The Academy's Terminally Ill Side Character

At the same time... In Apartment Room 101.

"I can't keep waiting around. The longer I do, the more everything spirals."

"Huh?"

Leona's voice was muffled beneath the blanket she had pulled over her head. She hadn't moved since she'd given up trying to explain herself—though, really, there hadn't been much to explain. The misunderstanding hadn't been a misunderstanding at all. Just something neither of us wanted to say out loud.

Still, she heard me. That surprised me.

"I've got to take out the trash," I said, keeping my voice low. "I was putting it off. Thought I wasn't ready. But now... I think I am."

"What trash?" she asked.

Her voice was soft. She didn't lift her head, didn't peek out. But I could tell she was listening—really listening.

"Non-recyclable waste."

There was a pause.

"Then you should throw it out soon," she mumbled. "Can you do it on your own?"

"Yeah. I have to."

I stared at the ceiling. The room was dim—just the low glow of the hallway light slipping in under the door. Everything felt suspended, like the silence before a storm.

"It'd be a problem if I wasn't alone," I added. "Too many people around would just make it messier."

"I see…"

She curled tighter under the blanket. Maybe she knew what I meant. Maybe she didn't. But she didn't press.

"Putting it off doesn't make it disappear," I said quietly. "It just... starts to rot. Better to deal with it before that happens."

"Yeah... I guess you're right."

Tomorrow night.

That would be the end of it.

No more second chances. No more watching from the sidelines.

I would find the traitor inside the academy. And this time, I wouldn't hesitate.

This time, I'd get rid of them myself.

Leona shifted under the blanket. The fabric rustled softly, and after a moment, her voice slipped out again, barely above a whisper.

"…You sound different."

"Different how?"

"Like… you've already made up your mind."

She hesitated, then added, "You usually talk like you're still thinking things through. But not tonight."

I didn't answer right away.

She was right, though. Something had shifted. It wasn't just about the mission, or the danger, or even the academy anymore. It was personal now. The kind of thing you couldn't talk yourself out of once the decision settled in your bones.

Leona slowly peeked her head out from under the blanket, just enough for her eyes to show. Her gaze met mine across the dim room.

"You're not… talking about actual trash, are you?"

I let out a faint, tired laugh.

"I am talking about actual trash."

"You are lying."

" I am not."

Leona frowned.

"You are."

I didn't respond. Just stared up at the ceiling, hands behind my head, listening to the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the pipes in the wall.

She pushed the blanket down to her shoulders and sat up properly this time, hair a tangled mess, eyes narrowed at me like she was trying to read something off my face.

"You've got that voice," she said. "The one you use when you don't want me to ask questions."

"I use the same voice all the time."

"No. This one's different. It's calm. Too calm. Like you're trying not to feel anything."

I turned my head toward her. Her brows were drawn together. Not angry—just worried.

"That's because feeling things makes it harder," I admitted.

"So you are planning to do something."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them, chin resting on top. Her eyes didn't leave mine.

"Anyway, let's go too sleep. It's almost 4 in the morning and if I don't catch any sleep then I am sure I would have headache in the morning that I don't want feel it "

Before Leona could say anything, I cut her and go to the my top bunk of bed.

I don't want this conversation to continue anymore.

I climbed into the top bunk and pulled the blanket over my head, not bothering to wait for her response.

I didn't want to argue.

Didn't want to explain.

Didn't want to feel anything.

The springs creaked beneath me as I turned to face the wall, curling into myself. My body was tired, but my mind was a storm—circling the same thought, over and over, like a knife I kept sharpening in my head.

Leona stayed quiet for a long while.

At first, I thought she'd taken the hint and gone to sleep.

But then I heard the soft rustle of her getting off the lower bunk. Her footsteps padded across the room, light but deliberate.

She didn't say anything.

Just walked over to the tiny kitchen, opened the fridge, and stood there for a second. Then closed it again.

No food. Of course.

A moment later, the sound of water running in the sink.

She was stalling.

She didn't know how to stop me—but she didn't want to pretend like nothing was happening either.

Eventually, she padded back over, sat on the edge of the lower bunk, and exhaled—like she'd been holding her breath the whole time.

But didn't say anything.

I was glad that she didn't.

Now all is that left is take out a trash that shouldn't have piled up in the first place.

The room finally fell into stillness.

No more footsteps. No more words. Just the low hum of the outside world pressing against the windowpane. The kind of silence that doesn't feel peaceful—just heavy.

I kept my eyes shut under the blanket, forcing myself to stay still. Forcing my breathing to remain steady, even though I knew I wasn't going to fall asleep.

I didn't need rest.

I needed control.

And tonight, control meant shutting everything else out.

Down below, I could hear Leona shift—just once—before settling in. The springs groaned gently under her weight, and then nothing. Not even her breathing.

But I knew she was awake.

She wouldn't sleep until I did. Or maybe not at all.

It wasn't guilt.

It was something worse—awareness. She didn't know the details, but she knew enough. And now she was caught in the silence too, tangled in the threads I hadn't meant to pull her into.

I pressed my face deeper into the pillow.

One more night.

That's all I needed.

Just one more night.