TVBADS ch.02

Chapter 02

The Villainess Builds a Department Store

To sum up the situation I found myself in:

1. I, who had been working as a department store sales clerk, got into a traffic accident on my way home and possessed the body of the villainess in a novel I’d been reading.

2. Without even realizing it, I managed to twist the original storyline to some extent.

Even though I died without knowing that.

Anyway, the fact that my younger brother—who in the original should have cut ties with me long ago—remained affectionate with me until the very end was proof of that.

3. But just when I thought I had died in an accident, I regressed to the past.

When I first realized I had regressed, I was so shocked I nearly fainted.

I had clearly been hit by a carriage, yet when I opened my eyes, I was a child dressed in silk pajamas!

At first, I thought I’d gone insane.

But after pinching my cheek, I confirmed it—this was undeniably real.

I crawled down from the bed and stared speechlessly at the familiar, long-missed scenery before me.

This was the room where I had spent my childhood.

The ceiling paintings, the wallpaper—everything was exactly as I remembered.

But unlike the ruined state etched in my memory, the furniture was intact, and the windows gleamed brilliantly.

In the spotless glass, free of a speck of dust, a strange yet familiar face was reflected.

When I took a deep breath, the girl in the window inhaled and exhaled along with me, her shoulders rising and falling.

Eyes the color of blue-violet amethyst submerged in the sea stared straight back at me.

Slightly upturned, catlike eyes. Tightly pressed lips. Silver bangs cut with ruler-like precision.

It was unmistakably me—young me. The childhood version of Adelaide.

“…Riiight. Regression, huh? Sure. If I could possess someone, why not regress too? Hoo… Then if I die again this time, will it be reincarnation?”

I muttered nonsense under my breath, then suddenly frowned.

So how old am I right now?

“Hmm… Judging by appearances, around ten years old? Ah!”

That’s right!

I ran to the desk and pulled out a square tin box from the drawer.

The cookie tin—pink with strawberries, lace, and ribbon patterns—had been my childhood treasure chest.

“One, two, three… ten…”

Inside were birthday cards my father had sent every year.

Because he often left home on business trips, Father would send a splendid gift along with a card for my birthday each year.

[To our beloved princess.]
[Congratulations on becoming a big sister.]
[To my treasure who has grown into a fine young lady.]

With each card that accumulated, the little princess who couldn’t even read yet grew into an older sister with a baby brother—and then into a little lady.

There were ten cards.

Which meant I had returned to the age of ten.

“Father…”

The moment I thought of him, a dull ache spread through my chest.

My father, the Baron of Charmeuse, was not like most nobles—in many ways.

He was a noble who understood the importance of commerce and mingled freely with merchants.

Though his marriage had been arranged, he loved my mother more sincerely than anyone, and he spared nothing for his son and daughter alike.

My mother, too, loved us more than anyone—enough to risk her life to give birth to me and Antoine.

Though her already frail body completely gave out because of it.

In my memories, Mother was always half-reclined in bed.

Still, when she felt well enough, she would take my brother and me to the garden and teach us the names of wildflowers and butterflies.

Looking back, my happiest moments always included the two of them.

Though the hot spring trip they took for Mother’s health ended in tragedy—a train accident.

From that moment on, the fate of Antoine, myself, and this estate began to plummet.

“Uncle…”

Just recalling my wretched uncle’s spiteful face made my teeth grind.

Now that I thought about it, he had destroyed this very room.

After driving us out and seizing the estate, he had grown desperate for money and stripped the place bare—selling paintings, furniture, even prying up the floor tiles.

“As expected, it’s still here.”

I pulled back the curtains and looked out toward the garden.

Despite the dark night, water continued to gush endlessly from the large fountain statue.

It was the marble fountain Father had gifted Mother when they married.

Every wedding anniversary, Father added a small carving to the statue, depicting a cherished family memory.

Their wedding. My birth. My brother’s birth. Countless small, precious moments.

Strangely, at the sight of the fountain, tears streamed down my face—though I hadn’t cried when I saw Father’s cards.

I really had come back.

Only then did it truly sink in.

I wanted to run to my parents’ room immediately—throw myself into their arms and act spoiled.

If I sobbed and said I’d had a terrible nightmare, they would pat my back and comfort me.

I wanted to confirm they were safe. That this wasn’t a dream.

But at the same time, I didn’t want to worry them by appearing in tears.

It had been so long. I had missed them so much.

When I saw them again, I wanted to greet them with a smile.

The hand resting against the window was no longer the gaunt, overworked hand of an adult, knuckles jutting out like bamboo nodes.

It was soft and plump, like dough freshly kneaded.

With hands like these, it felt as though I could start over.

“No. I will start over. I can.”

In my previous life, I had confirmed that my very existence could change the original story.

The plot had been simple:

In a modern era where trains and electric lights had just begun to appear, the story was set around the first department store. A fallen noble, Antoine, and a commoner store owner, Bastian, competed over the heroine, Colette.

My role had been the villainess who drove all three into equal misery.

After our parents’ deaths and being divorced by my husband, I clung to my younger brother.

I looked down on Bastian for being a commoner.

And I tormented Colette so viciously that even the most outrageous soap opera sister-in-law would hesitate—eventually even attempting to kill her.

In the end, Antoine, unable to endure it any longer, declared he would sever ties with me, and Adelaide met a miserable end alone in prison.

That had been the plan.

But in my previous life, Antoine had called me “sister” until the very end.

Bastian had treated me with gentlemanly courtesy.

Colette had followed me like a real older sister.

Depending on how I acted, the world—everyone’s fate—could change.

Then this time, I would change everything.

I remembered clearly.

Not just the events that had driven Antoine and me into despair, but who would do what in the future, and how each region would develop.

And more than that—

I had the memories and knowledge of living as a department store sales clerk in South Korea.

If I used that, I could do more than just change fate.

I could carve out a better one.

‘I can repay Bastian—and everyone who helped me. I can take revenge on Uncle!’

Like branches spreading from a tree, countless paths stretched before me.

No one had walked them yet, but I knew exactly what lay at their ends.

‘Mother and Father will live long lives. Antoine will be happy with Colette. And Bastian won’t have to struggle so much through his miserable childhood.’

And above all, I could prevent Uncle from ruining the family.

Once I had done everything I needed to, I would leave for a sunny seaside resort with warm breezes.

‘If I interfere too much with the original story, I’ll just get entangled with the protagonists and exhaust myself.’

What if Bastian confessed to me instead of Colette?

Or Uncle repented, only for the real mastermind behind everything to obsess over me and try to make me his daughter-in-law?

Absolutely not. A possessed supporting character has the right to live quietly.

I rummaged through the desk and took out paper and a pen.

It was time to make a plan.

Just as I was about to grasp the pen—

“Waaah! Waaah! Uwaaah!”

A loud wail pierced through the wall, startling me so much that I dropped it.

“A crying baby?”

The child was sobbing at the top of their lungs, as if the entire estate would collapse from the noise.

Wait—why isn’t anyone comforting him?

I clicked my tongue in pity.

Whose child is that, honestly—

Clatter.

The pen rolled across the desk.

Whose child?!

At this point in time—when I had returned to being ten years old—there was only one child who could be crying like that.

“Antoine!”

Antoine. My little brother.

Your big sister is coming!