Prologue
The Truth Is, I’m Actually Experienced
Roughly thirty‑something months into life, I found myself facing a very serious question.
‘Why is there so much misery in this world?’
It was, quite literally, far too grave a concern for a baby who wasn’t even three years old.
But considering the rather special circumstances—that the baby in question was standing alone in front of her mother’s coffin wearing mourning clothes—I didn’t think it was such an unreasonable thought after all.
Unlike me, who was nothing but turmoil inside, my mother lying in the coffin looked peaceful. From the neck down she was covered entirely in flowers, as if she were sleeping beneath a blanket woven from blossoms.
In truth, there hadn’t been much of a choice. Her body wasn’t intact.
Still… at least it didn’t look bad.
“Your Highness the Princess, you should give Her Grace one final farewell.”
Marquis Matilda urged me gently. Reluctantly, I nodded and stepped closer to the coffin. The cold, fresh scent of flowers drifted toward me. My mother’s warm, sun‑dried‑stone smell was nowhere to be found.
‘I hate this.’
No matter how hard I tried, my chin kept crumpling up like a wrinkled walnut.
‘I hate this. I wanted to say goodbye with the cutest, bravest face I could manage.’
“Mom…”
…Goodbye.
It was short, but it was fun. We were really happy, weren’t we? It’s such a shame.
I don’t know when we’ll meet again, but I’ll live well so you don’t have to worry while waiting for me.
Just like you told me—without letting myself get taken advantage of, being clever, being shameless…
“Ahsha, you can be as shameless as you like. You’re cute, after all.”
It felt like I could hear Mom’s voice.
Heat rushed to my eyes in an instant.
“Your Highness.”
“I’m not crying.”
“It’s all right if you do cry.”
“I know. No one’s allowed to scold me for it.”
I pressed my lips together and sniffled.
“’Cause I don’t have a mom anymore.”
The black tip of my shoe peeked out from under my dark skirt, polished so brightly it shone like glass.
Thanks to that, I could clearly see my reflection.
Not just my chin—my entire face looked like a crumpled walnut. A wrinkly, bright‑red walnut.
“Oh dear, our Ahsha’s turned into a walnut again. What should we do? Should Mommy crack it open and eat it up?”
“Don’t! I hate it!”
“What do you mean don’t? My cute little one. Mommy loves Ahsha‑walnut the most in the whole world.”
“I said I’m crying, so don’t interrupt!”
“Oh no, what a problem. Ahsha is cute even when she cries.”
“Ugh! I said I don’t like it!”
Mom’s favorite walnut—me—is still right here.
But Mom isn’t anymore.
…Maybe I shouldn’t have told her not to.
“Hey…”
I kicked lightly at the floor with the tip of my foot, as if doing so might somehow smooth out my crumpled face.
“Mom said I’m cute even when I cry.”
“Yes, she certainly did say that.”
“But she’s not here anymore.”
“…”
“So from now on, I’m not going to be cute anymore. I’m going to be strong.”
“Your Highness, that’s…”
Marquis Matilda’s voice filled with awkwardness. She probably thought it was far too early for a child to be saying such things.
Even the people standing by—ready to pull me away if I suddenly started wailing and clinging to the coffin—seemed to fidget uncomfortably.
It wasn’t hard to understand.
‘They think I’m too young.’
Thirty‑something months old. An age still counted in months rather than years.
Far too young to stand calmly through her mother’s funeral all alone.
…That is, if I hadn’t remembered my previous life.
‘Memories of a past life, huh…’
I furrowed my brow and traced back through those unwelcome recollections.
On the day of the tragedy, the moment my mother’s warm blood splashed across my face, a flood of memories from a long, long time ago came rushing back.
Memories of a life filled to the brim with ordinary, commonplace misery—before I was born as the only daughter of Grand Duke Rosalind Caledro.
I don’t know why it happened. If I had to make a sentimental guess, perhaps the shock of seeing my mother assassinated right before my eyes shattered whatever dam had been protecting my soul.
Even now, when I recall the cold instant my past life seeped into my present one, I can’t help but shudder.
Sometimes I think that in that moment, not only did my mother die—
but a part of me, as Ahsha, died as well.
So, to put it simply, the current me is…
“…not just a newbie. I have experience.”
And what do you call a newbie whose experience doesn’t get recognized?
‘An experienced rookie.’
In this awful world—twice over.
“…So annoying.”
“Your Highness? Did you say something?”
“Nothing. I was just talking to Mom.”
Swallowing down the urge to collapse, to pull my hair out and roll on the floor crying that I wanted to die with her, I grabbed the edge of the coffin and rose onto my tiptoes. I could finally see Mom’s face, made up in unfamiliar makeup.
“I wish you would wake up.”
I could almost picture how embarrassed she’d be, scratching the back of her neck if I teased her for wearing makeup.
“But it’s okay if you don’t.”
Even if I cry, I’m still cute.
And even if she’s dead, she’s still my mom.
Just like how I’m still Ahsha, even with memories of another life.
In my previous life, I lived twenty years of nothing but unhappiness before dying. Compared to that, my life as Ahsha had been barely thirty months.
Could less than three years really compare to the weight of over twenty?
Logically speaking, the moment those memories returned, the “me” who was Ahsha should have sunk and disappeared. Like pouring a cup of water into the ocean—inevitably becoming part of the sea.
And yet, somehow, I was still Ahsha.
Ahsha—
Daughter of Rosalind Caledro, the Northern Iron Wall, the undefeated knight.
Sha‑Reche Angelica Caledro.
The Ahsha who remembered the name Mom called me countless times.
The Ahsha who remembered holding her hands, hugging her, listening to her songs and stories through quiet nights.
‘Though it’s very like Mom that she mostly sang military songs because she didn’t know many lullabies.’
Anyway.
The firm foundation my mother built inside me didn’t drown, not even under twenty years of tragedy.
To the mother who protected me even in death, I whispered softly.
“Hey, Mom… thank you for giving birth to me.”
So even if misery is scattered everywhere in the world, I’ll try to live on.
Because it’s the life you gave me.
I won’t let go.
I’ll be brave.
“When we meet again, let’s have fun together like before.”
I’m sure we will.
So just for a little while…
Goodbye.
…Goodbye, Mom.
