In the first week after school started, Caelora High School felt like it had been quietly turned down a notch.

  The hallways were still crowded, clubs were still recruiting, and the cafeteria was still as noisy as a market during lunch; but whenever someone mentioned "the mayor" or "the funeral," voices would instinctively lower, as if afraid to disturb a sorrow that hadn’t fully settled yet.

  Ivy didn’t come.

  She took a long leave. The official reason was respectable: she needed time to be with her mother, to handle household matters and legal documents; but the version circulating among classmates was simpler—she couldn’t take it anymore.

  When Kieran heard these discussions, his face showed no expression. He sat in the back row of the classroom, like someone who had folded himself into the shadows. He remembered everything the teacher said, but those words felt weightless to him.

  He still went to school every day, went home as usual, and stared at the cracks in the ceiling late at night. The only difference was that he began to avoid certain places—the student cafeteria, the campus lawn, any corner that might remind him of the three of them eating together.

  And Jasper was quieter than ever.

  He still seeks out Kieran to run dungeons together, still taps him on the shoulder after class and asks, "Do you want to grab something to eat?" But that enthusiasm feels like it has been squeezed at its core, becoming cautious. Kieran can see it: Jasper is trying hard to be a "normal" friend, trying not to ask, "Why did you look so pale at the funeral that day?" trying not to think about why Ivy suddenly seems to have evaporated from their lives.

  Kieran didn't give him any answers.

  *

  Two weeks later, on Wednesday morning, the sky was as clear as if it had been washed. The sea breeze swept through the iron gate outside the school, carrying a salty chill.

  As Kieran walked into the teaching building, he heard someone ahead whisper, "She's back."

  He didn't stop his steps, but his chest felt like it had been pricked by a needle.

  At the entrance of Class 11B, a few people stood, their gazes drifting in the same direction. Kieran followed that line of sight and saw Ivy walking towards them from the end of the corridor.

  She was wearing her uniform jacket, buttoned all the way to the top, her hair still neatly tied back in a ponytail. Her steps were calm, even steadier than before. Her complexion was pale, but her makeup was clean, covering all traces of fatigue.

  It was as if she had packed away her sadness, folded it neatly, stuffed it into a drawer, and locked it up.

  She noticed the stares, paused for a moment as if judging whether to respond. Then, she revealed a standard smile—polite, just right, without a flaw.

  "Good morning," she said to a classmate who approached.

  Students responded one after another; some wanted to hug her, some stammered “my condolences,” and some simply smiled awkwardly. Ivy accepted all of it. Each response felt rehearsed: thank you, sorry to make everyone worry, I’m fine, I will gradually return to my daily life.

  Kieran stood at the edge of the crowd, as if standing outside a glass barrier. Her aura was "cleaner" than before—unnaturally clean. It was as if someone had scrubbed away all the colors, leaving only a thin layer of transparent film, making her appear whole yet harder to approach.

  She moved closer.

  Close enough for Kieran to see the faint shadow under her eyes, to notice that her blinking rhythm was half a beat slower than before, as if her body was still learning how to breathe.

  Her gaze swept through the crowd, finally landing on him.

  In that moment, Kieran almost thought she would stop, would ask him something, even if it was just, "Why were you walking so fast that day?"

  But Ivy just looked at him, pausing for less than a second.

  Then she walked past him, as if he were just an ordinary classmate in the hallway.

  Kieran's throat tightened. He had thought he would feel relieved—after all, "cutting ties" was the safest approach. But that feeling of being treated as a stranger still felt like a hard object lodged in his chest.

  He shouldn't care.

  *

  During the lunch break, Jasper returned with a tray, his eyes shining unnaturally bright.

  “She’s back,” he said, as if reporting a significant piece of news.

  Kieran made a sound of acknowledgment.

  “Aren’t you going to say hello?” Jasper sat down and lowered his voice, “I mean… at least greet her. She was just thanking someone, she must be quite tired.”

  “She doesn’t need to,” Kieran replied softly.

  Jasper frowned: “How do you know she doesn’t need to? You’re not her.”

  Kieran’s fingers paused on the table, as if he was about to say something, but in the end, he just swallowed his words: “...She’ll be surrounded by a bunch of people. One less doesn’t matter.”

  Jasper stared at him for several seconds, as if confirming whether he was starting that “I don’t care about anything” routine again. Finally, he sighed: “Alright. But I’ll go find her later. Just… say we’re all here.”

  “You go,” Kieran said, “don’t involve me.”

  Jasper looked as if he had been pricked, but he held back from getting angry, only poking at his salad with a fork and muttering softly, “You can be really hard to deal with sometimes.”

  Kieran didn’t argue.

  Because this statement is correct.

  *

  After the last class in the afternoon, the crowd in the hallway receded like the tide, and the noise gradually faded away. Kieran packed his bag, preparing to leave alone as usual.

  As he reached the corner of the stairs, he heard someone call his name from behind.

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  “Kieran.”

  The voice was flat and emotionless, yet it precisely penetrated his spine.

  He stopped and turned around.

  Ivy stood two steps away, holding her textbooks, her posture as upright as if she were in an interview. Her expression was neither the breakdown from the day of the funeral nor the enthusiasm from the party. She looked very “normal,” so normal that it made one hesitant to approach her.

  “You... are back,” Kieran said, his tone dry like sandpaper.

  “Mm.” Ivy nodded, her gaze resting on his face a little longer than in social situations, “I heard Jasper say that you haven’t been going to the cafeteria lately.”

  Kieran remained silent.

  “I’m not here to ask you why you’re avoiding me,” Ivy added, as if preemptively blocking a certain path, “nor am I here to seek comfort from you.”

  She paused for a moment, as if trying to shape certain words into something she could say.

  “I just... want to confirm something,” she said.

  Kieran's heart skipped a beat. He instinctively assessed: the angle of the corridor's surveillance camera, the flow of people around them, her emotional fluctuations—all felt like instinctive reactions before a mission.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Ivy looked at him, her gaze so clear it was uncomfortable.

  “That day at the party...” she said slowly, “when Ronan mentioned your father, your reaction was significant. It was more than your usual indifference.”

  Kieran's fingertips tightened slightly.

  Ivy continued, “I've always remembered that. Because I later found out—that wasn't something you were putting on.”

  Her voice remained flat, even restrained: “On the day of the funeral, you didn't say a word to anyone. You didn't come to me with those... things everyone else would say.”

  “...That's because I don't know what to say,” Kieran murmured.

  Ivy seemed to have heard something certain and nodded, "So do I."

  She held her textbook tightly, her knuckles turning white for a moment, then relaxed, as if pressing a flaw back down.

  “Kieran,” she said, “I don’t know what you’re hiding from. Maybe you just hate trouble, or maybe you think I’m a hassle right now.”

  Kieran wanted to deny it, but no sound came from his throat.

  Ivy looked at him, finally showing a hint of expression that didn’t seem like the “daughter of the Castellan” — it wasn’t sadness, but a deep exhaustion, as if someone had been forced to grow up in a short time and still wasn’t used to the way they had become.

  “But if it’s just because you don’t know how to face me…” she said, “then you don’t have to face me. Just don’t disappear.”

  Kieran’s chest tightened. He remembered Sabrina’s warnings — ‘keep your distance’, ‘cut off connections’ — but when he saw Ivy’s effort to maintain her strength while on the verge of breaking down, those rational warnings became blurred.

  “I won’t… disappear,” he finally said, his voice very soft, as if afraid of being heard.

  She didn’t ask, “Why you?” But that phrase, “Just don’t disappear,” felt like a gentle verdict that made his chest ache.

  But he knew very well that he couldn’t avoid disappearing. He just hadn’t decided in what way.

  Ivy smiled, but there was bitterness in that smile. “You know? In the days after the funeral, many people came to my house. Politicians, my dad’s colleagues, my mom’s friends... Everyone said the same thing, ‘He was a good man’, ‘You have to be strong’, ‘Time will heal everything’.”

  She paused for a moment, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the table.

  “But no one asked me how I was doing. No one asked me what it felt like to lose him.” She lifted her eyes to Kieran, “You’ve lost a father, right?”

  Kieran's breath hitched.

  “So you should understand,” Ivy continued, her voice growing softer, “that feeling... of the whole world suddenly having a void. It’s as if something has been forcibly dug out of your body, leaving an unfillable hole.”

  Kieran's nails dug into his palm. He understood all too well. So much so that every word felt like a needle piercing his heart.

  “And the scariest part is,” Ivy's voice began to tremble, “life goes on. The sun still rises, people still go to work and school, as if nothing has happened. Only you know that the world is no longer the same.”

  As she said this, her eyes reddened, but she blinked hard, forcing the tears back.

  Kieran looked at her, his throat feeling as if it were blocked by something. He wanted to say “I’m sorry,” wanted to say “It’s all my fault,” wanted to say “If I could, I would trade my life for your father’s”—but those words remained trapped in his heart, like prisoners that could never be released.

  “I understand.” In the end, he could only say these two words, his voice hoarse.

  Ivy looked at him, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, followed by a sense of relief. “Thank you.”

  “Why do you want to thank me?”

  “Because you said ‘I understand’ instead of ‘It will get better.’” Ivy wiped the corner of her eye, “I don’t need comfort. I just need someone to acknowledge that this really sucks.”

  Kieran didn’t answer. He looked down at the book on the table that he wasn’t even reading, his vision blurred.

  “Do you know what I regret the most?” Ivy suddenly said, “That night, before Dad left, I just casually said ‘Be careful on the road.’ I didn’t hug him, didn’t say I love him. I thought... there would be plenty of time to say it.”

  Her voice finally broke, and tears slid down her cheeks.

  Kieran sat there frozen, watching her cry. His hands were on the table, fingers trembling slightly. He wanted to reach out, wanted to do something, but he didn’t have the right.

  He was the one who took her father away.

  He was the one who made her lose that “next chance” forever.

  “I’m sorry.” He heard himself say, his voice barely audible.

  Ivy looked up, her tear-filled eyes gazing at him. “Why are you apologizing?”

  “I...” Kieran paused, realizing he had said the wrong thing. He quickly corrected himself: “I mean, I’m very sorry.”

  Ivy wiped her tears, took a deep breath, and tried to calm herself down. "It's okay. I just... sometimes I can't help it."

  She turned to leave. "Thank you for being willing to listen to me. I... I have to go to class."

  Kieran watched her walk away, her back still straight, like someone trying hard to hold up the entire world.

  It was only after her figure disappeared around the corner that Kieran allowed himself to break down. He cradled his head in his hands, his nails digging into his scalp, trying to dig out those voices, those images, that guilt from his mind.

  But they were like poisonous vines, deeply rooted, impossible to pull out no matter what.

  *

  That night, Kieran didn't open the game, didn't do his homework, and didn't even eat dinner. He just sat in the dark room, staring at the night sky outside the window.

  ‘Kieran?Vale.’

  Sabrina's voice cut in on time, like some kind of inescapable curse.

  'I'm here.' He replied mechanically.

  'You had contact with the target's daughter today.' Sabrina's tone carried a warning, 'I told you to keep your distance.'

  'She came to find me.' Kieran said, 'Refusing would be more suspicious.'

  “Then make yourself boring, and make her distance herself from you," Sabrina said coldly. "The closer you get to her, the higher the risk.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you really know?” Sabrina's voice became sharp. “Your emotional fluctuations have exceeded the limit three times. You are feeling sympathy for her, even guilt. This is deadly for you.”

  Kieran didn’t argue.

  “Listen, Kieran,” Sabrina changed her tone, as if lecturing a disobedient child, “You are not the first person to carry out this kind of mission, nor will you be the last. Those who cannot sever emotional ties always end up badly. They are either exploited by the enemy or consumed by their own guilt, ultimately leading to self-destruction.”

  “I understand,” Kieran said, his voice hollow.

  “I hope you really do understand.” Sabrina paused for a moment. “There’s a new mission next month. Before that, get your state of mind in order. Don’t let me down.”

  Connection lost.

  Kieran sat in the darkness, feeling like a puppet being pulled in two directions—one by the organization's control and the other by the torment of his conscience, trapped in the middle with nowhere to escape.

  He remembered what Ivy had said: “The whole world suddenly felt like it had a void.”

  But for Kieran, his world had never been whole.

  From the moment he was born, he lived in a fractured, twisted, and dark world. He thought he had gotten used to it, that he could numb himself to carry out missions like a perfect tool.

  But Ivy's appearance shattered that protective shell.

  She made him see that he could still feel pain. He had not completely lost his humanity after all.

  And this, perhaps, is the greatest curse.