“…An unfamiliar ceiling.”
Margarita sighed, her head aching as if she had been simultaneously pummeled by a dozen Lovells… Right.
“Lovell…” She tried to sit up, but a hand firmly pressed her back down.
“You’re awake?” Clara handed over a bowl of medicine, her pale golden eyes brimming with concern. “Drink this first. Your friend is in much better shape than you are—she just needed a few stitches. Irene used some alchemy potions on her, and I’ve cleared out the mana residue. But you… do you have any idea how much of a commotion you caused last night? Was it really so desperate that you had to go that far?”
“I…” Margarita took a sip of the medicine before realizing how parched she was. Before the bitterness could even register, she had swallowed the entire bowl. “Cough, cough… Lovell, she…”
Margarita coughed several times.
“I didn’t want anything to happen to her… Just like before… I clearly prepared for so long… and yet someone still…”
She gripped the blanket tight. Wasn’t this supposed to be a galge? Why did she have to endure this kind of pressure from the very beginning? Where were the saves? Where were the choice boxes? The CGs? There were no swimsuit episodes, no school festivals, and no romantic comedies.
None of the expected enjoyment, yet every bit of the pressure she should have been spared.
What was the point?
Thwack. She felt a slap on the back of her head.
“Worrying about running out of time again?” Clara’s voice pressed down from above, devoid of its usual playful tenderness and filled instead with sternness. “Margarita, everyone is working hard. Your friends are putting their lives on the line, and we instructors aren’t just sitting around. The world won't end just because one person stops to rest for a moment.”
“You’re only fifteen, Margarita,” Clara said, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing the empty bowl back on the table. “A lot of things aren’t meant for a child like you to handle. It wouldn’t hurt to just enjoy your academy life. If something happens, call a teacher. Don't you know how that works?”
Margarita knew, of course. But in her previous life, she had lived alone in a rented room, moved alone, and taken herself to the hospital in a taxi while burning up with a fever of 104 degrees. She had carried everything herself for so many years that it had long since become a habit.
“Of course you don’t.”
Margarita blinked in surprise.
“Because you’re always in a rush,” Clara said, reaching out to gently tuck a stray lock of white hair behind Margarita’s ear. “You treat every problem as something you alone must solve, and every person as someone you alone must protect.”
“You’ve never truly stopped to look at this world.”
“The moment you woke up, you called out Lovell’s name. Are you blaming yourself again? Blaming yourself for failing to protect her, for not preparing enough, for letting someone close to you get hurt once more?” Clara looked at her. “But have you ever stopped to think that Lovell doesn’t actually need your protection?”
“She’s stronger than you. She has her own master, her own history, and her own choices. Being targeted by the Sacrosanct Circle is her master’s business. If you take the blow for her, she won’t be grateful; she’ll only feel like you don’t trust her.”
“I…”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Clara cupped Margarita’s face, her tone finally softening. “You’re just too used to carrying the weight by yourself, Margarita. You have Joshua, you have Lovell, you have Constance, and you have me.”
Margarita’s nose suddenly stung.
She lowered her head, burying her face in her knees, her shoulders trembling slightly. She didn’t cry out loud, but Clara saw the grip on the blanket slowly loosen, as if she were finally letting go of something.
Clara didn't say anything more, only gently stroking the girl's head.
“The medicine is finished. Rest for a while. Go visit your friend at the Swordsmanship Department this afternoon; Irene says she’s recovering well.”
“…Okay.”
...
The Swordsmanship Department infirmary was in a separate small building behind the training grounds. When Margarita arrived, Lovell was leaning against the headboard of her bed, munching on an apple. A square piece of gauze was taped to the red-haired girl's forehead, and a section of bandages peeked out from under her training uniform on her right side, but her complexion looked much better than the night before. She paused mid-bite when she saw Margarita push the door open.
“Yo.”
Just one word.
Margarita stood at the door, her feet suddenly feeling heavy. She had thought of countless opening lines on the way there—apologies, explanations, or even nonsense to distract her. But seeing Lovell in person, all those words got stuck in her throat.
“What are you standing there for? Come in.” Lovell tossed the apple core into a paper bag on the nightstand. “Instructor Crow said you were in worse shape than me, unconscious for a whole day. You definitely look like hell.”
Margarita walked over and sat on the chair by the bed. She kept her head down, her fingers twisting together over her knees for a moment before she spoke. “Lovell, I’m sorry. I didn’t respect your master, and I didn’t respect you.”
Lovell remained silent.
“I thought if I just arranged everything, everyone would be safe,” Margarita continued, her speech picking up speed. “But I never considered whether you wanted to be treated that way, or if you wanted to face things yourself, or that you have people you want to protect too…”
Her voice hitched suddenly.
“I wanted to shoulder everything myself because I’m scared. I’m afraid I won’t have enough time, that I won’t be prepared enough, and that those around me will get hurt again because I didn't do enough. Back in Percy Village, I was just a second too late. Now the Sacrosanct Circle has appeared, and I have no idea what’s coming next. I just know I can’t let anyone else get hurt—”
She stopped. She felt something trickling down her face.
Margarita raised a hand to touch her cheek; her fingertips came back wet. She froze for a moment, and then the tears began to fall even faster. Her head dropped low, her shoulders shaking as her voice broke in her throat, until she didn't even know what she was saying anymore.
“I… I just… don’t want to see anyone else… when I prepared for so long…”
She cried messily, tears and snot mixing together as she buried her face in her palms. Her white hair slid forward over her shoulders, masking most of her face. She didn’t even know why she was crying anymore—was it because Lovell was hurt, because of what Clara had said, or because the things she had been holding back since leaving Percy Village had finally overflowed?
Lovell watched her cry for a while, then reached out to tuck the white hair behind Margarita’s ear.
“Alright, alright.” Her tone was its usual self. “If you keep crying like that, anyone who walks in will think I’m bullying you.”
Margarita ignored her and kept crying.
Lovell sighed, propping herself up on the bed to scoot over, making some room. Then she grabbed Margarita’s arm and pulled her onto the bed.
“Get up here.”
“What…?”
“Up here. Cry while lying down; watching you cry sitting there is exhausting.”
Margarita stumbled under the pull and ended up sitting on the edge of the bed with little resistance. Lovell tugged the blanket over to cover Margarita’s knees, then leaned back against the headboard with an arm around her shoulder.
“Just cry. We’ll talk when you’re done.”
Margarita buried her face into the crook of Lovell’s shoulder and continued to sob. Lovell’s training uniform smelled of soapberry and herbal balm; her shoulder was thinner than it looked, the bone pressing against Margarita’s forehead. But it was warm.
Margarita’s white hair was mostly loose, spilling over Lovell’s arm and across the sheets, the ends curling in delicate wisps. A few damp strands stuck to Lovell’s dark sleeve like half-melted snow. Her face was buried in Lovell's neck, revealing only a pale nape and the reddened tip of an ear. She had already taken off her Magic Department coat on the way there, leaving it draped over the chair, and her dark blue pleated skirt was creased against the bed.
Lovell was half a head taller than her. Even reclining against the headboard, Margarita looked small and curled up against her shoulder. The red-haired girl’s short ponytail was messy against the pillow, the strands catching the afternoon sun until they looked like transparent orange-red silk. The square gauze on her forehead covered half an eyebrow, with a hint of pale yellow salve showing underneath. Her features were sharper than Margarita’s, with more defined cheekbones and a clean jawline that curved upward at the corners of her mouth even when she wasn't smiling, her little canine tooth faintly visible. Her amber eyes were downcast, her lashes casting fan-shaped shadows on her cheeks. The bandages on her ribs were visible through the collar of her uniform, the white cotton wrapped tightly, making her already slender waist look even thinner.
The two leaned against each other, a contrast of white and red. One with slumped shoulders and a hidden face, the other with her head tilted, chin resting lightly against the scattered white hair. Sunlight slanted through the infirmary window, coating them in a warm hue, merging the red of Margarita’s ear with the orange-red of Lovell’s hair.
After a long time, Margarita’s crying subsided into intermittent hiccups, then finally just the occasional sniffle.
“…My shirt is covered in your snot,” Lovell said.
“Shut up.”
“You didn’t have this attitude when you were apologizing just now.”
Margarita looked at her, suddenly feeling the tension that had been wound tight inside her finally snap. She leaned against Lovell’s shoulder and said nothing more. Outside the window, the distant shouts from the training grounds and the dull thuds of wooden swords clashing drifted in, but inside the infirmary, it was quiet, save for their synchronized breathing.
“Little Mari,” Lovell said.
“Yeah.”
“Instructor Crow gave the letter to the President. As for my master’s business—everything you found out—you can tell me.”
Margarita tilted her head to look at her.
“But you have to promise me one thing,” Lovell said. “Next time something happens, tell me first. I don’t want you to protect me; I want us to figure it out together. If you treat me like a child that needs to be pampered again, I’ll…”
“You’ll what?”
“I’ll replace all the stuffing in your pillow with wild boar bristles.”
Margarita let out a laugh, her voice heavy with the congestion of crying. She reached up to wipe away the tear tracks, then sat up straight and looked at Lovell.
“Okay.”
Rate on N.U.
