My Second Chance in Life in Another World-Chapter 73: MOMENTS OF WEAKNESS

"What do you think you’re doing, Will? Attacking the principal like that?" Fia’s voice sliced the tense air, sharp and cool like tempered steel, as we finally escaped the suffocating quiet of the principal’s office. We settled onto a rough, wooden bench near the infirmary clinic, its location a stark reminder of my folly.

I winced, biting back a gasp, as I leaned my awkward burden—my crutches—against the side of the bench. Every minute, careful movement to get myself seated sent waves of unimaginable, fiery pain through my bruised body. It felt like my leg was protesting every decision my reckless mind had made. Maybe I had pushed myself too far earlier, I admitted internally, the price of my rage coming due.

Fia remained standing, her posture rigid, her shadow falling over me like an unyielding judgment. Her beautiful features, usually softened by a kind energy, were set in a firm, displeased line.

"I’m sorry, but don’t you think they’re being unfair?" I replied to her, the question tasting like ash in my mouth. I wanted her to agree, to validate the chaotic impulse that had driven me.

Her sigh was deep and heavy, a profound sound of exhaustion. "But what good did it do you, Will?" she countered, her gaze unrelenting. "Didn’t it just make the situation worse than before? You’ve only given them more ammunition against you."

The truth of her words was a gut punch. I felt my shoulders slump under the weight of my own failure. "I know that... I know that without you telling me. But what do you want me to do? My friends are going to be sent to the battlefield, essentially sentenced to death, and those father-and-son idiots can’t even comprehend the sheer evil of what they’re doing. They just want to cling to their stupid power and do what they want!" The frustration, raw and hot, flared again, momentarily overriding the physical agony.

I felt a fresh wave of shame for the way I’d snapped. I knew Miss Fia was only concerned, her eyes holding genuine fear for my well-being, and here I was pouring all my ugly, desperate frustration onto her.

"Will, I thought you were better than this. Maybe I overestimated you because of your father," she said, her voice dropping to a low, serious resonance that chilled me more than the cold pain in my leg.

Those words pierced me deeply, sharper and more wounding than any strike I had taken. My father. Always the comparison. Always the giant shadow I couldn’t escape. The words from Miss Fia, my one and only ally right now, my esteemed mentor in Earth magic, being utterly disappointed in me hurt more than I ever thought possible. It felt like the ground itself had shifted beneath me.

I stayed silent, my head bowed, unable to form a single defense. My throat was tight, and my hands clenched into impotent fists on my knees. She just stood there, a statue of quiet censure. I couldn’t bring myself to meet her gaze, consumed by shame.

After what felt like an eternity of silence—a heavy, suffocating blanket of disapproval—Miss Fia spoke again, the severity in her voice softening just a degree.

"So," she asked, the single word hanging, heavy with expectation. "Are you finally able to arrange your thoughts now?"

I remained silent, staring at the scuffed floor.

"I know we’ve only known each other for a short time," she continued, her voice gaining a compelling, persuasive strength. "But I know you’re better than this."

Shut up. The thought was a defensive snarl in the fortress of my mind. What do you know about me? You see a copy, not the real person.

"I know that the Will I teach Earth magic to isn’t someone who easily escapes by blaming others when he can’t find a solution."

What are you saying? The internal protest was a muffled cry.

"I know that my friend Will isn’t someone who gives up easily."

And how did you know that? We’ve only known each other for a short time.

"I know that the son of my savior isn’t someone who gets easily swayed by his anger."

So it’s my father, after all. The resentment was a bitter, familiar taste. We’re not the same. Don’t expect that I can do everything he can.

We’re not the same. Don’t expect that I can do everything he can. He was a hero; I’m just a kid with a broken leg and a lot of trouble.

A desperate, painful sigh escaped me. "Please stop. If you’re comparing me to my father, then stop it already. I can’t be like him," I said, the words heavy with resignation and fatigue.

Fia’s posture didn’t change, but her voice held a sudden, firm clarity that cut through my self-pity. "And when did I ever compare you?" she asked, the question sharp and genuine. "Everything I’ve said describes only one person, and it’s you, Will."

Her assertion hit me with confusing force. If she wasn’t comparing me, then what was this about? I lifted my head fully, my neck stiff, finally forcing myself to look into her face. "What do you know about me?" I challenged, the frustration flaring again. "Didn’t you just say earlier that I just made things worse? That I acted foolishly? Then why are you now trying to cheer me up? Why the sudden change?"

As I finally focused on her, the answer was immediately, starkly visible. Her beautiful face was no longer composed and stern; it was streaked with tears, shiny tracks cutting down her cheeks. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glistened with a distress that mirrored my own.

"Because I know it’s hard for you," she said, the words catching on a thick, painful sob. The unexpected vulnerability in her voice crushed the last vestiges of my anger. "Being thrown into a situation like that, dealing with forces you can’t control, and having to shoulder the fate of your friends—I know it’s hard. I know how frustrating it is."

My mind went momentarily blank. My own problems vanished as I stared at her, utterly bewildered. "Why are you crying?" I asked, the question quiet and amazed.

"Because I’m frustrated with myself too," she answered, the tears continuing to spill freely. "I’m frustrated that I have this small bit of knowledge, this magic, and this history, but I can’t be of any real help to you right now. I can only sit here and watch you suffer and make mistakes."

Just how kind can this girl be? The thought echoed in the stunned silence of my mind. She was weeping over my burden, over her perceived failure to help me. A cynical voice whispered that she was just being manipulative, but the sheer, raw distress in her expression was too real to dismiss. Is it really okay for her to be by my side? I couldn’t understand why someone so genuinely good would choose to align herself with my chaotic, dangerous life.

"So right now, you can let it all out," she said, her voice strained but intensely earnest.

What is she talking about? My mind, conditioned to self-reliance and emotional suppression, struggled to process the invitation.

"You can tell me everything weighing on you," she added, sitting forward, her gaze utterly focused on me.

What is this girl talking about? I couldn’t comprehend the permission, the open door to vulnerability. I had been carrying the world on my own shoulders for so long, the weight had become normal.

"You don’t need to fight it alone anymore," she said, the final, simple phrase delivered with the quiet certainty of a fundamental truth.

Those words resonated inside me. They struck a deep, forgotten chord in my chest and rang through my weary spirit, filling me with a sense of **relief I hadn’t felt since my father left.** The dam I didn’t even realize I had built—a sturdy wall of pride, fear, and forced composure—cracked. I didn’t try to stop it. My own tears started to pour, hot and heavy, soon covering my face and blurring the worried image of Fia. I was crying uncontrollably, the raw emotion a painful but cleansing release.

"It’s hard! I tried my best, you know?" I managed, the confession tearing out of me in ragged gasps. The pride I had clung to crumbled into dust. "I tried acting cool and protecting Crestia by myself. I thought I could do it. I thought if I kept them safe, everything would be okay."

I wiped my face with a trembling hand, trying to get the rest of the truth out. "I didn’t want to tell my friends because I didn’t want them to be involved, to face any danger because of me. But in the end, they’re the ones who saved me," I continued, the self-loathing sharp and immediate. "I’m pathetic, aren’t I? I’m supposed to be the one with the rare talent, and they’re the ones who have to risk their lives for me."

The core of my terror surfaced, fresh and sharp. "I’m scared. I’m scared of the thought of them getting sent to the battlefield because of me—because I failed to deal with Alad myself and couldn’t convince those idiots to stop." I gasped for air, forcing the words out. "That’s why I don’t have a choice. Leonardo and that principal are my only options for official help, but both of them can’t or won’t understand what I’m saying. They’re deaf to the truth!"

The admission of my recent recklessness followed, a bitter pill to swallow. "I can’t find any solution. There’s no legal avenue, no one to appeal to. That’s why I thought I’d just fight them—just break the system with brute force, even if it cost me everything." I lowered my head again, the shame returning, but now it was a gentle ache, not a searing pain. "In the end, I just got saved again. From the principal’s guard. By you. I’m so pathetic."

With the floodgates open, everything that had been poisoning me poured out. The words came in a rush, a frantic need to purge the secrets and the fear. I continued to tell Miss Fia everything, starting from the seemingly small, accidental brawl with Alad that had started it all. I described the crushing weight of trying to protect Crestia on my own, the confusion and despair of how we were deceived by Cirris, the isolation of being tortured by Alad in that hidden warehouse, and the brutal, exhausting terror of fighting fifty people without rest until my body failed. I recounted the white-hot agony when Alad stabbed my leg, and the final, beautiful memory of my friends—my family—swooping in to save me when I passed out.

I told her every detail of the last few weeks, a chaotic, dangerous, and secretive existence. And she just listened. Fia didn’t interrupt, she didn’t offer judgment, and she didn’t try to solve anything. She simply listened, nodding sometimes to show that she was present, that she was paying attention to me, not the problem.

As the torrent of words finally slowed, I felt a lightness I hadn’t realized I was missing. It was as if everything that had been weighing down my spirit—all the fear, the guilt, the false responsibility—had suddenly been lifted and disappeared into the sympathetic air. Exhaustion, profound and absolute, swept over me. I felt the comforting warmth of her presence beside me. Without conscious thought or care for decorum, I leaned my head sideways and rested it heavily on her shoulder, the motion unthinking, purely instinctive. And, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I fell asleep without a single care in the world.