“…”
“Reina Borton?”
Reina’s face flushed red, and even breathing seemed difficult for her.
“—Hah…!”
“Reina Borton!!”
Her whole body itched madly. Her heart pounded, her chest felt tight.
It was as if her blood flowed backward and she wanted to scratch her skin raw until it tore. Her insides churned as if everything in her body wanted to spill out.
The duke shouted urgently at her, but her buzzing head blocked his voice out.
“Hah… haah…”
She opened her mouth wide, bent forward, struggling for breath. Her hands clenched tightly on the leather sofa, desperately enduring the pain.
“Reina Borton! Damn it!”
The duke swore—a word unfitting for his face—and shouted for help outside.
And then Reina lost consciousness.
A Different Place
A small, sunny house.
“Mom!”
A young girl with pink hair and yellow eyes ran forward, clutching flowers she had picked.
She had no father. People didn’t curse the man who left, but instead pointed their fingers at the woman who raised the child alone.
“That woman had a child before marriage, you know.”
“She looks gentle, but she’s disgraceful.”
Many whispered, but the woman did not hide.
The child was born of love, and the man who left had promised to return. So she believed she was blameless.
She touched the pendant on the necklace she and her daughter shared—the keepsake the man had given her before leaving.
The child put wildflowers into a chipped mug, and the mother stroked her hair. The girl loved that silent gesture more than anything.
The woman had once taught children. The village was small, so her income was little, but the children adored her and neighbors shared food with her.
But once she bore a child out of wedlock, she was branded shameless and chased from the village, forbidden from teaching again.
Pregnant, she wandered village to village, gave birth, finally settled down—but the stigma of “a woman with only a child, no husband” clung to her.
Still, she tried to love her daughter. Tried, and tried again, pouring all her strength into it.
When the girl was fourteen, she returned one evening with arms full of flowers. The sunset filled the house with red light. She loved preparing supper with her mother at that hour.
“Mom, I’m home!”
She beamed, proud of her flowers—until she saw her mother holding a large travel bag.
“…Mom?”
“….”
The woman looked at her thin, small daughter.
“Reina, I tried to love you.”
“….”
“But I simply couldn’t.”
I raised you for fourteen years. That’s enough, isn’t it? In two more years you’ll be grown.
The girl stared, unable to understand. Just yesterday they laughed together before bed.
When her mother stepped out, she panicked and grabbed her.
“M-Mom! I’m sorry! Don’t go! I’ll do better! Am I eating too much? Costing too much? I’ll work too! I’ll find work starting tomorrow!”
“….”
But she didn’t dare grip tightly, afraid her mother would shake her off. She only clutched weakly at her clothes.
“Mom, what should I do? Tell me, I’ll do anything you want! If you’re mad, just tell me why!”
Her eyes brimmed with tears. But her mother’s voice was cold, final.
“I just can’t love you.”
“….”
Her rough hands pried the girl’s desperate ones away.
“You don’t resemble me at all. You look like him.”
“…M-Mom…”
“Your hair, your eyes, your face—everything. The older you grow, the more you become him. How could I love that?”
That was her last word. Not I love you, not I’m sorry—only rejection.
The girl stood frozen until the sun set and her mother’s shadow disappeared. Only then did she return inside.
The house was empty. Flowers scattered, the chipped mug bare, and a single necklace left on the table. Only then did her tears burst forth.
So I really am alone.
This wide world is full of things I don’t know, but I’m alone.
Fear and loneliness crushed her. That day, she learned how to cry without making a sound.
That was the child Reina Borton had been. That was the woman she became.
Her only ties to her mother: the necklace and the surname Borton.
Back to the Present
One day, Eugene had awoken in Reina’s body.
Since then, every day she was haunted by Reina’s memories. Vivid, relentless. Eugene’s own memories were faint, blurred. Sometimes she wondered if Eugene was the illusion, and Reina the real one.
Like with the blueberries.
The current Reina hadn’t known she had a blueberry allergy. But the real Reina must have known—this was her body.
“….”
Her mind cleared, but her eyes wouldn’t open.
“….”
A long nightmare.
Finally, she forced her eyelids up. A blurred figure came into view.
Where was she? She couldn’t remember. Before collapsing, she had been talking with the duke…?
But all she wanted was for this to be that small house again—that her mother had never abandoned her, that it was only a dream.
She felt someone’s gaze. Mother? Please, let it be her.
“M-Mom…”
“….”
“I’m sorry…”
If only I had been born more like you. With golden hair like yours, green eyes like summer grass. Not this pink hair and yellow eyes.
Her mother had never loved her, but Reina had loved her mother from her first breath. Even after those cruel words, she could not hate her.
She only thought—if I resembled her more, maybe she wouldn’t have left me.
She needed to believe it was her fault—because otherwise, the truth was unbearable.
Large hands, hesitant, patted her gently. Awkward, yet strangely comforting.
“…You did nothing wrong.”
“….”
The voice was low, cold—but the words were kinder than anything she’d heard.
No adult had ever told her she wasn’t at fault. Tears welled.
“…M-My lord?”
Her hoarse whisper was enough for the duke to know she was calling him.
“Yes.”
“…What…?”
She remembered—she had been in his study, he had offered tea and food. Then the sudden pain, suffocation, and his frantic shout. After that, nothing.
“Some people cannot handle certain foods,” he explained.
“….”
“It was blueberries. Did you not know?”
His voice carried a note of reproach. She slowly pushed herself up.
“I… never had the chance to eat them before. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
She had never eaten them as Reina. It wasn’t something she would’ve come across easily.
But the duke misread her words, and his face paled.
“…I wasn’t asking for an apology. Forget it.”
“…?”
He looked thinner, as if he had worried through her collapse.
Reina glanced at his chair. It was far too small for his huge frame. Isn’t that uncomfortable? she thought absurdly.
Finally, he spoke again.
“…I thought someone was trying to kill you.”
“Me?”
Wouldn’t assassins target him, not her?
“Yes.”
He understood her confusion. She wouldn’t normally be a target, but she had become entangled now.
“…We still don’t know who ordered Estelle’s kidnapping,” he explained.
If they knew, they could strike back. But despite pouring in wealth and manpower, no clues had been found. It was strange.
“And everyone here knows you refused their threats. Soon, the empire will know. That makes you the benefactor of this house.”
“Does it… really?”
“Yes. You saved the only heir of House Winternight.”
The heir—and more—but he left that unsaid.
“You are the first benefactor of this house.”
“….”
The grand words left Reina pale.
“You’ll become a symbol. If I treat you well, others will see what loyalty earns. If you suffer revenge instead, they’ll see that too.”
Reina’s hands trembled. The duke noticed and quickly added,
“…So I, and this house, will protect you and your child all the more firmly.”
In truth, he was planning to appoint her as Estelle’s governess, and grant her a title. But he knew he could not do that yet. Not openly, not without suspicion.
Not now—especially after the blueberry incident.
“…Th-thank you?”
Reina looked uneasy, still overwhelmed. The duke himself did not know why he acted this way—but decided against bringing up the title yet. Instead, he said:
“…And there is something I would ask of you.”
“…Yes?”
He still remembered her desperate plea that day—Please save my child. That face had never left his mind.
“Teach me how to be close with my daughter.”
“…What?”
It seemed even he couldn’t believe what he had just said.
In the Garden
The duke had few around him raising children Estelle’s age. And those who might were people he didn’t trust. So Estelle had no one else.
Meanwhile, he worked in his office, pretending to read, but glancing often out the window. Peter, his Butler, sighed.
“My lord, if you’re that distracted, perhaps go see them directly.”
“…No.”
Outside, Reina, Estelle, and Bonita admired flowers together. The duke’s gaze was oddly wistful.
Peter thought his master’s way of showing affection was clumsy—loving Estelle so much, yet only watching from afar, never saying the words.
“Reina Borton has recovered,” Peter added.
“It was just a food reaction.”
“Good thing it wasn’t poison.”
When she had collapsed, Peter’s first thought had been assassination. She might not have realized it, but Reina was the benefactor of House Winternight.
If she had been harmed, the household would have been shaken.
And if anyone else had rescued Estelle, they might have demanded outrageous things. Thankfully, Reina was not like that.
Even her daughter had returned safe.
Strangely unaffected, too, Peter thought, seeing Bonita laugh and play so soon.
The gardens had never been so lively.
Since Estelle arrived, the flowers bloomed brighter. She praised them endlessly, and the duke even ordered magic stones activated so flowers bloomed year-round.
Thanks to that, even so close to the Star Festival, flowers are everywhere, Reina thought, guiding the girls.
They sat in the gazebo, making flower crowns.
“Twist the stem like this, then add the next flower…”
Estelle and Bonita tried, but their small hands only crushed petals.
“…It looks weird.”
“…Yeah.”
They pouted.
“Everyone’s first ones look like that. But yours are much better than mine was.”
“Really?”
“Truly?”
“Of course. I was twelve when I made my first, and I tore the stem right off.”
Their eyes brightened. Encouraged, they tried again.
“Yours is beautiful, Reina. The prettiest.”
“Yeah, Mom’s crown is the best.”
They compared their clumsy crowns to Reina’s neat one. The resemblance in their behavior was so strong, they looked like twins.
Reina almost burst out laughing at their cuteness.
Both wanted hers—but each hesitated, trying to give way to the other.
“Shall I make another?” she offered.
“Yes!”
Estelle’s eyes sparkled, and she ran with Bonita to fetch more flowers.
Reina smiled softly, watching them go.
A peaceful day… almost as if the kidnapping never happened.
She turned back to finish a crown, when she felt someone approach quietly. Smiling, she looked up—expecting the girls.
“Oh, you’re ba—”
“….”
“O-oh, my lord.”
It was the duke.
He stood over her, sunlight at his back. Reina leapt up to bow.
“…Sit.”
“…Y-yes.”
She sat again, nervously resuming her weaving.
“What are you making?”
“…A f-flower crown.”
He saw her delicate crown beside two lopsided ones.
“…Those pitiful ones?”
“Estelle and Bonita made them…”
“…Looking closely, they’re rather charming.”
“….”
Awkward silence.
The duke swallowed hard. From his study, he had only seen them under the gazebo roof, unable to tell what they were doing. His curiosity had finally dragged him here.
But now neither spoke. She couldn’t, as a servant, and he was embarrassed.
At last, he asked,
“…Why are you making another?”
“The girls both want one. I can’t give it to only one of them.”
“…I see.”
He seemed unfamiliar with the concept of sharing.
Reina glanced at him and suggested,
“…Would you like to try? If you gave it to Lady Estelle, she would be delighted.”
“….”
At Estelle’s name, his eyes wavered.
“…Would she really like it?”
He feared she would prefer Reina’s crown, and be disappointed in his. The mighty duke feared that.
“She won’t dislike it,” Reina said gently.
“Estelle is clever and kind. She’ll see your sincerity.”
“…Then I’ll try.”
He came closer, and she nervously demonstrated. But his big hands crushed the flowers worse than the children had. The crown bent pitifully.
“…?”
Just then, the girls returned with flowers—only to freeze at the sight of the duke awkwardly weaving a crown.
“Lady Estelle, the duke is making a crown for you.”
“…!”
Estelle blushed, uncertain—but not displeased.
He bent over it with fierce concentration, but the more serious he grew, the more he mangled the flowers.
At last, he stared grimly at the crooked result.
“…Wait a little, Estelle. I’ll buy every flower in the market and practice.”
Reina realized—he was serious.
Estelle hesitated, then bravely picked up the ugly crown and placed it on her head.
“…I—I like this one.”
“…!”
His expression changed strangely, as if struggling not to smile.
Then, flustered, Estelle offered him her own tiny crown.
“…A…a gift. Since you gave me one, let’s… exchange?”
“….”
He accepted, staring at it with emotion. She worried he was angry, but then—
“Butler!!!”
All three of them jumped at his booming call.
“Bring a magician! One who can cast preservation magic!!!”
It was a historic moment: a priceless spell, worth millions, to preserve a shabby flower crown.
