The Academy's Terminally Ill Side Character-Chapter 302: Show For The Protagonist [2]

"...."

Ryen didn't need anyone to explain the mood to him.

It was written on every face, thick in the air they breathed.

The farther they went without finding a single trace of Rin, the more the cadets'

composure cracked—and that unease was starting to ripple through the ordinary citizens trailing behind them.

Even Professor Lena, who was usually the picture of calm authority, wore a cold, tight expression that he had never seen before.

If she was showing it, then she was close to her limit.

All because of one person.

His friend.

The one who always wore that easy smile, who never seemed rattled no matter how bad things got.

And now, with Rin gone, everything felt… off.

Like the dungeon itself was heavier, darker, missing a piece of its balance.

Would things have been different if I'd grabbed his hand back then?

If they had entered the dungeon side by side instead of splitting up, would this crushing uncertainty even exist?

—Hey, don't be ridiculous. Anyone who hears you would think I'm dead.

The thought came to him so clearly he almost looked around, half expecting to see Rin smirking beside him.

That teasing tone—so easy, so infuriating—was exactly what Rin would have said.

Right.

Nothing had actually happened.

Not yet.

Rin was the kind of guy who somehow survived everything, even if he started right at the boss's doorstep.

And if by chance he was hurt, Nora would heal him the moment they reunited.

So please… just be alive. Please.

Ryen clenched his fists, the quiet plea echoing in his chest.

If Rin was safe—if they could just find him—everyone would finally be able to breathe again.

Then, once this nightmare of a dungeon was over, they'd laugh it off together.

Call it a "good memory."

Eat grilled meat until they were stuffed, trading jokes and complaints until the night wore thin.

Everything would go back to normal.

It had to.

The tunnel narrowed as they walked, their footsteps echoing against damp stone walls.

Each step sounded louder than the last, like the dungeon itself was reminding them how empty it felt without Rin.

Ryen kept his eyes fixed ahead, but his mind refused to stay quiet.

Every flicker of torchlight became a shadow that might be him, every stray sound a heartbeat of false hope.

But when the light cleared, it was always just another cold wall, another patch of lifeless stone.

What if we're too late?

The thought hit him like a knife, sharp and immediate.

He clenched his jaw and tried to shake it off, but it clung to him, heavy and poisonous.

He hated himself for even thinking it.

Rin wasn't someone who died easily.

He was clever, absurdly so.

Always two steps ahead, always laughing like he had some secret that made danger feel like a game.

Ryen had seen him slip through situations that should have killed him a dozen times over.

But this dungeon wasn't a school sparring match.

It wasn't a training exercise where someone would step in if things got out of hand.

Here, a single mistake meant a body left behind, cooling on the stone floor.

Ryen's grip tightened around his sword until his knuckles ached.

He hated this feeling—this helpless waiting.

If only he'd been faster.

If only he'd grabbed Rin's hand before the dungeon split them apart.

They would've fought side by side like always.

Maybe Rin would still be joking, pretending none of this was serious.

And maybe… maybe Ryen wouldn't feel this gnawing emptiness in his chest..

He promised he'd make it out alive.

The memory surfaced suddenly—Rin's offhand words, tossed out like a joke but carrying a quiet certainty.

Ryen had believed him without question then.

He wanted to believe him now.

But the deeper they went, the more the silence felt wrong.

If Rin had fought his way through, there should have been something—footprints, blood, scorched stone, anything.

Instead, the dungeon remained cold and untouched, as if swallowing every trace of him.

Ryen's heart pounded harder.

Every breath felt heavier.

He forced himself to keep moving, one step at a time, because stopping meant drowning in thoughts he couldn't afford to have.

You're alive.

You have to be alive.

You don't get to break your promise now.

The words became a mantra in his head, repeated with every step, a fragile shield against the fear creeping in from all sides.

If Rin was waiting beyond the boss room, battered but smiling like always, Ryen swore he'd never let him out of reach again.

Next time, no matter what, he wouldn't let go.

Finally—after what felt like endless turns and suffocating corridors—they reached the end.

The boss room.

Ryen stopped just short of the massive stone door, his chest tight.

He drew a slow breath, willing his hands to stay steady as he pushed it open.

The hinges groaned, the sound echoing like a warning through the cavern.

Hope still flickered inside him, stubborn and fragile.

Maybe Rin would be in the middle of a desperate fight.

Maybe he'd be holding his own against the boss monster, bloody but alive, flashing that infuriating grin.

Or maybe… Ryen was just refusing to face the truth.

The door creaked wider, and the sight beyond made his breath catch in his throat.

The Rose Dragon—an enormous, twisted creature of vines and scales—lay dead in the center of the chamber.

Its thorned wings were shredded, its massive body pinned by jagged, jet-black shadows that still pulsed with unnatural energy.

And standing before it was not Rin.

A man waited there, tall and composed, dressed in a dark tailcoat that caught the faint glow of the dungeon's runes.

A pure white demon mask hid his face, its expression blank and unreadable.

Even without seeing his eyes, Ryen felt the weight of that gaze—a presence so sharp it felt like the air itself was bending around him.

The oppressive aura that had pressed on them since they entered the dungeon…

It wasn't the dragon.

It was him.

Ryen's stomach dropped. His hands went clammy.

Beside the masked figure, Rin's body hung limply in the air, suspended by an unseen force.

Blood streaked his torn uniform, his face pale and slack.

The man tilted his head slightly, the movement almost casual.

"[Have you arrived?]"

The voice was distorted—neither male nor female, neither young nor old.

It carried the strange weight of something that didn't quite belong to this world.

He brushed his hand in a smooth, effortless motion.

With a sickening crack, the Rose Dragon's head slid free of the shadows' grip and thudded to the ground before dissolving into black mist.

"[You're a little late.]"

The masked man's tone was calm, almost polite, but the words sliced through the silence like a blade.

Ryen's pulse roared in his ears as the figure turned fully to face them.

The white mask gleamed faintly in the dim light, hiding everything and revealing nothing.

"[You should have come sooner,]" the voice continued, soft but unyielding.

"[Then he wouldn't have ended up like this.]"

Rin's body drifted a little closer, limp and bloodied, the boy's head lolling to the side.

The room seemed to shrink around them, shadows thickening with a menace that felt alive.

Ryen's heart hammered as he forced himself to meet the masked figure's gaze—

or at least, the cold, blank eyes of the mask—

and for the first time since entering the dungeon, he wondered if the real nightmare had only just begun.