IDKML 02

Chapter 2

How on earth was she supposed to explain this in a normal and sensible way?
“I’m regressing! Until Your Highness stops dying!”
Ophelia grabbed her head in frustration. That explanation was exactly the same as before!

As her despair deepened, a quiet voice came from above her head — Richard’s voice.
“I know.”

“So, if I could just explain again what I mean— wait, what?”
“I said I already know.”

He swept a hand over his face.
“Because I’m regressing too.”

His calm voice carried traces of weariness and resignation so deep it felt ancient.
Ophelia was left speechless again.
She couldn’t tell if she had just hallucinated what he said. Her lips parted, but she couldn’t form words. For a long time, the two of them simply stared at each other.

Wait… don’t tell me… you too?

Richard’s eyes met hers — lifeless, dull.
Yeah. Me too.

After a few seconds of silent realization, Ophelia burst out,
“Your Highness, you’re regressing too? Even after you die, you keep returning?”
“Did I not say so?”
“Oh my god…”

Her legs gave out, and she collapsed beside the bed. Trembling hands rose to her face as she tried to wipe away the fatigue.
“The same… the same regression…”

Confusion, shock, relief — and a creeping fear that this wasn’t just her insanity — all crashed into her at once.

Ophelia raised her pale face and looked at him again.
“Three days ago. Do you remember the assassins?”
“Yes. Come to think of it, you did shout something about assassins.”

He tilted his head slightly, as if realizing it just now.
“I experienced my first regression that day. I always died before Your Highness did. But that’s not the important part. When exactly did Your Highness regress to that day?”
“Right before I entered the banquet hall.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“I mean literally right before stepping inside.”

Their conversation ended there. Ophelia had asked to find even the smallest clue about this insane cycle — but they couldn’t determine whether his regression point matched hers.

Then… maybe another clue…

Suddenly, she froze as a thought struck her.
“Your Highness! You’ve been regressing this whole time, so why— I mean, why didn’t you do anything?”
“Why?”
“Why did you just stay still?”

Richard didn’t answer.

“If Your Highness survives, the regression ends! Unless… wait, are our regression conditions different?”
“For you, it ends if I live?”
“Yes! That’s the one thing I’ve learned for sure after countless damn regressions!”
“Then they are the same.”
“Then why didn’t you—”

She couldn’t continue.
Because in his deep golden eyes, she saw something darker than the resignation in his voice — despair.

Her lips trembled, but no words came out. When she had first come to confront him, she wanted to shake him and demand why he kept dying like a fool. But then—

“I’m tired.”

Her head snapped up.
He wasn’t looking at her — his gaze was unfocused, staring off into the distance. His voice was quiet, dry, and detached.
“I’m tired of it. I don’t even know why this death and regression keeps repeating. Not the repetition itself — but the fact that it never ends. That I can’t see the end… that I can’t end it.”

His words were quiet, almost like a confession to himself.
The weight of his decayed, exhausted soul seemed to crawl up her feet.

Ever since her first regression three days ago, she’d wake in cold sweats just from the memory. She’d check the clock dozens of times a day, glancing around nervously, unable to sit still. She’d even resorted to kidnapping the Crown Prince — anything to break free of this nightmare.

But now—

Now she realized that the man before her, the one who shared her fate, had endured this far longer.

Without thinking, Ophelia took the Crown Prince’s hand.
It was too big for her small hands, but his skin was even colder than hers, so she held it tighter.

Richard slowly looked down at her.

She didn’t tell him she understood his pain, nor did she shed tears for him. Instead, her blue eyes blazed with determination as she spoke, each word firm and steady.
“They say two hands make light work. It means it’s easier when you face something together. You’re not alone anymore, Your Highness.”

At those words, a spark of hope didn’t suddenly light up in his eyes.
But she continued.

“So let’s end this damned regression — together.”

He didn’t move. His lips stayed closed, his expression unchanged. But Ophelia didn’t falter.

“Let me start from the beginning. Please stop me if anything stands out.”

And so, Ophelia’s story rewound — to three days ago.

Imperial Year 588, April 13th, 10:02 p.m.
Three days before she kidnapped the Crown Prince — the beginning of the infinite regression.

First of the Infinite Regressions — Regression #0.

“…Behave yourself. Don’t embarrass me.”
“Yes, Mother.”

Letting her mother’s sharp voice pass through one ear, Ophelia nodded politely.
Her mother clicked her tongue, turned with a hiss of silk, and walked away.
As her mother’s figure receded, Ophelia’s stiff shoulders relaxed slightly.

Founding Day — the most glamorous, most important night of the year.
Every noble listed in the Empire’s registry was required to attend. From the Emperor himself down to the lowest baron’s children — everyone gathered here, for one night only.

But to Ophelia, it was nothing more than an obligation.
For most girls her age, this was the night to dazzle, to raise their value on the marriage market.
But Ophelia’s marriage had already been arranged. The date was set.

The thought of her unpleasant fiancé made her shudder.
Think positive, she told herself. I’m already planning to run away anyway.

“Oh my, hello there! You look… um… today you look…”

The young lady in front of her trailed off, unable to find a compliment.

“As always, you look beautiful,” Ophelia said brightly.

The girl smiled awkwardly, trying not to show her relief.

How many times had she said the same words to different people?
At last, she spotted the Emperor among the crowd — that was her cue to leave.

I can go now.

She turned toward the exit.

“Huh?”

She didn’t even realize what had happened. A burning pain surged through her abdomen.

Looking down, she saw red spreading fast across her pale peach dress.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. The blade that had pierced her stomach was yanked free.

Her vision spun — and then everything went black.

“I… I thought I had just died. Actually, I didn’t even realize I had died.”
“When I experienced my first death, I felt the same.”

To her surprise, Richard agreed easily.
Ophelia couldn’t even smile at that. Death wasn’t something you joked about.

“I woke up right after dying. The second time, I just thought it was strange — maybe déjà vu. But of course, the result was…”
“You died again.”

He finished her sentence smoothly, as if he already knew.
It proved that he truly had lived through the same nightmare.

Ophelia swallowed hard, her throat dry.
“The third time, I tried to see if it was a dream, and died again. Ah, come to think of it, Your Highness caught me during the third regression.”

Richard frowned slightly, lost in thought.
He had gone through so many deaths, so many regressions, that he remembered few of them — maybe he had chosen to forget. Because remembering would have broken him completely.

Ophelia shrugged.
“Anyway, the fourth time, I realized it was real — and died again. The fifth time, I tried my best to survive, but… yeah, that didn’t work either.”

Richard raised a hand, stopping her.
“How far does this story go?”

His expression was blank, but his jewel-like eyes gleamed faintly — though the boredom in them was unmistakable.

“That’s the end. I kept dying and regressing, and then… I broke free.”
“By saving me?”
“Yes. I didn’t do much — just screamed a lot and smashed a few assassins’ skulls. I did tell you, didn’t I? I’m good at ambushing people. After doing it dozens of times, I’ve gotten pretty good at it.