Chapter 41
“Here already?”
In a reception room with a practical atmosphere and no unnecessary ornamentation, Marcus greeted Zekart with a refreshingly neutral expression.
“I was about to go looking for you if you came any later.”
“What is it?”
Zekart asked before even sitting down. It wasn’t often that he showed impatience, but he had left urgent matters unattended, and it was making him restless.
“First, could you have some fresh tea brought in? The one I was drinking’s gone cold.”
He was about to protest, but with a short sigh, Zekart forced himself to be patient and summoned a servant.
Soon, fresh tea was brought into the room. Steam infused with the scent of herbs gently spread over the table.
Marcus took a shallow sip of the green-tinted tea and muttered as if to himself,
“Maybe I should cut back on drinking and stick to tea. Guess I’m getting old. Alcohol’s starting to feel heavy…”
“If it’s not urgent, save it for later.”
Marcus paused briefly, then chuckled.
“Ever since you became Commissioner General, looks like you’ve been drowning in official business?”
“I’m not in the mood to joke.”
Once again, Zekart cut off Marcus’s small talk without mercy. Normally, he would have tolerated some light banter, but right now, dealing with Perel Monti and Prince Bariel took priority.
Unaware of—or unconcerned with—Zekart’s inner tension, Marcus remained relaxed.
“There’s a lot of chatter in the organization. They say you’re being too zealous. You’ve got the whole world watching you.”
“I already heard that from Erich. If that’s why you came, we’re done. You can go.”
“That’s not why I came.”
“Then what?”
“I suddenly got curious. About why you’re doing all this.”
Marcus stopped speaking and set down his teacup. As usual, Zekart expected his trademark snickering smile, but unexpectedly, Marcus’s expression was stiff. And so was the voice that followed.
“Could it be… that you have another objective?”
A subtle silence fell.
Amid their exchanged gazes, Zekart let out a faint scoff.
“Who knows.”
Another objective.
Was it even right to call it “another”?
There had never been more than one purpose to begin with.
Taking on this irritating position of Commissioner General, indiscriminately rounding up members of the resistance, even pursuing Perel Monti and Prince Bariel—all of it served a single purpose.
Because all of it represented hope. A woman’s hope.
And hope that would take her life.
So Zekart decided to erase it all.
It might have looked altruistic at a glance, but in truth, it was an utterly selfish decision. He could not endure her death in any form.
That was why he had imprisoned Edith as well. If even a shred of hope remained, she was the kind of woman who would recklessly throw away her life again.
Just one more step. If he could deal with Perel Monti and Prince Bariel…
“Why aren’t you answering?”
What pulled him back from his scattered thoughts was Marcus’s lowered voice. Zekart wiped away the smile he had worn while thinking of her. With the smile gone, his naturally sharp features stood out even more.
“If I do.”
“…?”
“What could you even do about it?”
The air in the reception room instantly grew colder and heavier, thick with killing intent rising from neither man in particular, yet from both.
“Marcus.”
With an unhurried motion, Zekart took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips. He lit it without hesitation, then slowly exhaled the smoke. The dense haze blurred the murderous tension in the air, if only slightly.
“Keeping tabs on me isn’t your job. Isn’t that right?”
The low voice carried a clear warning: Don’t overstep.
“Ah, right. Monitoring you is your partner Rachel’s responsibility.”
“……”
“So then, if it were Rachel, would you have answered her?”
“No.”
At the firm reply, Marcus—who had been stiff—let out a hollow laugh.
Does she really like being treated this way?
Rachel, who was coldly dismissed by Zekart, took unparalleled pleasure in it. Part of him even wished it would stay that way forever. But seeing it confirmed again with his own eyes left Marcus feeling oddly irritated.
“That’s why I hate you, you bastard. You don’t have a shred of warmth.”
Grinding the words out, Marcus looked at the man before him. Even now, those black eyes were utterly devoid of emotion.
How long would he stay like this?
It was time to get to the point.
“Oh, right. Since Rachel came up.”
Marcus smiled, exposing his pale dentures. It was the first genuine smile he’d shown since arriving.
“Do you know where Rachel is right now?”
Zekart’s indifferent black eyes met his gaze.
✦ ✦ ✦
Splash—!
Water droplets burst up from the tank as something thrashed violently. The head clutched in her hand struggled desperately to escape. Rachel wiped the water splashed onto her cheek with an expressionless face, then shoved the head she was gripping deeper into the water.
Gradually, the surroundings fell silent. Only after even the ripples on the surface had completely stilled did she pull the handful of hair back out of the water.
Edith’s head lolled limply as it emerged. The first few times, she had gasped for breath the moment she was pulled out—but this time, she was quiet.
So… is she dead?
Just as that thought arose, a choking cough escaped between the swollen lips of the woman, and a stream of water spilled out. Rachel snorted softly.
“How fortunate. You’re still alive.”
“……”
“Though I suppose it’s not fortunate for you.”
Rachel gently rubbed Edith’s wet cheek. The touch was almost tender. Perhaps she was imagining someone else’s lips that had once brushed against that cheek.
Maxi… no, Zekart.
At first, it had been guilt.
Like Zekart, Rachel had lost most of her emotions along with her memories. Still, she felt a little sorry toward him. Every time she saw the scars etched into his body, they bothered her and made her ache inside—despite the fact that she herself had caused them.
If only it had ended there.
“Y-you…”
A faint voice cut through her memories. It was Edith.
“…You hate me.”
Her voice was weak, devoid of strength, yet her tone was filled with certainty.
Those green eyes that burned brighter each time she faced her own suffering, the corners of her lips lifting without fail, the hands growing ever more relentless—
There was no doubt. This woman hated her.
So much that she wouldn’t even allow her the mercy of death.
“Why?”
Edith asked without much energy. She didn’t really expect an answer, but she was curious all the same.
What reason could there be for someone she had just met to hate her so deeply?
At that, Rachel tilted her red-painted lips slightly.
“There are reasons like that, you know. Reasons you couldn’t even imagine.”
Edith didn’t press further and quietly lowered her head. Partly because her consciousness was fading, but more than that, because resignation weighed heavier.
After all, not everything in the world was something one could understand. More often than not, the things that decided a life were those without clear reasons. War was like that. Love was like that. And so was separation.
Her entire life had been like that, and now even death seemed to be following suit.
Edith laughed, sounding utterly sick of it all.
“…Just kill me quickly.”
“Death seems welcome to you.”
“To a certain extent.”
“Ah—because of your husband?”
Edith didn’t answer, but the other woman seemed to know anyway, letting out a quiet snicker.
“How pitiful.”
“……”
“You’ll probably stay alone forever, even after you die.”
The smile that had lingered on Rachel’s lips slowly crumbled. What filled the space it left behind was pure malice. With a cold face, she shoved Edith’s head back into the tank. The golden hair of the woman—now offering no resistance—floated in the water like the tentacles of a jellyfish.
Rachel’s eye twitched briefly.
I must never tell her.
That the man she loved stood right before her eyes, yet would never recognize her, that she would yearn for him her entire life.
A love that would never be returned began to grow into something grotesque.
Just as Edith had said, Rachel truly, truly hated her.
Even though she knew that Edith’s disappearance would not bring that love to her, she still did.
No—because she knew, she hated her even more.
It was then that the iron door—one she never thought would open—let out a cry.
Click.
Someone entered the interrogation room.
Rachel slowly turned her head. A tall figure stood at the entrance, looking toward her. Her fingers, submerged in the water, trembled violently. Even though the man’s face was hidden in shadow, she knew who it was.
“…Zekart.”
As if answering her call, he began to walk toward her.
Her mind spun chaotically.
How was she supposed to explain this situation to him?
First, she should say she wasn’t trying to kill her. Just an interrogation, that’s all. But… wasn’t the woman’s condition far too severe for that? Then she should at least explain the reason properly. What should she say? That she was trying to find out Perel Monti’s location to help him? That sounded too much like an excuse…
Ah, right. She could say χ ordered it. Yes, that would do.
Questions and answers raced endlessly through her mind. And just as she arrived at a crude conclusion, Rachel came face to face with Zekart.
