Chapter 170: Final Words

Amelia POV

He is Jay. The soldier who had promised to take me to a better place, who I thought had died in that helicopter crash over a decade ago, was Jason...

Jason's hand was warm against my forehead as he checked for fever. "You need to rest, Amy," he said softly. "Your body's been through hell."

I nodded without argument. I closed my eyes and let sleep take me, trusting Jason to keep watch.

When I woke, Maria was standing by the entrance to our makeshift shelter, her expression grim. Jason sat up in the chair beside my cot.

"What did you find?" I asked, though part of me already knew the answer from Maria's face.

"Nothing," she said quietly. "The aircraft was completely empty. No files."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Of course. I should have known. Professor wouldn't leave crucial evidence lying around in a crashed plane. The whole thing had been a diversion—a way to get me out of that facility before...

"It was a distraction," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "He sent me away so I wouldn't have to..."

Jason's hand found mine. "Professor made the choice he thought was right—"

His words were cut off by voices outside, urgent and overlapping. Jason squeezed my hand once before standing. "I'll see what's happening."

He ducked out of the tent, leaving me alone with Maria and my spiraling thoughts. Professor had manipulated me perfectly, playing on my sense of duty and my need to protect him...

Jason returned within a minute, his face pale. The silence that followed his entrance was deafening.

"They found Professor's body," he said finally.

The world seemed to tilt. Despite everything, some part of me had held onto hope. That hope died with Jason's words.

"I need to see him," I said, pushing myself upright.

"Amy, you're still recovering—"

"I don't care." I swung my legs over the side of the cot, ignoring the way the room spun slightly. "I'm going to see him."

Jason stepped forward as I stood, his hands hovering near my arms. "You're in no condition to—"

"I'm going with or without your help," I said firmly. "But I'd rather it be with."

He studied my face for a moment, then sighed in resignation. "Alright. But you lean on me."

The temporary medical station had been set up in what used to be the facility's parking area. Several tents had been erected to house the wounded and provide workspace for the medical teams. As we approached the largest tent, I could see silhouettes moving inside.

Jason held the tent flap open for me, and I stepped into a space that smelled of antiseptic and death. Professor's body lay on a stretcher in the center, covered by a white sheet. Around him stood several figures I recognized—zone leaders from Round Table who had arrived after news of the explosion spread.

Without hesitation, I moved toward the stretcher. Someone had cleaned the debris from his face and closed his eyes. He looked peaceful, finally free from the weight he'd carried for so long.

I collapsed beside the stretcher. The tears came without warning, hot and bitter as they traced down my cheeks. I pressed my face against his chest, not caring who was watching, not caring about maintaining the image of the unbreakable Dancer.

A hand touched my shoulder gently. "Dancer," Maria's voice was soft. "Professor is gone. This was his choice."

I looked up to see her standing beside me, her expression carefully neutral. Behind her, I noticed another familiar figure.

"Shokunin?" I blinked.

The small Japanese woman stepped forward, her usually precise movements somehow gentler than usual. "I came as soon as I received the news," she said. "Professor... he left something for you."

She reached into her jacket and withdrew an envelope, my name written across it in Professor's precise handwriting. My hands shook as I took it.

Jason helped me to my feet. "Come on," he said quietly. "Let's go somewhere private."

Back in our tent, I sat cross-legged on the cot while Jason settled beside me. The envelope felt heavy in my hands, weighted with more than just paper and ink. With trembling fingers, I broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

My Dear Dancer,

If you are reading this, then I have chosen to end a life that became more burden than gift. I want you to understand—this decision was not born from despair, but from a rare moment of clarity.

I have lived too long and learned too little about what truly matters. In my youth, I dismissed knowledge as abstract theory, preferring the immediate gratifications of a shallow existence. It took meeting Shirley to understand that wisdom and love could transform even the most wasted soul.

Our time together was brief but profound. I thought I had found my purpose in academic research, in the pursuit of understanding. Then the conflicts came—wars that scattered lovers like leaves in a storm. I searched for her for years, driven by a love that I convinced myself was noble.

When I finally found Shirley, she was no longer the young woman who had captured my heart. Time had touched her with its gentle hand while I remained unchanged, frozen in the moment of our parting. She looked at me with fear, then with pity. She could not accept what I had become—a creature outside the natural order.

In my desperation to keep her with me, I turned to medicine, to the sciences that promised to bridge the gap between us. I spent the remainder of my extended life seeking ways to grant others what I had been given unwillingly. But instead of bringing life, I brought only death. Instead of creating love, I enabled horror.

I am choosing to end this existence not to escape punishment, but to spare you all the moral burden of deciding my fate. Perhaps this final act can preserve whatever dignity remains in a life marked by such terrible mistakes.

I must also apologize for sending you away with a false lead, but I had to do it. You would have tried to stop me, or worse, you would have felt compelled to stay and witness what needed to happen. I could not bear the thought of that.

Learn from my failures, Amelia. Do not make choices you will spend decades regretting. Cherish the people who matter to you while you still can.

Upon my death, I request that my body be cremated immediately. Under no circumstances should anyone be given the opportunity to study my remains or continue the research that has caused so much suffering.

With my deepest regrets and fondest hopes for your future,

Victor Stone

By the time I finished reading, tears were falling freely onto the paper, blurring some of the ink. I understood Professor's decision—the logic was sound, even merciful. But understanding didn't make accepting it any easier.

I read through the letter again, then a third time, as if repeated readings might reveal some hidden message of hope. Instead, each word only reinforced the finality of his choice.

The sobs came suddenly, violently and uncontrolled.

Jason didn't say anything. He simply pulled me against his chest, one hand stroking my back in slow, steady circles. I buried my face against his shoulder and let the tears fall until there were no more left to shed.

"He was trying to protect us," I whispered when I could finally speak again. "Even at the end, he was trying to shield us from having to make the hard choice."

"That was Professor," Jason replied softly. "A noble man."

I pulled back to look at him, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "The cremation—we need to make sure his wishes are honored."