Please Kill Me - Chapter 174
On the night of the banquet.
Yekaterina woke up much later, as if breaking through a suffocating barrier.
Her mind cleared abruptly, and so did the overwhelming sense of danger that had previously engulfed her. Like someone emerging from a nightmare, she blinked awake and sprang up.
However, the surroundings were starkly different from what she remembered before losing consciousness. She had been in Yuri’s lounge, but now she found herself in the bedroom she had been using since returning to Offenbach.
It truly felt as if she had just awakened from a nightmare. As the sense of reality faded, she roughly threw off the covers and stepped down from the bed.
“Are you awake?”
A voice called from behind the drapes at the foot of the bed. It was immediately clear whose voice it was.
“…Dmitry.”
Strangely enough, after seeing his face, all the memories rushed back as if cold water had been splashed on her.
The sequence of events leading from the banquet to her encounter with Leonid in Yuri’s lounge came flooding back. Leonid had presented her with the confession potion, demanding the truth.
And all the chaos that ensued after she had consumed it.
Her mind was clear, yet the feeling of powerlessness and despair from being unable to control her own body flooded back with vivid intensity. The recollection was so horrendous that it sent shivers down her spine.
But the most terrifying aspect was that it was not a nightmare.
‘It’s all my doing.’
She had attacked Leonid and stabbed Yuri—because of the young man before her.
As that thought struck her, Yekaterina instinctively reached for the dagger she always carried at her thigh. But her legs felt empty. Her heart sank, and when she looked up, she found Dmitry holding her dagger.
“Looking for this, Sister?”
“….Give it back.”
“You ask so casually, as if just saying it will work.”
“Do you think you can defeat me just because you’re holding my knife?”
“There’s no way. You have protective magic, and I’m the weaker one, having only achieved my position in Offenbach due to my bloodline.”
I could never overpower you with brute strength. Dmitry placed the dagger on the table, smiling broadly.
“But it looks like I’ve won this round. How’s the magic working for you? Is it holding up well?”
His mocking tone twisted Yekaterina’s expression.
“Is that really something you want to say right now…?”
In that moment, she felt as if she might suffocate and wished for death instead. Even now, thinking back on that time threatened to make her retch with powerlessness.
However, more important matters pressed upon her at that moment. Yekaterina pushed down her nausea and asked.
“What’s going on? How did I end up here?”
“Surely you know what happened. You stabbed Yuri Oleg. And you should have been captured for that. However, Leonid Rostislav saved you.”
Dmitry’s voice was monotonous to the point that it almost felt strangely kind. He explained the events to Yekaterina clearly. Leonid had hidden her, and as a result, all the accusations fell on him.
“Really, does anyone actually believe that Leonid Rostislav stabbed Yuri Oreg? But the Emperor doesn’t care about such details. He’s too busy struggling to regain the imperial power he lost while lying sick.”
“…So even if Leonid isn’t the culprit, he’ll be executed as an example?”
“Exactly. If the real culprit doesn’t come to light, then yes.”
The real culprit was Yekaterina, which meant that once again, Leonid had to bear the consequences because of her.
‘Once again.’
Just thinking about it twisted her insides. Resentment and hatred toward Dmitry, the one who created this situation, surged within her.
Was it a side effect of the confession potion? The emotions that had only lightly rippled before now felt like a tempest.
As Yekaterina unconsciously clenched her fist, Dmitry glanced at her and asked dryly, “…It’s the first time I’ve seen Sister like this. Sister can’t help but blame me this time?”
“Yes. You’ve crossed a line. If you were going to use magic on me, you should have killed me—why—”
“Why would I kill Sister?”
“…What?”
Yekaterina weakly retorted, without even realizing it.
But Dmitry remained unfazed. Unlike her loosened fists, he approached her with an unwavering demeanor, placing his hand on her shoulder.
It felt less like a gentle touch and more like a burden leaning on her.
“Sister, I truly don’t understand. You broke the promise, yet why do I have to take the blame? I’ve done everything you wanted.”
“If you can’t understand, then just don’t. Let go of me.”
“If I let go, are you going to go back to Leonid Rostislav?”
Yekaterina narrowed her eyes and eventually closed them. Despite Dmitry’s face looking the same as always, for some reason, facing him felt difficult.
“…Yes. It’s my fault. I need to fix it.”
“Sister, when did we ever care about right or wrong? If someone is in danger, it’s because they are weak. The weak perish; that’s just how the world works. You know that well, don’t you?”
“I know that.”
She knew all too well. The logic of Offenbach was all too familiar.
