FJ 21

Chapter: 21

Juliet woke up sometime after noon.

She opened her eyes on a soft bed.

Seeing the clean bedding and the high ceiling, Juliet allowed herself to hope—just for a moment—that perhaps everything had been a bad dream.

That the horrific carriage accident, the thugs with red spider tattoos on the backs of their hands, and even the man with the cold eyes she had met again—
that all of it had been nothing more than a nightmare.

That if she went downstairs, her parents would be there, greeting her warmly with, “Did you sleep well, our daughter?”
That she would cling to her mother, whining about a bad dream, safe and loved—

<Awake. Now.>
<Contract. One.>

Instead of her parents, glowing blue butterflies fluttered in the air, scattering shimmering light.

Juliet stared blankly at the butterflies as they spoke to her in what sounded like cheerful voices.

<Human. Man. Not here.>
<Don’t like. This place.>
<Quickly. Leave.>

The butterflies that clung to her like a nightmare seemed a little bigger than the day before, but their voices were smaller and clumsier.

Like newborn creatures who had just learned how to speak, they could only string words together haltingly.

Juliet pushed herself up and climbed down from the bed. Her whole body ached, and her ankle hurt badly—as if it were injured—but she could still limp around.

Ignoring the pain, she opened the bedroom door.

“Oh—!”

Creak.

Startled by the sudden opening of the door, a young man who had been sitting with a chair propped against the door hurriedly jumped to his feet.

“Ah… you’re awake?”

He had a gentle-looking face and curly orange hair that stood out.

Juliet knew who he was.

Jude Hayon.

The youngest son of House Hayon, a family loyal to the imperial family, and despite that, a man who served the Duke of Carlisle, the great lord of the North. He was fairly well-known even in the capital.

Seeing Juliet, Jude instinctively smiled broadly. He, too, knew of the prestigious House of Monad.

“Well, you must be hungry. We should start with a meal—ah, no, please wait a moment. I’ll call the physician—”

“Where are they?”

Juliet cut him off abruptly.

Jude naturally assumed she was asking about the Duke of Carlisle.

“Pardon? Ah, His Grace is currently out. He should return sometime this evening.”

“Not that.”

Not that?

Referring to his liege lord as that was shockingly blunt. Jude barely managed to suppress a laugh.

The very next moment, he was grateful he had.

“My parents.”

The smile vanished from Jude’s face.

A short while later, Juliet stood in front of the stone chamber in the mansion’s basement.

“Please show me.”

“My lady… it would be better if you didn’t.”

“Please. I want to see them with my own eyes.”

No one could break Juliet’s stubborn resolve as she repeated the same words, her face pale.

The duke’s personal physician and even the head maid rushed over to stop her, but it was useless.

In the end, Milan, the captain of the ducal guard, let out a deep sigh and gave the order.

“Open it.”

The door to the cold underground stone chamber opened.

Inside lay the bodies that the ducal household had temporarily prepared the night before.

Juliet slowly approached the coffins.

The expressions on the faces of Count and Countess Monad, lying side by side in two coffins, were peaceful—as if they were merely asleep. That, at least, was some comfort.

Milan, who had been glancing at her anxiously, worried she might faint upon seeing them, felt a bit relieved by how calm she seemed.

After staring into the coffins for a while, Juliet spoke.

“Could I… be alone for a moment?”

“Of course. Please call if you need anything. I’ll have someone stand guard outside.”

Milan stepped away to give her space to mourn.

The pale young countess, who looked as though she might collapse at any moment, seemed to possess unexpected strength.

But the moment Milan closed the door behind him—

A heart‑rending sob burst forth from within.

In front of her parents’ coffins, Juliet cried until her voice was completely gone, then collapsed onto the floor.

<Contract. One. Sad.>

In just one night, everything had changed.

She had always acted clever, but in truth, she was still a foolish, powerless child.

If only I had been a little smarter.

Then her parents would not have died so senselessly.

Even a rat cornered by a cat will bite—so why had she left Baron Gaspal alive?

The price of her naïveté was cruel.

It’s my fault.

<Contract. One. Human.>
<Human. Weak. No food.>
<Human. Sick. Death. Fear.>

It was almost laughable that she could understand the clumsy words of these monsters.

Around Juliet’s neck still hung a key-shaped pendant on a thin platinum chain.

All because of this worthless thing.

Clink.

Juliet yanked the pendant from her neck and threw it against the stone floor.

The thin platinum chain snapped, and she likely scraped the back of her neck in the process—but she felt no pain at all.

I hate everything.

The suddenly appearing monster butterflies.
The man she had desperately avoided in this life, only to meet again anyway.

Despite struggling for three long years, Juliet lost her family in a single day—and was left alone once more.

She thought that closing her eyes beside her parents’ coffins and quietly starving to death wouldn’t be so bad.

She didn’t want to hurt anymore.

Curling up on the cold stone floor, Juliet lay still.

Scrape.

“…?”

At the faint sound of something scraping the floor, Juliet opened her eyes and saw an absurd sight.

Several butterflies were fluttering their wings as they carefully dragged the key-shaped pendant she had thrown away back toward her.

When their eyes met Juliet’s, the butterflies froze for a moment—but they didn’t stop inching the necklace closer.

An artifact.
A key.
And these strange butterflies.

Juliet felt she vaguely understood what they were.

She had heard that there were objects in the world that allowed even non-mages to wield magical power.

Artifacts—items inhabited by beings from other dimensions, such as spirits or monsters.

And those who could summon and borrow the power of such bound beings were called spirit contractors.

Had Baron Gaspal known this was an artifact and coveted it?
Or had he simply thought it was valuable and tried to steal it?

I should have just given it to him.
It was nothing.
If I had, maybe he wouldn’t have killed them.

The butterflies finally placed the platinum necklace right beside Juliet’s hand.

“Get it away.”

Juliet turned her head weakly.

<…>
<Contract. One. Hate. Us?>

Juliet didn’t answer. The only person she resented was herself.

When her miserable first life ended, she had been miraculously given a second chance—three whole years.

And she had foolishly believed that simply separating Baron Gaspal from her father would solve everything.

I should have killed him the moment I returned.
I should have ended his life so he could never harm them again.

<Don’t. Hate.>
<We. Like. Contractor.>
<Contractor. Freed. Us.>
<Request. Grant. Anything.>

Still lying with her cheek pressed to the stone floor, Juliet spoke without a second thought.

“Then bring them back to life.”

The butterflies hesitated, then answered gloomily.

<That. We. Can’t.>
<Death. Only. Impossible. Taboo.>
<Sorry. Ask. Other.>

“Then turn back time. Like before—send me back to when they were still alive.”

<…>
<That. Also. We. Can’t.>
<Sorry. Contractor.>

Juliet let out a hollow laugh. It was the answer she had expected.

She might be going mad, but the monsters really did seem sorry.

Do all beings bound to artifacts talk like children?

If even these incomprehensible creatures with such power couldn’t do it, then what kind of being had sent her back in her previous life?

Had a god truly pitied her and given her one last chance to change her fate?

But somehow, it felt like there would be no third chance.

Burying her questions and sorrow, Juliet slowly pushed herself up.

“My name isn’t ‘Contractor.’ It’s Juliet Monad.”

The beloved, precious daughter of Cassius and Lillian Monad.

Wiping her tear-stained cheeks, Juliet tied her disheveled hair back and walked quietly toward the open coffins.

Her parents had taught her that making mistakes was okay.
That falling down and crying was nothing to be ashamed of.

That as long as you did what needed to be done afterward, it was fine to cry, and fine to fail.

But what if I lost you both?

The price of a careless mistake was unbearably harsh.

Juliet knew she would regret this day forever. Her tears would never truly dry.

But because she was their beloved daughter, she knew she had to stop crying and do what needed to be done.

Goodbye, Mom. Dad.

Juliet kissed each of their cheeks in turn, offering her final farewell.

She tucked the necklace the butterflies had returned into her pocket.

Because I’m your daughter, I have to do what must be done.

Taking a steady breath, Juliet stepped outside.

Creak.

The people standing guard outside flinched as if they had seen a ghost.

With all traces of tears erased from her face, Juliet spoke.

“I want to see the Duke.”

Juliet had to wait nearly half a day before she was finally allowed to meet Lennox Carlisle.

“He will see you now.”

Well past midnight, a polite butler led Juliet deep into the main building of the mansion.

In her previous life, Juliet had come and gone from the duke’s bedroom—but that had been at the northern ducal castle.

This was her first time in the ducal townhouse in the capital, so she followed the ornate corridors without knowing where she was going.

After some time, the butler stopped in front of a large double door and knocked lightly.

“Your Highness, she has arrived.”

“Come in.”

Juliet stepped into the room without knowing exactly where she was.

Thunk.

Only after the door closed behind her did confusion wash over her.

“…?”

She had been led into a dressing room connected to a darkened sitting room.

Limping slightly, Juliet crossed the sitting room and approached the brightly lit dressing area.

The man stood in front of a large display cabinet, removing his outerwear as if he had just returned from going out.

Pausing midway through loosening his tie, his indifferent gaze swept over Juliet’s torn forehead, bruised cheek, and injured lips.

She wore a simple indoor dress with a cardigan thrown over it, her hair loosely tied back and soft slippers on her feet.

Yet even with such a casual look, his brief scrutiny made her heart tighten.

“Have you been treated?”

“…Thanks to you. Thank you.”

Not expecting him to ask after her condition—especially in such a polite tone—Juliet answered a beat late.

After a brief hesitation, she bowed her head sincerely.

“And… thank you for helping me.”

“You’re welcome.”

With that perfunctory reply, the man looked away.

As if that was all he had called her for, he quietly resumed untying his tie.

Juliet found herself staring, momentarily lost.

His large hands—neat and steady, veins faintly visible on the backs—were not what she expected from someone who had wielded a sword his entire life.

Ah.

Smiling inwardly at herself, Juliet pressed her toes inside her slippers.

A painful realization.

He really doesn’t know me at all.

She realized this dressing room was connected to his bedroom.

The large door at the back would lead to the bedroom, and the opposite door to the bathroom.

She knew—because the northern ducal castle’s bedroom, where she had spent most of her previous life, had the exact same layout.

To the man before her now, she wasn’t even worth receiving tea in a study or drawing room—just an uninvited guest.

What had she been expecting?

She had avoided him so thoroughly that this was their first time alone in this life.

Maybe—just maybe—when their eyes met, something impossible would happen. That he would remember their past life, too.

It didn’t.

The love she had helplessly given, the cruel abandonment, the death she had suffered—those were all from a past life.

Only Juliet remembered.

To the man before her, she was someone entirely forgotten—no different from a stranger.

Then who am I supposed to blame?

If he didn’t remember how cruel he had been to her in her previous life, did that mean it had never happened?

Clink.

He removed the cufflinks from his sleeves and placed them on the cabinet with a soft sound.

Meeting Juliet’s gaze, he asked lightly, almost teasingly,

“Finished looking?”

Now dressed simply in a black dress shirt and black trousers, he slipped his hands into his pockets.

Juliet answered without thinking.

“…Yes. It was enjoyable.”

He laughed softly and turned away.

“I heard you had something to say to me.”

“Yes.”

“Go on.”

“I…”

Before speaking, Juliet recalled an old memory.

In her previous life, he had freely offered his bed but never his true thoughts.

So Juliet had hovered around him, forced to guess and uncover everything on her own.

Lennox Carlisle was wealthy beyond measure, yet there was something he had searched for over decades.

Foolish Juliet had been deeply curious about what he sought so desperately.

Wanting to be even a little helpful, she had lingered around him until she found a tiny clue.

Dahlia.

That was the name of what he was searching for.

Surely not the flower—so what was it?

Much later, she finally learned the answer.

She met it herself.

“Shall I help you?”

When her insignificant unrequited love had faded, and the end of her first life drew near, Juliet finally faced the truth.

Dahlia was the name of a girl who had once lived in the ducal castle over a decade ago—and then vanished without a trace.

If she had known that from the start, would she ever have fallen in love with him?

A pointless thought.

Juliet blinked slowly, wiping away her lingering attachment.

“I want to make a deal with you, Your Highness.”