IAYA 01

Chapter 1

Time passes so quickly.

It feels like only yesterday, yet when I look back, so much has already slipped away.

I quietly stared into the mirror, then slowly ran my hand over the reflection of my own face.

It seemed like just the other day I had turned twenty, gazing into this very mirror. Back then, my skin had glowed with youthful radiance—but now it was gone, faint wrinkles forming at the corners of my eyes.

Nothing in this mansion had changed, and yet I alone seemed different, standing before the mirror.

Thirty-eight. An old maid.

The poor daughter of a baron.

Velia de Perington.

That was me.

In noble society, where arranged marriages were common, most women married by their mid-twenties at the latest. By this age, many already had two or three children, still carrying traces of youth themselves.

But I had nothing.

No husband to quarrel and reconcile with. No children to love so dearly it would hurt to imagine losing them.

Our family was of the lowest noble rank—a barony. We didn’t even have the dowry needed for me to marry.

And even setting all that aside—I was simply too old.

At thirty-eight, I was no longer beautiful. I no longer shone.

No man wanted someone like me.

I no longer dreamed of marriage, but I still couldn’t help but resent the years that had flown by in the blink of an eye.

Where had it all gone wrong?

Was it that day, when I turned eighteen, and Mother looked at me without recognition?

—Who are you? Why are you in this house?

The shock and terror of that day has never faded from my memory.

The doctor examined her and gave the diagnosis in one word: Dementia.

He said her memories would slowly vanish, that she would fail to recognize the people around her, and in time even forget her own actions moments after doing them.

Back then, I didn’t understand how terrifying that illness was.

My two much-older sisters were already married by then, so naturally the duty of caring for our ailing mother fell to me, the one left at home.

One year passed, then another…

Mother’s symptoms grew steadily worse, though her body remained healthy.

The real problem struck when I realized our family wealth was far too little for me to keep caring for her without working.

Father had died when I was a child, leaving only Mother behind. And with no sons, only three daughters, there was no heir for the barony.

For now, with Mother still alive, we could keep the Perington name—but without an heir, even that could vanish at any time.

I had no choice but to dismiss all the household servants and take on the chores myself.

I couldn’t take my eyes off Mother for even a moment, never knowing what mischief she might cause, so my activities were very limited. Reducing costs was the only option.

Thankfully, my sisters sent some money for living expenses—but that was all.

They were too busy with their own lives to help. Before long, the full burden of Mother’s care fell entirely on me.

And so twenty years passed.

By the time I realized it, I was thirty-eight.

Just a short while ago, when Mother smeared her filth on the walls and laughed, I collapsed to the floor and sobbed until my voice broke.

I hated it.

For a fleeting, terrible moment, I even wished I could die with her.

And perhaps because of that cruel thought, Mother truly did pass away a few days later, peacefully in her sleep.

Today was her funeral.

I reached out and touched the reflection in the mirror once more.

The woman in the simple black dress radiated the mature air of her thirties.

Her silver hair looked faded, her skin was pale as porcelain, her clear blue eyes still beautiful—but even they bore the traces of time.

She was nothing more or less than a sober, thirty-something woman.

Today, my own appearance felt strangely unfamiliar.

Even the silence in the house felt odd. Until now, every day had been a battle—Mother always trying to slip out, me always struggling to keep her inside.

There were so many nights I had wished she would just disappear. So many nights I had lain in bed resenting her.

But now that she was truly gone, I felt the crushing emptiness of having no one left at my side.

Drop.

A tear slipped down my cheek.

I thought everything would be better once she was gone—but it wasn’t.

The years couldn’t be turned back. Nothing had changed at all—except that the woman who had been my burden, my child, my companion… was gone forever.

“…I’m sorry, Mother.”

I should have been kinder.

I should have smiled more, even when I was exhausted.

Drop. Drop. Drop.

Tears fell endlessly to the floor.

I had always wanted to be freed from the heavy chains of caring for her. But now that the moment had come, I felt as though a great pillar supporting me had crumbled away.

I was like a lonely soul abandoned in the middle of nowhere.

The funeral was held with dignity.

Relatives dressed in black gathered. Mother’s coffin was lowered into the grave.

Sniffling echoed here and there, yet I could only stare blankly at her resting place, dry-eyed.

It felt unreal. As though if I went to sleep, I’d wake to another battle with the childlike Mother I had always known.

While I stood there, lost in thought, the relatives departed one by one, until only my two elder sisters remained.

“Velia.”

I turned at the sound of my name. It was Medina, my eldest sister, her plump face somber.

She, the baron’s first daughter, was already a matron with two grown sons.

“Now that the funeral’s over, let’s go to the house. We need to talk.”

Claire, the second sister, quickly added, as if waiting for her cue.

“Yes, we need to discuss what comes next.”

Claire was thin where Medina was heavy, but she too was a middle-aged woman with grown children.

I simply nodded in reply.

When I returned to Mother’s house with my sisters, I found not only them but also their husbands already gathered.

It felt suspiciously like a meeting prepared in advance, but I greeted them politely.

“Hello. How have you been?”

Medina’s husband, Miles, was a viscount. Claire’s husband, Denver, was a baron.

Miles answered first with a practiced smile.

“Yes, it’s been a while.”

Denver, his face stiff, gestured to a chair.

“Sit.”

I obeyed, and at once all four pairs of eyes turned to follow me.

Even a fool would realize they had something to say.

“Is there… something you want to tell me?”

Everyone looked to Medina. With a reluctant sigh, she spoke first.

“Velia, listen carefully. We’ve already discussed this among ourselves. We debated how to tell you, but there’s no point dragging it out, so I’ll be blunt.”

I forced a tired smile.

“Why make it sound so grand? What is it?”

But Medina’s face was utterly serious.

“Now that Mother is gone, we can’t keep sending you living expenses.”

“…Ah.”

It was true. I hadn’t thought of it until now, but she was right.

The money had been for Mother, not me.

“Yes, I understand. It’s only natural. Mother is gone, so it’s my responsibility now. I’ll find some way to manage—”

“We’re selling this house too.”

“…What?”

I froze at her words.

Before I could speak, Claire chimed in shamelessly.

“Why so surprised? This house isn’t yours. With Mother gone, the barony title will be sold to a suitable relative, and with it the house. That’s how we’ll recover the money we’ve been sending all these years.”

The others nodded.

Medina’s voice was flat, almost like a death sentence.

“Not just the house. We’ve decided to sell off the remaining lands too.”

At that, a dark heaviness crushed me.

“Then… what about me?”

Both Medina and Claire were married, living as a viscountess and a baroness. But I—unmarried, the one who had cared for Mother—what was left for me?

Without the barony, I would lose even the fragile title of nobility.

And if they sold the house and land, I would have nowhere left to live.

Fighting to keep my voice steady, I spoke.

“You may not need the Perington name anymore—but I do. After twenty years of caring for Mother, how can you do this to me?”

“We can’t help it!” Claire snapped, glaring at her husband. “Your brother-in-law’s gambling debts are crushing us!”

Denver averted his gaze, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Medina, putting on a pitiful face, added as though asking me to understand.

“Velia, I know it’s hard on you, but we’re struggling too.”

Rage boiled in my chest.

It was the same as twenty years ago, when they had dumped all of Mother’s care onto me.

“You’re not the only ones who suffer…”

I had always tried to understand, always tried to excuse their hardships.

But not this time.

“…I’m suffering too.”

At thirty-eight, I had almost nothing left. And now, they were trying to strip away even that.

But Medina only answered coldly.

“Even if you refuse, it changes nothing. With no male heir, the estate falls to me as the eldest. It’s admirable you cared for Mother, but that doesn’t entitle you to anything.”

“But—!”

I tried to protest, but Claire cut me off.

“And what were you doing all these years, never finding a man? Collecting pictures of Duke Acruge instead?”

At the mention of his name, both Miles and Denver smirked.

Theansis Kashan Acruge—the empire’s most eligible bachelor, the ideal of every noblewoman.

I clenched my skirt tightly, cheeks burning.

I had never truly believed I could be with him. Like countless others, it was nothing but admiration, a harmless fantasy to escape reality.

Seeing me speechless, Claire pressed on with scorn.

“Instead of dreaming about impossible dukes, why not accept Baron Shuliman’s proposal? He wants you, even though he has three grown sons. At your age, that’s more than you deserve. Otherwise, a convent might take you…”

“Enough.”

I couldn’t listen anymore.

“Mother’s funeral isn’t even a day past.”

Until now, her death hadn’t felt real. But facing my sisters, it suddenly struck me: Mother was gone, and I was utterly alone.

“Shouldn’t you have said something else first? Like… ‘Thank you for taking care of Mother all these years’?”

Silence fell. No one could answer.

I threw them out of the mansion.

They left grumbling that I would only regret it, but I didn’t care to hear another word.

I was furious, heartsick.

Twenty years of sacrifice felt wasted.

Sometimes, I mourned the youth I had lost, but I had always consoled myself—it was for family, for duty.

But for them to discard me the moment Mother died? To treat me worse than a stranger?

It was unbearable.

Tears threatened, and I bowed my head, fighting them back.

I refused to cry. Not today.

—Or I would feel utterly wretched.

That was when I saw it.

A newspaper lay on the floor. In it was an ad: Kamar Academy seeks assistant apothecary.

Mother’s dementia had been incurable, but in the hope of helping her, I had studied medicine for years.

Maybe… I could do this too?

Never had I felt so useless. I needed something—anything—or I would suffocate.

So without a sip of alcohol, I recklessly packed my things and left the house, as if drunk on desperation.

Before I knew it, I was in the academy laboratory, about to interview with an alchemy professor.

The guard who escorted me in had handed me a drink to wait with. Somehow, I confused it with an experimental potion.

The liquid was pink and oddly flavored. The moment I realized something was wrong, it was already too late.

My head spun violently, the room tilting.

Crash!

The glass vessel I held slipped and shattered.

But I couldn’t care.

Because in the transparent walls of the laboratory, I saw my reflection—

And what I saw was impossible.

The face staring back was my lost youth.

The shining, radiant girl I once had been.

With trembling hands, I touched the glass.

“I… I’ve grown young again?”