The Academy's Terminally Ill Side Character

Chapter 344 344: The Gambler’s Mercy [1]

"Hey, don't run away."

Lena didn't say the words out loud.

They surfaced quietly in her mind, almost like a plea rather than a command.

—What are you doing?

An irritating voice echoed in her head, sharp and impatient, cutting through her thoughts.

She ignored it.

For once, her body was responding to her will.

That alone felt strange enough to make her breath hitch.

Her steps were steady as she moved forward, her fingers curling instinctively, as if she already knew what she wanted to grasp.

If I can move like this, she thought, then catching him shouldn't be that hard.

She had cornered him before.

More than once.

Each time, he had barely escaped, stumbling away with movements that were too frantic to be planned.

He looked exhausted now, shoulders trembling, his form flickering as though it might fall apart at any moment.

He didn't even try to fight back.

And yet—

She couldn't catch him.

No matter how close she got, no matter how certain she was that her next step would end it, he slipped away at the last second.

Like the moon reflected on water.

So clear.

So close.

And utterly untouchable.

She wasn't trying to hurt him.

That much, she was sure of.

What she wanted was something softer, something warmer—something she couldn't quite put into words.

She wanted to remember.

She wanted to understand what she had lost.

She wanted to pull him close and see if the emptiness in her chest would finally make sense.

The black thing—once so dear to her, once so comforting—felt different now.

For the first time, a thin thread of resentment twisted through her chest.

Why won't you stop?

Annoyance crept into her movements.

Her next punch carried more force than she intended.

The air cracked.

The black thing twisted away just in time, but instead of scattering like before, its form shuddered violently.

And then—

It changed.

The amorphous darkness condensed, stretching and sharpening, reshaping itself with unsettling familiarity.

A shadow.

A human silhouette.

Arms.

Legs.

A torso.

As the form stabilized, Lena froze.

Her breath caught in her throat.

"…Ah."

Now she understood.

The red thing she had been searching for all this time—

Those weren't fragments.

They weren't stains.

They were eyes.

Eyes burning red like open flames, fixed entirely on her.

Their gaze was thick and heavy, like blood that refused to dry.

And yet…

Her heart calmed.

The moment those eyes met hers, a sense of familiarity washed over her so strongly that it almost hurt.

Lena tried to remember.

The name of the black thing—of him—the one she had known just moments ago, before it shattered and scattered like broken glass in her mind.

She frowned, pressing her fingers against her temple.

"What was your name…?"

The words left her lips softly, almost pleading.

But nothing came.

She was sure she had remembered it just now. The feeling lingered, frustratingly close, like a word stuck on the tip of her tongue. The regret came immediately after—the strange, hollow guilt of forgetting something important.

So she asked again, hoping for an answer.

But the black thing didn't respond.

Instead, it flickered.

Its shape distorted, shadows writhing as it moved closer to her, as if it couldn't hear her voice at all—or perhaps refused to acknowledge it.

"Ugh…!?"

Lena barely managed to react.

Its momentum was sharper than before, fiercer, more decisive. The pressure it exuded forced her to retreat half a step, her boots scraping against the ground.

This wasn't just raw strength.

It was technique.

It rushed her using martial arts she had taught him herself—clean footwork, precise timing—but mixed with knife techniques that were not hers. Slashes came in tight arcs, angles meant to limit her movement rather than overwhelm her outright.

Tch—he's thinking.

It exploited the openings created by her increased strength, punishing her for being just a fraction slower than usual.

Every time she tried to make a large movement, to reset the distance, it cut her off.

Every time she attempted to retreat, it closed in immediately, mercilessly shortening the gap.

She should have been annoyed.

She should have been furious.

Instead, a strange feeling swelled in her chest.

…Pride.

—'It's interfering.'—

The voice echoed coldly in her mind.

'No.'

—'Get rid of it.'—

'I don't want to.'

The clash of metal rang out sharply.

Clink.

"Ah!"

The instant her focus slipped, the knife in his hand grazed her arm. It wasn't deep, but it was enough to sting, warm blood seeping through the fabric.

—'See? He's dangerous to you.'—

'No,' Lena snapped back internally. 'I wouldn't have been hit if you hadn't interfered.'

Her breathing steadied as realization dawned on her.

It wasn't him.

It was her.

Or rather—

'The black thing… around me.'

She could finally feel it clearly now. The black energy clung to her like a second skin, seeping into her muscles, amplifying her strength.

But it was also distorting everything else.

Her balance.

Her timing.

Her instincts.

It made her powerful, but clumsy.

Strong, but restricted.

"That's why I can't reach you," she whispered, eyes narrowing as she looked at him—not as an enemy, but as someone she wanted to meet head-on.

The black thing surrounding her was the problem.

So she made a decision.

'I'm done borrowing your power.'

—'What are you doing?'—

The voice sharpened, laced with alarm.

Lena exhaled slowly and reached inward.

She grabbed hold of the black energy and pushed.

The resistance came immediately, thick and suffocating, wrapping tighter around her like it was trying to drag her down.

But to her surprise—

It yielded.

The black energy trembled violently, flickering as she suppressed it, forcing it back into herself, sealing it away.

The moment the black energy receded, the world shifted.

Not violently.

Not dramatically.

It was subtle—like a ringing in her ears finally fading into silence.

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Author Note:

Thank you for reading the chapter. I hope you continue to do read more in future. H