Juliet Karenina.
No, from today on, I’m Rubetria Diolrus.
Back in my old world, I lived a crazy, busy life 24/7, but I never once felt tired.
Being busy made me happy, and I hated wasting time. Since I’ve already crossed a river I can’t go back from, yesterday’s crying session was enough.
From now on, if I’m going to live as Rubette — and repay the debt I owe her — I have to change this awful life completely. That means not wasting a single second.
Good thing Rubette was pretty well-educated.
She barely ever left her room and spent all her time reading.
She didn’t want people saying she was a burden to the family, so she studied hard.
A noble lady didn’t need to study this much, but she learned it all anyway.
Not because she was super passionate about academics — just because she had way too much free time.
Politics, economics, society, culture — she’d read it all. She even read the daily newspaper every day, so she wasn’t clueless about the outside world.
And even though she’d never really been active in high society, she knew all the proper etiquette and dance moves.
All the hard studying you did — I’ll make good use of it, for your sake.
I silently thanked Rubette in my head, then thought:
First things first…
My motivation flared.
I’m going to wreck the crazy hierarchy in this house that Molga Diolrus is controlling.
All the servants here were in Molga’s pocket. And my two older brothers, who’d been raised by her since they were little, had no clue about her true face.
The only one who could possibly help me was my father… but unfortunately, he had his own issues.
He’s lost his mind. He’s basically just alive because he hasn’t died yet.
My father, Leonard Diolrus, the 8th Duke of Diolrus, was — putting it nicely — a hopeless romantic, but in reality, one of the most irresponsible men ever.
When Rubette’s mother — my real mother — died when Rubette was four, it all went downhill.
After that, Dad became completely emotionless, abandoned all his duties as head of the family, and just holed himself up in his room drinking. We lived under the same roof, but seeing him was like spotting a shooting star.
So for the last ten years, we three siblings were basically raised by Molga.
Not that Dad completely ignored his kids…
If I had to compare him, he was the kind of dad who wouldn’t dote on his only daughter, but would hand over an unlimited black card for her birthday party with friends.
Back in my old life, where I was surrounded by love and attention from everyone, that kind of dad would’ve been fine…
But Rubette actually needed affection and care.
She closed herself off from her indifferent father, and he didn’t bother to reach out either.
Honestly tragic. Not a single memory worth calling a father-daughter moment. Might as well be strangers.
And he was destined to die before he even hit forty, after years of drinking himself to death.
“Amy, are you not hungry?”
“Oh.”
I snapped out of my thoughts.
Rebecca, the maid with neatly tied ash-gray hair, stood beside the breakfast table she’d set up in my room, looking worried.
Rebecca…
Now that my memories had settled, I saw her differently.
Among all the servants who turned a blind eye to the abuse, she was the only one who actually cared for Rubette.
And that makes me angry.
On Rubette’s 16th birthday — during a horrible incident I don’t even want to describe — Rebecca decided she couldn’t stay silent anymore. She planned to report everything to Rubette’s father.
That was the start of her tragedy.
Molga found out beforehand and had Rebecca beaten within an inch of her life.
When Rubette saw her barely breathing, Molga whispered in that devil’s voice:
“Ungrateful little brat. Lilia and Ricky invited friends to celebrate your birthday — you should’ve been thankful. And you want to tattle over a little prank?”
“G-Grandmother… I… I wasn’t going to…”
“Don’t lie. You told this stupid maid everything, didn’t you?”
“I only told Rebecca. I wasn’t… going to tell Father…”
“This maid was on her way to your father’s room, and I had to drag her back myself. What do you mean you weren’t
going to tell?”
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”
Rebecca was then locked in a cell.
“Grandmother, please, let me see her. It’s my fault, I was wrong, please…”
Three days later, Molga finally showed her…
“Re… Rebecca…?”
She was already dead. Three days without treatment, without even a sip of water.
“That poor girl died because you ran your mouth, dear.”
Rubette watched in shock as they carted off the loosely covered body, and Molga warned:
“If you don’t want to see more innocent people die, learn to behave.”
Already beaten down by constant abuse, Rubette thought:
…Yeah. It’s my fault Rebecca died. I should’ve just stayed quiet like always…
From then on, she became even more silent and withdrawn.
“My lady?”
“Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about something.”
Rebecca’s eyes went wide.
“Did your memory come back?”
“Hm? Oh… yeah.”
Yesterday, I spoke to her like she was a stranger. Today, I was acting close again — so she probably thought my sanity had returned.
She wasn’t wrong. I smiled and nodded.
“I just needed some sleep to clear my head. Thanks for worrying.”
“Oh, I’m so glad. I even asked the chef to make all your favorite dishes today, so eat lots.”
“Uh-huh…”
I looked at the massive breakfast table with a grim face.
A whole roasted turkey in the middle, two thick slices of lamb steak on my plate, salmon steak on the side, and a half-full glass of white wine.
Meat from land, sea, and sky… for breakfast at 9:30 a.m.?
You’ve got to be kidding me.
But I had no one to blame — this had always been Rubette’s normal breakfast.
“Hey, Rebecca.”
“Once you’re done, I’ll bring you buttered buns with blueberry compote — made from fresh blueberries from Camilla Farm just two days ago.”
“Yeah, about that—”
“Oh! What’s with that face? Not in the mood for bread with jam today? Then how about a chocolate cake piled high with macarons?”
She winked, clearly trying to be extra cheerful for her gloomy lady after yesterday’s suicide attempt.
Sweet, but… no.
“Thanks for the effort, but give all this to someone else. Don’t waste it — you can have it.”
“What? You’re not eating breakfast?”
I stood and stretched.
“Starting today, I’m losing weight.”
“….”
I glanced at her. Sure enough, she was blinking at me with that ‘Let’s see if this diet lasts more than a few hours’ look.
“Alright… I’ll keep it aside in case you get hungry later.”
“That won’t happen. I’m not starving myself — just changing my diet.”
“Your… diet?”
“Yep. From now on, I’ll be doing an hour of fasted exercise every morning. So serve breakfast at 9:30 after I’m done. Half an apple and a bowl of oatmeal.”
“H-huh?”
“Got paper and a pen? Better write this down.”
She fished out a small notepad and pen from her apron pocket, and I dictated:
“Breakfast — 9:30 a.m. Half an apple and one serving of oatmeal.”
“Y-Yes!”
“Lunch — 1 p.m. Bring me the main dish from whatever’s being served in the dining hall that day, but tell the chef no seasoning. For example—” I pointed at the lamb and salmon steaks. “—don’t put sauce on steaks.”
Then at the turkey.
“And no seasoning on chicken dishes either.”
“But… it’ll taste bland.”
“That’s the point. You can’t lose weight eating delicious food.”
“I… guess that’s true…”
She kept scribbling as I went on.
“Only one main dish, no overloading the table. No wine. No wheat products at all — so obviously no bread. And don’t bother making those giant jars of compote anymore.”
I stretched my arms wide to show just how big they were.
“Oh, and—”
I dragged out the stash of snacks from behind the bed — the ones Rubette used to munch on nonstop.
Thud.
It landed at Rebecca’s feet with a crinkle.
“W-What’s that?”
“My secret snack supply, I used to inhale every minute. Throw it all out.”
