Chapter 262
The hostility he had when bursting in was completely gone; he muttered as if talking to himself.
“I’m sorry even now… and I think I’ve only made you suffer again… Nothing’s gotten better… I swore I’d change this time, I’m a pathetic man…”
“Save your self-pity for when you’re alone. I have no intention of hearing what you’ve been thinking.”
“Please, Macy.”
Ignoring him, she tried to go back into the room—but his hand grabbed her wrist again, and this time he wouldn’t let go no matter how much she struggled.
“What do I have to do to change your mind? What must I do, what must I do to make you—”
Eren’s lips trembled. Even his cold eyelids fluttered, and every finger holding her hand shook like convulsions.
Suddenly, he collapsed to his knees, looking up at Macy.
His eyes shook wildly, almost pitiful to witness.
“I’ll do anything. Please, tell me. What must I do to calm your anger?”
“…Anything?”
“Yes. Tell me. If I can be forgiven, I’ll do anything—”
“Die.”
The voice that came out was startlingly cold and emotionless. Eren stiffened instantly.
“I’m sick and tired of seeing your name written on my body. Every time I see it, I remember how you treated me like property, how you controlled and trampled me, and I want to go insane.”
Seeing his pathetic collapse now, she recalled the times she knelt begging him not to leave her.
The day he drove her to the edge of despair.
‘And yet he says he’ll do anything if only I forgive him?’
What nonsense. No matter what he does, he only touches her wounds deeper.
The more pitiful he is, the more desperately he clings, Macy wonders if she was just as miserable and wants to kill the foolish self she once was.
“Eren, you knew that if I died, you’d have to find the next Name master, right? You know what happens if you die.”
On Macy’s left chest, where “Eren Wood” was written, another name would appear. When a Name master dies, the next Name master’s name always manifests.
“So just die. So someone else’s name can be written on my body.”
Macy spoke firmly.
“If it’s not your name written on me, I think I could accept this curse gladly.”
Eren sneered, recalling the poison he had inflicted on Macy. He felt sick inside.
“That’s the only way I could forgive you.”
* * *
“This isn’t it! You call this a painting?”
Varmon shouted as he looked at Yannick’s work.
“You got cocky bragging about drawing exact copies, but you can’t even do that? No wonder you did nothing before I showed up. You know what happens if I disappear now, right?”
“That’s not the important thing! If we lose this trial, it’s over for all of us—over!”
“So just paint well. I’ve been teaching you day and night. If you can’t do it, it’s on you. How far do you want me to go?”
Yannick trembled with frustration.
The second trial was the next day, and no matter how hard he tried, his skill was awful.
‘What now? Should I run away?’
No. Then he’d live as a fugitive forever.
Naturally, the fame of Obelit’s genius painter would go to Macy.
That couldn’t happen. The divine brush belongs to him, Yannick! The heir of the genius painter is Yannick Horton, the eldest son of the Horton family!
“How can talent like this come from the same blood? You even graduated from the Academy of Art, yet you paint this badly. You really have no talent.”
Varmon muttered while looking at Yannick’s work, pitying him as a fellow painter.
Yes, Yannick had no talent. Both his father and Yannick knew it early on.
Still, he tried. He enrolled in the Academy of Art he had no interest in, trying to follow in his father’s footsteps!
But the paintings causing a sensation were made by his sister, crippled by the Name curse.
God had given an unfair amount of talent to the girl who was soon to die. If Macy hadn’t been born, would that talent have come to him? Wouldn’t it be better to just kill her now?
“Better to kneel before Macy Horton right now. That would be wise.”
Under the overwhelming pressure, a desperate Yannick gave up, and Varmon spoke resignedly.
He hadn’t expected Yannick Horton to be talentless—after all, he was the brother of a genius painter.
He must have always seen those wonderful paintings up close, but Yannick couldn’t paint well or appreciate art.
Yet his greed made things worse, and now the mess had come.
Since Varmon had already made his profit, he could just step back and go paint for someone else.
“Well, I’ll be going then.”
“Where are you going?”
Yannick, looking dazed, grabbed Varmon’s wrist with a grim voice.
“Raising your painting skills is beyond me. So paint on your own before the trial or don’t. I’ve done all I can.”
“If you’re on the same ship, you should see it through! Where do you think you’re running off to?”
“Ugh! What are you doing?!”
With a crash, Yannick lunged at Varmon, choking him with both hands.
It was surprising how such a thin, frail body could muster such strength. Yannick’s pupils gleamed with madness.
“You looked down on me too, didn’t you? A street beggar charlatan daring to challenge a genius painter like me!”
“Snap out of it! Are you crazy? Cough, choke!”
Yannick’s smile stretched wide in an eerie way.
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