The Academy's Doomed Side Character-Chapter 223: Confession [2]

"There is one thing I still want to tell you about."

"What is it?"

Chairman sighed, expecting something worse then this...Which isn’t wrong since what I am about to reveal her isn’t what she expected to hear.

"It’s about the real identity of the Samuel Askal."

It was time to reveal her who he was.

The Chairman’s gaze sharpened the moment I said it. The room, already quiet, seemed to freeze altogether.

"...Go on," she said, her voice low and tight.

I leaned back in the chair, resting my hands on my knees. My fingers were curled slightly, nails digging into the fabric of my uniform—not out of fear, but restraint.

Because even now, part of me wondered whether I should really say this. Whether it would be better to let the name remain buried.

But no.

She deserved to know. And the academy needed to know what kind of threat had wormed its way inside.

I exhaled slowly... but instead of speaking aloud, I reached into my bag and handed the chairman a neatly folded piece of paper.

"This is...?"

She took the summary I had prepared in advance. As her eyes scanned the contents, her expression gradually darkened. Eventually, she let out a long, tired sigh.

"If everything written here is accurate... how exactly did you deal with someone like this?"

"I made him copy my talent," I replied calmly.

"Your talent...? Ah." Her eyes widened slightly as she caught on.

"Yes. He burned through all his primal qi and ended up self-destructing."

She leaned back in her chair, processing that.

"That’s... impressive. Honestly, it feels like a reckless move that shouldn’t have worked, but it clearly did. It’s unconventional, but definitely effective."

I nodded. "I’d say it was the best possible solution under the circumstances."

There was a pause before she looked at me again, this time with more seriousness in her tone.

"...Cadet Rin Evans."

"Yes?"

"I don’t believe a single word here is a lie. I assume you brought proper evidence with your report. I’m fairly good at detecting dishonesty, after all."

"That’s why I didn’t even consider lying."

She nodded slowly.

"Then... the details you wrote about the culprit—are those all true too?"

Her gaze sharpened, heavy with a weight that made my chest feel tight. This wasn’t just a question; it was a plea for something—anything—that might lessen the burden she was already carrying.

"Yes," I said, firm and clear.

For a moment, her expression cracked.

Just slightly.

Like she had been hoping I would deny it. Say it was a guess. A theory. Maybe even a lie. But I couldn’t do that.

Everything I wrote in that note... it was all true. Including the part about Samuel Askal’s real identity.

"I see..."

Her voice was quiet now, almost too soft. Like she was bracing herself.

"...But it seems you’re not all that surprised, Miss Chairman," I said carefully, watching her reaction.

After all, I had written about her personal history—her past life as one of the Forest Sages, and more importantly, her connection to the man who would become a monster.

"When you told me you knew the future," she said, giving a faint smile, "I figured as much. It was a pretty serious secret to share with someone who’d only just been made Chairman."

That... was fair.

She’d known and still let me speak. Trusted me enough to listen.

"So? Is it all real?" she asked. "You’re sure?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. The culprit is Avi Valks—your former attendant back when you were still living as a High Elf among the Forest Sages. Do you... remember him?"

In the original story, she remembered him clearly—even in her final moments.

Her shoulders sank just slightly, her eyes losing a bit of their shine.

"...Yes. He was always loyal. Quiet. He looked after me more than anyone. I remember when I left the forest—he was devastated. He cried the hardest."

She paused.

"I can’t believe he’d do something like this... just because he felt betrayed by me."

...Wait, that wasn’t right.

That wasn’t his motive.

My face must’ve changed without me realizing.

"Why do you have that expression?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Ah. That’s..."

I hesitated, unsure if I should say it. Because that wasn’t the reason Avi turned into a villain in the original story. It wasn’t betrayal.

It was something much darker. It was his twisted obsession towards her.

Her eyes narrowed further as she studied me, sensing the shift in my expression. The silence between us thickened like mist, neither of us willing to break it—me because I wasn’t sure how, and her because she already suspected what I hadn’t said.

"...It’s not betrayal, is it?" she asked softly.

I looked down at my hands.

"No."

A pause. And then she asked, even more quietly, "Then what was it?"

I took a slow breath, then met her gaze.

"It was obsession."

The word fell between us like a stone in still water. No dramatic reaction followed. No gasp, no denial. She simply went still.

"...I see," she finally said.

Her voice was thin now, worn at the edges, like parchment left in the rain.

"He loved you. Not in the way you might think, and not in a way anyone ever should."

She didn’t say anything. Just stared past me, as if trying to see something years back, something she might’ve missed.

"Everything he did," I continued, "it all stemmed from that obsession. It wasn’t about betrayal or abandonment. It was never about you leaving the forest."

She looked... tired.

Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix—but the kind that came from understanding something you never wanted to.

"He twisted the love he had for you into something poisonous," I added. "Something that consumed him until he became what he is now."

"...I should have noticed," she murmured. "I should have known."

"No one could’ve. He was careful. Smart. He didn’t let it show—not until it was too late."

She finally slumped back into her chair, the strength in her shoulders fading. The weight of the truth had finally landed.

After a moment, she exhaled slowly. "...Thank you. For telling me."

"I figured you deserved to know. Especially now."

She didn’t speak for a while. The only sound was the faint rustling of leaves outside the window.

"...He was my servent but I thought him as friend," she whispered, more to herself than to me. "Avi Valks. I gave him my trust, and he... twisted it."

There was no rage in her voice. No fury. Only a heavy, quiet grief.

I remained still, letting her process it. She deserved that space. She deserved the right to grieve.

But eventually, I had to say it.

"There’s more."

Her head lifted slightly.

"Among the evidence I submitted," I began carefully, "there’s a relic—one that can bring back the dead. But not truly alive. It turns them into... puppets."

"...Excuse me?" The Chairman blinked, as if unsure whether she heard me right.

I nodded slowly. "Yeah. He planned to use that on you. To bring you back and keep you with him... forever."

"...What...?"

Her voice trembled slightly. The light in her eyes dimmed—not from fear, but something deeper. A quiet devastation.

I had expected this reaction. Honestly, I knew it would shake her. But even so... I couldn’t sugarcoat it.

I pressed on, gently. "It’s hard to believe, I get it. And yeah... it’s not exactly pleasant. I’m sorry."

She stared down at the table, lips pressed into a thin line.

Still, after a long breath, she said quietly, "I understand that I’m shocked... but I’d like you to continue."

I gave a short nod.

"There are still others out there. Elves, like him, who see you the same way he did. Maybe not all as extreme, but... they’re watching. Waiting. You’re still a target."

In the original story, that elf obsessed with her had succeeded in keeping her to himself until the moment he died. But even after that, she hadn’t been left alone. She was too important, too symbolic, for some to let go.

"To some, you’re an icon. To others, something more selfish—something to possess," I said softly.

"...For the first time," she muttered under her breath, her smile bitter, "I hate how I don’t age."

I let the silence sit for a moment, then offered what little reassurance I could.

"I’m telling you this so you can stay alert. That’s all. I thought you should know."

"...Then I guess," she glanced at me with a faint smile, "I owe Cadet Rin Evans my life?"

I tilted my head, a bit unsure. "I don’t know if I’d call it that. I helped. But a savior? Maybe not."

She looked at me a little longer, then chuckled. "Still. Thank you."

The silence that followed was a quiet sort of peace—one born not from comfort, but from shared weight.

The Chairman leaned back in her seat, fingers folded neatly atop the table. Her expression was no longer cracked or grieving. Instead, it settled into something composed—something resolute.