The Academy's Terminally Ill Side Character Chapter 347 347: The Gambler’s Mercy [4]

"One coin?"

Seriously—how does soone form a contract with a relic, and the very first thing it says is that?

No explanation.

No ceremony.

Just two words, spoken in a flat, almost bored tone.

One coin.

The relic in question was The Gambler's rcy.

The reason I still hadn't made a contract with it—despite stealing it from the golden goblin at the academy—was painfully simple.

The condition for forming a contract was to exert all of one's strength, fail… and die.

No taphor.

No hidden aning.

Just death.

And the worst part wasn't even the dying. It was how vague the condition was.

Exert all of one's strength.

How much was all?

If I genuinely believed I'd done my best, but the relic decided, "Nope. You were holding back," and killed on the spot, that wouldn't exactly be a joke.

Especially since, with my knowledge of the original story, there were hardly any situations where I'd ever be pushed to the brink of death in the first place.

Which ant this relic was basically a beautifully wrapped death trap I'd never be able to use.

…Or so I thought.

"Well," I muttered weakly, staring at the ceiling, "guess that problem solved itself."

It sounded strange to say it like that, but sohow—sowhere along the line—I had t the condition.

I had exerted everything.

I had failed.

And I had died.

Since this was my first contract with the coin relic, revival wasn't imdiate. My body lay there, heavy and unresponsive, pain spreading like a dull echo rather than sothing sharp.

It hurt—but not unbearably so.

The relic healed all wounds, after all. It just took ti.

Ti I now had plenty of.

As the haze in my mind slowly cleared, another thought surfaced—quiet, unsettling.

Wasn't this… strange?

Now that I'd died once and cald down, I could look back more clearly.

Was this really sothing worth losing my reason over?

Anger, sure. Anyone would be angry unless they were completely broken in the head.

But that level of rage?

Charging forward without hesitation.

Ignoring pain.

Not even considering retreat.

Couldn't I have handled it more calmly?

More rationally?

And then there was the way I fought.

It was efficient. Clean. Almost instinctive.

Too good.

Good enough that it didn't feel like sothing I'd pulled off while blinded by rage.

"…That doesn't make sense," I whispered.

It felt wrong to dismiss everything as simple anger caused by being close to Professor Lena.

Yes—now that I had cald down, I could finally see it clearly.

What truly enraged wasn't the fact that the professor had been brainwashed.

It was the sight of that black thing swallowing her whole.

Ah… right.

Just recalling it made sothing twist violently in my chest.

A strange rage flared up again, sudden and hot, like embers being stirred beneath ash.

What was this feeling supposed to be?

Hatred didn't quite describe it.

Fear didn't either.

It felt like sothing was trying to surface from deep within —sothing heavy, ancient—but no matter how much I reached for it, it refused to fully erge.

Beyond the unsettling sense of déjà vu, there was only discomfort.

And rage.

Raw, inexplicable rage.

Yet oddly enough, that unpleasant feeling didn't feel unnatural.

If soone with trauma accidentally witnessed the source of that trauma again… wouldn't they react like this?

That was the closest explanation I could think of.

It felt like I had suffered imnsely because of that thing.

Not taphorically.

Not emotionally alone.

But truly, deeply suffered.

What unsettled the most was the contradiction—I didn't know what that black thing was, yet I felt like I understood it.

As if my body rembered sothing my mind had forgotten.

As if so part of recognized it on instinct.

One thing, however, was absolutely certain.

That black thing was not sothing pleasant to .

"Are you alright?"

"…Huh?"

The sudden voice snapped out of my thoughts.

I frowned slightly and looked around.

This place wasn't exactly the afterlife, but it resembled my ntal world—a quiet, undefined space that felt detached from reality.

A place where thoughts echoed too clearly.

Relics with self-awareness could speak to here.

And there was only one relic I had ever ford a contract with that fit that description.

The Soul Bound Staff.

Which ant—

The man standing a short distance away was its previous owner.

Zaho Yuren.

This was only the second ti I had seen him in person.

The first had been during the trial to obtain the Soul Bound Staff.

Of course, we talk daily but eting in person? That's the only second ti.

He stood there silently, arms crossed.

His skin was the color of burnished bronze, stretched over a body hardened by countless battles.

Wild, raided hair fell loosely around his shoulders, matted and uneven.

His bare chest was covered in scars—so shallow, others deep enough that they must have once been fatal.

Yet he stood as if none of them mattered.

I slowly turned my head toward him.

"…You're asking that now?" I muttered.

Zaho raised an eyebrow.

"You are alive," he replied calmly. "Which suggests success. Yet your soul feels… unstable."

"Tch," I clicked my tongue. "You relic people really don't sugarcoat things, do you?"

He snorted softly.

"Sugarcoating is for those who expect comfort."

I exhaled slowly and stared ahead again.

"I'm fine."

The words ca out flat, more like a statent than reassurance.

There was a brief silence.

Then Zaho Yuren spoke.

"Why did you get so agitated just now?"

His voice was calm—too calm, like he was asking about the weather rather than sothing that had nearly gotten killed.

"I don't know myself."

"Hmm?"

I glanced sideways. He was looking at with mild curiosity, one hand resting against his chin.

"Ah. I see," he said lightly. "Is that so?"

…Huh?

I just told him I didn't know. Why was he acting like he'd just solved a riddle?

"Wait," I frowned. "What do you an, 'you see'?"

"Listen carefully to what I'm about to say."

His tone shifted—subtle, but unmistakable.

"Yes?" I replied, reflexively straightening.

"Have you ever heard of the word ㅁㅁㅁㅁ?"

"…What?"

I leaned forward. "I can't hear you at all. It's like the sound just—cut out."

"Hmm." He nodded to himself. "I thought so."

Thought what?

"There are occasionally children like you," Zaho Yuren continued, sounding almost amused.

"Don't just figure it out by yourself," I said irritably. "Can't you tell too?"

He glanced at , eyes narrowing slightly—not cold, but distant.

"Well," he said, "it's not sothing I can tell you."

"…Why not?"

"There's no way for to do that right now."

I clicked my tongue quietly.

So that was how it was.

Unfortunately—or maybe inevitably—it seed there were restrictions on this kind of information.

Like those scenes in novels where characters literally couldn't hear certain truths because they weren't qualified, strong enough, or "ready."

So cliché it hurt.

"…You're quick to understand," Zaho Yuren said.

"I've read a lot of novels."

"Novels?" He tilted his head. "The stories in your head?"

My heart skipped.

"They were quite interesting."

"…Huh?"

Wait.

Hold on.

I slowly turned to him.

"…How much did you read?"

He smiled faintly.

Not reassuringly.

Not apologetically.

Just enough to be unsettling.

"…That's suddenly very embarrassing," I muttered.

"Don't worry," he said. "I didn't read anything too embarrassing."

Ah.

That was a relief.

I relaxed—

"But," he added casually, "so of the comnts you occasionally made, like 'so-and-so's waist bent like a bow,' or 'baby milk dispenser,' were a bit vulgar. You should refrain from writing things like that."

…

...

...…

Ah.

Shit.

"You said you didn't read anything embarrassing!" I snapped.

"I said too embarrassing," Zaho Yuren corrected calmly. "There's a difference."

I covered my face with both hands.

This was worse than dying.

"Please erase those from your mory," I groaned. "I beg you."

"That would be difficult," he replied, utterly unrepentant. "But I'll pretend I never saw them."

"That's not comforting at all."

He chuckled softly, clearly enjoying himself.

For a mont, despite everything—the danger, the unanswered questions, the censored words—I almost forgot how terrifying this man actually was.

Almost.