sothing he welcod.
The good mories were too few to count, while the misfortunes were too many to list.
"...No."
Cruello murmured aloud.
And yet, he couldn’t hold himself back—he shot to his feet.
The mont he opened the door, sothing small and tallic clattered at his feet.
A golden key.
When he picked it up, dark and ominous mana curled around his palm.
The boy’s face paled.
Then, without thinking—he ran.
He had to find Viga.
He tore through the mansion.
Her quarters. The cleaning stations. The garden she often visited.
Everywhere.
The sound of his footsteps pounded through the halls, yet no one ca out to check.
It was as if the entire mansion had fallen asleep—like he was the only one trapped in a nightmare.
His lungs burned, his heart pounded, but he couldn’t find her.
Then, just as his fear swallowed him whole, a white butterfly appeared.
"That’s..."
Clutching a brilliant golden fragnt, the butterfly darted toward him.
Before he could react, it lted into his forehead.
The mories of another soul tore through him.
"Ugh—!"
His knees buckled, his body trembling violently.
Viga—passing through the black temple.
Viga—descending into the basent.
A key’s magic. Eden’s betrayal.
And then—Viga’s death.
So parts were shrouded in fog, like glass clouded with condensation.
He couldn’t understand how a mana-less Viga had made it that far.
He didn’t know how she had extracted a soul fragnt.
But because of that, the things he could see stood out even more vividly.
As the shock faded, the weight of the truth settled in.
"Ugh... hhk—!"
But in the end, it wasn’t about the facts.
mories could never be purely objective, no matter how much one tried to wash them clean.
The emotions felt in that mont—what was seen, heard, touched, and thought—were forever imprinted.
And so, Cruello knew.
That she had clung so desperately to the estate’s affairs to distract herself from her own pain.
That when she had rejected his ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) confession, her heart had not been as calm as she had made it seem.
That she had already resigned herself to death—that was why she had started avoiding him.
That, in truth, he had been special to her, too.
That she had worried about him more than anyone—so much so that she had tried to warn him of the danger.
That even Viga had loved in a way most people wouldn’t understand.
And that’s why he was furious.
Why?
Why did you co to , knowing you were going to die?
Why did you wait until after death to tell your feelings?
That was not how you were supposed to do things.
Soone sacrificing themselves for his sake—
That was Cruello’s worst nightmare.
Viga had shredded his heart apart, all in the na of him.
He could not forgive her for that.
Clutching the key Viga had left behind, Cruello sobbed silently.
It felt like he was about to die.
No—dying might have been preferable.
If not for the fact that, at that mont, one final mory surfaced, he might have gladly chosen the worst possible option.
["× Month, × Day."
"I found a clue. The answer lies in the human soul."]
And so, in a way—
You could say the devil’s voice had whispered into him, too.
Cruello swore vengeance.
Against Eden, who had so naturally hidden beside him, subtly guiding him like a puppet on strings.
And against Viga—who had left him with a pain he could never escape.
If she can co back to life—then I don’t care what state she’s in.
I don’t care how she looks at .
That was the first true desire Cruello had ever felt.
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