Chapter 07…………………………………

A deep blue sapphire—so large it was almost overwhelming, dark to the point of black—swirled aimlessly at his fingertips.

“Penelope.”

He spoke the name of the person he loved. The fragile love he could never see again.

But there was something even more troubling than that.

• Why are you doing this?

Those were the words his daughter had spoken as she pushed him away, saying she felt suffocated.

As he recalled that memory, his brows furrowed as though his mouth had filled with something bitter. At the same time, another scene surfaced in his mind.

When he saw that horrifying sight and, unable to contain his relief at finding his daughter, pulled her into an embrace—only then did the duke realize it.

His only daughter, his youngest, was not seven years old anymore. She had become a seventeen-year-old young lady. And…

Until that age, he had never once held her in his arms.

It was a silent but heavy shock. Even more shocking than when he had heard that his beloved wife had fallen to a chronic illness.

He had known before marriage that Penelope suffered from a long-term illness. He had suppressed it, pushed it down again and again, but he had also vaguely accepted that it was something that would eventually burst forth one day.

Perhaps that was why. The fact that he had never once held his daughter in ten years hit him even harder.

“No, it wasn’t just that.”

When he closed his eyes, the memories were vivid.

• D-Duke! The young lady…!!

The butler, who rarely showed panic, had rushed into the room as though he might collapse. At that moment, the duke had felt an inexplicable sense of foreboding and looked at him.

• The young lady… the young lady has passed away!

How absurd those words had sounded.

• …What do you mean, butler? Erina is dead?

Because of that, a strangely calm voice had instead slipped out between his teeth. The words were too unreal.

His daughter, who had never once been sick, was not someone whose sudden death could be easily believed.

Although her appearance had changed after the awakening ceremony, she had still been healthy—or so he had thought.

There had been no special reports from the butler, so he assumed Erina had grown up well and healthily.

But that calmness shattered. When he approached the area near Erina’s room, he smelled the faint scent of blood.

And there, in the middle of the room, lay Erina—soaked in blood.

She had been healthy. That was what he had been told.

The reason he had kept his distance from Erina—telling himself not to burden her with the failure of her awakening—was because he thought even acknowledging it might pressure her.

No, perhaps that wasn’t the real reason.

He had chosen to have Penelope recover in a distant villa, worried that her presence might interfere with the awakening ceremony.

Caring for a sick person was difficult, and just having illness in the household could weigh down the atmosphere.

Moreover, although Penelope had suffered from a chronic illness for a long time, he could not ignore the possibility—however small—of infection spreading to non-awakened individuals. That was why he had done it.

He had believed everything would be resolved once Penelope recovered.

Because of that, he failed to pay attention to Erina.

And that negligence had manifested in her body.

He regretted it deeply. That his own mistake had become an unerasable scar on his daughter’s body.

It was unbearable.

Even if he regretted it all, even if he wept tears of blood, the outcome before him did not change. It lay there in its worst possible form.

The duke had held Erina in a daze. He did not care that dried blood clung rustling to his clothes, nor that still-wet blood felt lukewarm against him.

No, all of it felt unreal. Her pale face, the silence with no breath to be heard, the terrifyingly light weight of her body—everything drove him to madness.

The day of his daughter’s funeral was clear. A few scattered white clouds floated in the sky, making it an unbearably beautiful day.

He could not even recall how he endured the funeral.

What remained with him was nothing but overwhelming regret.

Only after it became an irreversible moment did he look back on everything he had done. And he had to admit, painfully—as though spitting blood—

He had ignored Erina while thinking only of Penelope. After Penelope’s death, Erina had been the only one left who resembled her.

And this was the result of that neglect.

As he watched soil being thrown onto the coffin, the duke desperately searched through his memories. He tried to recall anything about Erina.

But nothing came.

No—only memories from ten years ago remained.

What had he been doing all those ten years?

Even when he tried to remember after her death, all he could see were the smiling faces of his family from long ago.

How had Erina grown in those ten years?

How beautifully had she changed? What had she looked like at her debutante?

Horrifically, he remembered nothing.

Not a single thing.

That realization reflected his own indifference like a mirror, and the duke collapsed on the spot.

Only then did he realize what he had done to his only daughter—the precious child left behind by Penelope.

He was the worst kind of father.

And now, he was a man who could never atone for it, destined to carry that burden like a yoke for the rest of his life.

What use was his renowned ability in the empire now? It could not bring his dead daughter back. He was a sinner who had committed an irreversible crime against her.

So when he closed his eyes briefly after the funeral and opened them again, he thought he was dreaming.

The Lintbloom egg he had disposed of after Penelope’s funeral was sitting in his study.

“Duke. These are the documents regarding the recent matters. As you instructed, I handled what I could during the Lady’s funeral, but there are still documents requiring your approval…”

The vassal, repeatedly bowing his head apologetically while holding out a stack of papers, only reinforced the feeling that this was a dream.

“…Tell me. What is today’s date?”

He had to ask. Why the Lintbloom egg, which should not be there, was present. Why the vassal was mentioning Penelope’s funeral.

A trace of pity crossed the vassal’s face. He likely thought the duke’s mind was unravelling due to his wife’s death. The vassal bowed respectfully.

“It is March 21st, Year 572 of the Imperial Calendar.”

At those words, the duke shot to his feet. It was unbelievable. If what the vassal said was true, then he had returned to the past.

Impossible. He had to confirm it.

Consumed by that thought, he ignored the vassal calling after him and hurried out.

His movements were unhesitating. He remembered running through these halls just days ago.

He prayed inwardly.

That his absurd wish might come true.

That that scene would not repeat itself.

That he would be given a chance to correct his irreversible mistake.

Beyond the door that swung open violently, he saw it—and his body trembled as he suppressed his emotions.

His past sin, something that could never be undone, had been reversed.

Overwhelmed, his body moved before his mind did.

It took him a moment to realize he was holding his silently standing daughter tightly in his arms.

And…

Marbas looked down at his hands. The warmth of his now-grown daughter still lingered there.

• Why are you doing this?

And even her gaze when she had looked at him while saying those words.

At the memory, the duke lowered his head.

It was not joy mixed with confusion.

It was bewilderment.

A gaze that went beyond unfamiliar—one that even contained fear—pierced Marbas like a blade.

And in that moment, he realized.

Even if his irreversible mistake had been undone, he was still a sinner to his daughter.

The moment he saw Erina recoil from his embrace—confused, even frightened, pushing him away—he felt as though blades were stabbing into his chest.

Since when had he been a sinner to his daughter? Could this sin ever be erased?

He sank into regret, slowly drowning into an endless swamp—struggling only to sink deeper.

“…Erina is alive.”

The duke suddenly muttered it.

Yes. Erina was alive.

Unbelievable, but thanks to a chance that should never have existed, she was.

After realizing that, he began to act.

He retrieved the Lintbloom egg he had once discarded as useless, using the help of Russell, who had assisted in obtaining it.

He strengthened the mansion’s defenses and ordered the butler to report every detail concerning Erina, no matter how trivial.

“…I will never lose Erina like that again.”

The duke’s eyes gleamed fiercely as he murmured his resolve. He had no intention of repeating such horrific regret.

And the same was true for his sons.

When he had embraced his daughter and then stepped back, and the door had burst open as his sons rushed in, he remembered their expressions.

They were exactly the same as his own.

The duke instinctively knew. That his sons also carried the same regret. That they had rushed to Erina’s room the moment they learned she was alive.

Otherwise, there was no way to explain the shock, joy, and guilt that had crossed their faces.

Because he himself had worn the same expression when he looked at Erina.

And he was certain.

That his sons, too, bore sins toward Erina—gaps they wished desperately to fill but could not.

“…What on earth happened in this house during the ten years I focused only on Penelope?”

He lamented, covering his face with one hand.

Because he could not even imagine what those ten years must have been like for Erina. And that thought filled him with unbearable guilt.