WDYEHM 01

Chapter 1

Scurry. Squeak.

Rats busily ran around.

The untouched food only served to fill their bellies.

Orte quietly watched the scene.

Blinking her unfocused eyes, she rose from her seat as if following a pre-programmed action and stood before a small window.

Beyond the window, the world felt entirely different from where she stood.

In stark contrast to this dark, filthy, and miserable place, it was dazzling, beautiful—overflowing with happiness.

Orte gazed silently at the victor who had once again lightly pushed her aside and proven herself to be the “real” one.

There was not a trace of jealousy in her eyes.

She turned away.

Then, footsteps approached, and the heavy door opened.

Orte slowly took in the figures entering, one by one.

They were the people she had loved.

The ones she had called family.

“Orte. You dared to insult and deceive us.”

In her first life… what had she said back then?

She had probably begged for forgiveness.

“You refused to accept reality and even tried to poison Yvonne.”

At that, she must have cried out that it wasn’t true—that she hadn’t done it.

Was that her second life? She couldn’t remember clearly anymore.

“We locked you up because we can no longer allow you to stand in Yvonne’s way.”

A lie.

They were just trying to erase her out of shame after discovering that the one they thought was real was actually fake.

She must have hurled curses at them back then, unable to hold back.

“Father, let’s stop wasting time and proceed.”

Her second brother—once playful yet dependable—told them to kill her.

“I’ll do it.”

Her proud eldest brother stepped forward, saying he would carry it out himself.

“Orte. Accept this death quietly. It is for your own good.”

The father she had respected forced death upon her.

Shing—

The sound of a sword leaving its sheath sent a chill down her spine.

She was not afraid of this situation—she had faced it countless times before.

But that chilling sound dragged her into a bottomless swamp.

Watching her eldest brother approach, Orte slowly moved her dry lips.

“I have one question.”

In her past lives, she had only begged, desperately trying to prove her innocence—clinging to them for excuses, explanations, and pity.

This was the first time she had spoken to them like this, right before death.

“…Go on.”

“Father as well.”

Orte shifted her gaze from her father to her brothers.

“All of you… even for a single moment, did you ever truly love me?”

“…What does that matter now? It’s already been revealed that you’re a fake.”

“Orte. Sending you off without pain is my final mercy.”

“Parasite, stop talking nonsense and just die quietly by my hand. It’s Yvonne’s wedding today, so don’t cause a scene.”

At that moment, Orte understood.

I see… no matter how many times time turns back, these people will never change.

She took a small step back.

Perhaps they thought she was resisting death, because their expressions twisted.

“That’s a relief.”

Looking at them, Orte felt at ease.

“Even after all this time… you’re exactly the same.”

She smiled.

“Thank you. I think I can finally let you go now.”

Her eldest brother stepped forward.

Even knowing the gleaming blade would soon be aimed at her, Orte continued without hesitation.

“Never again.”

From her sleeve, she pulled out a sharp shard of glass.

Her brother tensed, but she was faster.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Orte slit her own throat.

Her aim was precise—blood burst forth, blurring their shocked expressions.

Her body collapsed onto the cold floor, and distant shouts rang out around her.

Ignoring everything, her throat torn open, Orte gathered the last of her strength and whispered—

Never again.

I will never love you.

Orte Weekend.

The name she had lived with her entire life.

Orte was the daughter of a Saint—and a candidate to become the next Saint.

At the same time, she was also the daughter of the Duke of Weekend.

The Duke had fallen in love with the Saint, and they had a child together.

But no matter whose child she was, Orte was still the Saint’s daughter.

When a Saint bore a child, it was rare—but sometimes that child would inherit a blessing, a holy power.

The temple, upon learning of the Saint’s pregnancy, immediately concealed it in secrecy.

Even the Duke of Weekend, her biological father, never knew. By sheer coincidence, he went off to war and lost six years.

After a long time, he returned victorious—

But the one who greeted him was not the lover he had longed for.

It was Orte, born in exchange for that lover’s life.

Whether it was a blessing or a curse, Orte possessed holy power and was given the chance to be adopted into the Duke’s family.

Orte chose the Duke of Weekend.

Not knowing it was hell.

From the moment she entered the household, he neglected her. Day after day, he suffered and could not hide his anger.

Her two half-brothers didn’t welcome her either.

To them, she was their perfect father’s only flaw—his illegitimate child.

Orte tried to earn their love.

And every time, she fell into despair.

As time passed, her holy power showed no signs of growing, and no divine mark ever appeared.

Then, on the day of her coming-of-age ceremony, someone appeared—

Claiming to be the “real” one.

Holding the Duke of Weekend’s hand.

The “real” one possessed the divine mark Orte lacked, along with immense holy power. Even her appearance closely resembled the Saint.

And so, Orte became the “fake.”

The family that had been cold to her became gentle—only to that girl.

Even her indifferent fiancé softened—only toward her.

Orte was a foolish fake.

She believed that if she tried hard enough, things would change.

But as she faced her third death, she finally realized—

No matter what I do, these people will never love me.

And so, she decided—

Then I won’t love them anymore either.

Until now, Orte had regressed twice without knowing why.

Each time, it was the same moment—

One month before the coming-of-age ceremony, when the “real” one would appear.

If I’m given another chance…

For the first time, she prayed more desperately than ever.

Then I…

“Miss! Please wake up, Miss!”

“….”

Ignoring the angry maid’s voice, Orte looked down at her small hands.

They were clearly not the hands of someone about to come of age.

They were small. Short. Still ungrown.

“You’re already thirteen—do I really have to wake you up every morning like this?!”

This… was not what Orte expected.

Unlike her previous regressions, she had returned not one month before her coming-of-age ceremony—

But five years earlier.

“Get up! It’s the Duke of Weekend’s birthday—you need to join the family for breakfast!”

Orte realized it instantly.

“Forget it.”

“…Pardon?”

This would be the last time.

“Tell Father—no, tell the Duke of Weekend.”

Her final life.

Her true life.

“I won’t be going.”

Orte was ready—

To never love them again.