Chapter 1: Realizing the Possession

Clink.

Once again, Lise set down her spoon after barely managing three sips of soup.

“Still no appetite?”

“Nope.”

“Oh dear, what are we going to do?”

Mirabel, who cared for her young mistress more than her own well-being, looked utterly distressed.

No matter what, the young lady had always eaten her meals properly—until a few days ago, when she suddenly started picking at her food like this. And now, she wasn’t even finishing her soup.

Desperate, Mirabel had been preparing ten different dishes for every meal, hoping to tempt her, but nothing worked. Lise couldn’t stomach anything properly, as if she’d fallen ill.

“What do you want to eat, then? Tell me, anything at all! At this rate, you’ll starve to death!”

“What I want to eat is…”

Mirabel perked up as Lise finally spoke.

“Something chewy, soft, and long-simmered in a spicy red sauce. With… something like minced fish cake in it? Oh, and boiled eggs too.”

Mirabel blinked in confusion.

“What kind of dish is that? I’ve never even heard of it. Where on earth did you try something like that?”

“I haven’t actually eaten it…”

It just popped into her head. Out of nowhere. But the memory felt so vivid—the burning, addictive spiciness lingering on her tongue.

Just thinking about it made her mouth water. How could she possibly stomach the bland meals the estate chef prepared now?

“Then what’s it called? I’ll ask around.”

The name…

How would she know if she’d never eaten it?

It was on the tip of her tongue—something like… Ddeokboki? Tteobokki? Something like that.

“…Let’s just eat out today. I’m sick of home-cooked meals.”

Mirabel, who usually insisted on healthy home meals, reluctantly gave in this time.

Because the dark circles under her beloved mistress’s eyes had only worsened since yesterday.

“Let’s go, quick!”

Mirabel rushed out to prepare the carriage.

The late summer evening was pleasantly cool. Lise threw on a light long-sleeved dress and headed downstairs.

The carriage was already waiting at the entrance. The coachman, Jonathan, opened the door and helped both Lise and Mirabel inside.

The carriage sped off, traveling for about twenty minutes before arriving at a bustling street lined with restaurants.

But something felt off. The crowds waiting outside the restaurants seemed unusually large.

“We’d have to wait at least an hour. Should we go somewhere else?”

Mirabel shook her head.

“Everywhere’s like this right now. Why don’t I just get takeout? There’s a quiet spot nearby where we can eat.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Mirabel opened the carriage door.

Just as she was about to step out, Jonathan jumped down from the driver’s seat and stopped her.

“I’ll go. You wait here.”

“No, I’ll go. You should… rest, Sir Jonathan.”

“I can’t let you—”

“I said I’ll go—”

Watching the two secret lovers bicker, Lise cut in.

“Go together.”

“Ah… Are you sure?”

Lise stifled a laugh.

‘They weren’t even trying to refuse. Well, they are newly in love. How desperate must they be for alone time? Fine, I’ll be generous.’

“It’s fine. Go ahead.”

“We’ll be back soon! Just rest for a bit.”

With that, the two hurried off to join the line.

Dining in would take over an hour, but takeout only ten minutes. From a distance, Mirabel held up all ten fingers.

Lise responded by making an “OK” sign with her thumb and forefinger.

Then she leaned back against the seat, hoping to nap while she waited.

But sleep wouldn’t come. Instead, her mind grew sharper.

Had she slept too much today because of her lack of appetite?

And honestly, it was strange. Why had she suddenly lost her appetite?

She’d never been a picky eater.

Well, actually, as a child, she had been. Her nursemaid used to complain—what kind of kid only craved spicy, salty food?

But she’d outgrown that. Or so she thought.

The more she pondered, the weirder it seemed.

Had her taste buds changed overnight?

Lise glanced out the window again.

“Pfft!”

She burst out laughing.

Mirabel and Jonathan were standing side by side, pinkies barely linked, pretending to look anywhere but at each other.

“If they’re going to hold hands, just do it! What’s with this half-hearted nonsense?”

She mocked them mercilessly.

But in the end, she had to admit it.

“I’m jealous.”

They say envy means you’ve already lost, but she couldn’t help it. That was what love looked like.

What she had wasn’t love—it was obsession.

…Just like hers.

Then—

BANG!

A deafening crash. The sensation of her body lifting into the air.

It happened so suddenly, so absurdly, that it didn’t even feel real. Like it was happening to someone else.

‘What? Why is this happening to me?’

THUD.

The next moment, Lise’s body slammed into the carriage wall, her head hitting hard before she crumpled to the floor.

It was over in an instant. She was too stunned to even feel pain.

She didn’t think to get up. Her mind was blank.

Only the murmurs of the crowd made her weakly turn her head.

‘Huh? Why can I see outside… while lying down?’

Then it hit her.

‘I’ve been in an accident. The carriage overturned.’

Something warm and thick trickled down her forehead. Sweat? She wiped it with her hand.

No.

The color was wrong.

Her vision blurred.

The crowd gathering, Mirabel and Jonathan rushing toward her in panic—it all felt surreal.

Except for one thing.

The paper container in Mirabel’s hand.

Steam rose from it, and two skewers were crossed over the top, ready for dipping.

Without thinking, Lise muttered:

“What…? That looks just like the ddeokboki from the snack stand near school…”

There are moments like this.

When a crack in consciousness unlocks forgotten memories.

Lise was horrified.

The name of the dish that had lingered on her tongue—the spicy flavor she’d only tasted in her mind—

‘It was ddeokboki.’

The ddeokboki she used to eat with friends after school, served in paper cups with wooden skewers. They’d always complain about how spicy it was but finish every last bite, even scraping up the sauce.

So that’s what it was.

A memory from her past life.

But if it was a past life, shouldn’t it have been from an earlier time? Why did it feel like she’d gone backward?

Shouldn’t reincarnation mean being born into a more advanced world?

Where phones were even thinner, or better yet—where you could summon anything just by thinking?

Wasn’t that the future she’d been promised?

Even if she’d reincarnated immediately after death, it had been at least twenty years.

So why was there no advanced technology here? No telephones, just carriages? No instant communication, just handwritten letters delivered by servants?

The answer came quickly.

Because this world was from a book.

One she’d read.

“Lady Lise! Over here! Someone’s dying—help!”

Mirabel’s voice sounded distant, like a lullaby.

Lise’s vision blurred further. Her consciousness slipped away.

‘Am I dying again?’

Wait—her name was Aristé Berium, “Lise” for short. What was her fate again?

Ah… she doesn’t die.

Not yet, anyway.

Her death was still a season away.

By the male lead’s sword.

---

Days passed.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Sniff… But how could this…?”

Mirabel wept, insisting she should’ve been the one hurt. Lise ended up comforting her.

“I said I’m fine.”

“It’s all my fault.”

“If you’re going to say that, at least bring me a mirror.”

“A… a mirror? Why?”

After the accident, Mirabel had hidden every mirror in the estate.

She didn’t want Lise to see the scar on her forehead.

Ten stitches, she’d been told. The threads had been removed yesterday.

A three-centimeter railroad track once marked her forehead. The stitches were gone now, but a red line remained. The doctor said it would fade with time—which really meant it would never disappear.

Surprisingly, her mother had been distraught.

“Good heavens, how could this happen? A noble lady with a scar?”

But her grief wasn’t for Lise’s pain—it was for the embarrassment of bringing a scarred daughter to social events.

The only one who’d truly mourned was Mirabel. At least, that’s what Lise thought.

“Don’t worry, my lady. I’ll cut bangs for you.”

Lise refused, but Mirabel chopped them off anyway. The new fringe looked awkward—it made her seem younger, but she didn’t like it.

‘My hair was better before.’

Truthfully, Lise didn’t care about the scar.

What did a scar matter?

When she’d be dead in a season anyway.

And by…

“My lady, it’s time for your bath.”

…the hands of the slave who’d just entered the room.

“I’ll carry you to the bath.”

The man smiled brightly as he lifted her effortlessly.

But in his clear aquamarine eyes, Lise caught a glimpse of something deadly.

‘How did I never notice before?’

Instead of wrapping her arms around his neck like usual, Lise spoke stiffly:

“P-Put me down.”

“…Huh? My lady, why the sudden formal—”

‘Would you speak casually to a crown prince?’