IDKML 01

Chapter 1

— Imperial Year 588. April 16th. 8:34 a.m.
The day after Ophelia Volsheik completed her first infinite regression.

“Haa… haa… haa…”

She hadn’t realized until now how painfully true it was that knowing and doing were entirely different things.

Dragging an unconscious adult man—especially one that size—was absolutely not something a person could do alone.

Ophelia looked down at her trembling hands, too weak to even clench her fists, and then lifted her head.

No time to rest now.

He would regain consciousness soon. She hadn’t hit the back of his head that hard, after all.

She grabbed the arm of the much larger man and heaved it over her shoulder.

She had to get him onto the bed before he woke up. If he regained consciousness while she was catching her breath and found himself sprawled on the floor beside her…

Ophelia shook her head fiercely and gritted her teeth. She summoned every ounce of strength left in her body.

“Damn… it… I’m doing this… to survive. Please let you be the right answer.”

Cursing under her breath, she somehow managed to drag him to the bed.

She practically threw the blood-soaked figure onto the clean sheets and gasped for air.

“Ugh… haah. I’m gonna die…”

She reached up to wipe the sweat running down her cheek but froze halfway. Both her hands—and her clothes—were smeared with blood.

Her bright red hands and the even redder man lying before her. Ophelia sighed—a long, weary sigh that seemed to drain her very soul.

“Please… please let you be the right one.”

She had kidnapped the Crown Prince—after knocking him unconscious from behind—right after he had single-handedly slaughtered a group of assassins.

The very man who was the male lead of the fantasy novel she’d possessed… the one whose title she couldn’t even remember anymore.

— Imperial Year 588. April 16th. Ten minutes before the Crown Prince awakens. 12:52 p.m.

How much time had passed?

Ophelia sat staring at the Crown Prince’s face so intently that it felt like her gaze might bore a hole through his cheek.

Contrary to her expectations, the Crown Prince remained unconscious for quite a long while.

She had pulled up a chair beside the bed and had been sitting there for nearly an hour now.

It wasn’t like she had anything better to do, but the waiting was making her anxious.

“Should I… tie him up?”

Her eyes darted over his wrists and ankles. She frowned, then quickly shook her head.

“No. If I go that far, it’s definitely straight to execution.”

The fact that she had kidnapped the Crown Prince was already enough to get her executed, but Ophelia tried hard not to think about that.

“He’s a person. I can talk to him. Yeah… talking makes people human, right?”

Her nerves were so frayed that she was muttering nonsense without realizing it.

She’d already planned what to say when he woke up. She’d spent the last two nights picking and polishing her words over and over.

She swallowed hard. Even though everything had been planned, when she mentally rehearsed the lines, they still sounded clumsy and awkward.

Maybe I should tweak them a little more…

But then—

“Ugh…”

She froze. She hadn’t misheard. Every nerve in her body was focused on him.

Ophelia leaned forward so far that her ear hovered right above his mouth.

“Mm…”

He’s waking up! He’s waking up!

She had imagined this moment countless times—the moment after she kidnapped the Crown Prince, when he’d wake and she’d explain everything.

Up to the kidnapping, things had gone roughly according to plan. Not exactly as she’d intended, but close enough.

But now that she actually had to talk to him face-to-face, her mind went blank.

“Should I tie him? No, no, that’s bad! Um… okay. First, I’ll—”

Without even realizing what she was muttering, Ophelia looked around frantically, then abruptly climbed on top of the Crown Prince’s stomach.

It was a sudden, desperate move—but it made sense to her.

A normal noble lady like her could never hope to restrain a fully conscious Crown Prince, especially him.

Even sitting on him like this, she knew she couldn’t truly overpower him—but she wasn’t thinking that far ahead.

She licked her dry lips nervously as his eyelids twitched. Each second felt like a thousand years.

“Uh… Your Highness?”

When his eyes finally opened completely, his golden irises locked directly onto her.

He said nothing, just blinked slowly.

Four blinks later, the silence crushed her. Ophelia couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Your Highness! Crown Prince, please listen to me first!”

Her voice came out much louder and shriller than she intended, startling even herself.

Silence followed again—thick, heavy, suffocating.

Ophelia suddenly wanted to cry. Today, of all days, that old saying hit her hard:

Everyone has a plan—until they get hit in the back of the head.

Am I going to die again like this?
Well, if she died, she’d just regress again.

But that would mean going back to this morning—when the Crown Prince faced those assassins—and she’d have to kidnap him all over again.

Just the thought of repeating that blood-soaked chaos made her shoulders slump.

Then, the Crown Prince’s lips—still crusted with dried blood—moved.

“Who are you?”

“Ophelia Volsheik.”

She answered instantly, unable to meet his piercing golden eyes.

Silence again. When her head was nearly bowed to the floor, he spoke once more.

“Get off.”

“Eh? I—uh…”

She wanted to say, If I get off, you’ll probably slice my head off, so forgive me if I stay here a little longer! but couldn’t find a polite way to phrase it.

As if reading her thoughts, he added calmly,

“I will not punish you for this. So get off.”

“…What?”

That was… surprisingly merciful. So much so that she froze in disbelief.

She hadn’t even started explaining yet!

“I said I won’t hold you accountable for kidnapping and imprisoning me.”

His tone was casual, though the words themselves were terrifying.

“So, get off.”

“Ah, right. Sorry. I must be heavy.”

“Not at all.”

The immediate, deadpan response left her speechless. She’d been rambling to fill the silence, but his serious tone made her feel even more awkward.

Flustered, she placed her hands beside his face and rolled off his solid, muscular abdomen.

Once she was off the bed, she grabbed the nearby chair with trembling hands and stood stiffly, folding both hands neatly in front of her waist.

Without sparing her a glance, the Crown Prince slowly sat up, rubbing the back of his head.

“Seems fine.”

“Y-yes… I’ve hit the back of the head a few times before, so I know exactly how hard is too hard before it cracks—uh, never mind.”

His golden eyes flickered briefly, then returned to calm stillness.

As he brushed his lips—still caked with dried blood—Ophelia hesitantly reached for a water jug and poured two glasses.

Setting them before him, she looked up nervously.

“It’s not poisoned, I swear! I poured both so you can pick whichever one you like!”

To prove her point, she grabbed both cups and gulped alternately from each, shaking her head furiously.

Water trickled from the corner of her lips. The Crown Prince watched her quietly, then picked up the cup she’d just drunk from.

Before she could stop him, he finished the rest in a single gulp.

Ophelia nearly choked on her own breath.

Still, his expression didn’t change as he said evenly,

“Wouldn’t it be stranger if I suspected poison after you drank both?”

She opened and closed her mouth wordlessly.

After emptying another cup, he finally said,

“Explain yourself.”

“This is why, Your Highness! The reason I brought you here is because—”

She was so nervous that she blew on her cold water before taking a sip.

“The reason is…”

“You didn’t ‘bring’ me here. You kidnapped me.”

“Well, yes, technically. But I had a reason! A very good reason!”

He nodded calmly. “Go on.”

His reaction was far too composed, throwing her completely off balance.

“Yes! So… the thing is… I keep going back in time! Every time Your Highness dies—or, um, passes away—I return to that moment! And if you don’t die, I don’t regress!”

Her words tumbled out incoherently—disjointed and frantic.

She waved her hands, trying to explain herself, but no matter how she phrased it, it sounded insane.

Still, the truth was simple:

Whenever the Crown Prince, Rihardt, died—
Ophelia would regress back to that moment.

No matter how many times it happened.
Until he survived.