The Snow Queen

Speaking playfully, Ray hung his head low. He seemed unsure of what to do. Still, the way he examined the rings with a curious gaze made it clear he was quite pleased. I stayed still on purpose, wondering which ring this enthusiastic monk coat fanatic would choose.

Mumbling, “They look too expensive” and “This is a bit much,” Ray finally fixed his gaze on one. It was a vintage-style ring with a sleek, elegant band. I took a closer look at the ring.

Hmm…

It was beautiful. Simple yet full of grace. For someone like Ray, who had no sense of style, it was an excellent choice. Surprised, I soon realized why. Among the displayed items, the sapphire carat on this ring was the smallest. Ray must have thought it was the cheapest.

Suppressing a laugh, I spoke.

“Do you like this one? Shall we go with it?”

“…Yes.”

“Alright. Please pack a matching pair of these rings.”

We were lucky. There were exactly two rings of this design; otherwise, I would have had to get one made separately. We left the jewelry store amidst the warm farewells from the manager and staff.

It was a full moon night. We sat at a café’s outdoor terrace, watching the festival. The sounds of drums and flutes drifted cheerfully in the air. In the distance, white fireworks traced tails of light as they shot into the sky. They pierced the darkness sharply, then exploded with a bang, spreading like a swarm of crimson butterflies fluttering across the field. The fireworks burst open in a brilliant display.

“Wow…”

Ray gasped. A breeze from somewhere playfully tousled his amber hair and then left. I smiled and sipped my drink. Ha ha ha.

This is really something…

The pale lemon light of the moon poured from the deep sky, filling the night with intoxicating, deadly allure.

“Shall we dance?”

“Dance?”

Ray looked startled. I gestured toward the middle of the square.

“Yes, dance. Don’t you see the people dancing over there?”

“…Isn’t it a bit strange for two men to dance?”

“Oh, come on, what era do you think this is? It’s fine. And if any homophobes come at us, just trust me and enjoy the show.”

I dragged the hesitant Ray into the crowd of dancers. Just like before, Ray stepped on my toes several times. Still, it was fun. His embarrassed expression every time he stepped on my feet was hilarious.

After dancing for a while, we stopped, and I pulled out the ring case. Suddenly, a cold chill swept over me. It felt like a skeletal hand was reaching through my thick coat, caressing my body. I felt an unexpected wave of anxiety.

Why am I feeling like this? I’ve given jewelry as gifts many times before. Maybe it’s because we’re about to share these rings?

After a brief pause, I spoke slowly.

“Ray, do you know why wedding rings are worn on the left ring finger?”

“No.”

“The ancient Greeks believed that a vein in the left ring finger was directly connected to the heart. That’s where the custom comes from.”

I slipped the ring onto Ray’s finger. He silently stared at the sapphire ring shining on his left ring finger.

“Now, please put one on me.”

I held out my hand. After hesitating for a moment, Ray slid the sapphire ring onto my ring finger.

I placed my left palm against his, aligning them perfectly.

“Now, follow me. First, bend your middle finger as if you’re hugging it… Yes, just like that. Now, lift your thumbs and wiggle them.”

We moved through each finger, lifting and wiggling them one by one.

“Finally, try to separate the ring fingers.”

“…Huh?”

Ray’s blue eyes gleamed. The ring fingers wouldn’t come apart.

“They don’t separate, do they? No matter how hard you try, the ring fingers won’t come apart. That’s why wedding rings are worn on the left ring finger. It means you’re never supposed to be apart.”

“I see.”

Ray lowered his head as he spoke. I pulled him into a hug and whispered.

“I love you. Forever.”

“Forever…?”

Ray mumbled as he looked down at the ring. His golden eyelashes cast deep shadows over his blue eyes. For a moment, the blood running through my body felt like it had frozen.

Why that look?

A sudden fear crept over me. I felt like I had turned into a corpse, reeking of decay. I knew all too well what came after Ray’s eyes became this distant and empty. I had experienced it many times before. It was rejection. Like a blade suddenly emerging from a cloak, it always came and cut me down. And now, it had appeared once again.

Why? For what reason had his gaze turned so cold?

Was it because he doubted my feelings? Or maybe Ray was unsure of his own? Was he hesitating to respond right away?

I felt lost. A sharp pain, like a spear stabbing through my chest, overwhelmed me. I stared at Ray intently. He continued to look down at the ring in silence. His face was expressionless, like a deep ocean.

After a long moment, his lips moved ever so slightly.

“I love you too.”

Ray looked straight at me.

“I, Ray Arisa, will love Four Messara forever.”

I opened my eyes wide.

‘I, Ray Arisa, will love Four Messara forever.’

He had said it.

Ray had responded to me. He had promised eternal love.

That answer instantly dispelled all the doubt and fear that had overtaken my body. In its place, certainty filled me. My blood began to flow again. The heart, which had felt like it was slashed by a sharp knife, was now filled with overwhelming joy. I hugged Ray tightly.

“I love you.”

The moonlight approached Ray’s amber hair, gently like April sunlight waking white wildflowers. That quiet movement resembled snow falling in a dark forest. As I stroked his amber hair, I drifted into thought.

The moon, magic, and the goddess of death, Hecate…

Hecate was said to only come to earth on nights when the dark side of the full moon was revealed. Surely she, too, would watch over us with a smile. She would bestow a divine blessing that no priest in any grand cathedral could ever offer.

I hugged Ray even tighter.

“I love you.”

I whispered the confession again, though it could never be enough. As I kissed Ray, a thought crossed my mind: our vow would last endlessly, like a flower that bloomed from a virgin’s body in ancient times, radiating a freshness akin to dewy grapes.

Oddly, I felt a wave of intoxication. What was this sensation? It was clear and yet dizzying, an almost euphoric feeling. Was it because of the vivid moon that seemed to chase away even death, or because of this overwhelming happiness that was stronger than the scent of poppies? It didn’t matter. Whatever the reason, I didn’t care.

I smiled as I pulled away from Ray’s lips.

“Snow is starting to fall. Let’s do some shopping and head home.”

We strolled through the streets. Even though Ray’s constant fretting meant we couldn’t splurge too much, we still managed to buy a few nice outfits and shoes. To gain some extra favor, I also made a hefty donation, slipping several large checks into the charity box. We spent the night happily wandering and sightseeing. It was well past midnight by the time we returned to the apartment.

I dropped the shopping bags on the floor and sank onto the sofa, finally feeling the weight of exhaustion. When I turned on the television, the same old “Snow Queens” were whining again. The host, looking just as tired as me, muttered, “At least the candidates are down to eighty-two now.” Ray clapped his hands and laughed.

I loosened my tie and slouched deeper into the couch. Watching the wailing queens made me chuckle to myself. Money really is something.

“Now, let’s welcome our special guests—famous figures who believe in reincarnation, including actress Athena Miller, who has played the Snow Queen three times. Please give them a warm round of applause!”

Amidst the applause, the guests appeared, and I absently murmured, “Oh.”

Karl was there.

What was he doing on this show? Was this part of his plan to debut in the entertainment world? Among the guests, who looked mostly like wilted cucumbers aside from the glamorous actress, Karl stood out.

I tapped my fingers on the table. Karl, of all people, appearing on a reincarnation-themed program? It made me think of Sideburns, who had risen quickly in Rilize thanks to his past-life connections.

What a sly bastard, I muttered, standing up.

“How about some tea while we watch? Ray?”

“Oh, I’ll have black tea.”

I brewed the tea and returned to the living room. Ray was clapping and laughing again. Athena Miller was being charming, displaying the wit of a seasoned actress. Even the host and the audience couldn’t stop laughing. Meanwhile, the pride of the aristocracy could only sit there, clapping along awkwardly.

It took a while before the host finally turned the microphone to Karl. When asked if he believed in reincarnation, Karl eagerly responded:

“I don’t just believe in it—I remember my past lives.”

The audience murmured in surprise. I sipped my tea, laughing quietly to myself. How far was he going to go with this?

Aristocrats… honestly.

Karl continued to spout lies. He claimed to have been a master of the arts in a previous life, and that his family had been a powerful merchant dynasty that helped stabilize the kingdom’s economy, rambling on and on. I realized he had absolutely no shame.

Scratching my chin, I got up.

“Ray, I’m going to take a shower.”

“Oh, okay.”

By the time I returned from my shower, Karl was still at it. Even Ray was grinning and watching the television with wide eyes. As someone well-versed in the art of deception, I had to admit that Karl’s performance was top-tier. No wonder political events like Brazil’s famous lying competitions didn’t allow politicians or lawyers to participate.

With his deep, resonant voice, Karl continued:

“The king was very fond of me. We exchanged letters every day, chatting about all sorts of things. Some of the topics were quite private, though the king never discussed his affairs with women in writing. That was a line he never crossed, though for reasons I can’t disclose.”

The host asked, “Reasons you can’t disclose?”

“I can’t share that. But I will say this—if the king has been reincarnated in this life, I hope to reconnect with him. In fact, I have a strong intuition that we’ll meet again someday. Hahaha.”

“You’re a romantic, Duke.”

“Well, let me continue. I often gifted the king skilled dwarves and jesters. He enjoyed their songs and dances as much as his falconry hunts.”

“A king who enjoyed the company of dwarves and jesters—that’s not so unusual. Now I’m even more curious about who you were in your past life.”

“If I reveal it too soon, it won’t be any fun. But here’s a little-known fact—while there are no records of it, the king was almost illiterate. He struggled greatly with writing, so even his personal letters were always dictated to a close aide. Very few people ever saw his signature. Instead of signing his name, he would always use his seal.”

“An illiterate king, huh? In the Middle Ages, kings with limited literacy weren’t unheard of.”

“I’m one of the very few people who saw the king’s signature. It was quite unique—he always left out the last letter of his name. Hahaha! Imagine that—the king couldn’t even spell his own name. Other than me, the only other person who saw his signature was his queen. In the royal wedding tradition, the groom would send his bride a hand-written marriage proposal, and that would officially start the wedding preparations.”

Suddenly, my phone vibrated. It was Leopard. My mood soured. All department heads were supposed to be on vacation until tomorrow. Why would they be calling at this hour?

“What’s this about?”

Just as I was about to answer the phone, I heard a sharp clattering sound. I whipped my head around. Ray’s amber hair fluttered down as he collapsed, clutching his chest.

It was a full moon night. The moonlight fell silently, like the old lamp in a forgotten bedroom.

꙳•❅*ִ

It was a full moon night. The moonlight fell silently, like the glow of an old lamp in a worn-out bedroom.

I followed the maids carrying food down the long corridor, trying to calm my racing heart.

It’s fine. No one will recognize me. I’ll just take a quick look and slip away unnoticed.

Before I knew it, I was standing in front of the banquet hall. I took a deep breath and stepped inside. The moment I did, my eyes widened in shock. Even the blazing sun of midsummer or the fiercely cold moonlight couldn’t compare to the scene before me.

The banquet hall was endlessly tall and wide. Countless candles flickered with such intensity that it seemed they could chase away even the angel of death in an instant. All around the hall, masked noblewomen and noblemen strolled gracefully, dancing with elegance. Laughter leaked from behind the fans of the noblewomen, and their slightest gestures flowed with the sharp grace of musical notes on a staff.

Was it always like this…?

I muttered silently to myself. A strange sensation crept inside me, like a rusted birdcage hanging from a tree, suddenly rattling violently in an unexpected August storm. It was pain. I knew what it was—how people laughed and danced beneath the pointed, gray rooftops outside. But still, this pain, like being bitten by a snake on the tip of my finger, was hard to shake off.

The noblewomen’s silk dresses were beautiful. The one Karl wore brushed his ears arrogantly and had wide, voluminous sleeves that nearly dragged along the floor. His head was adorned with a pointed headdress, layered with veils and various ornaments. Jewels dangled precariously from his neck, arms, and waist, scattering vibrant colors with every movement.

I smiled bitterly. There couldn’t be a woman more shabby than me here. Even the maids wore simple jewelry, yet I had none. My dress was the most plain and worn-out of all.

I’ll just watch…

I cautiously glanced around. In the distance, a man and a woman stood out, their dazzling clothes and jewels outshining everyone else in the room. The man looked familiar. The nose and mouth visible under his mask triggered my memory.

I recognized him immediately. He was the man I had once danced with at a festival. A noble, after all. But who was that woman? The way he looked at her—it was so gentle. He gazed at her with the eyes of a lover.

I smiled faintly. The words, glances, and gestures the man had thrown my way during the festival came back to me. They were so sincere that even I had briefly been deceived. They were as hot and desperate as if they could extinguish the sun itself. Those things that had kept me awake for so many nights… in short, his courtship. To think that it was nothing more than a flimsy temptation, thinner than a piece of linen handkerchief.

Why am I even surprised? Hadn’t I already known? The slight fever that had captured me that night was merely the magic of the festival. It was nothing more than a dream on a warm summer night. He and I had just been swept away by the festivities, running under the night sky. Blinded by uncontrollable excitement, we spoke lies, floundering in a pit of pleasure. And the festival had ended. A long time ago.

The torches that had illuminated the square had long gone out, leaving only thin trails of smoke, and the red flowers that had tickled my nose lost their fragrance and wilted. Everything had withered and died.

Like old love letters burning away in the flames of a fireplace, these memories, too, would eventually turn into a handful of ashes…

I was about to turn my head away from the man when I overheard the maids whispering as they pointed at the man and woman. Listening in on their conversation, I clenched my clothes tightly. It felt as though my entire body was falling into a deep, bottomless well.

The king? That man is the king?

The very man I despise with all my heart?

I didn’t want to believe it, but the pieces fit together too perfectly. What had the man called me when he grabbed my shoulder during the festival? It had been an unpleasant name. He had quickly apologized, saying he had mistaken me for someone else, and then asked me to dance. And then…

Despair weighed down on me like a suffocating blanket. What a cruel joke this was.

The music stopped. The dancers retreated to the edges of the ballroom, leaving only the king’s woman in the center. She removed her mask, revealing a thickly powdered white face. A smile spread across her red lips. Suddenly, dwarfs and jesters leaped out from the corners, surrounding her.

The woman shouted.

“Everyone! I am the queen!”

Her clear and confident voice startled me. The queen? What nonsense is she talking about?

Soon, I understood what she meant. She bent over and began mimicking a hunchback, walking in an exaggerated and comical manner. With a crude demeanor, she swayed her hips seductively and sobbed theatrically.

“Oh, when will His Majesty come? I’ve been waiting so long! I’ve been waiting without sleep!”

Laughter erupted. The king, the nobles, the maids, and the attendants all burst into uproarious laughter. They seemed utterly delighted by the woman’s one-person performance. The king, especially, was laughing the hardest.

The woman continued her performance skillfully. She cycled through various roles—a hunchback, a cripple, an ugly woman—performing a farcical play called

The dwarfs and jesters ran around her, hyping up the atmosphere. Finally, the woman curtsied elegantly, her expression full of satisfaction.

A thunderous round of applause followed. The king’s applause was the most enthusiastic.

The dancing resumed. The king and the woman intertwined, twirling wildly around the ballroom. Their dance was passionate, her long veils and trailing sleeves, along with the jewels hanging from her neck and waist, wrapped chaotically around the king. As they passed me several times, they laughed loudly. They laughed, and laughed, and laughed again. They were lovers, madly in love and cruelly so.

I just stood there, watching them. I stood still, staring at the joyous couple dancing madly. I couldn’t bring myself to move. Frozen like a corpse, I stood there until their feverish dance finally came to an end.

When the dance was over, the king slowly made his way around the ballroom, exchanging words with the nobles. Then, his gaze suddenly stopped on me. His eyes, visible outside the mask, widened in surprise.

“No…”

The king muttered quietly. Only then did I snap out of it.

I turned quickly and left the ballroom.

As I watched the woman’s—no, Levitan’s—performance, I felt as if dozens of arrows had pierced the back of my head. Never had I imagined that the king and the nobles would ridicule me in this way at a party. Not once. Not ever.

I had heard rumors, whispered by my nurse, that people thought I was ugly. But I had never paid much attention to it.

“If the king hasn’t visited his queen in so long, it’s natural for people to assume she’s unattractive. Let them say what they want. I know I’m more beautiful than anyone else…”

And I would laugh. I had always vowed to dress up and appear at a ball after my divorce from the king, making him regret ever abandoning me.

I walked down the empty corridor. Moonlight filtered through the windows, faintly illuminating the shadows cast along the columns. There was no sound, no people, nothing at all. Only the black and slender shadow at the hem of my tattered dress followed me, watching silently. It was a painfully lonely night.

Why?

It took me a long time to come to this question.

What were they laughing about? What do they know about me? How much do they know that they feel so free to scorn me? Why do I have to endure their ridicule, contempt, and hatred? Why do I have to be the target of so many people’s disdain?

Why? Why? What crime have I committed?

A tear slid down my cheek. Just then, I sensed movement behind me.

Pathetic…

I opened my eyes. Another wretched dream. For a moment, I just blinked.

It took me a while to realize where I was. A hospital room. Why am I here?

I stared at the ceiling before sitting up. Had I collapsed on the street? Maybe. I hadn’t been able to eat recently due to anorexia.

In any case, I needed to get home. I had been on standby, waiting for a message from Lord Manen regarding the Ekdal situation. The clock on the hospital wall showed it was already 5 a.m.

But my clothes…

For a moment, I was stunned. My usual sorcerer’s coat was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a luxurious coat was hanging on the stand beside the bed. After hesitating, I put it on. It must have belonged to whoever brought me to the hospital, but I was in a hurry.

I left a note saying I would return the coat tomorrow, then left the hospital. Fortunately, there was a considerable amount of cash in the coat pocket. I took a taxi to 42nd Street, leaning back in the seat as I considered the situation. Lord Manen was waiting for my decision, but I was full of doubt.

Isn’t this assassination? Someone’s life or death rested on my decision. I had told Lord Manen that I would decide after observing how Baron Luhimies would change his mind during this party, but the outcome was practically obvious.

I would have to eliminate him.

After all, Lord Manen already had plans to remove him. Baron Luhimies had been a sparrow, diligently feeding Ekdal various pieces of information about Lord Manen. Lord Manen, who had long suspected him, had now resolved after consulting with me. The only reason he waited for my decision was to test the partnership we had just established, marked by ‘love.’

So, I’m finally going to stain my hands with blood.

I had anticipated this, but I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly. Only two weeks after forming this ‘love,’ I’m already involved in an assassination. I smiled bitterly and lowered my gaze. The light from the neon signs outside the car window spilled over my knees. The flickering mass of lights glittered like butterfly wings.

But why was I at the hospital on 58th Street? Could the Good Samaritan who helped me work there?

Either way, I was fortunate to receive help in this harsh winter. I thought I should prepare a small gift and visit the hospital tomorrow… As I shifted my gaze to the car window, I flinched.

My entire body froze. The back of my head throbbed as if I had been hit with a mandolin. I was paralyzed for a while, barely managing to blink.

What… what, what is this?

I stared at the window. After a long moment, I finally lifted my hand to touch my cheek. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t see Whitebirch. Instead, there was a stranger. A man with strikingly blue eyes wide with shock and long, golden hair.

My breathing became shallow. My pulse raced wildly.

Has love been completed?

That was the only explanation. After the contract, the hallucinations and auditory illusions had lessened, but the form of Whitebirch remained. Even after two weeks, it hadn’t disappeared, so I had concluded the contract was only half-successful and given up. But it was a premature assumption. It just took time. Love had finally been fulfilled.

Have I finally bid farewell to the long-yearned freedom? Have I been completely freed from Whitebirch? Completely?

I was still dazed. It was strange seeing Ray Arisa’s face for the first time in my life. It was entirely different from what I had imagined. Marata had repeatedly said he was presentable. His hair was a wavy blonde. He wasn’t the hideous monster I had always envisioned.

“Where would you like to be dropped off, sir?”

The taxi driver’s words brought me back to my senses. “By the crosswalk over there.” I leaned back in my seat again.

Calm down…

This was expected, wasn’t it? The result appeared a little late, but there was no need to be so excited. Suddenly, I thought of Marata, and my chest ached.

I broke your last wish and signed the contract. Don’t forgive my selfishness. I’ll pay for this sin in hell.

I got out of the taxi and went into my home. I asked the concierge for the emergency key. He handed it to me, asking, “What brings you here at this hour? Did something happen?”

I just smiled as I took the key. I opened the door and turned on the lights. I threw off my coat and collapsed onto the bed. Time passed as I lay there with my eyes closed. Despite having achieved the freedom I had dreamed of for so long, I felt only strange.

Why? Was it because of the assassination? Or was it guilt over Marata?

In any case, I had to deal with the immediate task at hand. I reached toward the window, fumbling. Even after fumbling for a while, I couldn’t find my phone. I was incredibly tired, but I got up to check the windowsill. There was nothing there.

I looked around the room. The phone was nowhere in sight. I found it strange only after a moment. The furniture arrangement was different from usual. Even the Whitebirch branch I always kept in a vase was gone. It was absurd. There was only one explanation for this bizarre situation. A thief had broken in.

How unfortunate.

A thief, of all times. Why did they steal the Whitebirch branch? Should I call Lord Manen from a public phone? I could just snap another Whitebirch branch outside, but the thought of murmuring incantations in a public phone booth made my head spin. At least it was early morning, so there wouldn’t be many people around.

I decided to fill my stomach first. To avoid collapsing on the street again, I figured I needed to eat something before heading out. I opened the refrigerator and was stunned once again. The only thing in it was a bag of oatmeal. I was dumbfounded. The thief had even taken the food.

I had no choice but to take out the oatmeal. As I filled a pot with water, I flinched again. A sapphire ring sparkled on my finger.

What is this…

I examined the ring. Why on earth was this on my finger? And on my left ring finger, of all places—where people usually wear wedding rings.

Though bewildered, I left it on. Maybe the person who helped me had put it on my finger. For reasons unknown.

I placed the pot on the stove and fell into thought. I had confirmed that ‘love’ had finally been completed. Now, all that remained was to assist Lord Manen. I intended to help him with all my might, determined to sabotage the Nobles without Magic.

I reflected on the dream I’d had earlier. A burning rage surged within me.

That bastard. That smug face enjoying Levitan’s play. How could he have tracked Whitebirch after that?

If I had a time machine, I would’ve flown back to the 16th century without hesitation. I would’ve plunged a dagger into that bastard’s back as he pursued Whitebirch. I would’ve beaten Whitebirch to a pulp, too. Even if I buried them both alive, my fury wouldn’t be quelled.

The water boiled. I shook off the thoughts and brought the pot to the table. As I ate the oatmeal, I organized my plan. The assassination had been decided. Now, it was just a matter of execution.

I intended to recommend a ‘peaceful death’ to Lord Manen. In the ruthless battlefield of political assassinations, Lord Manen’s method would win people over. I had already decided on the method of assassination. Poisoning.

I planned to use cyanide. If blood is stored at 4 degrees Celsius for one or two weeks, cyanide can form due to bacterial activity during the process of blood decomposition. In experiments on thirty-three corpses, cyanide was detected in sixteen of them, indicating a high probability. I intended to suggest kidnapping the target, injecting cyanide, and then stashing the body in a storage warehouse at a logistics center. Cyanide could be used in various ways and had a high lethality. It was the perfect tool for poisoning. Going forward, cyanide would become Lord Manen’s ‘signature warning.’

I heard creaking footsteps on the floorboards outside. The footsteps were hurried. I paused while scooping up oatmeal. A knock sounded violently at the door to my room.

Someone knocking on my room door, at this hour.

I stared blankly at the door. The knocking had turned into outright banging, as if someone was about to kick the door down. It was so aggressive, I wondered if they had come to the wrong room. I swallowed the oatmeal I was eating and cautiously stood up.

“Who is it?”

I opened the door. Immediately, an unwelcome guest barged in—a man I had never seen before.

“What are you doing here?”

He spat out as soon as he entered, without a hint of hesitation or shame. I stood frozen, a mix of anger and disbelief surging through me.

The man grabbed my shoulder tightly and stared me down. His grey eyes were sharp, and he was so tall and built that I shrank back involuntarily.

“W-Who… I’ll scream! Let go of me!”

I stammered, trying to keep my voice steady. The man simply let out a short laugh, looking me up and down with disdain.

“You really don’t know who I am?”

“No, I don’t,” I shot back.

The man’s face hardened as if he’d just been slapped.

“How rude,” I added. “Barging into someone else’s place at this hour. Get out now.”

“Rude, am I?”

The man chuckled briefly, his grey eyes flickering dangerously.

“If you don’t know who I am, then let me make it clear. I am Four Messara. And I’m your lover.”

“Excuse me? Who’s whose lover?” I grimaced in confusion. What kind of crazy person was this? Lover? This rude man was my lover? I was in a relationship? Since when?

“Hahaha, look at this guy!” I laughed loudly, shaking his hand off my shoulder.

“Listen, mister! I’m a minor. You look like you’re old enough to know that having relations with a minor will land you in jail. If that’s what you’re after, find someone else. This is 42nd Street. It’s full of male prostitutes.”

“…What year, month, and day is it right now?” the man asked, his tone icy.

“Are you asking the date just to throw a fit at someone’s place? It’s May 11, 2118. Happy now? Now leave.”

I pushed against his chest, but he didn’t budge.

“You’re wrong. Today is February 18, 2129. You are currently 28 years old. We met in November of 2127, and we’ve been living together.”

“…”

I blinked, momentarily wondering if I was the crazy one, given how calm and rational he sounded.

“I said get out!” I finally yelled, unable to take this lunatic’s audacity any longer. Pointing at the door, I shouted again, “Can’t you hear me? Get out, now!”

“Yes, I’ll go.” He didn’t flinch. Then he added, “But I’m not leaving alone.”

As I tried to catch my breath and calm down, I muttered, “What?”

The man grabbed my arm, his strength overwhelming. Fear surged through me. This was 42nd Street, where crimes like assault and murder were rampant, and police rarely patrolled at this hour. My only hope for help was from the neighbors.

I screamed at the top of my lungs, struggling desperately as the man dragged me through the hallway. Doors began to creak open, and people started coming out.

That’s when Four Messara finally stopped. Neighbors mumbled among themselves, but no one dared approach. I screamed again.

“Someone, please help! Please! He’s crazy!”

No one stepped forward. No matter how many times I screamed, it was the same.

“Please, someone… please…” My voice cracked, and tears began to mix with my cries. Suddenly, Four Messara walked straight toward a woman standing nearby. She backed away, glancing nervously between me and him.

“You’re not meeting me for the first time, are you, ma’am? My partner’s mental state has deteriorated again. They don’t even recognize me, or what year it is. Could you kindly explain?”

“Oh my, poor thing.” The woman gasped, covering her mouth, then turned her pitying gaze toward me.

I was speechless.

“How did it happen again…? Arisa, dear, you left a month ago with this young man to move in together. And, yes, this year is 2129.”

What?

I felt like a frog trapped in a jar of formalin. My entire body was frozen from head to toe. Was this some kind of nightmare? It felt like I was surrounded by actors, all conspiring to play a cruel joke on me. Four Messara dragged me around, questioning other neighbors, and they all gave the same answers.

Each and every one of them said that I was in my late twenties, that the year was 2129, and that Four Messara was my lover. The security guard, who had given me the emergency key earlier, mentioned that he thought I had argued with Messara when I returned home. An old man even showed me the newspaper, confirming the current year. It all pointed to one conclusion.

Somehow, while I had fallen asleep, I had leapt forward 11 years. Not one year, but 11, jumping from being 17-year-old Ray Arisa to 28-year-old Ray Arisa. In an instant. In the blink of an eye.

I rode in Four Messara’s car, heading to the place where he claimed we lived together. He told me to call him Messara, saying that I used to call him by his surname. As we drove, he showed me his left ring finger and asked if I still doubted him. His finger bore the same sapphire ring that I wore on mine, glinting blue under the light.

I didn’t say a word. Questions kept swirling in my mind. How had I lived during those 11 years? How had things progressed between me and this man? Was it even possible to recover the lost memories of those 11 years?

All I felt was fear.

“We’ve arrived. Strange, you’re not asleep for once,” Messara said as he parked the car in the garage. He shrugged when he saw the questioning look in my eyes.

“You usually fall asleep the moment you get in the car,” he said, casually and without hesitation.

“I noticed you were eating earlier. Are you still hungry?” he asked, turning on the lights as we entered the house. I looked around, feeling completely disoriented. It didn’t feel real. The dreary one-room apartment had suddenly transformed into a bright two-story house, just as unbelievable as this supposed lover who had appeared out of nowhere.

Messara pointed to a sofa covered in a checkered cloth and said, “Wait here while I prepare dinner.” Hesitantly, I sat down on the sofa, and he even wrapped a cardigan around me.

“It’ll be a bit cold until the heating kicks in. I’ll be back soon,” he said, heading toward the kitchen. I stared blankly at him. Someone worrying about me being cold and covering me with a cardigan? This was a first. I swallowed hard.

Stay calm, Ray Arisa.

I decided to accept the situation for now. Given Messara’s natural demeanor and the neighbors’ testimonies, this wasn’t some elaborate prank. If I were being rational, the likelihood was higher that I was the one with the problem, especially considering what I’d gone through with those two people before.

I tried to collect myself and looked around the room. It had a sophisticated and cozy atmosphere, decorated with antique furniture and filled with plants—plants that I liked. The wall on the right was crowded with framed pictures.

As I scanned the wall, my eyes stopped at one section. There was a polaroid photo pinned to a corkboard, showing someone I recognized instantly—me. It was the Ray Arisa I was seeing for the first time today. There were three photos: one of me reading a book, one of me with my shoulders exposed, resting my chin on my hand and looking into the distance, and one of me watering a plant. It seemed like Messara had taken them.

The photo of me with my shoulders exposed sent a wave of shock through me. My wet hair suggested it was taken while I was naked. The thought that I, who used to wrap myself up like a hijabi woman out of fear of being seen, had bared myself and even taken such vulnerable pictures in front of Messara was astounding.

These photos, along with the plants, all supported Messara’s claims.

“Did I keep you waiting? Sorry, it took a bit longer to heat the food,” Messara said, setting the meal on the table. I just stared at him in a daze as he went about his tasks.

“Please, have some,” he said.

“…Thank you,” I replied, lifting the spoon. For a brief moment, I saw a strange glimmer in Messara’s eyes as he watched me eat, tapping the table with his index finger. What did that mean? Was he thinking of breaking up with his crazy lover?

If I were in his shoes, I would have broken up immediately. Based on the conversation with the neighbors earlier, it seemed like this kind of situation had happened multiple times before. The thought made my chest ache. Still, there was something I needed to know.

“How did we meet?” I asked.

“Huh?”

Messara hesitated. After furrowing his brow for a moment, he answered, “Well, we just sort of met. It wasn’t a very romantic encounter. Haha.”

He clearly didn’t want to talk about it. If it was that uncomfortable for him to say, our start must have been far from ideal. I couldn’t help but laugh. It reminded me of how sweet the beginning had been with those other two people.

As I sipped the soup, I said, “So what if it wasn’t romantic? Judging by how we’re living together now, it seems like things have worked out just fine. That’s all that matters.”

Messara stared at me intently. I found myself avoiding his gaze. He quickly apologized and turned away, clearly trying to respect my preferences. His actions were just as telling as those polaroid pictures—Messara really was my lover. Lover… Just thinking about the word made my head spin.

I have a lover? A lover?

The only sound for a while was the clinking of the spoon. When the awkward silence became too thick, Messara suddenly spoke.

“Do you really remember nothing?”

“…No,” I answered in a small voice.

After a long pause, Messara asked again.

“Not even your feelings for me?”

I froze with the spoon in my hand.

My feelings for Messara.

How had I not thought of that? In the rush of everything that had happened, I hadn’t even considered it. Feelings… That was a fundamental part of being in a relationship.

Messara and I were in a relationship, which meant I must have loved him at some point. Despite my extreme dislike of people, I had loved this man enough to live with him. I had grown close enough to him to take a photo naked, completely unguarded. That meant it wasn’t just a mild affection—it must have been serious.

Without realizing it, I set the spoon down. I didn’t know how to respond. After a long moment of thought, the only words I could muster were…

“It will come back to you soon,” I said.

Messara simply twisted his lips into a smile. Silence lingered between us for a while.

Awkwardly, I spoke up.

“I’ll try. I’ll work on remembering as soon as I can.”

“I hope so too,” Messara replied, his face showing a mixture of cynicism and bitterness.

“If you’ve finished eating, let’s sleep. I’m also on leave for the next few days,” Messara said, getting up. He guided me to a room. In the center stood a large king-size bed, adorned with a chiffon canopy and oriental cushions.

The bed.

My heart sank. My face turned red as a beet. How did I not think of this sooner? Just from the Polaroid photos, it was obvious. Since we were a couple living together, it made sense that we’d shared a bed. The shock struck me to my core, but I tried to calm myself.

I had to accept this situation. Everything fit too well — Messara’s tone, his eyes, the way he cared for me. It couldn’t be an act. No, there was no longer any room for doubt. Messara was my lover.

I placed my hand on my chest and took a deep breath. Stay calm, Ray Arisa. You don’t want to hurt him by acting rashly.

“Aren’t you going to put it on? Holding it forever is tiring,” Messara teased, handing me a set of pajamas. I hesitated for a moment before taking them and changing. Messara also changed into his pajamas. His movements were completely natural. He was already tall and well-built, but seeing him bare-chested was even more impressive. I felt foolish for even having such thoughts.

“Come lie down here, hahaha,” Messara laughed playfully, patting the spot beside him. Embarrassed, I forced myself to lie down next to him. My face was burning again.

How did things end up like this? Just a few hours ago, I had been plotting the assassination of Luhimies. And now, here I was, lying in the same bed as a man. I had resigned myself to a life where I would never experience sex. Yet here I was.

Messara couldn’t possibly know. Until today, I had never even dared to hold a woman’s hand, let alone anything else. I had always been overwhelmed by the thought that I must be unattractive. During my teenage years, when my peers were exploring their sexuality, I could only peek out from the attic window, feeling sad as I watched the prostitutes outside.

And now I had a male lover. Ray Arisa, how have you lived for the past 11 years?

I stared at the ceiling, wide awake. I couldn’t stop thinking about Messara’s body next to mine. Surely, we hadn’t just slept in this bed. We must have done other things too. It would be strange if we hadn’t. That realization made me freeze.

Messara was slowly undoing the buttons on my pajamas. I couldn’t move a muscle. I felt scared and embarrassed, my ears burning. Messara whispered gently.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, just say so. I understand it must feel strange, given your memory loss.”

With that, he placed his hand on my chest. It was the first time Ray Arisa had ever been touched by a man like this. I was terrified. I felt overwhelmed with fear. Messara kissed my earlobe and began caressing my chest.

Ah…

It was unexpected. I didn’t feel any discomfort. More than anything, I was surprised at the strange sensation of shivers running through me. Unlike my mind, my body seemed to remember Messara. Something was waking up inside me, like a seed sprouting from the dry winter ground.

The touch was familiar. The gentle, sweet caresses felt known to me. Yes, I had definitely experienced this before. I must have shared my body with him countless times. My body was telling me that, without a doubt. I opened my lips without realizing it and wrapped my arms around Messara’s broad shoulders. I even parted my legs, embracing his waist.

Messara took my nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue. My body felt like it was melting. His touch was tender and warm. Before I knew it, I was lying naked in his arms.

Messara asked softly if I liked it. I nodded. He entered me. This feeling too was familiar. It hurt, but I found myself waiting for the pleasure that would soon follow, amazed by my own anticipation. Messara moved slowly, and I responded with moans. Those moans soon turned into cries. The pleasure was unexpected and overwhelming. Messara whispered my name endlessly, calling for me as he moved.

As my vision turned white, I felt warmth flood inside me. Messara pulled away and caught his breath. He stroked my hair and kissed me, softly but passionately. Every little gesture, every fleeting glance conveyed his deep love for me. I could feel it — an overwhelming sense of connection. And I finally understood why people called it “making love.”

I stared blankly at the ceiling. This was all new to me. Everything was a first. After wandering through cold and indifferent time for so long, warmth had finally reached me. It was unbelievable, yet undeniable. Everything felt clear — someone wanting me, calling my name so earnestly. It was all so real.

Suddenly, I felt something stir deep inside me, growing rapidly like a flower bud bursting open. It was sudden and explosive. And in that instant, the dull, lifeless garden of my heart was flooded with light. I understood now. I could finally see the name of the seed that had lain dormant within me.

It was emotion.

Could I call it love? It seemed like love. It was a sensation I had never experienced in my cold, shadowy life. So, this was love.

Without thinking, I whispered to myself. The words felt familiar, as if I had said them many times before. Ray Arisa loves Four Messara.

“Ray Arisa loves Four Messara…” I repeated aloud. Messara’s hand froze as he stroked my hair. He stared at me, his gray eyes filled with joy.

“So do I,” Messara said, kissing me again. As he pulled away, he smiled and said, “Let’s go again. It seems Ray was satisfied.” He laughed playfully. At that moment, I realized my lover had a mischievous side. I couldn’t refuse him, and I let Messara take me again. Suddenly, I remembered Whitebirch, walking alone through the palace corridors, and my eyes stung with tears.

꙳•❅*ִ

Ray had run far away, leaving behind everything we shared, returning to 11 years ago. Back to 11 years ago. The memories were gone. The rings we exchanged, the peak of happiness we enjoyed during the festival, all of it was shattered in just a few hours. Once again, I was abandoned and left behind.

And then Ray looked at me like a stranger and screamed at me to leave immediately.

It was unbearably bitter. A sense of despair wrapped around my whole body like solid iron bars. Fear also crept in. This was the third time. I had lost my memory for the third time already.

If it happens again in the future… No matter how happy the times we share are, if I forget it, I would merely be a stranger to him. The possibility of this situation repeating itself, like a squirrel running on a wheel, filled me with dread.

What could it be? What was the cause?

First, I observed him. In some ways, it was fascinating. The seventeen-year-old Ray was very different from the Ray I met two years ago. Even his behavior after we had sex had changed. Normally, he would turn his back immediately, but yesterday he leaned his head deep into my arms.

That was a gesture of someone pushed to loneliness, drained of energy. It was still the gesture of someone feeling pain from wounds. Two years ago, Ray, whose loneliness had scratched deeply and repeatedly, had become someone who had forgotten even such weary gestures.

He was definitely different. What had he been like two years ago? He often remained indifferent in chaotic situations that choked him. The words “I will try. I hope my memory comes back soon” were almost unimaginable from the twenty-eight-year-old Ray.

The seventeen-year-old Ray was brighter and overflowing with vitality. Compared to the twenty-eight-year-old Ray, he was less indifferent, less emotionless, and less depressed. He was easily surprised, easily flustered, and easily delighted. That was the kind of person Ray had been eleven years ago. Given the passage of time, it was natural, but it was still shocking.

Eleven years…

I drove toward headquarters, lost in thought. When I asked the year and date, Ray said it was May 11, 2118. Ray’s master, Marata… full name Marata Rayco, had died on April 28, 2118. Manen testified that he received a call from Ryeong immediately after Marata’s funeral. If that’s the case, then Ray’s memory must have halted in the midst of the political turmoil.

Until now, I had speculated that the primary cause of the darkness surrounding Ray was some bastard king or another. Now I saw that it was not just him. Marata and Manen had played a significant role as well. I had suspected to some extent, but I realized it anew this time. They were scoundrels who deserved to be cursed.

Marata locked young Ray in the attic and taught him sorcery. Manen, fully aware that Ryeong was a boy, pulled him into the political strife and taught him schemes. At the most crucial time for a human’s growth, Ray had encountered lousy teachers. He learned sorcery and faced political conflict, which gradually destroyed him.

He was like a plant that dries up without water. As abnormal living conditions stretched over long years, they drained all the moisture from the pot of Ray, who was at least brighter and more vigorous than now. The result was the dry and brittle Ray I had first met.

Is it a double-edged sword? Ray had shed memories that could chill the bones along with the time we shared. The political strife, the poverty, even the memory of being shot at.

I paused while taking a drag from my cigarette.

Suddenly, a memory surfaced. Three days ago, during the festival night, a gust of wind had mischievously scattered Ray’s hair and fled. At that time, I just smiled brightly.

Damn, what am I thinking now?

I hastily shook my head. It was awful. It was ridiculous. For now, I had left Ray at the hospital. Unlike the stubborn twenty-eight-year-old Ray, the seventeen-year-old Ray willingly accepted psychiatric treatment. This too fell under the double-edged sword. Above all, after we had sex, Ray was the first to tell me he loved me. That was enough.

Ray was a person whose inner thoughts were hard to decipher, but one thing was clear. He was not someone who carelessly showered flowery language on fleeting pleasures. Absolutely not. Even if his memories were gone, his feelings for me remained unchanged. I tried hard to think this way. If I didn’t think this, I might go crazy too.

It was fine. I had no intention of collapsing here. I was a tough and resilient bastard. Patience was in my nature. A wind drifting through the darkness? Ridiculous. Unless it was a natural disaster, I had never heard that a little wind could cause a tragedy.

That was nothing more than a mental illness. Once treated, it would be over. With overflowing money, I would toss him into a mental hospital and have him cured. What mattered was the future. Especially in times like this, cold reason was needed more than the winter wind. I had to ensure that such events did not happen again.

Now, let’s think about Karl…

The Guiger headquarters emerged from the swirling snow. I crushed the burnt-out cigarette and pulled out another one. Lighting it, I assessed the situation.

On the evening when I received both Leopard’s call and Ray’s attack simultaneously, the public broadcast news reported the queen’s scandal as the top story. It was claimed that the royal stableman had slept with the queen five times. As evidence, he presented two pairs of panties embroidered with the royal emblem and recorded lewd phone conversations and text messages on his cellphone, as well as checks. It was a major scandal that dealt a fatal blow to the already unstable queen, who was struggling with her inheritance.

Was this incident also a coincidence? Or was it Karl’s doing?

I had not received any information indicating that Karl had contacted the royal stableman. And the royal stableman had recently incurred a large gambling debt. After some careful thought, I came to a conclusion. This incident was coincidental. The gods smiled upon Karl.

On the day the queen’s scandal broke, rumors spread that the king had called Karl to discuss wanting to divorce the queen and marry Irina. To prove that the rumors were true, the next day, Karl threw a grand party. A club of libertines who followed Karl gathered there and happily popped champagne.

In the meantime, we had remained silent. Karl must have assumed we were deeply shocked.

Hmph, far from it.

How many years did ancient wars involving goddesses last? It was not the smiles of the goddesses that ended that boring ten-year war but rather human folly.

I smiled gently. Upon arriving at headquarters and entering the materials department, Cooperhead waved a newspaper.

“Hey, Chief. The article turned out great.”

I took the newspaper and skimmed through it. The East Eden morning paper featured Irina’s past prominently. It was quite interesting.

The god who favored Karl was surely Ares. The foolish male god who was the first to be summoned to an adultery trial in Greek mythology. On the other hand, the god who favored Four Messara was likely Hera. She was capricious but strong-willed and intelligent, the chief goddess of Olympus.

On the night the queen’s scandal broke, we received an international phone call while we were preoccupied with strategy development. It was team members on a business trip to Germany. They said they had sent the first data via email and asked me to confirm it.

Irina had cohabited with a man in Germany for four months. In other words, she was not a virgin. When asked what time it was to be concerned with virginity, the answer was simple. If she felt wronged, she should blame the royal family. It was royal tradition for a queen candidate to have her hymen examined. The current queen, who had good stamina, had also undergone verification of her virginity. Of course, it was a triumph of modern medicine, but if that queen had also cohabited, marriage would have been impossible. Unlike the hymen, cohabitation experience remained an irrefutable piece of evidence.

Traditionally, the fact that Irina was the king’s mistress had never been openly discussed in the media. For now, Irina was officially still a virgin. The royal marriage was fiercely scrutinized, with all sorts of wolves sharpening their claws and charging in. It was a war. Nevertheless, Karl, who left such evidence, was a fool. If he wanted to make his sister a queen, he should have sent a fixer to Germany to eliminate her cohabitant.

Though, under our tight surveillance, he might not have been able to hire a fixer.

Irina’s cohabitant was a handsome man with strong thighs and bronzed skin. As per my request, East Eden published a giant full-body photo of him on the front page. The short king would be greatly hurt. It was, in a nutshell, “both the wife and the mistress disappear.”

And there was one more interesting thing.

A dispatch member reported.

‘Often’ indeed.

I underlined that with a fluorescent marker. It seemed likely that we could entangle him in a charge of defaming a potential queen. I knew it well; if someone had a bit of charm, they’d be called queen material, or general material, without hesitation. Even the villain Snake grew up hearing his parents refer to him as our prince. However, in this line of work, if there was nothing, you had to create something to pick at. And I was a master at nitpicking.

I went upstairs to the executive meeting room to start the meeting. Jaguar said, “Karl has canceled all his schedules and is preparing to sue East Eden and the cohabitant.”

I chuckled. That was good news. I wanted to head to court as soon as possible. Among the unpublished materials were sex videos of the cohabitant and Irina. I had no interest in a fallback plan. I only acted when I was 90% sure of a victory.

During the meeting, I received a call from the queen’s physician. He hinted that the queen was engrossed in plans to publish her memoirs and make a fortune. True to Manen’s daughter, the queen was exceptionally talented in writing. It seemed a masterpiece would be born, vividly describing the king’s poor bedroom skills and the sexual techniques of various celebrities in exquisite language.

I clasped my hands and smiled.

“The only thing left is to scout for a candidate for queen.”

“For now, I’ve looked into the Tola family. Marianne Tola. She’s thirty-three. She hates parties with the Altonen family and is deeply religious. She’s also a good match in age for the old king.”

“What about the Lotus faction’s movements?”

“We’ll have to wait for the dispatch member’s report. Since Pusher read the morning paper, he probably thinks the same as us. He’s likely rummaging through relatives to find a bride candidate.”

Handing me a glass of Leopard Scotch whiskey, I took a sip. It tasted quite good.

The smile of the god Ares had instead become a grave for Karl. Seizing this opportunity, I intended to elevate not only the crown princess but also the new queen through the forces of the unholy.

While reviewing the first materials sent by the German dispatch member, I solidified my plan. I instructed them to contact East Eden and hand over the materials, then leak Irina’s cohabitation case the day after the king announces his divorce from the queen. Then I extended my vacation by three days and left work without hesitation.

Yesterday, the king and queen officially announced their separation for the divorce process. And this morning, East Eden featured a wonderful article on the front page. Karl’s powerful reign ended like a three-day kingdom.

After finishing my Scotch whiskey, I said, “So, what’s the schedule for today?”

“There’s a large-scale protest scheduled for 2 PM at 56th Street. The police are crying and calling for help. Tonight, there’s a party hosted by Altonen.”

Following Cooperhead, Leopard said.

“It’s still uncertain, but rumors are rampant that Karl is behind this protest. There’s been information that the brokers supplying the vagrants to Manen have recently contacted people from the Vardi family, so it seems like a credible rumor. We’re checking it now.”

“Good. Cooperhead, Leopard, Jaguar, Falcon, you’re on the demo squad. The rest will escort Altonen. Let’s go.”

I slammed my glass down. It felt like a lucky break. I was feeling terribly down because of Ray. I decided to shake off my gloom by joyfully catching vagrants. Outside, the members’ shouts were already loud.

꙳•❅*ִ

“……Arisa?”

I snapped back to attention at the art therapist’s prompt. I hurriedly started moving the crayons. My mind had been wandering all day. There was a throbbing sensation in one part of my body.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the time I spent with Messara, making it hard to concentrate. I had spent three days with Messara. We baked cakes together, watered the greenhouse plants, had conversations, and took walks through streets blooming with snowflakes. And at night, we had sex.

Among everything I shared with Messara, the memories of sex came to mind most often. It was indescribably embarrassing, but I couldn’t help it. It was just too sweet.

I recalled the acts I had shared with Messara. They were sweet yet shameful. At the time, I didn’t realize it, but now, reflecting on it, my face burned. It was a continuous series of embarrassing acts. Me, sucking a man’s penis. Swallowing semen. Showing my lower body wide open. Yet, I still found those acts sweet.

Messara explained that our relationship had started two years ago. I had met Messara by chance while running a second-hand bookstore on 42nd Street. Although we had experienced one setback in between, we were now living together, having restored our relationship.

Messara added that he wanted this relationship to last long, until death.

Long-lasting, until death…

Could this be reality? Was Cinderella, who received a pumpkin carriage and glass slippers from the fairy, feeling like this? A warm home with a kind lover. I had never once thought such things would come to me.

But it was real. The reality was clear. I was still bewildered by this tremendous change that had occurred in an instant. It felt like I had suddenly dropped into the future via a time machine. Thankfully, it wasn’t a bad future. Considering I was an orphan with no formal education, my path had been decent.

In fact, eleven years ago at this time, I was suffocated by the dire circumstances of survival from my contract with Lord Manen, feeling lost and hopeless. I constantly sighed over living expenses while being tormented by two lovers. However, I was now the owner of a small second-hand bookstore.

Messara explained that the bookstore had been passed down to me by an old woman from the next room eight years ago. According to him, I seemed to have lived quietly and diligently while running the second-hand bookstore.

I had parted ways with Lord Manen.

I picked up the red crayon, lost in thought. It was during lunchtime, and I had logged onto the internet on a computer in the hospital lounge. The records related to Lord Manen were shocking, one after another. My blood froze as I read through them.

Lord Manen had fallen half a year ago. Completely, utterly. He had enjoyed a prestigious life, elevating his daughter to queen and ascending to the highest position in the tattoo hierarchy, the Lotus. But in a flash, he plummeted due to an embezzlement scandal. His death was chilling to the core. He died in a car accident, burning to death while being transported after his arrest.

The rise and fall of Wolfscott, Ekdal, Suominen, and Edelma were equally astonishing. It was like watching a movie. I blankly closed the browser window.

Lord Manen had fallen. But I was living a peaceful life.

The conclusion was clear. Judging from the current situation, where Whitebirch’s form had completely dissipated, it seemed I had left while still assisting Lord Manen. Perhaps, as my mind found peace, the burning desire for revenge had also waned.

That seemed like the most plausible answer. I had parted ways with Lord Manen, lived an ordinary life, and eventually met Messara, which led me here.

Four Messara…

I muttered his name as I colored the paper. Although I didn’t know much about Messara yet, he seemed like a good person. His job was a junior office worker at Guiger. Surprised by his physique, which didn’t seem to match that of an office worker, he had laughed and said:

I nodded. Messara had asked his neighbors to keep his job a secret, likely due to Guiger’s notorious reputation. He also showed me the manuscript I had written. He explained that during our time living together, I had planned to write a book.

The handwriting on the manuscript was undeniably mine. As I turned the pages, I was filled with a strange sensation. It was as if the elusive sense of reality that had been slipping away was finally settling in with weight. My lover, my home, my manuscript—everything seemed to converge in one place.

Here I was, planning a future with this man. Loving Four Messara, being loved by Four Messara, and filling the days ahead. An indescribable feeling wrapped around me, warm like sunlight enveloping a budding plant.

“Are you feeling good?”

The art therapist suddenly asked. I responded, “Pardon?”

“You can tell from the drawing. The colors are bright, and the figure in the center stands out. What’s this, a cake?”

“I baked one with a friend yesterday.”

“Ah, I see. Well, take a break now. That’s enough drawing for today.”

The art therapist collected the drawings and left the room. I walked toward the window. It was three o’clock in the afternoon, and fatigue was slowly creeping in. The psychiatric hospital I attended was located on the 18th floor of a building in the new city center. From the window, I could see a vast plaza below.

I was an outpatient. I had decided to come here using Messara’s commute. Today was my first day. In the morning, I had a medical consultation and a brief session with a counselor. In the afternoon, I just kept drawing. They told me to draw whatever came to mind, so I did, but as I drew, the thought crossed my mind multiple times that I would never make it as an artist. A sudden wave of sadness washed over me.

When would I recover? The thought of the burden Messara must bear with his salary as a junior officer made me feel guilty.

I stared out at the plaza. A fierce protest was underway under the sky filled with swirling snow. Even after 11 years, political strife hadn’t changed, and I let out a bitter smile.

Political strife…

In my judgment, Lord Manen’s death wasn’t an accident. Around that same time, Wolfscott had been reduced to a vegetative state. No matter how strange reality can be, it was highly unlikely that such coincidences could happen simultaneously.

The same applied to Ekdal, Edelma, and Suominen. Ekdal was killed by the government and wasn’t discovered until five hours later. Edelma died in a theater fire. Suominen turned up dead in his cell a day after being imprisoned for treason. These events had two common threads.

First, none of them died a natural death. Every one of them met a dramatic end, as if straight out of a popular novel.

Second, the prominent figures in politics fell from grace in an instant, without even a chance to defend themselves or make a comeback. Just look at Wolfscott, who ended up a mute vegetable—deeply significant.

These facts pointed to one thing: a conspiracy. Someone lurking in the shadows was systematically purging political giants. But who? Who could have orchestrated such a thing? Either way, judging by their fates, it was a good thing I had distanced myself from the political strife. Had I stayed loyal to Lord Manen until the end, I might have turned into a corpse long ago.

As that thought crossed my mind, a cold shiver ran through me.

Don’t think about it…

I calmed my breathing and drew circles on the frost-covered window. The protest in the plaza was reaching its climax. Vagrants, Guiger officers, and police were clashing all over the place. Tear gas was rising constantly. Black smoke filled the sky. Shouts rang out like sharp echoes.

Most of the men involved in the brawls were bloodied. Three or four vagrants ran but fell, and five or six Guiger officers pounced on them at once, beating them with metal pipes and kicking them. Blood splattered on the white snow. Flyers and scraps of newspapers fluttered in the air.

Why? Why did red flowers overlap with that scene of chaos?

I stared at the protest as if mesmerized. Was this a fragment of a lost memory? Colorful papers fluttering among the white snowflakes. I was among the crowd… with a red flower…

My head was spinning. I pressed my temples and shook my head. The scene in the plaza sped up. Several jeeps and trucks zigzagged through the chaos. At first glance, they seemed to be driving aimlessly, but on closer inspection, they were strategically disrupting the protesters, leading the charge.

The jeeps were especially fierce. Through loudspeakers attached to the vehicles, officers relentlessly commanded and pushed back the protesters. Wherever the jeeps went, the vagrants scattered. The jeep in the center was particularly striking. It aggressively closed in on the vagrants before coming to a sudden halt.

Ahead, Guiger officers were being beaten by the vagrants. Suddenly, the jeep’s door flew open, and a red figure leaped out. I gasped.

A tall, imposing figure clad in a blood-red coat and wearing a silver mask appeared. Even from a distance, the figure exuded an overwhelming presence. On his back, I could clearly see the golden-stitched emblem of the Wolfscott family: a saint holding a severed head.