Chapter 49
“Hey, Maximilian. Isn’t this going way too far?”
“…….”
“It’s been days already. Do you know how nice the weather is outside? On a day like this, and I’m stuck cutting you open?”
Rachel’s chilling complaint hung in the air. She looked at the silent man with a tired expression. Blood pooled around his feet, his arms still chained.
“…I… I said I don’t know…”
The answer came, barely audible, as if it could break at any moment.
“Again with that line.”
She shook her head, clearly exasperated, wiping the blood and tissue off her cheek with the back of her hand that held the knife. The smell of blood clung to her, strong and oppressive. All of it from him.
“You’re really stubborn, you know that?”
“…….”
“Don’t you want to live? Think about the family you’ll see again if you survive… Ha, never mind.”
Rachel stopped speaking mid-sentence. Her words sounded more like pleading than interrogation. She turned and left. He had already lost too much blood; any more and he would die from excessive bleeding. As she left the interrogation room, the doctor waiting outside took over.
Wound, treatment.
It left her feeling sick to her stomach.
Rachel had a few days while the man recovered enough to undergo interrogation again. During that time, she decided to try a different approach. If she kept cutting and burning him, she would likely fall sick from it.
She went to find Marcus.
“Maximilian Lindell’s belongings? Why now?”
“Because I need them. You have them, right?”
Marcus chuckled, as if he knew exactly why.
“Something not going your way?”
“Shut up and give them here. Quickly.”
After a few more sharp words, Marcus finally handed over her request.
“That’s it?”
“Yeah. Simple, isn’t it?”
As Marcus said, the man didn’t have many belongings. A few bullets in an empty gun, some daggers, and papers soaked in blood that made them unreadable.
“Can these be restored?”
“No. They’re soaked in blood, nothing can be done. Still, a few sheets in good condition are being analyzed. I’ll tell you when the results come out.”
“When will that be?”
“Depends. If you treat me to drinks today, maybe this afternoon.”
“You’re impossible.”
Rachel received the restored papers that afternoon, thanks to her promise to buy Marcus a round. The blood-soaked papers turned out to be letters.
Letters to a lover. Unsent letters.
“Maximilian… want to see this?”
Rachel went to him, looking a little pleased with herself. His entire body was wrapped in bandages, the smell of medicine strong.
She read the letters aloud to the man, lying with his back to her, staring at the wall without acknowledging her.
“To Edith. I think this is the first time I’ve written a letter.”
Finally, he turned sharply. At that moment, Rachel faced his anger for the first time. The man who had ignored cuts, burns, and tears now trembled with rage.
“I’m warning you, stop right there. Before I really kill you.”
Rachel felt the deadly force pressing down on her. She was speechless. It was the first fear she had felt since the memory incision.
No wonder she never forgot his expression. Even after he became Jekart, it stayed with her. She loved him, but she also feared him.
Partly because he had revived the fear she had forgotten, but also because:
[Maximilian Lindell, former organization member, common target. If orders resume, execute immediately.]
They were enemies.
If χ gave the order, Jekart would die. By anyone.
＊＊＊
Jekart regained consciousness late that afternoon. He woke alone in the empty clinic. Sitting up on the cold bed, he blinked his dry eyes.
Heinrich entered the room then, carrying the usual IV pack.
“Ah, Jekart. You’re awake.”
“…….”
“You could have been in serious trouble. A cold shower on a day this cold… even if you’re young, that’s reckless. If Erich hadn’t found you, you’d have died of hypothermia.”
Heinrich scolded him while preparing the needle. But Jekart had already gotten up.
“Why not get treatment while you’re here?”
“It hasn’t even been two weeks.”
“Two weeks, what difference does a few days make?”
“I’ll come next time.”
“Ah… well, alright then.”
Heinrich smiled lightly. Jekart returned the nod and turned away. Normally, he would have accepted treatment. He wasn’t the type to worry about schedules.
Still, Jekart refused. It wasn’t normal treatment. He wouldn’t awaken memories intentionally erased as unnecessary.
Then what had the treatments over the past three years really been for?
The image of Heinrich’s light, casual smile flashed briefly in Jekart’s mind. In that instant before the smile, his face had been cold and lifeless.
＊＊＊
On the bed, Edith turned restlessly. She couldn’t sleep, not for days.
Books, knitting—nothing worked. The day darkened and brightened again, yet her mind remained clear.
She had to admit it: the insomnia was caused by Jekart.
Since the day he sent Chloe away silently, he had stopped visiting every night until morning. Normally, his visits would have been annoying, but now their absence left her strangely empty.
She twisted again, curling into herself. The bed felt unusually large.
What a frustrating man. When he was around, he reminded her of their impossible situation. When he was gone, she missed him.
“Haah.”
She let out a deep sigh, closing her tired eyes. Still, sleep did not come.
Click.
A sound from the door made her eyes snap open. She lightly bit her lip. Her eyelashes trembled. She felt the man walking toward the bed.
The steps grew closer… then stopped completely. He had stopped, but the bed still felt empty.
After thinking for a moment, Edith opened her eyes. Jekart sat in the chair, watching her.
Pretending she had been asleep, pretending she hadn’t thought of him, Edith slowly got up.
It felt silly, but she didn’t want to admit it. She had never done this for anyone else besides Maximilian.
Perhaps it was his familiar face. Whatever the reason, her guard crumbled. They drew near, faced each other, even touched.
“I….”
Edith opened her lips to speak, then closed them. She had shown he had woken, but didn’t know what to say.
Something like “Long time no see” or “You’re late” felt strange. His visit was far from ordinary, yet she welcomed it as if it were.
Then came a long sigh, faintly smelling of alcohol. Edith’s eyes widened. She noticed his usually sharp gaze had softened slightly.
“You… drank?”
“Yes.”
He leaned his head back, swaying slightly. He sounded low and hoarse. Clearly drunk.
Edith felt a strange fascination. She had never seen him like this. He wasn’t Mac, but with his face, it was easy to imagine.
She got off the bed and approached him.
He was usually unyielding, but drunk—this could be her chance. To ask the answers he never gave her.
How he freed her from prison, why he left her here, why he hid things from the world, and, boldly, if he could let her go.
The last question was the most important. Even if he refused, she would escape if needed. She couldn’t stay here forever.
When they were halfway close, he leaned back, covering his eyes with his arm, and sighed.
“Don’t come.”
Edith stopped dead in her tracks.
