The Tyrant's Terminally-Ill Childhood Friend (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 102

All memories after that were hazy. He thought he had cried. He thought he had screamed. He also remembered clutching Lowell’s cold hand. In the end, Peter fell silent after all that thrashing—not because anything had changed, but because he finally understood that no amount of anguish could undo Lowell’s death.

It felt as if half his life had been ripped away.

His breath caught in his throat, as though life itself had reversed. He had killed Lowell twice—once before, and now again—and the sheer shame of living brazenly while she was gone made him gag. The past he had painstakingly buried was thrust back before his eyes. The same despair and helplessness he’d felt upon learning of the Hessen family’s tragedy now crushed him with even greater, unbearable weight.

He had only just managed to accept Lowell again, vowing never to let her go and offering half his life to her. Yet fate had still taken her from him, wrenching her violently from his arms. It felt as if acid had been poured over his head.

Unless his brain had truly melted away, there was no way he could feel this sensation. His head throbbed hotly, as though blood were streaming down. Pain was proof of life. Since it hurt, he must still be alive—even if his brain had turned to mush, the pain remained sharp and clear.

Why on earth am I still alive?

“Your Majesty! Please, calm yourself! I beg you—you’ll harm yourself too!”

Peter opened his eyes—or rather, his vision finally focused. His eyes had been open all along, but nothing had registered in his mind, so he’d seen nothing. Only now could he see the person holding him.

Simoren was sobbing as he clutched Peter tightly. The reason was…

“…Ah.”

His head ached. Thick blood trickled down from his scalp, the metallic tang of iron stinging his nostrils.

In the past, such a wound would have vanished in the blink of an eye, but since he’d given half his life to his partner, his body’s healing had slowed dramatically. Perhaps this sluggish pace was what ordinary people were accustomed to; it was his own unnaturally swift recovery that had been strange all along.

“…Right. That’s how it is.”

He was the strange one. He had always been the problem. Everything stemmed from him.

If only he hadn’t been born this cursed, half-witted freak, that damned research would never have been necessary. His father’s madness would never have happened, and Lowell would never have suffered. The Hessen family would have had no reason to burn.

Read full content of this chapter on r e d c a t t y . c o m