My Ruin to You - Chapter 43

It was a necklace.

Something glinting in the sunlight made me think it was a snake’s shed skin, so I approached—only to be utterly startled. It was too perfect to be mere coincidence. If so, it would mean the snake had understood Roseline’s muttering and left it there to repay her kindness—but that was impossible.

If it were a magical beast, maybe. But neither the snake nor the necklace gave off any trace of magic.

“Young Lady, what do you think of beasts that understand human speech?”

“Well, if such a thing exists, they’d probably communicate better with you than I do.”

“Do I communicate poorly?”

“The fact that you don’t realize it is the most astonishing part.”

“You must like me quite a lot, Young Lady.”

“Here we go again.”

“You keep coming to see me even though we ‘don’t communicate well.’”

“You’re utterly insane.”

Annoyed, Schnitzel abruptly stood up. Stomping loudly toward the entrance as if she’d never return, Schnitzel was leisurely followed by Roseline. Throwing a tantrum and storming off, only to return the next day or the day after, knocking on the door with feigned indifference—this was their usual routine.

“You’re just wasting your magic anyway, why bother conserving it? You should at least treat that wound on your wrist.”

Yanking the thick fur coat hanging on the hallway rack, Schnitzel pointed at Roseline’s wrist with her chin. She was referring to the bite mark left by the snake.

“I tried. It wouldn’t go away.”

“No way.”

Schnitzel, who had just slipped one arm into her coat, tilted her head in confusion. Roseline gave an awkward smile and rubbed her wrist. Once Schnitzel had put on her coat completely, she stretched out her hand with a determined expression. Grumbling about how this was why she couldn’t stay away, how the Young Lady was truly high-maintenance—but only for a moment.

“Huh?”

Schnitzel narrowed her eyes as she applied magic to the punctured wound. No matter how much magic she poured into it, the wound wouldn’t heal. Schnitzel questioned Roseline in detail about the nature of the injury, and Roseline recounted the events of the previous night without omission—including the gemstone she found that morning.

They put their heads together and pondered deeply, but the snake’s identity remained a mystery. After Schnitzel left, Roseline rummaged through various historical records but found nothing conclusive.

For some time afterward, she squeezed out what little free time she had to frequent the library. Traces of the snake were found in an old book compiling fables. It was a common tale—a kind-hearted old woman carefully nursed a bleeding snake back to health, and in return, it bestowed her with gold and jewels.

“Then it should’ve just left the gemstone. Why did it have to bite me?”

The unanswered curiosity lingered like a hangnail, irritating and unresolved. Every time she caught sight of the scar, frustration welled up inside her—but this was something beyond her power to fix.

On the day the two fang marks had faded into faint dots, an unexpected guest knocked on the old wooden door.

“You’ve been well, I hope?”

It was Roseline’s former professor from her academy days. Though surprised, Roseline guided the unexpected visitor to the parlor.

“I heard you’ve been doing transcription work. It must be tough.”

The professor glanced around the modest space before speaking, voice tinged with sympathy. Roseline, having offered the sofa to the professor, pulled over a desk chair and smiled faintly.

“Take a look.”

The professor slid a sheet of paper across the table. It was a letter from the Brun Marquisate, requesting that a Manifestor be sent to a clinic operating within their territory. The salary was decent, and the Marquis was a man of high repute—a noble respected not only by his subjects but throughout the empire for his kindness and integrity.

“It’s a clinic for impoverished commoners who can’t afford medical treatment. I debated for a long time whether to recommend you for this position.”

Since Manifestors’ magic was conventionally reserved for noble society, the professor seemed particularly cautious. It stung Roseline’s pride—but that, too, was proof she hadn’t yet regained her senses. Here she was, barely scraping by, breaking her back doing transcription work just to survive, and yet still worrying about pride.

“Would it be alright for me to go?”

Her question carried clear intent. The professor, appearing to ponder for a moment, soon nodded with a faint smile.

“If you’re comfortable with it.”

Roseline finally felt the end in sight. Was this how a foal felt, freed from its tether? The sheer relief of being able to go anywhere was overwhelming—yet somewhere deep inside, something grated oddly. Truly, oddly.

“You don’t have to decide right away. Take your time to think it over.”

“No. I’ll go.”

“……Are you sure?”