.
.
A few more days passed.
The dream that day… No, now I’m not even sure if it was just a dream.
Four days had already passed since I regained consciousness.
And what about my life during that time…? Well, nothing much had changed.
I had confined myself to my small room, spending each meaningless day lost in a haze of smoke and sleep.
Nothing had changed.
If you ask why I continued to live such a pathetic life when all the missing truths had been revealed…
‘…So, what am I supposed to do here?’
I was confused.
I had no idea what I was supposed to do next.
Just six months ago, I was the worst scoundrel in the Empire.
Thanks to the memories of my past life as Naru, I felt a distance of over 22 years… but the others didn’t know that.
I had already hurt countless people.
I had earned their hatred and contempt.
Even if I knew now that I was Raiden, it was too late to fix anything.
The past was already a broken mess.
And the current me was too weak to even attempt to clean it up.
“…I wish you had told me sooner.”
A bitter murmur escaped my lips, followed by a puff of smoke.
If only I had realized the truth about my past life earlier… before everything went wrong.
Back when no one was hurt, when no one had left my side.
Back when my heart wasn’t so broken.
Back when Mother… was still alive. Maybe I could have protected those days.
“…Damn it.”
The thought stabbed at my chest.
I knew it was pointless to dwell on what-ifs, but I still clung to the word ‘if’ as if it could somehow save me.
“I’m still the same pathetic loser, now as I was then…”
I forced a self-deprecating smile, trying to shake off the thoughts that threatened to consume me.
I reached for the Deathweed case by my bed, hoping to numb the turmoil within me.
But my fingers grasped at empty air.
I had to drag myself out of bed.
As I stood up, a wave of dizziness washed over me. I leaned against the bedpost for support, my vision blurring for a moment.
When I finally opened my eyes, I saw the floor littered with empty Deathweed cases.
“Ah…”
It dawned on me then that the last Deathweed I smoked had been my last one.
I had brought dozens of boxes to my room just last time.
And I had gone through that mountain of Deathweed in just a few weeks.
“…Did I smoke too much?”
I muttered to myself, staring at the mess on the floor.
Well… considering I had been practically living on the stuff, it would be more strange if I still had some left.
It looked like I had to ask Milliam to send the next month’s supply in advance.
“Haa… What am I going to do…”
A sigh of frustration escaped my lips.
It would take at least half a month to receive the new supply.
Could I really endure that long…?
“…No way I can last that long.”
I frowned, my irritation growing.
Then, a forgotten memory surfaced in my mind.
When I was moving my belongings from the Academy dorm, I had sent some of the larger items to my family home in advance.
And I vaguely remembered including a few boxes of spare Deathweed in that shipment.
“Gilbert said he put all the luggage that arrived first in the storage room on the third floor…”
He had said he would move them to my room later.
But since I had locked myself in my room as soon as I got home, refusing to see anyone… those boxes must still be in the storage room.
Should I call someone?
I glanced at the clock on the wall.
Tick-tock… tick-tock…
The hands pointed to 2:30 AM.
Everyone in the mansion must be asleep by now.
It seemed a little inconsiderate to wake someone up at this hour.
“…I guess I have to go myself.”
I groaned as I got out of bed.
My body felt heavy, weighed down by gravity after weeks of neglect.
I dragged myself across the room, my movements sluggish.
I could have waited a few hours.
I could have waited until morning and had the servants bring it to me.
But my Deathweed-addled brain, pickled after half a month of constant consumption, was already craving the green smoke.
I clenched my trembling hands into fists and opened the door.
-Click, creak…
The sound of the lock disengaging was followed by the soft groan of the hinges.
It was almost comical… that the thing that finally forced me out of my self-imposed exile was a need for an antidepressant.
.
.
.
I walked quietly through the darkened mansion.
It was late, and apart from a few servants on night duty, everyone seemed to be asleep.
I walked on, careful not to wake anyone.
-Tap, tap…
The mansion was quiet, almost eerily so.
As I walked, I took in the familiar surroundings, each corner filled with memories.
The hallway I had run down countless times as a child.
The room where I had laughed and chatted with the kind servants.
The stairs where I had almost tripped over Ariel while playing.
The Duke’s study where I sometimes sneaked in to see my father working late at night.
“…”
Familiar scenery.
Places that held echoes of happier times.
I tried to push away the bittersweet memories, but they clung to me, refusing to be ignored.
-Tap…
Lost in thought, I continued walking until… I stopped.
My body seemed to remember this place, even if my mind did not.
I looked up, my gaze drawn to the nameplate on the door in front of me.
[Philli’s library]
“Ah…”
I stared at the nameplate, my breath catching in my throat.
The name ‘Philli,’ etched in gold on the silver surface.
This place… it held so many vivid memories.
When I was younger…
I used to come here every night, crying and calling for someone.
“…Mother.”
Phillipa Lishite… No, my mother’s study.
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