“Where am I…?”
When I regained consciousness, I found myself in an entirely white space.
“Could this be a kind of consciousness space influenced by the light spirit?”
I swiftly examined my body but noticed nothing unusual. Still, this might not be my true physical form. Without the ability to inspect my real body, I can’t definitively say it’s “all right.”
“So, what should I do now?”
It appeared that the light spirit had used its powers to confine me here. However, it had depleted much of its energy by breaking through Kuro’s barrier. It is likely that maintaining this space indefinitely and keeping me trapped would be unfeasible.
It might have about ten to twenty minutes at most?
“I could probably force my way out, but instead of taking a drastic approach that might lead to trouble, wouldn’t it be wiser to wait until the light spirit exhausts its energy?”
Kuro and Zeno’s powers protect me.
Even though the chain of my necklace was broken, the power of Kuro remained. The light spirit shouldn’t be capable of launching an attack that impacted my mind directly. Thus, I must avoid any extreme actions that could jeopardize my own psyche.
“I hope it depletes its energy before Bertia begins to go wild again.”
I let out a wry chuckle, recalling Bertia’s scream right before I blacked out. As I started to consider how to fill the time until the timeout, the blank space in front of me began to glow.
“It’s dazzling…”
I raised my hand to shield my face and shut my eyes. However, the light quickly faded away.
Feeling the light fade through my eyelids, I gradually opened my eyes. Before me lay a familiar scene, a striking contrast to the once monochrome world.
“The audience chamber…?”
Inside a room of the royal palace, which I often visited while accompanying my father on his duties, I found myself beside the throne where the king sat. Yet, as I examined my surroundings more closely, I noticed that the decorations and the curtains by the windows were subtly different than how I remembered them. They weren’t “unfamiliar” but evoked a sense of “nostalgia.”
This is…
“This is my first time meeting you. I’m Bertia Ibil Noches, the eldest daughter of Marquis Noches, Douglas Ibil Noches.”
While I scanned the area and reflected on my memories, a sweet, youthful voice suddenly emerged. Drawn by that sound, I turned my attention. A few steps below the throne, beside Marquis Noches, the Prime Minister, knelt a girl—Bertia—performing a subject’s bow. She looked to be around eight years old. Her appearance hadn’t changed since our first meeting; she still resembled a plump, snowman-like figure, her face tense as she focused intently on the floor.
This scene was from when I was first introduced to Bertia.
… Yet, for some reason, Bertia’s demeanor and expression felt different from how I remembered. Back then, she had looked up at me from beside her father, her eyes sparkling and a broad smile on her face as she introduced herself. I can still recall how I chuckled involuntarily at her cheerful friendliness.
The girl in front of me now was behaving like a proper noble young lady should—”as expected.” By this age, most noble children start to become adept at reading the room and adhering to etiquette. Consequently, in a high-pressure situation such as meeting the king and the crown prince in the audience chamber—where even adults might feel anxious—it was common for them to become tense, feeling the weight of the atmosphere, and awkwardly trying to conform to the expected protocols of greeting.
Unlike the Bertia from my memories, who expressed her straightforward, genuine affection, being “normal” was actually the “strange” aspect.
Yet somehow, the Bertia in front of me felt strange. As I frowned at this unusual version of Bertia, an unsettling feeling washed over me, and my fingertips turned a bit cold. “What could this be…?” I wondered, placing a hand on my heart, confused by the odd sensation. Suddenly, I was enveloped in a flash of light. I squeezed my eyes shut, and when I opened them again, I found myself in the royal palace garden—the very place where Bertia had shared her thoughts about the “otome game.”
As I looked around, just as I thought, a younger version of myself and Bertia were seated at a table, enjoying tea. Witnessing this moment brought back Bertia’s words— Prince Cecil! I am the villainess!!! My purpose is to ruin your relationship with the heroine you encounter after joining Halm Academy and ultimately be left in disgrace with a grand “defeat!”
The younger versions of us standing before me were involved in a different conversation:
“I am delighted to have someone like Miss Bertia as my fiancée.”
“Ah, thank you. I will do my best to become a woman worthy of you, Your Highness.”
I smiled warmly at her, and Bertia blushed, returned a shy smile.
Yes, it felt normal. A completely usual interaction, with nothing out of the ordinary. But perhaps that’s precisely the issue? It was painfully dull. This wasn’t the Bertia I remembered. She appeared to be simply a slightly plump, ‘ordinary’ noble girl, indistinguishable from many others. True, my younger self facing Bertia wore a smile, yet that smile lacked any real happiness.
It felt like my face was hidden behind a mask. I know myself, and I could see that the person I was in that moment had zero interest in her. There was a complete absence of emotions—no interest, affection, joy in meeting, or enjoyment of being together. Not even negative feelings like disgust, anger, or sadness were present. It was pure emptiness.
Sigh…
The seemingly harmless conversation happening in front of me was observed with a chilling distance, and once again, I experienced an ‘unnatural sense’. This sensation was clearer than ever. From my chest… from my fingertips… the ‘heat’ that should have undeniably been present was slipping away.
Alongside this sensation came a slow fading of expression from my face, an unsettling feeling—as if something dear was being ripped away. I tried to clench my fist, only to realize another peculiarity.
Creak, creak, creak…
My fingers hardly moved when I attempted to bend them. As I looked at my hand to identify the cause, I involuntarily furrowed my brow.
… My hand had somehow changed into that of a flawless bisque doll.
“Unless I select you, you are just a clever doll lacking a heart!” The Baroness Heronia’s earlier words echoed in my mind.