- Chapter 18
“I… feel a sense of kinship with the July lying here.”
There was no need to tell Yulia what she’d shared with the three successors.
In fact, doing so would be counterproductive. Yulia and July had never gotten along, not even once.
The other three successors wouldn’t find it strange that Sevetina sought July out. They knew the two were close.
“So what I mean to say is… would it be alright if I came by more often to check on her condition?”
Yulia paused briefly. Worried she might refuse, Sevetina offered a subtle lure.
“…And I’d like to grow closer to you, too.”
With that, Yulia’s hesitation vanished. She beamed.
“…Of course! I’d love that.”
Good. If Yulia wanted to grow closer to her, she wouldn’t stand in the way of future visits to see July.
She definitely doesn’t want July to wake up.
Her tone, her expression—everything made that clear.
Even if she’s keeping me alive for now…
It was likely because of the three successors. They wanted July to return. Yulia couldn’t act rashly while they were watching.
The best course of action is probably to get close to Yulia.
And once she gained her trust…
Then maybe she could be the one to end July Rib’s life for good.
Whether Yulia was branded a murderer didn’t matter. In fact, it might even be convenient. July’s death could clean up the whole mess.
Back at the estate, Sevetina was informed that Dante Odrian had come to see her—and had been waiting all day.
He hadn’t even sent word in advance. Apparently, knowing he’d done wrong, he’d come immediately and stayed put, waiting for her return.
It was strange. Sevetina had never known Dante to wait for anyone.
She opened the door.
Inside, Dante looked paler than usual. He had been sitting there, waiting anxiously, and quickly set aside the book he’d been reading when she entered.
Sevetina glanced at the title: “The Origins of Natural Disasters.”
Could it be related to what’s been happening lately? she wondered, recalling something Cordelia had mentioned.
Then, she turned her full attention to Dante and took a seat.
Now that she had openly admitted her connection to July, there was no need for pretense. She spoke plainly.
“You came earlier than I expected.”
Dante, taken aback, shot back immediately.
“Did you expect me to be late?”
Sevetina nodded.
“And how can you be so sure of who I am or what I’d do? I… I care about July too—”
His voice faltered.
He was clearly feeling guilty. Now that Sevetina had positioned herself as someone who knew July well, there was plenty that pricked his conscience.
“You didn’t seem to care for her that much,” Sevetina said, finishing his sentence for him.
Dante buried his face in his hands. Letting out a long sigh, he finally asked in a low voice,
“…What did July say to you?”
Amusingly, the moment he brought it up, Sevetina found herself thinking back to the times they’d spent together.
Dante had always wanted recognition. He knew how important harmony between successors was to the balance of nature and the seasons, and he’d made some effort to talk to July.
But he’d never wanted July to open up to him.
Their relationship was one where ignorance and distance were preferable.
That’s all he’d ever wanted from her.
Dante bit his lip hard. As he sat there, visibly anxious, Sevetina finally spoke.
“Most of what you’re thinking is probably correct.”
He inhaled sharply and lowered his head.
When he spoke again, his voice was almost a whisper.
“…What would it take for you to believe me?”
“Believe you about what?”
“That I… that I want July to come back. There must be something I can say or do that would prove it to you.”
“…”
“Whatever it is—just tell me. I’ll do it.”
How laughable.
“So… you don’t even know what you should be doing?”
“I’m trying my best—wait, what?”
“If you had to come all the way here to ask me that, it means you don’t know what to do, doesn’t it? Either that, or you’re afraid—afraid of doing something wrong.”
“…”
“If I did tell you what to do… would you really follow through?”
A cold smile spread across Sevetina’s face.
It’s not like I can turn back now anyway.
“Do you even have a reason to go that far?”
Dante clenched his fists. His expression twisted in anguish.
“I…”
He bit his lip again, trembling.
The old me might’ve felt sorry for him, Sevetina thought.
She recalled that time in the lab, when Dante had shouted in frustration:
“You never cared about me. Not even once!”
Back then, she’d felt a sense of kinship.
A sense that they could become close.
Now, with his face contorted, Dante said bitterly:
“I know. I know I’m a bastard.”
Sevetina blinked.
Hearing that come out of arrogant Dante’s mouth was nearly impossible to believe.
Even Clazen had never humbled himself that much.
“…But what am I supposed to do? I still want to see her.”
His voice shook. He gripped his fists tighter.
“And now that I finally realize what she meant to me…”
“…”
“…how comforting she really was to have around…”
Yet someone like that… you treated so coldly.
Sevetina folded her arms, hiding her trembling hands. She didn’t want to show how much his words were shaking her.
“She comforted you, did she?”
His lips were so tight they looked ready to bleed.
“That’s not what I heard. From what I know, it was closer to contempt. Or… was it hatred?”
The day Dante had broken down in tears, July had comforted him. She’d shared deeply personal stories—things she’d never told anyone—just to show she understood his pain.
Dante had listened silently.
She’d thought that meant he was opening up.
Looking back, Dante must have been nearly delirious that day. Otherwise, he never would’ve let her speak like that. Normally, he would’ve told her to shut up and keep such things to herself.
“…It was a sense of kinship,” he said quietly, using the past tense.
“I just realized it too late.”
“…”
“I was afraid. Every time I looked at her, I saw myself. She reminded me of how weak I am.”
“…”
“I didn’t understand it at the time.”
That fear was what had made him push her away.
He knew her wounds—every one of them—and still chose to avoid her. Out of nothing more than fear.
Without ever once wondering what it had cost her to open up.
“That’s my reason.”
“…”
“So now… please tell me.”
“…”
“Tell me what you know.”
Sevetina rested her chin on her hand. A few strands of hair fell forward.
The soft pink—like a bowl of spring blossoms—no longer felt foreign to her. In fact, it had become the most familiar color of all.
“I think you’re misunderstanding something.”
She looked up, smiling brightly—almost too brightly—for someone speaking to a desperate man.
“Just because you explained your reasons… doesn’t mean I’ve accepted them.”
“…”
“Understanding and accepting are two very different things.”
“Then what do you want from me? July is still dying—right now, this very moment.”
Let her die. That would be the wiser choice, Sevetina thought—but didn’t say. She swallowed the words.
She couldn’t afford to lose her composure here.
“First comes staying alive. As long as you’re alive, wherever you are, there’s always a chance to change your life.”
“And what if being alive isn’t really living?”
“…What are you saying?”
“Maybe… for someone like her, dying would be kinder.”
“You’re talking far too casually about someone else’s life.”
“Those were July’s own words.”
So he still doesn’t understand why she tried to die. Does he really think it was just a mistake?
Sevetina’s face darkened.
“If July does come back… what will really change?”
“…”
“And how will you treat her then? You need to show me that—clearly. Otherwise, I have no intention of talking further.”
Blood trickled from between Dante’s lips. He composed himself, exhaled, and looked much calmer than before. The heat in his face had faded into a cold, hollow expression.
“…Are you serious?”
“Are you doubting me now?”
“To be honest… yes. Right now, you don’t look like someone who wants to save July at all. You want to know about her, yes—but it also feels like you don’t want her to return.”
He was wrong.
Dante couldn’t fathom that someone who didn’t want July to come back… might still be the one who knew her best.
“A true friend would want her to live. Especially with the Crown Prince, me, and even Clazen all working together for her sake.”
“But do you even know what she’d be returning to? Do you understand how devastating her reality will be?”
“…”
“Do you even know what kind of life she’s lived?”
July had done everything to understand them—what they liked, what they hated—constantly adapting, constantly trying to fit in. Their moods dictated her joy and despair, swinging her between heaven and hell.
So Sevetina decided to ask.
To shatter Dante’s illusion once and for all.
“Do you even know what her favorite season is?”
