Blackened as if burnt to a crisp.

It felt as though time had stopped, and all Yuria could see was Ricardo’s face, contorted as he uttered strained groans.

Upon awakening, Yuria thought that something was terribly wrong.

Her heart began to sink as she saw Ricardo’s hand, charred like burnt charcoal.

Ricardo leaned against the wall, breathing raggedly—a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor, now replaced with labored groans.

‘Uh…?’

Yuria rubbed her eyes, wondering if she was seeing things incorrectly.

Whether it was due to the alcohol or sheer fatigue, the Ricardo before her seemed far removed from the man she knew.

Worn out with exhaustion and pain.

The sight of Ricardo, groaning in agony and bearing terrible scars, was sobering.

‘What’s wrong with you…?’

Yuria tried to recall her intoxicated memories but nothing came to mind.

She could only vaguely remember Hans’s face and men clad in black priestly attire, but not why Ricardo was injured or what had transpired.

She scolded herself for her foolishness.

‘Idiot…!’

Only now did her vision begin to clear. As her eyes adjusted from darkness to clarity, she saw the chaos around her.

Crumbled walls.

Floors marred with sword marks.

And Ricardo, collapsed.

Every detail seemed to point to her responsibility—the area was a mess, except for where she stood.

And then there were the cold, lifeless bodies.

Yuria was inescapably distressed.

‘Is it my fault again…?’

‘Again…?’

Why did these cursed fates keep intertwining?

Overflowing with tumultuous emotions, Yuria staggered towards Ricardo.

And then…

“Oh?”

She met Ricardo’s eyes, equally bewildered.

“Ah… this is bad.”

As always, Ricardo managed a calm smile and said,

“I’m sorry.”

“It seems I’ve made a mistake again.”

Yuria’s emotions crumbled at Ricardo’s curt apology.

*

It was a face she had never seen before.

This was the first time Yuria had seen Ricardo so flustered, and in pain.

With trembling hands, Yuria reached out to grasp Ricardo’s, intending to heal him.

She needed to mend the ghastly wounds before her, or her heart felt like it would burst.

“Ah… why…”

Perhaps it was because of her—the well-being he had compromised.

A little more thought would have given her the answer to the cause of all that had unfolded before her.

She was the only one untouched.

Yuria gazed at Ricardo with shaky eyes, forcing an awkward smile as he apologetically sweated.

The hand that was rapidly blackening from necrosis.

Yuria believed she had encountered numerous patients, but she had never met anyone with such severe injuries.

The pain from healing and necrosis was beyond imagination.

The injuries were grave enough for Ricardo to be dying.

Such was the nature of black magic—tormenting people and snatching away lives. And Yuria was grappling with the guilt that these were her sins on Ricardo’s hand.

Ricardo’s wounds deeply agitated Yuria’s heart.

With a quivering voice, Yuria asked Ricardo if this was her fault, if he had gotten hurt while protecting her. She was about to voice these inquiries when Ricardo’s calm response blocked her words.

“It’s nothing.”

“…”

“This injury has nothing to do with you, Yuria.”

Yuria’s hand shook as Ricardo predictably brushed off her concern. Yuria, bowing her head to his composed reply, clenched her fist and told Ricardo,

“What do you mean, it’s nothing…”

“It’s true.”

“How can it be nothing? I’m standing here unscathed…! While you’re so badly hurt…! How can you say it’s alright?!”

Ricardo responded with the same disconcerted look. He insisted that the wounds were unrelated to her and that they only appeared odd due to the darkness—a response so naive it wouldn’t fool a child.

‘You expect me to believe that?’

No matter how foolish I may appear.

Even if I seem like a useless fool.

Even if I’m nothing but a burden.

Uttering such words… it stings too much.

What should I do…

When a man who has been kind to me, despite how much I dislike him—seeing his face when my heart feels wrenched—is speaking tenderly now.

How should I act watching Ricardo, who’s lying and saying it’s all nothing, when it instills sorrow in me?

Even if what he says is true…

Yuria experienced an ineffable bitterness in response to Ricardo’s apologies in this moment.

Ricardo awkwardly smiled and cautiously rolled down his sleeve while glancing at Yuria. Rising with difficulty, he offered his left hand, not the right, reeking of lies, and Yuria remained silently immobile.

“Let’s go. It’s getting very late.”

Yuria shook her head.

“Get treated first.”

“You know.”

Ricardo shrugged his shoulders, then casually looked at his injured arm and said,

“This can’t be treated.”

“But still…”

“This injury is quite old. So there’s no need for you to worry.”

Black magic could not be healed.

Even attempting it was illegal, not to mention the complexity compared to healing ordinary wounds.

To Yuria’s stubborn insistence, Ricardo just smiled awkwardly and withdrew his hand,

“I’m sorry for showing you such a dreadful sight.”

“…”

A dreadful sight?

In what way could that be considered dreadful?

Yuria vehemently shook her head in response to Ricardo’s continued apologies.

Ricardo then approached her with a measured voice, carefully beginning to explain the recent events.

“I was just attacked. They must have been jealous of my good looks.”

Ricardo attempted humor to lift the somber mood, but when their eyes met, he could only offer an awkward smile.

“It truly was not a big deal. Not this wound either. You know, Yuria, that I’m not someone who gets beat up anywhere I go.”

Yuria’s head fell at the reassurance that he wasn’t someone who’d get beaten up,

‘Not someone who gets beaten up…’

Ricardo’s words did not comfort her, just overlapped with his current bittersweet expression.

It sounded like mere excuses to pacify her.

Lastly, Ricardo softly spoke about the dead bodies lying on the ground.

“Those people who died…”

Ricardo heaved a deep sigh. She shivered, expecting a reprimand, realizing she didn’t feel pity for them any longer.

Was it because of the burns she suffered in the dungeon? Or because Ricardo, who was more precious to her than the dead villains, was still alive? The fate of the cold-bodied villains no longer seemed pitiful.

She might be uncertain about the future, but at that moment, she found herself loathing them instead.

Ricardo hesitated before answering, his gaze dropping to the floor as he spoke softly,

“I did it because I feared you might get hurt.”

“…”

“I know you may not like it, but you are important to me.”

Yuria reminisced about all the countless pieces of advice Ricardo had given her.

“Don’t meddle unnecessarily.”

“It’s for your own good, Yuria.”

While he gave small advice, Ricardo was the one who dirtied his hands, eating away at her emotions.

Finally, the feelings she held within burst forth.

“You say I’m important…”

“Then you should also take care of yourself.”

“Why…! Why is it you who always gets hurt? Why do you have to be the bad person alone? I’m your friend, too. We’re friends who share laughter and tears…”

She always thought to herself,

Even while eating alone.

Even when she hated him back in the Royal Academy dorms.

Every action of his that tormented her was despised, yet they all hurt her heart wrenchingly.

Back then, she couldn’t understand why.

It was him she hated.

Because it all seemed to start with him.

But now…

She thought she understood why.

Out of regret.

For being unable to give anything in return.

For receiving help but only feeling hatred…

That’s probably why she hated him so much.

Suppressing her sobs, Yuria shouted at Ricardo,

“Let’s go back to the start and become friends again.”

“…”

“Forgetting the past… and starting anew.”

Yuria bit her lip tightly and said,

“Let’s be friends.”