Chapter 2

Bertie herself was the one who most acutely felt that her condition was worsening. That's why, just before losing consciousness from coughing up a large amount of blood, she had resigned herself to death. It had only been three days since then, yet the idea that she was on the mend was simply impossible.

Even if she had received treatment while unconscious, according to her own account, the improvement must have referred to the time before she lost consciousness, which was clearly contradictory.

Observing Bertie's confusion, the doctor's demeanor turned serious. He lowered his gaze as if in deep thought, then looked back at Bertie.

"Miss, could it be that—"

"Hey, are you done yet?"

Interrupting the doctor was her youngest brother, who seemed impatient. In response to his urging from the other side of the door, a maid hurried over.

"The examination seems to be over, so please come in."

"No, wait a—"

Before the doctor could stop her, the maid opened the door and invited the brothers in. The doctor sighed. The youngest brother, who entered first, approached the bed and looked down at Bertie with a stern expression.

"Are you okay?"

Though it seemed confrontational at first, concern was evident in his voice and gaze. Feeling bewildered by the attention from her brother, Bertie remained silent. Her youngest brother's brow furrowed deeply.

"You look pale. Is something—"

Bertie slapped away his hand, which he had extended toward her. He stared in shock, as did the other brothers and her father.

"Don't touch me."

With a sharp look, Bertie caused them to display even more confusion. She had been acting this way for nearly a month, so why were they so surprised and perplexed?

In this household, Bertie was treated as less than a servant. She had lived quietly, trying not to upset them, hoping that one day she would be loved. But upon realizing her impending death, the idea of living a life of deference to people who didn't respect her became absurd, and she began to rebel.

Now, Bertie was filled with negative emotions like bewilderment, frustration, and contempt—mirroring the feelings they had always had toward her.

"Bertie?"

"What is it? What's wrong? Don't you hate me? Don't you despise me? Why are you pretending to be worried now?"

Her youngest brother's face showed a mix of shock and hurt. He slowly moved his trembling lips.

"Have your memories returned...?"

"Memories? What are you—"

A headache struck, and Bertie furrowed her brow, clutching the sheets tightly. Scenes she didn't recognize flashed through her mind. Bertie with her brothers, enjoying meals, receiving gifts—situations that should have been impossible.

(What are these memories?)

Bertie immediately understood that these were her memories, memories that belonged to her.

"Miss"

While enduring the pain, she was called by the doctor.

"Do you know who I am?"

"...You're the doctor, right?"

"I apologize, I asked the wrong way. Is this the first time we've met?"

The youngest brother frowned at the doctor's question.

"Hey, what kind of ridiculous question is that—"

"I believe so."

When Bertie answered the doctor's question, ignoring her brother, everyone gasped in shock. Their gazes pierced her, as if saying, "That's impossible."

"..."

"BERTIE!"

As her headache worsened and she clutched her head, the voices of her youngest brother, second brother, and father overlapped. However, Bertie's thoughts were overwhelmed by the intense pain and the unknown memories.

Then, she suddenly understood her situation. She wasn't panicked. Of course, she was confused, but she remained surprisingly calm.

"...What is today's date?"

"It's July 23, 546 of the Kingdom Calendar."

When she asked, the doctor answered as her headache began to subside.

(About half a year, then.)

From the day she had resigned herself to death, about half a year had passed. Fragmented memories of the past half year resurfaced one after another. The impossible memories were etched in her body, not her own experiences.

The incident where she had coughed up a large amount of blood and resigned herself to death had occurred not three days ago, but half a year ago. And because she had nearly died—though it was hard to believe and she could only guess the exact cause—surprisingly, it seemed that another person's soul had inhabited her body for half a year. The soul of someone from another world.

The remaining memories were not her own. During the time she was unconscious, someone else had lived as Bertie. However, this person from another world had not inherited Bertie's memories and had claimed to have amnesia. And the "amnesiac Bertie"—

"Could it be that you remembered the past, but lost the memories of the past half year?"

With a pained expression, as if hoping for a denial, her youngest brother asked. The doctor hadn't made a definitive confirmation, but it seemed that he and the others had realized the possibility. Perhaps the doctor had explained this possibility beforehand.

"I'm gradually remembering. In just half a year, this house has changed quite a bit."

Her youngest brother opened his mouth as if to say something but closed it without a word, clenching his lips tightly. Her father, standing beside him, showed clear regret.

"I'm sorry. I've neglected you for so long—"

"I don't need your apologies."

Bertie coldly rejected her father's apology. It was all too late, too little. The sweet expression of "neglect" only added to her discomfort.

"Please leave. All of you."

"Bertie, let's talk—"

"Can't you hear me? There's nothing to talk about."

With a voice tinged with unexpected anger, Bertie firmly refused, causing her father and the others to flinch. The doctor, sensing her strong desire to be alone, urged everyone to leave the room. Bertie, who had not even glanced at her family, who had been looking at her with concern, tightened her grip on the sheets.

"Terrible."

That was the only word that escaped her lips.