IRBC 2

Chapter: 2

 I Regressed Right Before the Ending

In truth, I fell into this world more than ten years ago.

I had been working late at the office and nodded off for just a moment. When I came to my senses, I was here.

Who Is Responsible for Rosemary’s Happiness?

Shortened to Rosemary’s Happiness. That was the title of the novel I’d been reading at the time.
Who’s responsible for happiness? You take care of your own happiness, of course.

I started reading it casually with that thought in mind, but the author’s writing was surprisingly good, and I breezed right through it.

I’d planned to drop it after just the beginning, but the author grabbed me by the collar and dragged me all the way to the ending. And at the final scene—the wedding of Rosemary and David—I cried.

I hadn’t even cried when my father passed away after spending so long confined to a hospital bed. Yet here I was, unable to stop my tears over a single novel.

Maybe it was because this novel had become the only escape in my bleak life.

The protagonists got married and lived happily ever after—and just knowing that made me feel like I’d been left behind all alone.

All I had left was debt piled up from my father’s medical bills. To pay it off, I had no choice but to work endlessly like an ant.

Ah… I don’t want to live.
I want to see more of Rosemary and David’s story.
I want to forget this reality.

A few days after finishing the novel, just as I was thinking about rereading it, something happened.

I was sure I’d dozed off again while working late—but when I opened my eyes, I was in the body of a ten-year-old child.

“Joy? What’s wrong? Are you sick again? You don’t look well.”

Before I could even grasp the situation, someone picked me up and carried me to a bedroom. Without giving me a moment to recover, they summoned an elderly man referred to as a physician.

Everything happened while I was still dumbfounded.

I was too shocked to speak, and thanks to a habit I’d developed in corporate life—keeping my mouth shut whenever I didn’t understand something—I just rolled my eyes around silently.

As I hurriedly scanned my surroundings, trying to piece things together, the man and the old physician spoke to me with grave expressions.

“Lady Micaela. Are you dizzy? If there’s anywhere else that hurts, please tell us.”

“Uh, well…”

Micaela?
Didn’t they just call me Joy?

Joy Micaela?

That name was far too familiar to me. There was no way I wouldn’t recognize it.

Because…

She was one of the supporting characters in my all-time favorite novel, Who Is Responsible for Rosemary’s Happiness?

Joy Micaela was the male lead David Taylor’s only childhood friend—a gentle, warm-hearted girl.

Unlike most childhood friends of male leads, who are usually cast as villains, Joy was a pure-hearted supporter who genuinely cheered on her friend’s love.

She came from a good family, was beautiful, and had a kind personality—loved by everyone.

From that description alone, she sounded like a protagonist.

Unfortunately, she could never be one.

Because…

She was terminally ill.

Joy had been weak since birth and failed to live past fifteen. She died in the summer of that year.

Swallowing nervously, I cautiously opened my mouth.

“Is… my name Joy Micaela?”

“What? What are you saying? Physician! Check my daughter immediately! What on earth—!”

“My goodness. Young lady, do you recognize who I am? P-perhaps there’s been an issue with your memory…”

Ah. That settles it.

Their panic was my answer.

I dozed off while working late—and possessed a terminally ill supporting character. Ta-da.

I’d imagined possessing a novel character more than once. I wanted to see David and Rosemary’s story continue, to stay in their world just a little longer.

But for it to actually happen…

Why did it have to be a terminally ill character?!

Tears welled up in my eyes. Was I supposed to be happy about this possession that felt like a one-month free trial?

While I was lost in thought, the physician and Count Micaela fussed over me.

They laid me down, discussed things seriously among themselves, and occasionally asked me questions.

“You don’t remember your father either? Hm? Should I bring your mother?”

“Lady Micaela… your memory… Are you feeling pain anywhere?”

“My dear, you were feeling fine just earlier. You said you wanted to go on a picnic with your father…”

I felt bad, but none of their words registered.

I was desperately organizing my thoughts.

If I really was Joy Micaela, then according to the novel, I was destined to die in the summer when I turned fifteen.

There had to be a way to avoid that predetermined death.

Wait.

A predetermined death?

Right—the novel had a fixed storyline.

And I’d read it to the very end.

Not just once, either.

Which meant—

I know the cure for Joy’s illness!

A grin spread across my face.

“Joy? What is it? Hm?”

“D… Dad? Dad!”

“Did you remember me?”

I forced down my awkwardness and used the word “Dad,” one I’d hardly ever spoken. Calming the anxious middle-aged man beside his frail daughter was my top priority.

“I was just a little dizzy. I’m fine now.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Yes, really.”

Three years after Joy’s death in the novel, a series of new treatments were announced in the academic world.

What people had dismissed as weeds turned out to have remarkable medicinal properties.

Among those treatments was a medicine capable of curing her heart disease.

And I remembered exactly what that “weed” was.

If I combined everything I knew from the novel, I could survive.

I swallowed hard.

As if I’d just lie down and die.
I was sick of being left behind.

In the space heavy with disinfectant, I recalled Who Is Responsible for Rosemary’s Happiness?, which I’d once read alone.

David and Rosemary, holding the happiest wedding imaginable, surrounded by blessings.

If I could be there too…

Fine. If this is how it’s going to be, I’ll cling to life and survive—just to witness Rosemary and David’s wedding with my own eyes.

The wedding scene was the ending I’d reread the most.

The most vivid symbol of their happiness.

Maybe… no—I would see it in person.

For the first time in my life, a fierce desire to live surged within me.

First priority: cure this heart disease.

“Physician.”

“Yes, young lady. You remember me as well?”

“Of course. More importantly—do you know a plant called Ruen?”

“Ruen…?”

My sudden question made the physician tilt his head in confusion. I couldn’t blame him—a young lady who’d never shown interest in plants suddenly bringing up weeds was strange.

But this was a matter of life and death.

I pressed on.

“It looks like a weed, but it blooms yellow flowers in spring.”

“And why do you ask about such a plant…?”

“I read in a book that long ago, people brewed it into tea. I think it was used as medicine… and apparently, it worked really well!”

I hadn’t read any such book. I had no idea what people drank centuries ago.

But this was the best I could do.

As I shamelessly continued my lie, Count Micaela interrupted.

“Do you want some tea? Just say the word—your father will have refreshments prepared at once.”

“No, no. It’s just… they say Ruen is good for the body. I was wondering if it might help me get healthier.”

Not might. It will.

Maybe I looked pitiful, carefully dancing around the truth. Everyone’s eyes grew watery.

Count Micaela even sniffled as he tightly grasped my hand.

“Don’t worry. I’ll do whatever it takes to cure your illness. Physician—investigate that plant immediately.”

“Y-Yes?”

“As quickly and thoroughly as possible.”

Yes. Good job, Count.

I smiled gently, my eyes curved into crescents.

Inside me, the will to survive burned fiercely—though no one else could see it.

“Please,” I said softly. “Physician.”

***

So what happened after that?

Under the physician’s name, the new medicinal effects of Ruen were officially announced.

One day, the physician came to see me, his face flushed with excitement, boasting about receiving some prestigious medical award.

As he praised me as a genius, I laughed awkwardly.

I couldn’t exactly tell him I’d planned everything just to stay alive.

Still, I was cured with the treatment, so all was well.

After that, everything moved quickly.

I enrolled in the academy alongside my childhood friend, David.

I watched the main couple’s youthful romance unfold, and whenever conflict arose between them, I gently nudged things back on track.

Occasionally, people asked me out—but dating kids far younger than me? No thanks.

I rejected every confession without hesitation.

Just keeping up with David and Rosemary’s relationship was enough work. Romance was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

My sole goal was to witness David and Rosemary’s wedding.

I knew it myself—I was overly obsessed with that wedding scene.

But I couldn’t stop.

Since possessing Rosemary’s Happiness—no, across both my past and present lives—this was the first time I’d ever had a goal.

The closer David and Rosemary grew, the happier I became.

Just watching them was enough to fill my heart.

And then, at last, the goal was right in front of me.

“Joy, we decided to get married. I wanted you to be the first to know. You’ll congratulate us, right?”

That was a few months ago.

Rosemary spoke shyly, her cheeks flushed—and I nearly screamed.

Holding back an indescribable joy, I beamed at her.

“Congratulations—truly! It’ll be a perfect wedding. I guarantee it!”

“You always talk like you know the future. Thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

She wrapped her arms lightly around my shoulders.

Overwhelmed with emotion, I hugged her tightly in return.

At last, my long-held goal—my happiness—was within reach.

From that day on, I barely slept, giddy with anticipation.

And now—

On the night before the wedding, the novel’s final scene, I closed my eyes, filled with pride and an inexplicable emptiness.

Maybe I felt this way because I’d run nonstop toward my goal for so long. Knowing the mission was almost over left me feeling hollow.

Well… after I see them get married, I’ll go find my own life.

I planned to travel once the wedding was over.

I’d already received my parents’ permission, and with the servants’ help, my luggage was packed.

It was sure to be a satisfying journey.

Thinking of a train ride, I slowly drifted into sleep—

So deeply that even the jolting of a carriage failed to wake me.