Will You Cry for Me If I Die? - Chapter 50

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 50

 

My palms stung, and they hurt as if the skin would peel off.

 

When your palms hurt, you want to let go.

 

The strength in your fingers tries to loosen.

 

I gripped my hands tighter.

 

I curled my fingers deeper inward.

 

When it hurts, grip harder.

 

I learned that at the Research Institute.

 

If you let go, it’s over.

 

Demian approached again to grab Yurahel’s arm.

 

His feet stepped hard on the floor.

 

He gathered frost at his fingertips.

 

The air froze cold.

 

The frost flew like crystals in the wind.

 

White fragments scattered.

 

Yurahel smiled.

 

The corners of his mouth curved up thinly.

 

That smile was mixed with the scent of water.

 

The wet smell grew stronger.

 

“Winter’s coldness won’t work.”

 

Those words scratched at my insides.

 

The inside of my ears stung.

 

Though those words were foreign to my ears, my body knew.

 

This isn’t Yurahel.

 

The mark is speaking.

 

The mark is borrowing Yurahel’s mouth.

 

Lermiel spoke low from behind.

 

It was a voice that held down his breath.

 

“Rumel, let go.”

 

I immediately shook my head.

 

Firmly.

 

“No.”

 

Lermiel spoke even lower.

 

His voice sank deeper.

 

“Your hands will tear.”

 

I spoke while breathing heavily.

 

My words came out roughly.

 

“Even if they tear, I’ll hold on.”

 

Lermiel’s breathing stopped.

 

The air was cut off for a moment.

 

He tried to take another step closer but stopped.

 

Because Yurahel’s fingertips turned slightly toward Lermiel.

 

The silver dots changed direction.

 

The flow shifted.

 

At that moment, Lermiel’s fingers trembled more violently.

 

They shook visibly.

 

My throat grew cold.

 

The inside cooled.

 

The mark can transfer to others.

 

I had seen that.

 

I heard it in the basement.

 

Those marked are easily shaken at night.

 

Those who are shaken also shake others.

 

I couldn’t finish my thoughts.

 

Being four years old, my mind doesn’t run that long.

 

So I did what I could do right now.

 

My hands moved first.

 

I reached my hand further out the window.

 

My body leaned forward more.

 

The wind struck my fingertips.

 

The cold air scraped my hands.

 

Snow piled up on my palms.

 

White fragments stuck to them.

 

Small water.

 

I grabbed a handful of snow.

 

My hands were too small, so even a handful was small.

 

But I grabbed it anyway.

 

Some trickled down between my fingers.

 

The cold water wet my hands.

 

Then I threw it toward Yurahel’s wrist.

 

I gathered my strength and pushed it forward.

 

The snow scattered and fell on his sleeves.

 

White dots spread.

 

Yurahel flinched.

 

His body shook briefly.

 

I drew in my breath.

 

“Again!”

 

I grabbed snow again.

 

White fragments crumbled between my fingers.

 

Cold particles pressed against my palms.

 

My fingertips went numb.

 

Numbness hurts, but right now it’s good.

 

The pain holds my body together.

 

It keeps me from scattering.

 

When it hurts, I can concentrate.

 

I gathered more snow and pressed it against the inside of Yurahel’s wrist, rubbing.

 

I put strength into it so my hands wouldn’t slip.

 

My hands are small and weak, so it’s hard to rub properly.

 

The cloth kept slipping away.

 

So I pressed with my fingertips.

 

I raised the tips and pressed as if poking.

 

Press.

 

Yurahel’s skin grew cold.

 

I felt the heat cooling down.

 

Above that coldness, the silver dots became briefly blurred.

 

The light weakened.

 

My breath came out in a rush.

 

My chest sank down once, deeply.

 

It works.

 

I can see it working.

 

If I can see it, I can move faster.

 

I spoke faster.

 

My breath came out as if cut off.

 

“Wash it, more!”

 

Demian immediately reached his hand below the windowsill.

 

His movements continued without hesitation.

 

He scraped up the snow piled beneath the window and placed it on Yurahel’s wrist.

 

The snow held in his hands poured out all at once.

 

The snow covered his wrist.

 

Cold water covered his skin.

 

Yurahel staggered and spat out a curse.

 

His voice cracked.

 

“Stop.”

 

Those words fell as if cut off.

 

Lermiel reached out his hand in that gap.

 

He grabbed Yurahel’s other arm.

 

He gripped firmly above the wrist.

 

But the moment he grabbed it, Lermiel’s face turned white.

 

Color disappeared as if blood had drained away.

 

His breath became thin and ragged.

 

Short and finely cut off.

 

The mark touches him.

 

It climbs up to where it touched.

 

I became urgent.

 

My heart beat rapidly.

 

When I’m urgent, my throat gets hot.

 

The heat began to rise.

 

I shouted before the heat could rise.

 

Words burst out.

 

“Lermiel, snow!”

 

Lermiel looked at me.

 

His gaze wavered.

 

Moisture briefly formed in his eyes.

 

It pooled transparently.

 

That moisture wasn’t tears.

 

It was pain.

 

I hated that pain.

 

My body reacted first.

 

I become more violent when I see things I hate.

 

My hands move first.

 

I grabbed snow again and placed it on Lermiel’s hand.

 

Cold fragments touched his skin.

 

As the snow melted, water seeped in.

 

When the cold snow touched his skin, Lermiel’s trembling stopped briefly.

 

His fingers became fixed.

 

That stillness was one breath.

 

Short but unbroken breath.

 

That one time was enough.

 

Demian pushed the window shut forcefully.

 

His hand pushed against the window frame.

 

The glass rang with a bang.

 

A short, solid sound bounced around the room.

 

The wind was cut off.

 

The air was pressed inward again.

 

The sound became smaller.

 

The scattering sounds stopped.

 

Only then did I realize how fast my breathing was.

 

My chest was pounding.

 

It felt like my heart had risen to my ears.

 

The inside of my ears rang.

 

Yurahel knelt in front of the window.

 

He sank down as if his strength had left him.

 

His shoulders heaved.

 

His breath came up irregularly.

 

He was biting his lips tightly, but his eyes were empty.

 

His focus wasn’t fixed anywhere.

 

Those empty eyes stabbed me again.

 

My insides became cold.

 

I approached carefully.

 

I moved my feet slowly.

 

I was careful not to slip on the floor.

 

Demian tried to block my way, but I raised my palm.

 

Firmly.

 

“It’s okay.”

 

Demian asked in a low voice.

 

His eyes held onto me.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Sure.”

 

I spoke briefly and looked at Yurahel’s wrist.

 

I lowered my gaze.

 

The silver dot hadn’t completely disappeared.

 

It was still there.

 

But it wasn’t jumping as much as before.

 

The light had weakened.

 

The pulse had slowed.

 

The living feeling had decreased.

 

The movement had become dull.

 

I drew in a breath.

 

My chest rose slowly.

 

“Yurahel.”

 

When I called, Yurahel’s pupils turned very slowly.

 

His flowing gaze stopped.

 

This time it didn’t pass by me.

 

He looked at me.

 

His focus touched my face.

 

He asked in a voice with a locked throat.

 

Breath was mixed in.

 

“Am I alive?”

 

I nodded.

 

Water pooled in Yurahel’s eyes.

 

Water gathered at the edges of his pupils, spreading and trembling like a thin film.

 

The small light remaining from the candle touched that water and faintly scattered.

 

Every time the light trembled, the water trembled with it.

 

His eyelids slowly trembled once.

 

The moment that water was about to fall, he gritted his teeth and swallowed it back down.

 

His jaw hardened firmly.

 

His teeth clashed together, making a very small sound.

 

His breath caught in his throat once, then was forcibly pushed back inside.

 

The way he swallowed looked adult-like.

 

It was a face that passed it off as if nothing had happened.

 

It was the movement of someone accustomed to enduring.

 

That adult-like appearance pained my heart.

 

I felt something quietly tearing inside my chest.

 

Yurahel is still young.

 

He’s still at an age where it’s okay to cry.

 

An age where it’s okay to close his eyes and let out his breath.

 

When a young person swallows their tears like an adult, someone taught them that.

 

There was someone who told him to endure.

 

There was someone who told him not to show it, not to get caught, to bear it alone.

 

I hated that someone.

 

I hated them even though I didn’t know their face.

 

That person’s words had created this face now.

 

Lermiel spoke while steadying his breath.

 

His breath wasn’t steady.

 

It trembled finely.

 

“The mark has weakened.”

 

Though his words fell clearly, the ending split very slightly.

 

Demian asked immediately.

 

He didn’t delay even a beat.

 

“Why is it reacting to the eyes?”

 

I answered.

 

I didn’t think for long.

 

If thinking takes too long, you’re late.

 

“Water is water.”

 

My words were simple.

 

The words were short and cut off.

 

Simple words are the fastest.

 

They don’t go around.

 

They reach directly.

 

Demian looked at my face and laughed very quietly.

 

The corners of his mouth went up just a little, then came down immediately.

 

“Right, water is water.”

 

I was glad that laugh was short.

 

If it had continued longer, my anger would have risen more right now.

 

When sounds get longer, the inside of me becomes noisier.

 

Yurahel spoke while gripping his wrist.

 

His hand was still trembling slightly. He kept pressing his own skin hard with his fingers.

 

Seeing that felt like someone was scratching inside me.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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