"Even though I warned you before...
Even though you knew your end was drawing near, you kept moving forward as if death meant nothing to you.
I've always found you to be an irritating, meddlesome man, Mr. Hertford...
You barged into my personal space without permission and forced your presence on me without the slightest shame...
But now..."
The words caught in his throat.
"I thought I hated you.
So why... does this damned emptiness in my chest hurt so much?"
He stared silently at the man's lifeless body lying before him.
"It seems you're still bothering me... even after your death."
The battlefield stretched endlessly before him in eerie silence.
Bodies lay scattered across the ground.
The wounded, too unfortunate to have died, let out faint groans.
Somewhere in the distance, wood crackled softly as it burned.
Flames and black smoke rose from piles of charred corpses.
Above them, the sky remained impossibly clear—
Far too peaceful for a place like this.
The quiet of sunset felt far crueler than the battle itself.
For the first time in what felt like forever...
Silence was suffocating.
Lucas had always been the one to invade that silence without permission.
Filling the emptiness with pointless chatter and endless questions.
The sorcerer had always believed he hated that.
But now…
That single source of noise—the one thing that had unknowingly given meaning to his days—had vanished.
"Are you going to keep ignoring that pain, just like you always do?"
His body froze.
"How long are you going to keep acting like a fool, you cursed sorcerer?"
That voice…
It was painfully familiar.
"Or have you already forgotten what happened after the person you once called your brother betrayed you?"
The gray-eyed sorcerer's pupils widened.
He turned sharply toward the speaker, his gaze cold and piercing.
Those words felt like fingers digging into an old wound that had never truly healed.
A wound that should have remained buried in the past…
One that should never have forced its way back into his life.
Yet because of this man…
The moment their eyes met, every trace of anger vanished.
Only bewilderment remained.
Why... can't I see his face?
It wasn't covered by mist.
Nor hidden in shadow.
There was undoubtedly a face there.
Yet something…
Something prevented him from recognizing it.
At that exact moment…
The world around him began to crack.
Like shattered glass.
Fractures spread across the sky…
The earth…
The corpses…
Even the body of the man standing before him.
And just before darkness swallowed everything—
The man's voice reached him one final time.
"This will be the last mercy I ever show you...
So don't disappoint me again."
Ray's eyes flew open.
An unfamiliar ceiling.
He stared at it for several long seconds, unable to comprehend what he was looking at.
The sharp scent of disinfectants and medicine drifted through the air.
His eyes slowly shifted toward the left side of the room.
A large window stood there, its white curtains drawn shut.
A simple partition separated his bed from the rest of the spacious infirmary.
Beyond it, several other beds were visible.
The soft ticking of a clock disturbed the silence.
It read 2:50 a.m.
Only then did he finally realize where he was.
The academy infirmary.
But…
Why was he here?
He frowned.
Forcing himself upright, he slowly sat on the edge of the bed.
One hand rose to his temple as he rubbed it lightly.
For a brief moment, he couldn't understand what was happening…
Or how he had ended up here.
Then—
The memories crashed into him all at once.
Black shadows.
A dark corridor.
The crimson glow of sunset falling across a student standing silently at its end.
A severed head.
A corpse drowning in a pool of blood.
A twisted smile.
Eyes staring directly at him.
Then…
More blood.
For an instant, nausea surged through him.
He barely managed to suppress it.
"How could something like that happen the moment I arrived at the dormitory...?"
His gaze lowered.
"Looks like I wasn't lucky enough to get a seat in the back row."
But before the thought could settle—
The dream resurfaced.
Overpowering every other memory.
That dream…
Had been no less horrifying than reality itself.
Lucas's corpse.
The battlefield.
The silent sky…
As though it mourned the dead.
The confusion.
The unbearable emptiness that had consumed both his heart and mind.
The strange words he had spoken to the corpse.
That familiar voice whose owner he couldn't recognize.
The anger those words had awakened within him.
And finally…
The reproach he had been left with.
None of it had felt like an ordinary dream.
It was something else entirely.
"The person who was supposed to be me..."
"Everything he thought... everything he said..."
"None of it matches the little I know about myself."
"It felt like it was me... and yet, it wasn't."
he murmured with his eyes closed.
Then he slowly opened them again, pressing his fingers against his aching temple.
"Looks like Mikael's story got into my head more than I realized..."
he whispered.
"To the point where I can't even tell what's real anymore..."
He lowered his gaze to the white bedsheet covering him.
Then…
He froze.
Red stains.
Blood.
Dark crimson spots were scattered across the white fabric before him.
The blood slowly spread across the sheet before dripping onto the marble floor, one drop at a time.
Raymond quietly closed his eyes, forcing himself to stay calm.
A moment later, he opened them again.
The crimson was gone.
The bedsheet had returned to its natural white.
He stared at it for several seconds.
His fingers tightened around the fabric as a slight frown formed between his brows.
It wasn't as though he was someone who feared the sight of blood.
Yet, for reasons he couldn't explain, it felt as if he'd suffered some kind of psychological shock.
And that wasn't all.
Too many unanswered questions had piled up, leaving him completely lost.
What am I supposed to do to get out of this spiral?
he wondered.
I've kept putting it off... but I need to find a permanent answer to these visions.
They feel like memories from a life I've never lived…
...Or perhaps I have?
No... What am I even thinking?
Suddenly, a hand rested on his shoulder.
A violent shiver shot through his entire body, making him jerk his head upward.
A man in a white coat was looking at him with unmistakable concern.
A nurse stood quietly beside him.
When did they get this close...?
Before he could say anything, he caught sight of someone with black hair hurrying out of the room.
The doctor didn't turn around.
Neither did the nurse seem to notice him.
But that back…
It was unmistakably familiar.
"Gilbert...?"
The name slipped from his lips before he even realized it.
"Mr. Raymond Baskerville, can you hear me?"
Raymond shifted his attention to the doctor.
"Yes... I'm fine. I just have a slight headache."
After a brief hesitation, he asked
"But... how did I end up here?"
The doctor exchanged a glance with the nurse before pulling a chair beside the bed and sitting down.
"What's the last thing you remember?"
Raymond lowered his head slightly.
"A murder..."
Silence filled the room.
"...Then a suicide. The murderer killed himself."
He looked back at the doctor.
"Maybe I misunderstood what happened... but that's what it looked like."
The doctor folded his arms, lowering his gaze for a moment.
"You don't appear to have any external injuries, but..."
He paused before continuing.
"Even if you seem physically unharmed, witnessing something like that leaves a deep psychological impact."
He let out a quiet sigh.
"I think it would be best if you visited a psychiatrist in the near future."
He gestured toward the nurse beside him.
"For now, she'll give you something to help with the headache."
Then he added
"But you should get more rest.
We don't know when the investigators will arrive to take your statement, and they'll most likely wear you out."
"I understand..."
Raymond gave a silent nod.
Then another question crossed his mind.
"By the way..."
He looked toward the doctor, who had already stood up and begun walking away.
"You never answered my earlier question.
Who brought me here?"
Without stopping, the doctor replied
"Another student. Around your age."
After a brief pause, he added
"I believe his name was Gilbert Klein. Is he a friend of yours?"
Raymond exchanged a brief glance with him before answering
"...Yeah. He is."
He slowly raised a hand to his chin, looking off to the side.
So…
It really was Gilbert.
But earlier... he looked…
His brows drew together.
Then—
The blood returned.
Splattered across the walls.
Pooling on the floor.
Staining the white bedsheet.
He clutched his head tightly.
"Are you going to keep ignoring that pain, just like you always do?"
The voice came back.
Clear.
Close.
As though someone were whispering directly into his ear.
"How long will you keep acting like a fool, you cursed sorcerer?"
"...What do you mean by that?" he muttered.
No answer came.
No one could answer a question like that.
There's no point continuing like this.
As he had done countless times before, Raymond forced those thoughts into the back of his mind.
Slowly, he raised his hand and stared at it.
Gilbert's pale face appeared in his memory.
That day…
At the edge of the cliff.
The blood.
The trembling hand struggling not to let go.
The pain he had desperately tried to suppress.
It was thefirst time Raymond had ever seen someone fight that desperately.
He lowered his gaze.
Now that I think about it…
Before Gilbert started bleeding…
He'd already been acting a little strangely.
At first, he had been completely in control of the situation.
But suddenly... something changed.
It was almost as if he had been in a hurry to leave…
His breathing stopped fora moment.
Could that be why he ended up falling from the cliff?
He said he suffers from recurring attacks…
But what kind of illness leaves someone in that condition?
If it's connected to those memories of the White Room... or rather, the biological research facility that was destroyed along with the other branches ten years ago... then his condition would make much more sense.
But…
Who could possibly survive after losing that much blood?
If this is what happens every time his illness flares up…
Then does that mean…
Raymond slowly lifted his head toward thedoor.
Without another thought, he threw aside the bedsheet and stood up.
Please…
Let what I'm thinking be nothing more than an exaggeration.
A few minutes earlier…
"Mr. Raymond Baskerville... How are you feeling? Can you hear me?"
The words drifted into Gilbert's ears from a nearby bed.
He slowly opened his eyes, blinking several times as he tried to make sense of the voices around him.
Ah... right.
he thought as he lazily pushed himself into a sitting position.
I'm in the infirmary.
He gently rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the drowsiness that had overtaken him before he knew it.
Looks like I fell asleep without realizing it...
Lowering his head slightly, he stared at the white bedsheet draped over him.
He had never been the type to fall asleep easily in places like this.
Yet somehow…
Whenever he was surrounded by the scent of medicine, sleep always came naturally.
Every time he inhaled that familiar smell...
The same strange feeling returned.
A feeling he had never been able to understand.
An odd mixture of nostalgia…
And emptiness.
One that had stayed with him ever since he had forgotten so many things.
He let out a quiet sigh before turning his eyes toward the nearby bed where Raymond lay.
"Ah... he's awake."
he murmured softly as he pushed the blanket aside and sat up straight.
He looks calm…
He watched him silently from a distance.
Should I take that as a sign that he's going to be alright?
The doctor continued asking Raymond one question after another.
But…
It didn't seem as though Raymond intended to answer.
No…
That wasn't the problem.
It was the same as what had happened earlier in the blood-soaked corridor.
He was awake…
Yet his consciousness seemed trapped somewhere else.
Gilbert frowned slightly.
Before the thought could fully form—
His eyes suddenly widened.
One eyebrow lifted in confusion.
He blinked once.
Then again.
He rubbed his eyes a second time.
What is... that?
His gaze remained fixed on the air around the room.
Black smoke...?
He hesitated, scanning the infirmary before looking back at it.
No…
There's no fire anywhere.
Then what is this...?
Dark wisps drifted slowly through the room.
He turned toward the doctor.
Then toward the nurse.
The black haze was noticeably thicker around the two of them than anywhere else in the infirmary.
Yet neither of them seemed to notice anything unusual.
Am I hallucinating...?
Am I still half asleep?
Before he could ask…
His nose caught an unfamiliar scent.
A smell unlike anything he had ever known.
Rot.
As though it had seeped from an abandoned graveyard.
From ancient bones left to decay for centuries.
From death itself…
Lingering in the air.
At that same instant, a violent shiver raced through his body.
Like a brief electric shock.
A chilling cold crept into his limbs.
Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around himself.
What exactly is happening...?
Before he could find an answer…
Something warm trickled from his nose.
He hurriedly pressed a handkerchief against it.
Red.
Again…
These attacks weren't supposed to happen this frequently.
He pressed the handkerchief tighter against his nose, lowering his head.
It used to happen only once every five or six weeks at most…
But now…
Has my body finally reached its limit?
He quickly rose to his feet.
He didn't want anyone to see what was about to happen.
Holding the bloodstained handkerchief firmly against his face, he quietly walked toward the exit, doing his best to appear as normal as possible.
Just before stepping through the doorway…
He looked back one last time.
His eyes settled on Raymond.
The doctor was still trying to bring him back to his senses, while Ray continued staring blankly ahead, as though his mind had yet to return to reality.
A faint smile appeared on Gilbert's lips.
Barely noticeable.
Even if it was only for a short while…
I'm glad I got to know you, Ray.
Silence settled within him.
If I had a real brother…
Would I have felt the same way about him?
He didn't wait for an answer.
There's no point thinking about it.
He quietly turned away…
And left the infirmary.
The farther Gilbert walked from the infirmary, the more the darkness of the night seemed to wrap itself around him.
As though it were quietly pulling him away from the noise of the world.
He didn't resist it.
If anything…
He found a strange sense of comfort in it.
If it had been his choice…
He would never have let anyone see him like this.
He had always hated that moment—
The moment people's eyes widened as they stared at him…
As though they were watching him die before their very eyes.
That expression…
Had always weighed more heavily on his heart than the illness itself.
He eventually stopped in one of the dark corridors stretching behind the lecture buildings, far from the academy's main square.
Slowly, he leaned his back against the cold stone wall.
His body had grown too heavy to keep walking.
As for the blood…
It showed no sign of stopping.
The handkerchief had long since become completely soaked.
It could no longer absorb another drop.
And yet…
Warm crimson continued slipping between his fingers.
At that moment, the clouds that had blanketed the sky throughout the night finally drifted apart.
Silver moonlight poured into the corridor.
It settled over his black hair…
His pale skin…
And the blood staining his hands.
Though every breath had become a battle of its own…
That gentle light brought him a comfort he couldn't explain.
With great effort, he lifted his eyes toward the moon.
Then…
Athena's face quietly surfaced in his mind.
A faint smile touched his lips.
I'm glad I told her to head back with her friend.
He struggled to breathe.
I wonder…
What kind of expression would she have made if she'd seen me like this?
He lowered his head.
I'm sorry…
I couldn't keep my promise until the very end, Athena.
He tried to take another step.
But his legs refused to obey.
Without warning, his knees gave out beneath him.
He slammed one hand against the wall, desperately trying to keep himself upright.
He wasn't fighting to survive.
He was fighting to remain conscious…
For just a little longer.
The heat inside his body intensified.
It felt as though fire were coursing through his veins, burning through every organ one by one.
His breathing became even more ragged.
Yet his face remained calm.
Unnaturally calm.
Like someone who had already accepted what awaited him from the moment he walked out of the infirmary.
What's the point of living a life like this...?
The thought he'd buried for so long finally surfaced.
Life had never held any real meaning for someone like him—
Someone forced to play a role that had never belonged to him.
A role that required him to live under the identity of a dead man…
Simply because someone else had decided it.
His chest suddenly tightened.
The air disappeared.
He shot a hand to his throat.
He tried to draw in a single breath.
Then another.
But his lungs refused to respond.
Each attempt was weaker than the last.
Each passing second…
Stole another piece of his consciousness.
Strength drained from his limbs.
As his vision slowly dissolved into darkness…
One final thought crossed his mind.
Even though I've kept running away every single time…
A faint smile curved across his lips.
I always knew…
Running away never changed anything.
The hand supporting him against the wall slowly slid downward.
Because the problem…
...was never gone.
His eyelids grew unbearably heavy.
In the end... all I ever do is…
...bring trouble to everyone around me... simply by existing in this world.
Silence.
Then one final thought echoed through the darkness.
Why did someone like me have to be born in the first place...?
At that very instant—
A sharp crimson flash tore through the darkness.
It was followed by the violent sound of something shattering—
Like glass exploding only a few steps away.
His body trembled.
With immense effort, he forced his eyes open.
That…
The word never left his lips.
Darkness finally swallowed his consciousness.
And beneath the silver moonlight…
Gilbert's body collapsed to the ground.