Guidelines for the Perfect Goodbye - Chapter 257

The present version of you, who knows nothing of our past life, is innocent. You’ve been dragged into all of this unilaterally.

I never considered how you must have felt when I said I wanted to break off the engagement.

I thought the only one hurt by you was me.

‘Maybe you weren’t as heartless as I thought. Maybe there were circumstances I didn’t understand back then.’

Such thoughts had crossed my mind—soft, fleeting considerations.

But the ship had sailed, and I was left behind.

I can no longer know your true feelings. I will never meet the past version of you again. And even if you somehow remembered, I wouldn’t have asked you first.

‘I am so cowardly. I am neither perfect nor kind.’

If I had truly been wise, perhaps my life wouldn’t have been so riddled with regret. Maybe I would have realized sooner or, at the very least, resisted adapting to the reality.

I was incapable of either reflection or forgiveness at the right time.

‘I’m not as remarkable as I wanted to believe.’

A bitter taste lingered in my mouth. But fleeting moments of introspection wouldn’t change anything.

To go any further would mean I was no longer Cecilia Lasphilia.

Can a snake shedding its skin truly become a different creature? Can a silkworm turn into a duck? Can a lion hatch from an egg?

The essence of who we are cannot be hidden or denied. The clearer the purpose in life, the sharper the roots of one’s identity.

I desired not peace in the afterlife but revenge in this life.

‘If someone told me to become a martyr and a saint in this life, I’d probably rather die as a rogue.’

I don’t need a life that’s perfect from start to finish. I don’t need to be extraordinary, nor do I care for longevity. Burning brightly for a short time and ending with a brilliant finale would suffice.

If I can complete my revenge and live the rest of my days freely and in comfort as their usurper, that would be enough.

“Ugh…”

An unexpected surge of emotions brought a stabbing pain to Cecilia’s stomach. By now, she was so used to it that it felt like an ordinary part of her life.

She had tried taking medicine before, but it didn’t help. The only solution was to endure it in a comfortable place.

‘Maybe… this is the side effect of turning back time.’

She pressed my stomach and thought,

Perhaps the price of regression isn’t limited to blood and life itself.

***

“Humans often overestimate their own value. They’ll declare themselves mere dust in the universe but then turn around and wax poetic about the sanctity of life.”

“Life is sacred, isn’t it? Humans live together in society, after all. When people die, society also dies. And such a world would eventually fall into ruin.”

“That’s extinction, not ruin.”

“If His Majesty the King were to hear this, he’d be utterly shocked!”

Viscount Odridge chuckled heartily as he poured more wine into his empty glass. Seeing his cup suddenly filled, Logan Harper’s expression subtly tightened.

“I understand what you’re trying to say. It’s inconvenient to talk about the sanctity of life while sending soldiers, who should be rescuing lives, out to wage war.”

“……”

The unwanted drink provided an excuse to remain silent. Logan raised the glass to his lips without a word, prompting the Marquis to chuckle slyly.

“Ha, I see. If you admitted it, you wouldn’t be a loyal soldier of Caswick, would you?”

Logan offered a faint smile.

Admitting it wasn’t difficult, though the Marquis’s interpretation diverged from his own intent.

Logan wasn’t criticizing the military’s system. He didn’t even bother condemning the behavior of stationing land forces in the western region or seizing merchant ships barely crossing into territorial waters to extort wealth.

It was base, but what could he do? That was the reality of a world ruled by greed. He was a soldier, not a revolutionary.

What he wanted to discuss was the duality of human nature. His argument leaned more toward pragmatic caution than moral criticism.

Logan knew that beneath the Green House Café, widely regarded as a gentlemen’s reading club, Viscount Odridge operated an illegal gambling den. Such activities, while lucrative, would have long-term negative effects on the market economy.

But even this was not something Logan particularly cared about.

“…How is Mr. Harper doing?”

The culprit himself brought up the topic first, leaving Logan no reason to feign ignorance.

He replied.

“If you’re curious about my grandfather’s health, why not ask him directly? It seems you’ll be meeting him soon enough.”

“Well now…”

The Marquis scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

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