Chapter 2
“Did you say… cola? Understood. Please wait just a moment!”
Vanessa, clearly worried, gave Ashmia a look that seemed to say, “Is the young lady really alright? I’m so concerned,” before hurrying inside the shop.
Meanwhile, Ashmia undid the bothersome hair accessory and took a deep breath.
“Could a dream feel this vivid?”
But the person who should be dreaming—Mikhail Rose—was dead.
That was an undeniable fact.
And yet—
“…What if even that wasn’t real?”
As confusing thoughts blurred the line between hope and torment in Ashmia’s head, a strange sensation—something like an eerie calm meant to help her regain composure—silenced the chaos within her.
“Young Lady, here’s your cola…”
Before Vanessa could even finish speaking, Ashmia snatched the bottle and drank straight from it.
Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.
Buuuurp—
“……”
Vanessa’s eyes widened at the sight of Ashmia downing the entire bottle in one go and letting out a massive belch.
Meanwhile, the sharp fizz traveled up Ashmia’s throat to her head, quenching her thirst and releasing some of the pressure inside. With her mind a bit clearer, she could more vividly recall the accident she’d just seen in “Mikhail’s memory.”
“Seven years. Right… this happened seven years ago.”
Mikhail had been dispatched to the scene. It had been such a major incident that he remembered it clearly.
“Did I… go back in time?”
WEEOOO WEEOOO—
With the familiar sound of sirens, several police cars and ambulances passed by Ashmia.
“Young Lady?! Where are you going?!”
Suddenly rising to her feet, Ashmia rounded the corner again to get a better view of the accident site.
She saw younger versions of police officers getting out of their vehicles—some of whom had died in the line of duty years ago.
Her field of vision widened until it caught Nikita Borev stepping into view.
But the person who exited the car with him was not Mikhail Rose.
“What… is this?”
If she’d gone back seven years, fine—but why had she become Ashmia instead of Mikhail?
“Hah.”
With a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a laugh, Ashmia collapsed to the ground.
“Young Lady!!”
As Vanessa’s panicked voice rang out, Ashmia lost consciousness.
When Ashmia opened her eyes again—
“Young Lady! Are you alright?!”
That familiar title and Vanessa’s flustered voice instantly shattered the small hope she’d held that maybe this was all a dream.
“…Where am I?”
“Saint Katharina Hospital!”
A general hospital located within the Kalashniel Family’s territory.
Ashmia was lying in the top-floor VIP room.
But what were all these bandages wrapped around her?
“Was I hurt this badly?”
“I’m so sorry. I should’ve protected you better…”
“No, I didn’t mean it like that.”
Vanessa explained that Ashmia had only suffered minor scrapes and bruises. Her collapse had been due to shock and physical weakness.
Still, wrapped in bandages with an IV in her arm, she looked like she belonged in the ICU.
“Don Kalashniel himself gave strict orders to take extra care… in case of scarring.”
“Father… did?”
Ashmia recoiled inside at the word she had just casually spoken.
Father, seriously?
Even if it had been an instinctive response triggered by “Ashmia’s memories,” calling Richard Kalashniel—boss of the Kalashniel Family—Father felt unreal.
A wave of dizziness swept over her.
“Yes, he even canceled a family event to come see you. The other family members visited too…”
They all came while I was asleep?
Ashmia sighed in relief. Thank goodness—she wasn’t ready to face them yet.
“Still… what is going on in my head?”
Now more awake, Ashmia could clearly feel the coexistence of Mikhail’s memories and Ashmia’s own.
The two sets of memories didn’t blur together—they were neatly separated, like books in a well-organized library.
But accepting “memories that aren’t mine but also are” was no easy feat.
Even more so when those memories belonged to a girl who had lived in reclusive isolation for the past seven years.
“Just who was this girl?”
With a soft sigh, Ashmia called out.
“Vanessa.”
“Yes, Young Lady?”
“Can you get me a sedative?”
“Right away!”
Vanessa returned just as quickly, handing her a small brown translucent bottle.
“Thank you.”
Ashmia figured she might as well rely on medication for now.
Without it, she wasn’t sure she could handle the torrent of memories that surfaced out of nowhere.
“By the way, did you get examined too?”
“Yes! I’m perfectly fine!”
“Really? That’s good. Then, I’d like to be alone for a bit.”
“Understood. I’ll be right outside. Please call me if you need anything!”
“No, don’t just stand outside. Find an empty room and rest properly. You’ve had a hard day too.”
“I’m alright!”
“Do I really have to order you to do it? If you don’t rest, you won’t have the energy to protect me next time. So go—rest.”
“Th-thank you, Young Lady!”
…Thank me? Like I’m royalty or something.
Vanessa, eyes teary and touched, left the room after earnestly promising to stay nearby just in case.
“……”
Now alone, Ashmia sat up and wheeled her IV stand over to the window.
Though the city lights twinkled outside, her gaze focused not on the view, but on her reflection in the glass.
She raised her hand and touched her face.
Forehead. Eyebrows. Nose. Lips.
Each touch was tangible.
It was undeniably her face.
Ashmia stepped into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. The more she stared, the more mesmerizing her hair and eyes seemed.
“Even her eyelashes are silver.”
Looking closely, she noticed the pinkish shimmer that surrounded her black pupils, encircled by golden irises.
This rare genetic trait, called “Gold Rose,” had only been inherited by Ashmia among the Kalashniel siblings—from their mother, Mavret Kalashniel.
“This really is Ashmia Kalashniel.”
There was no room left for doubt.
She had returned to the past—seven years ago—as the youngest daughter of a mafia family.
“But why?”
As she pondered the reason and potential causes, a hypothesis suddenly struck her.
“Could this be… my supernatural ability?”
But even if such powers activated upon death, supernatural abilities still required mana to manifest.
Mikhail Rose had no mana.
He was just a Normal.
“Doesn’t matter. That’s not the point.”
Before she got lost in an unanswerable riddle, Ashmia shook her head.
“What matters now is…”
The real issue was not how this happened, but what she was going to do from now on.
Ashmia’s death had been the catalyst—the spark that ignited the years of tragedy and catastrophe that followed.
“So now that Ashmia didn’t die, will the future change?”
Her answer was both yes and no.
It had clearly been an assassination attempt disguised as an accident, targeting the Kalashniel Family’s youngest daughter. But the execution had been too flashy for a simple hit.
And it had taken place right within Kalashniel territory.
Even though the attempt had failed, the family could not let it slide.
“War will break out—just like it did seven years ago.”
Already festering from aristocratic corruption, the imperial capital would soon fall into utter chaos as mafia wars tore apart what little order remained.
Eventually, a noble alliance would stage a coup. The royal family and cabinet would lose all control.
“And the one who benefits in the end…”
Damian Kalashniel—the second son of the Kalashniel Family.
Over the next seven years, countless innocents would suffer and die.
That was the “past” Mikhail remembered.
And it could easily become the “future” once again.
“But.”
Mikhail could never confirm who was truly behind the assassination attempt.
Damian was undeniably powerful—impulsive and dangerous, capable of burning half the capital on a whim.
But he wasn’t so far gone as to bomb his two-year-younger sister.
“Which means…”
Whoever orchestrated that assassination—whether a person or an organization—was surely the real culprit behind the empire’s fall.
“……”
Turning on the faucet, Ashmia exhaled and splashed cold water on her face.
If this was a second chance…
Then no matter what it took, she would survive.
She would survive—
And this time, without fail…
“I’ll stop the empire from falling.”
With that vow, Ashmia stared not at the girl in the mirror—
But at herself.
After wiping her face and returning from the bathroom, Ashmia realized that now her thoughts and emotions were a bit more organized.
She felt hungry.
And hunger was a good sign.
It meant her body still wanted to live.
But it was already near midnight, so she was about to give up on food when she suddenly remembered—
“I’m the youngest daughter of Don Kalashniel.”
If I don’t use that privilege now, then when?
Ashmia remembered seeing some armed family members stationed in the hallway when Vanessa had left.
She headed toward the door.
I’ll ask the guys outside for help—
At that moment—
BANG!
The door flew open without even a knock.
