Chapter 109: Beyond the Collapse.

I had always thought “I can’t” was just an excuse.

That it wasn’t “I can’t,” but “I won’t.”

If you knew the way, then naturally you should charge down that path with everything you had—and if the result didn’t follow, it was only because you gave up.

Yet the people who could spout such words so easily were the ones clinging desperately to the same spot, refusing to take even a single step forward.

They didn’t understand the meaning of taking that first step, or of continuing to take them.

They didn’t even know that “results” weren’t guaranteed to wait at the end of the road.

What Marlin told him was the destination to which Violet had fallen.

Her sentence—originally supposed to be execution—had been commuted to eternal imprisonment.

All thanks to the mercy of her half-sister.

Everyone was moved by that kindness.

Everyone praised sweet, gentle Mary June as though she were a saint.

Her grace would ensure the stability of the nation’s future.

As the prince’s fiancée, her value only rose higher and higher.

And everyone—everyone—pretended to forget Violet’s very existence, her entire life.

‘I want to kill them.’

The words Marlin had let slip—her true feelings—after crying her eyes out until they were swollen and red.

It was as though Yuran were looking at another version of himself.

He understood every last bit of her heart.

The ones who branded her evil.

The ones who punished her.

The ones who forgot her.

He wanted to kill them all.

He couldn’t forgive them for being allowed to be happy.

He wanted them to experience the same hell she had—or worse.

No amount of misfortune would ever be enough.

After the incident, Marlin too had been suspected of being Violet’s accomplice.

She had surely endured far harsher interrogations than Yuran’s perfunctory ones.

And yet—even then—she continued to protect and adore Violet.

Gradually, the public’s gaze toward her had grown colder.

But once it was acknowledged that Violet had acted alone in a short-sighted, impulsive crime, everyone flipped their palms as though nothing had happened and withdrew their hands from Marlin.

Naturally, she was expelled from the Varhan household.

Together with Yuran, she had continued to fight for Violet’s release.

If no one would even consider the root and meaning of her crime—if they were simply going to bury it—then whatever came after should be left unquestioned as well.

They had shouted in accordance with the law, with rightful authority and proper procedure.

None of it reached anyone’s ears.

How much time had passed since Violet’s sentence was finalized? He no longer knew.

Exhaustion from all the running around, sleepless nights, the hollow shell left after losing his god—reason and coherent thought had long since abandoned him.

He had made demands again and again, sometimes begged, yet the outcome never changed.

He would never see her again.

He would never hear her voice again.

She would never speak to him.

Never call his name.

He would never see her smile again.

These hands would never reach her—ever again.

It wasn’t hyperbole: he had genuinely believed that if he lost Violet, he would die.

The moment her existence vanished from Yuran’s life, the world would collapse, and his heart would simply stop—without warning, without reason.

It had felt like the most natural thing in the world.

So why was he still alive?

Why was this heart still beating, still pulsing?

——Even now, he didn’t understand why he had chosen that place.

He had no particular attachment to it.

He hadn’t suddenly awakened to faith.

He had no intention of abandoning everything to serve.

If asked for a reason, he had none.

He had simply wanted to hurl this rage, this resentment, this hatred—at something.

And if he was going to hurl it, he had thought—let it be at something as large and encompassing as possible.

Before he realized it, he stood before the altar of the grand cathedral.

The great stained-glass window depicting the Holy Mother.

The bronze statues of angels flanking her.

Even the flames flickering on the polished candelabras seemed to shine.

The very air here felt somehow sacred.

Perhaps the slightly cooler temperature was due to the solemn atmosphere pressing down on him.

Everything he looked up at was a symbol of happiness.

A declaration that to stand beneath universal love, compassion, justice, and order was right—was happiness.

Was it one of these angels who had said to love thy neighbor?

Or was it the smiling Holy Mother?

The magnificent values of some great, unseen, unheard-of someone.

If that broad-mindedness was the reason God was called God—

If blaspheming God was a grave sin, a denial of the world itself—

Then shouldn’t all of you who blasphemed my God be extinguished in sin and punishment?

“——!!”

He seized the candelabra that entered his vision and swung it with sheer momentum.

Where had that strength come from?

Normally—even at full health—he would have needed both hands for that weight.

Yet now he gripped it one-handed and hurled it like a hammer toward the glass before him.

He thought he felt his shoulder bones and nerves scream, but it didn’t matter.

The metal, carrying all of Yuran’s fury, traced a gentle arc and crashed into the Holy Mother’s chest.

The impact and weight were too much to contain.

Shards of glass exploded outward with a deafening crash.

The sound of something breaking resembled a piercing scream—tragic, anguished, razor-sharp.

A sufficient murder weapon to kill the Holy Mother who had watched over the nation.

Die.

Anyone who wouldn’t save Violet—die.

Any faith that refused to stand by her—perish.

Shatter.

Any world that didn’t want Violet, that didn’t want Yuran—everything—shatter.

“What are you doing?!”

Someone must have heard the noise and come to check.

A voice of shock, the sound of multiple footsteps.

The hand reaching for the second candelabra was seized.

Before he could struggle, he was pinned down.

Wrenched wrists, a back pressed flat—cheek forced against the cold floor.

He couldn’t even speak.

His shaking vision—he knew exactly why it wouldn’t settle.

When had he last slept?

When had he last eaten?

The memories were already too distant to recall.

In such a state, pushing himself this far—it was only natural that both mind and body would reach their limit.

It was almost a miracle he had managed to hurl that heavy candelabra so high.

（Why）

Even as his emotions boiled, his brain cooled with terrifying speed—he resented it.

He was nothing but a beast driven by instinct now…… and precisely because only instinct remained, the thought came.

The regret came.

Regret as vast as the hatred.

（Why did I）

It had never been a big deal that his own love would go unrequited.

As long as Violet’s feelings could be fulfilled, nothing mattered more.

It didn’t matter who the other person was—even if it was the single most incompatible person in the world.

As long as she could smile, it was fine if that future didn’t include him.

He had chosen to be the understanding little brother.

He had entrusted her future to a man he didn’t even believe in.

And this was the result.

His curled neck, his forehead pressed to the hard floor—it stole away even the little body heat he had left.

The bridge of his nose stung.

He clenched his molars, but the desired effect never came.

From deep behind his eyes, the emotions that had nowhere else to go lost their stopper and poured out.

“Ah……”

Tears strung together into streams.

They slid down his cheeks, from the corners of his eyes, wetting his face, his hair, finally pooling into multiple stains on the floor.

His throat constricted as though strangled.

The dry interior of his mouth filled with the taste of blood.

（What am I doing?）

Round and round, the churned memories were sorted by regret.

He remembered so many points—so many turning points.

The beginning.

The days when Violet had gradually begun to lose herself.

The final, greatest blow that shattered her heart.

（……If only）

If only he could go back to that day.

Back to those days.

An impossible fantasy.

A wish that couldn’t even qualify as a dream.

A childish delusion and worse.

No matter how desperately one wished, the past could not be changed.

The future was nothing but the accumulation of that unchangeable past.

This outcome too was merely the twisted growth of a single life.

And if so—then surely his own end would be something similar.

Having lost his god, lost his heart, stripped of love and faith—what remained was only a heart that beat regardless of his will.

Yet even that would one day stop breathing, following the will of its owner.

（It doesn’t matter anymore）

Whether he died or couldn’t die—it didn’t matter.

Yuran’s world had already ended.

That was everything.

Thinking about anything else was simply too exhausting.

The only thing he could still picture—the last remnant emotion that refused to be discarded even when everything else had run dry—

（If only I could do it all over）

Through vision blurring as though falling into a doze, he looked up at the shattered Holy Mother.

The jagged edges reflected light—shining far more brilliantly than when they had been haloed in glory.

Face still streaked and filthy with tears, only the molten gold of his eyes—damp and melting—remained sharp as a dulled blade as he glared at what had once been God.

Even after surpassing his limits, even as his body—forced beyond endurance—collapsed without so much as a scream, he thought of nothing else.

If only he could return to that day.

To those days.

This time, he would never yield her to anyone.

Not to Claudia.

Not to anyone else.

Not even to God.

He would never entrust Violet’s happiness to another.

Never hand his most precious treasure over to someone he didn’t believe in.

With no one else’s hands but his own—he would make her happy.

He would show them.