Enough with Dying as an Extra chapter 30

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As Haen slowly lifted his head, his icy blue eyes were void of emotion.

And at that very moment, like a lightning strike of realization, Lejun understood—Haen wasn’t mad.

He wasn’t plagued by bouts of insanity, nor was he waking up with a different personality.

He simply desired to slaughter everyone in the castle.

The reason he held back wasn’t because he doubted his resolve—it was because he knew that if he killed Lejun now, he’d be imprisoned immediately.

There would be no more lives left for him to claim beyond that.

Haen truly wanted to annihilate everyone in this castle.

Perhaps even himself.

“…Haen de Winter is insane.”

Lejun muttered under his breath, almost in a sigh.

Everyone standing nearby remained silent.

Maybe they couldn’t find any grounds to argue against his words.

Or maybe they simply had nothing to say.

The only certainty was that despair hung heavy in the air.

And Haen, quietly sitting on the bed inside his prison cell, remained eerily calm.

It was hard to believe that just moments ago, he had been threatening to kill the Duke.

Rather than feeling anger or injustice at his situation, he merely took in the surroundings of his cell with a detached gaze.

Vivisian had been confined in a far worse place than this.

Even so, to Haen, this cell was sufficiently wretched.

‘How did he endure eight years in a place like this?’

There was no one to answer the thought murmured in his mind.

Haen leaned his head against the cold stone wall.

The chill from the cracks in the stone seemed to cool his fevered thoughts.

“…I got too carried away today.”

He had woken from a dream of Vivisian, only to find himself holding a sword to Lejun’s throat.

He had come to his senses partway through, but he hadn’t lowered the blade right away.

He tried to piece together why he had done it, but his mind provided no satisfying answer.

All it did was replay the dream of Vivisian over and over.

‘I’ve done nothing wrong. I swear it. I would stake the rest of my life on it.’

Vivisian’s tear-streaked face whispering in desperate plea.

‘Haen, won’t you regret this? I’m really curious. Do you truly believe I committed all those crimes?’

His composed voice, calmly asking if Haen would regret it.

‘This is truly goodbye….’

And lastly, the face filled with unrestrained joy.

A face so innocent it seemed untouched by guilt, as if he had never known regret.

Vivisian had chosen death with his own hands, with not even a sliver of hesitation.

There had been nothing in his life worth regretting.

He had been truly, unshakably innocent.

He had never been a sinner.

Yet, for so long, he had borne the resentment of others.

Perhaps because he was already dead, only the good parts of him remained in memory.

Even in recollection, Vivisian never cried.

Haen closed his eyes, drawing the smiling image of Vivisian once more.

“Vivi, I thought I knew you so well… but now, I don’t think I do.”

For the first time, he wasn’t sure if he had ever truly understood him.

With a dry chuckle, Haen shut his eyes and began reconstructing his perception of Vivisian.

He started with the little things—the things Vivisian liked and disliked.

He hated dark, damp, lonely places.

He loved the blue hydrangeas that filled the garden in summer.

He loved the rare few who called him “Vivi.”

And—

‘I like you so much.’

And—

‘Because I’m the heir of the De Winter family?’

‘No, just because you’re my friend.’

“And also,”

‘The name “Teian” is too heavy, and there’s nothing good about it. But… if I think of it as the reason I met you, then I can’t hate it entirely. That’s what you are to me, Haen.’

“…Me.”

The moment Haen whispered those words, memories surfaced so vividly they felt tangible.

A boy with jet-black hair, braided into a single strand, running between the hydrangeas, his laughter ringing like a bell.

‘Haen, I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to live a long life. There are too many places I want to travel to—I’d need an entire lifetime to see them all.’

Haen remembered exactly when that moment had happened.

It was the day Vivisian, who had always claimed there was no point in living long, suddenly changed his mind.

The young Haen had scoffed, finding it ridiculous.

He asked what had brought about the change, and Vivisian, gently stroking the petals of a hydrangea, smiled with warm, crescent-shaped eyes.

‘But think about it. There are so many beautiful places in this world. I want to spend my whole life traveling to see them. Even if I die, I don’t want to die as a Duke, trapped inside the Teian estate. I want to die as a traveler on the road.’

‘And if you run out of money?’

‘Maybe I’ll work as a mercenary? I’m pretty good with a sword, after all.’

When Haen, skeptical, asked if he was serious, Vivisian had answered with utmost sincerity.

And then he had swung an imaginary sword in the air, his expression serious.

Haen, back then, couldn’t help but laugh.

He had laughed, and Vivisian had smiled at him.

Looking at that bright, affectionate face, Haen had suddenly asked—

‘Vivi, don’t you ever want to be a Duke?’

‘Everyone hates me. I just don’t think I can stay with people who hate me for too long.’

Though it sounded like mere grumbling, Vivisian had been completely sincere at that moment.

Just because he had grown used to being hated didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

The boy had always been familiar with others’ resentment, and that was precisely why he craved affection more than anyone else.

Staring at that youthful, delicate face, Haen finally spoke.

“Isn’t a duke better than a traveler who might run out of money at any moment?”

It was strange to compare the two in the first place.

But knowing his friend’s restless nature, Haen had deliberately placed them on the same scale.

Vivisian, instead of expressing displeasure at Haen’s incredulous expression, simply laughed, his tone lighthearted.

“What’s precious to you and what’s valuable to me are different. Of course, you’d think that way. Most people would. I’m just… a little different. You don’t have to understand. Just—when the time comes, come traveling with me.”

He chuckled softly, mentioning how a desert would be nice, or a jungle might be fun.

The boy who remained as quiet as a doll within the castle brimmed with life when he was with his friend.

His laughter clung to Haen’s ears, thick and inescapable.

The day he had readily promised to go on that journey haunted him.

If everyone who had tormented Vivisian disappeared, would he finally stop appearing in his dreams? If he killed them all, even himself—then, would Vivisian… would he finally stop tormenting him?

But Haen knew, to some extent.

Even if he killed everyone and took his own life, even if he fell into the depths of hell, he would never escape Vivisian.

He would spend the rest of his life entangled with him, day after day.

If his present reality was hell, then what awaited him would be even worse.

As he envisioned a future that had yet to come, Haen leaned against the cold stone wall and whispered,

“Vivi, do you really hate me that much?”

Vivisian, who always responded with a quiet smile no matter what question was asked, once again vanished with nothing but laughter left behind.

Silent in life, silent in death.

And that silence gnawed away at Haen.

If only he had said something—anything—it might have been easier to bear.

But his absence was absolute.

The dead had no voice, and the living could only suffer, drowning in their own regrets.

Haen opened his eyes, thinking once again about things he could never undo.

The summer garden, once filled with the scent of hydrangeas, dissolved like a lie, replaced by a damp, suffocating prison.

The world, in which his childhood friend no longer existed, remained strangely unchanged.

Only Haen was left, floundering in the chasm between past and present.

And then, in the stillness, a faint, youthful voice, tinged with laughter, echoed in his ears.

“Haen, if I were to leave far away… you’d still miss me, wouldn’t you?”

It had been more than ten years since he’d heard those words.

Back then, he had answered without hesitation—of course.

But now, Haen, his face pale from restless nights, whispered,

“…No.”

No.

Words so obviously untrue that anyone could tell.

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