Please Kill Me - Chapter 177

Sergei’s method, while not entirely misguided, also didn’t align perfectly with what he had hoped for. If it had been spot on, Yekaterina would have died immediately, but she did not.

Instead, Yekaterina endured multiple assaults from the monsters, only finding brief respite after she had torn apart some of their cores herself.

If only she could have died in one go, it wouldn’t have been so torturous. Whenever she gained a moment of rest, she would slip into a deep sleep as if the air itself was laced with the scent of slumber.

“But sometimes… when I would faintly come to, I would see hallucinations.”

Voices of someone crying. The silhouette of a figure.

Although she couldn’t see clearly, she knew that he was pitying her.

— …We just have to start over. If I turn back time… then this wouldn’t happen. So then…

The fragmented voices echoed dully in her ears. At that time, Yekaterina couldn’t even grasp what he was saying.

All she seemed to think was that she wanted to soothe the shoulders that were shaking with sobs.

‘I’ve never even thought about feeling lonely.’

Why were these hallucinations haunting her? She wished no one would cry because of her.

That was the extent of her thoughts.

And when she woke from her slumber, she would always completely forget the hallucinations that had washed over her amidst the pain. She had no intention of remembering what felt uncertain, whether it was a dream or reality, while enduring the agony of her flesh being torn apart.

But now Yekaterina could vaguely recall all of it.

She understood.

“It must have been you, Dmitry.”

The memories that came back by the magic were not solely from her early childhood. The recollections of when Dmitry had magically put her to sleep before she died also floated back to her.

“Looking back now, when I would wake up from a faint-like slumber, my body strangely didn’t feel sore. Father wanted to kill me, so it would make no sense for a doctor to have visited while I was asleep.”

Though she couldn’t be certain based on hazy memories alone, having seen Dmitry’s reaction dispelled any lingering doubts.

“It seems I owe you my life more than once. Considering the teachings of Offenbach, it would have been right to let me die.”

“…And yet.”

Dmitry’s lips, which had been rigid with tension, finally parted.

“And yet, are you truly saying you want to leave me?”

“Yes.”

Her voice was so indifferent that it seemed to overshadow Dmitry’s desperation.

“If you really are like me, you should understand why I’m saying I will leave you.”

“…I don’t understand. This is the life I saved; can’t you give a little for my sake?”

“Right. Think carefully, Dmitry. Was it truly for my sake that you saved me, or was it for your own?”

Yekaterina’s hand slowly grasped Dmitry’s. Under the same name of Offenbach, they stood on common ground, sharing a bond without a drop of blood between them.

“We… learned that to survive, we must be colder and more selfish than anyone else. Yet, the moment a person becomes the coldest is when they resolve to die.”

Those who desire death do not consider those who will remain after they are gone.

If one were to count how selfish those contemplating suicide truly are, it would be painful to articulate.

In the end, they are pitiful and harsh individuals who, cornered to the brink, have no room to look back at anyone but themselves.

They cannot love anything or cherish anyone but themselves.

Everything surrounding them feels like a blade, leading them to ultimately take their own lives to protect themselves.

In a place severed from the world, the only way to safeguard themselves appears to be burying themselves beneath the earth, a place no taller than a child.

“I have tried all my life not to love anyone, as taught by Offenbach. But having experienced death and then life again, I realize that it is impossible to live without loving something.”

If there’s nothing to hold in one’s heart, then living becomes mere existence, merely dying.

To survive, what is planted in one’s heart becomes the wick of a candle.

It becomes the flame that lights the path ahead, the essence that enables a person to live.

“You seemed to have loved me to survive, Dmitry.”

“……”

“I truly feel grateful to you. If you hadn’t cared for me, I wouldn’t be standing here. But I cannot cherish you in the same way. We are different.”

The person who kept Yekaterina alive was not Dmitry.

Even if Dmitry were to kill her, that fact would not change.

Yekaterina released Dmitry’s hand. Yet, he remained still, gazing at her.

As if pleading for her to hold his hand, even if she couldn’t love him as he loved her.

However, Yekaterina did not comfort Dmitry and turned away.

“Do not interfere with my life any longer.”

Living or dying was all Yekaterina’s choice. Even if Dmitry had kept her alive out of selfishness until now, she had no intention of accommodating him any further.

With those final words, Yekaterina left Offenbach.

It was a dreary night, with rain pouring down.