Leonhart’s hand stopped cold against her cheek. Looking into Lilietta’s guarded gaze, he finally caught the faint shiver running through her frame.
She was terrified of him.
Yet every muscle in her body was wound tight, poised to strike at the slightest provocation.
Just what kind of life had she been forced to live?
Leonhart drew his hand back and took a measured step away. Only then did the rigid tension leave her shoulders.
Telling her she was safe because they were family would mean nothing to her right now.
Weighing every syllable, Leonhart kept his voice steady and low.
“Rita. Let’s get you back to your room first. Can you walk, or do you want a hand?”
“I can manage.”
Though pale as ash, her refusal was stubborn. Rita braced one hand against the wall and pushed herself upright, her slender arm visibly trembling. Leonhart fought down the urge to gather his sister into his arms. Instead, he simply walked ahead, keeping an easy pace so she could follow behind.
Once they were inside her room, Rita sank onto the sofa. Leonhart told her to wait and slipped out, returning shortly with a tea tray. He poured two cups of hot tea and gestured for her to choose first. Taking the remaining cup, he drank from it without hesitation.
Understanding the gesture, Rita let out a quiet breath.
“You didn’t have to do that. I know you wouldn’t poison Lilietta’s body.”
“Knowing it rationally and feeling it in your gut are two different things. Right now, everything around you must feel hostile,” Leonhart said after another sip. “I thought it might put you at ease.”
“….”
His gentle consideration caught her off guard. She had mistaken a maid for a demonic beast and nearly killed her; under normal circumstances, being thrown into a cell wouldn't have been out of the question.
Rita stared down at the porcelain cup before bringing it to her mouth. The bitter warmth trickled down her throat, slowly thawing the knot in her chest.
Leonhart did not rush her. He simply sat in patient silence. When she finished the tea, Rita pushed the damp hair away from her forehead, her skin still clammy with cold sweat.
She was the one to break the quiet.
“Hannah… the maid. Is she all right?”
“She was shaken, but she’s unhurt. I had the physician look over her, so you don’t need to worry.”
“…Aren’t you going to question me about what happened?”
“You had your reasons.”
“What?”
“It wasn’t intentional, was it?”
“Well… no.”
“Then that’s all that matters.”
He checked his watch and set his empty teacup down on the table.
“Rita, I have some pressing matters to attend to, so I need to step out for a while. I’ll return this evening. Rest until then. If you need anything, pull that bell cord over there.”
As he rose, Rita blurted out before she could stop herself.
“Are you really not going to ask why I did it?”
“If I ask, will you tell me?”
“…It’s not a short story.”
“I don’t mind if it takes long. In fact, the more details, the better.”
“You just said you were busy.”
“I am. But nothing is more important than you.”
He sank back onto the sofa without a moment's hesitation. Rita stared at him, bewildered, her mouth parting slightly before she found her voice.
“Leonhart… you do realize I’m not actually your sister, right?”
Leonhart fell silent. He had intended to play along until she came to the realization on her own. But the incident earlier had forced him to see the grim truth: Lilietta had lived through horrors far beyond normal comprehension.
He had suspected it from the start, but the reality was far worse.
She had survived in an environment where staying alive meant keeping every nerve frayed, distrusting everything, and lashing out at the slightest sign of a threat.
If so, tiptoeing around the truth might only do her more harm.
What she needed right now was absolute certainty.
Leonhart stroked his lower lip thoughtfully with his thumb, then spoke in a measured voice.
“Rita. If I’m being completely honest…”
“…”
“To me, you are still Lilietta.”
“I told you, I’m not.”
“I heard you. And because you insisted, I’ve been trying to accept it.”
A faint, self-deprecating smile touched his lips.
“But no matter how hard I try, all I can see is my little sister who has lost her memories.”
“That’s only because you’re looking at her face. Don’t confuse the shell with who’s inside.”
“Rita.”
A pair of eyes identical to her own held her gaze without wavering.
“What is your very first memory?”
“I already told you, I grew up an orphan on the streets.”
“How old were you? What exactly do you remember?”
“I… I don’t know. All I remember is thinking I was going to starve to death. Then someone took me in and asked if I wanted to be his child, so I said yes. That’s where it starts.”
That man had been the archmage Pascal. He took her under his wing and threw her into grueling training alongside the other orphans. Everything before that point was a total blank.
Whenever she tried to look back on those early years, the only things that surfaced were a hollow ache in her gut that felt like it would rip her apart, a suffocating stench, and an icy dread that chilled her to the marrow. She had never dared to look deeper.
Compared to that void, Pascal’s brutal training had been bearable. At least she hadn't starved.
So stop asking. She had no desire to drag those buried days back into the light.
“Do you understand now? I was just a stray. There’s nothing back there worth remembering, so don’t bring it up again.”
Her sharp tone was meant to end the conversation, but Leonhart didn't flinch.
“And before that?”
“…What?”
“Before you were on the streets. A baby can’t survive alone. Do you really remember nothing of whoever looked after you, or where you grew up? Has your entire life truly been nothing but wandering by yourself?”
“What do you want me to say?! Leonhart, I’m not Lilietta. I have no memory of living in a palace like this. I don’t know your face. All I remember is digging through garbage heaps just to stay alive!”
Unbidden, fragments of the past surged to the surface.
The bitter jealousy she felt watching children sheltered by their parents. The foul stench clinging to her skin. The entrails of demonic beasts smeared across her bare flesh. Hands raw with bleeding wounds. The leaden weight of a rifle too heavy for her child’s hands.
She remembered a clean, well-dressed boy her age crying to his mother that she looked filthy and terrifying, and how that mother had pulled him into her arms, shielding him from sight. That scene had seared itself into her mind. She had stood in the distance, watching them for a very long time, consumed by envy.
Her voice cracked as she lost her temper.
“Family? Why would I care about that? Why the hell would I remember people who threw me away?!”
A flicker of deep sorrow crossed Leonhart’s face, gone as quickly as it had appeared. When he answered, his tone remained steady.
“I know you don’t want to look back on that pain. But if you truly have no memory of your family… if you really were alone from the very start… then consider this one possibility.”
“…What?”
“What if waking up in Lilietta’s body wasn’t a freak accident? What if the family you forgot… was us all along? What if returning to this world simply meant returning to your own body?”
He reached inside his coat and placed a small object on the table between them.
“I don’t know how the world you lived in worked, but here, it’s virtually impossible for a foreign soul to take over someone else’s body. Dark magic might mimic it, but there would still be an unmistakable dissonance.”
It was a little box no larger than the palm of his hand. Its edges were scuffed with time, the corners soft with wear, though traces of faded gold filigree still clung to the surface. It had clearly been kept close and cherished for years.
“You claim to be someone entirely different. Rita, do you truly think I wouldn’t recognize my own sister? If an entirely different person were dwelling inside you, I would have known.”
He gently slid the box toward her, then rose to his feet.
“Just think about it once. What if you really are Lilietta?”
“….”
Rita remained motionless, staring blankly at the closed door long after he had gone.
Me, Lilietta?
Such a notion had never once crossed her mind. It was absurd. This body couldn't possibly be hers.
Then what on earth did he see in her…?
Hesitating, she picked up the worn matchbox and opened it. Resting inside was a small card with a dried four-leaf clover carefully pressed onto its center.
[I found it! Good luck on your test, Leon!]
A child’s round, clumsy handwriting framed the faded, brittle clover. The little box carried the dry, faint scent of long-lost years.
Had Lilietta given him this? Had he kept it by his side for more than ten years?
“…”
Rita stared down at the card. A strange, quiet ache blossomed in her chest. It was tender, warm, and unnervingly familiar—like reading an old letter written in a hand you had forgotten was your own.
Something stirred deep within her, yet no memories surfaced. There was only a wall of thick fog.
‘You are Rita, an orphan I took in. You have neither parents nor family.’
Instead of the past, what echoed in her mind was the voice of the archmage who had raised her. A face obscured beneath a deep cowl, a heavy hand resting on her head, pressing down with inescapable weight.
‘Never forget how desperate and starving you were. And be grateful that I saved you from it.’
Looking back on those words now, they felt entirely, chillingly wrong.