🔊 TTS Settings
Chapter 02
So, to summarize my situation:
- I had been working as a sales clerk in a department store when, on my way home, I was hit by a carriage and suddenly found myself inhabiting the body of the villainess from the book I used to read.
- Somehow, I had managed—without even realizing it—to bend the original story to some extent. Even though I didn’t know it at the time and ended up dying.
It was proof that, in the original story, I had been unexpectedly fond of my brother, even until the very end, when I should have cut ties long ago.
- But just when I thought I’d died from the accident, I found myself sent back in time.
At first, I was so shocked I thought I might faint.
I had been struck by a carriage, yet when I opened my eyes, I was a child again, dressed in silk pajamas!
At first, I thought I was losing my mind.
But after pinching my own cheek, I confirmed it: this was undeniably reality.
I clumsily crawled down from the bed, speechless at the sight before me. It was a scene so familiar, so nostalgic.
This was the room where I had spent my childhood.
The ceiling murals, the wallpaper—they were exactly as I remembered.
Unlike the ruined state I recalled from the story’s tragic ending, not a single piece of furniture was broken. The windows gleamed, spotless.
A reflection appeared in the clean glass—a face at once unfamiliar and familiar.
I took a deep breath. The little girl in the glass mirrored me, breathing in and out with little shoulder shudders.
Amethyst eyes like the deep sea stared back at me.
A catlike lift of the eyelids, pursed lips, and neatly trimmed silver bangs—it was me. My younger self, Adelaide.
“…So this is regression, regression, huh? Fine. I already possessed the body, so if this is regression, why not? Hoo… So if I die again, I’ll be reincarnated next?”
Muttering nonsense to myself, I furrowed my brows at a sudden question: How old am I now?
“Hmm… judging by appearances, maybe around ten? Oh!”
Right!
I dashed to my desk and pulled out the square tin box from the drawer.
The pink box, decorated with strawberries, lace, and ribbons, had been my childhood treasure chest.
“One, two, three… ten…”
Inside were birthday cards my father had sent me every year.
Because of his frequent business trips, my father had made it a point to send a card and a gift each birthday.
[To my beloved little princess.]
[Congratulations on becoming a big sister.]
[To my precious little lady, now grown.]
Each card marked my growth—from a princess who couldn’t yet read, to a big sister, to a little lady. Ten cards meant I had returned to being ten years old.
“Father…”
Thinking of my father made my chest ache. My father, Count Charmoise, had been unorthodox for a noble in many ways.
He understood the importance of commerce and mingled with merchants without pretension.
Though he met my mother in an arranged marriage, he loved her sincerely. He gave everything he could, equally, to his children.
And my mother, willing to risk her life, gave birth to both Antoine and me out of love. Though frail, she had nurtured us with everything she had.
I remembered her often half lying in bed, and on good days, she would take us into the garden, teaching us the names of flowers and butterflies.
Reflecting back, my happiest moments had always been with both of them.
Even the spa trip they took to recover their health ended tragically with the train accident… from that point, our fates, and the fate of this mansion, plummeted.
“Uncle…”
Cursed uncle. Thinking of his spiteful face made my teeth clench.
He had ruined this room too. After kicking us out and taking over the mansion, he had sold everything he could—paintings, furniture, even floor tiles.
“Ah, here it is.”
I drew back the curtains and saw the large fountain in the garden.
Even in the dark night, water shot endlessly from the marble sculpture my father had gifted my mother on their wedding day.
Each year, he added a small sculpture commemorating family memories: their wedding, my birth, Antoine’s birth, countless tiny joys.
Seeing the fountain, tears streamed down my face freely—the first tears since reading my father’s cards.
I was truly back. Finally, it felt real.
I wanted to run to their room, to fall into their arms, to cling and whine, telling them about my terrible nightmare. They would pat my back and comfort me.
But I also didn’t want to worry them with tears.
I wanted to meet them with a smile, as I hadn’t for so long.
The hands touching the window weren’t grown, rough adult hands—they were soft, chubby child’s hands, perfect for starting anew.
“No, I’ll start over. I can do this.”
I already knew that the existence of “me” in my previous life could change the original story.
The plot was simple: In the early modern era, when carriages and electric bulbs were new, the story of the first department store unfolded—fallen noble Antoine competed with the commoner store owner, Bastian, over the heroine, Colette.
And my role had been the villainess, unfairly bringing misfortune to all three.
I lived off my brother after our parents died and my husband divorced me. I scorned Bastian for being a commoner… I tormented Colette mercilessly… until my demise in prison.
That had been the plan.
But in my past life, Antoine had called me “sister” until the end. Bastian had treated me courteously, and Colette followed me like a real older sister.
“This time, I will change everything.”
I remembered every detail—what caused despair, who did what later, how regions would change.
And not only that: I had the knowledge of a modern Korean department store clerk.
“I can repay Bastian, help those who helped me, and get revenge on my uncle!”
Countless paths spread before me, like branches of a tree. The destinations were clear:
Parents would live long lives.
Antoine would be happy with Colette.
Bastian would have a slightly easier childhood.
And I could stop my uncle from ruining our family.
Once everything was done, I would leave for a sunny, warm seaside resort.
No need to meddle in the original story too much. Bastian declaring for me instead of Colette? My uncle suddenly reforming? No thanks. The reincarnated supporting character deserves a quiet life.
I grabbed paper and pen. It was time to plan.
Just as I was about to write, a loud wailing came through the walls:
“Waaah! Waaaah!”
Startled, I put down the pen.
“A child crying?”
The child wailed as if the mansion itself were shaking.
I clicked my tongue. Who leaves a child crying like that?
The pen rolled across the desk.
Who could it be?
At this moment, with me ten years old, only one child could be crying like that…
“Antoine!”
Antoine. My little brother.
“Big sister’s coming!”
