Marcellus suddenly lifted his head to look at her.
There was no suspicion in his gaze now—no doubt at all. He finally believed her.
He could feel it—this wasn't an act, nor was it a delusion. He could see straight through to her soul. And though she stood before him in the body of the Livia he knew so well, the soul inside was different—perhaps the soul of Alia, the girl he had once killed with his own hands.
That realization broke him.
"Why is it you…" he murmured, voice trembling. "Why you… You're not her, and yet I still…"
The words caught in his throat, but his eyes revealed everything he could not say.
He realized he did not only love the gentle, innocent, childhood Livia—
He also loved the woman before him now: strong, perceptive, and sharp as the edge of a blade—Alia.
His fingers clenched the bedsheet so tightly that his knuckles turned white. In his eyes swirled an unnameable chaos, a tearing apart of self.
And wasn't Alia in just as much pain?
She had told herself over and over—she was not Livia, and she should not inherit that old love.
But love was never something you could cut away with a single thought.
She bit her lip, forcing her eyes to stay dry. She understood the turmoil in Marcellus's gaze. She felt the mixture of remorse and longing in his heart.
They stood facing each other, yet it felt as though two whole worlds lay between them.
Fate had brought them together again—
But in the cruelest way possible: switching their souls, rewriting their memories, dislocating their feelings. Now, each carried love buried deep inside, yet neither dared to reach for it.
Because it was too hot to touch.
Too heavy to bear.
And yet… it was already reality.
Like a door nailed shut—no amount of pushing would open it.
The past could not be changed. The only thing left was to decide how to walk the road ahead.
Alia stayed silent for a long time, weighing every word, before she finally spoke:
"I've been thinking… maybe my arrival is what caused Livia's coma. Perhaps her soul hasn't vanished at all—just trapped somewhere deep within her body."
She lifted her head, her gaze calm yet unshakable, carrying a quiet, steely resolve:
"I promise you—once we gather the Grail, before destroying it completely, I will use that moment to wish for Livia's soul to awaken."
The moment the words left her lips, the air in the hospital room seemed to freeze.
Marcellus stared at her, searching for even the slightest trace of hesitation—but all he saw was certainty and composure. And in that composure… a faint, lonely sadness.
Alia said nothing more. She turned and left, her steps brisk and unyielding.
The light in the corridor stretched her shadow long and thin—like something he could never catch.
Just as her hand reached for the doorknob, his voice came from behind—low and restrained, but shaking at the edges:
"…And what about you?"
She froze.
"What do you… want for yourself?"
A long silence.
Her fingers rested on the knob but did not push. The light caught her profile, outlining the faint crack in her carefully hidden expression.
In the end, she merely lowered her lashes. Without answering, she quietly opened the door and stepped out.
The door closed slowly behind her.
Marcellus remained on the bed, sitting in a daze, his thoughts trapped in a vortex of confusion.
He loved Livia—that much was certain. And Alia's promise might be the only way to bring Livia back.
But… would that also mean losing Alia?
He didn't know. He didn't dare to think about it.
Lowering his head, he clenched his hands until his knuckles turned white.
If I had to choose… what choice would I make?
Even to himself, he could not say the words aloud.