[Alright, that's your friend, isn't it? I'll carry her, and you follow me. I've already wasted too much time.]
"Wasted time"? Really? … Forget it. What's the point of getting offended at this stage?
It wasn't the time to overthink.
I couldn't keep waiting for someone to save me. If my prince charming had died, then I needed a new one; and if that didn't work, I would become my own prince.
And, ironically, the one who taught me that was this mockery of a barely human being.
From words to deeds… there's a cable trembling.
Why am I not moving? Irrational fear of the cable? Or the real weight of being left behind?
—[W… wait, please, help me too…]
What did I gain by smiling at Carlos while he abandoned me?
What did I gain by staying silent when everyone turned their backs on me?
What did I gain by being considerate and logical?
Even if I understood their reasoning and didn't blame them… am I supposed to die quietly?
I said it.
To the last person in the world who should be affected by such a plea.
Despotic, cold, narcissistic; driven only by efficiency.
And yet, the words slipped out. A primitive instinct told me he would actually listen.
The result?
He looked at me as if I had just told a joke.
—[Huh? And how does that benefit the rat kid?]
A direct blow. He didn't even bother to hide the contempt.
I didn't give up.
—[I… I can be useful. I'm a genius. I can do many things.]
I knew it: he had no reason to help me. Helping me put him at risk.
Zero gain, one hundred percent risk.
I had already calculated that.
—[I don't give half a sh—]
But then…
—[Snif… Uweee.]
The tears came without permission, when the last shred of hope slipped from my fingers.
...
—[Look, we're here. It's fine now, so calm down, okay?]
What, for the love of every element on the periodic table, is going on?
—[Can you let go of the rat kid? The rat kid is busy.]
Shut up, idiot, I think.
—[Alright, I get it, I'll shut up.]
I gripped his shirt tighter, and he understood without words.
His hand brushed my hair—surprisingly effective at calming me.
Empathetic and perceptive?
And if you actually used that ability properly…?
—[The rat kid doesn't want to.]
Stop reading my mind.
Focus.
Something about the flow felt wrong. The shift in tone had been too abrupt.
Quick review:
Abandoned by my crush: Yes.
Left to die by everyone: Yes.
Begging a human wreck: Yes.
Being rejected: Yes.
Dying abandoned: No.
Clinging to a boy in a relatively safe spot?: Yes.
… Clinging… to a boy… in… WAA, WAAAAAAAA.
—[Let me go!]
I tore myself away in an instant, shame devouring my rationality.
He didn't get upset. He stood up, stretched, ready to cross again.
His silence was a thousand times more humiliating than any insult.
—[Ahem, ahem. Your help is appreciated. As expected from someone with your physical specifications; someone like me wouldn't have endured the crossing, you know? It's not like I was scared or anything, you understand?]
My tongue was faster than my brain. What kind of nonsense did I just say?
He didn't reply. He just waved with his back turned and swung onto the cable toward the wolf-filled school.
—[This… wasn't in my calculations…]
The heat in my face, despite the cold night, made no sense.
......
[You're not going to do anything?]
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at how anticlimactic this situation was becoming.
One moment I was waiting for death, and the next, I could barely hold back laughter at what felt like a cheap romantic drama.
[Nah, when she's grumpy, she's more like herself.]
[SHUT UP!]
Louise was red as a tomato, trying to hide her embarrassment with bad temper—but with no real success. Her friends, faithful to their roles, circled her with nervous giggles, as if distracting her was enough to ease her humiliation.
The contrast between the chaotic situation and Astrad—motionless, calm, radiating a strange stillness that dominated the place more than any shout—
It made it harder and harder to hold on to the idea that he was just a vulgar lunatic.
There was in him a kind of control that didn't rely on physical strength or titles of leadership… and it left me in an uncomfortable place: between fear and safety.
After all, I had apparently stumbled upon someone who, beneath the shouting and insults, didn't hide insecurities, but an aura of dominance and innate leadership.
And honestly, I didn't know what to think.
........
When we entered the classroom after crossing, the air grew heavy. It wasn't just the humidity or the dust clinging to the walls. It was the silence.
A silence that weighed more than any scream.
Everyone was staring. Not at him, not at Astrad. They were staring at us: the ones who had crossed with him, the ones who hadn't died after being abandoned.
That instant was enough to understand something had shattered among those who used to be companions.
In everyone's eyes was reflected the stickiest, foulest kind of guilt.
Guilt with the stench of stale sweat, guilt disguised as silence.
Because there we were—the ones they had abandoned without hesitation—safe, thanks to the very same guy they had despised, judged, and pointed fingers at less than two hours ago.
I didn't need words. I could read it in their faces: that bitter mix of shame and remorse, like someone had pressed an unavoidable mirror right against them.
I lowered my eyes, not out of shame, but because I understood the weight of that collective slap.
One nobody ever wants to receive, yet arrives all the same: the living proof that they had chosen to save themselves rather than extend a hand.
Every step we took, every breath we drew, was a living reminder of their cowardice. And they knew it.
In the middle of that, there we were—walking on their guilt as if it were a carpet.
I didn't judge them. In theory, I understood their decision: it was rational, necessary to survive.
But theory doesn't erase the sting. Not when you remember the smile of someone abandoning you while pretending to stay calm.
Not when those same eyes avoid yours because they no longer have the right to meet them.
[…Kiti… I'm glad you made it across…]
Carlos.
His voice sounded drained, as if guilt had sucked away all his strength.
For a moment I froze.
I didn't know if I should answer him or not.
I looked at him, and in his eyes I saw guilt. Guilt for not helping me, for taking the rope first, for leaving me behind with that reassuring smile that had really just been a mask.
I wanted to tell him it was fine, that I understood.
That it was logical, rational, what any sensible person would have done…
And I did understand.
I truly did.
But that didn't erase the stab running through my chest.
I couldn't help feeling it—that emptiness, that crack opening up when someone you value shows that, when the moment came, they didn't choose you…
In the end, understanding doesn't mean forgiving.
The only thing I could do was turn my eyes away. A simple movement, as plain as subtraction in an equation.
And yet, final.
No explicit grudge. No complaints.
Just a cold detachment that settled in without my permission.
Milia also spoke. She lowered her head, apologized. Her voice trembled.
But no one answered her. Neither resentment nor reproach: just a cold void. As if everyone had accepted that words carry no weight when actions have already spoken.
In the midst of that uneasy silence, he moved.
Astrad gathered his things from the desk as if it were any ordinary day.
Papers, bottles, his backpack. He hummed. Slow. Deliberate.
He savored every second of their discomfort.
He didn't need speeches. He didn't need to point fingers. The contrast between his calm and the others' shame did all the work for him.
Louise picked at him, throwing insults caught halfway between anger and blushing. He answered with his usual vulgar irony. The scene was half comical, half unbearable.
I couldn't help thinking his mouth was a disaster… but that the security he projected worked as an anchor.
Whenever eyes crossed in the room, the fracture was clear.
They wanted nothing to have happened. They wanted to erase it. But they couldn't go back.
Those who had crossed and those who hadn't.
Those who acted and those who stood still.
Two new categories, carved in silence.
I took a deep breath. Part of me wanted to close my eyes and pretend we were still classmates caught in the same storm.
But another part knew that illusion had died on the cable.
Silence reigned again.
An invisible clock marked every second.
And I realized something that churned my stomach: we had gotten used to letting others die.
Then Astrad spoke.
[Alright. Louise, Milia, we're leaving.]
He didn't say it as a plan or a proposal. It was a sentence. And that brutal certainty of his was the only thing strong enough to break the paralysis in the air.
Louise protested, tried to negotiate for her friends.
He cut her off with the same mix of mockery and authority he'd always used.
When others offered to follow him, he gave them conditions that seemed impossible—or downright humiliating.
But his words no longer bothered me.
Because I understood, after he saved me.
His words had as much weight and substance as a politician's promises.
Because he was someone who only valued actions, and lived exactly that way.
Not by shouting how good he was, not by claiming moral superiority.
Just raw, harsh actions.
And now that I understood that…
I couldn't help but see why his gaze toward the rest of our classmates was always loaded with such sharp contempt.
The very same kind of gaze I now couldn't stop myself from sharing.