The wind in the North had a certain sll to it.
It wasn’t the cold itself that lingered in the air, but the faint trace of tal and smoke. The scent of a city that had forgotten peace.
I adjusted the gloves on my hands as I stood near the courtyard gates of the Bluerose mansion, where the rose bushes glimred with frost like scattered shards of glass. The na Bluerose itself carried a weight of nobility, prestige, and pride. Yet, the silence in this estate was suffocating — as if the air here rembered too much.
I shouldn’t have taken this job.
That’s what I told myself every morning.
But every ti I saw her, I knew I couldn’t leave.
Amy Bluerose.
The eldest daughter of the Bluerose family.
The woman I once killed.
She was different now. Softer. Quieter. Almost... human. The Amy I knew from the previous route was prideful, burning with ambition, and untouchable — a heroine who hid her loneliness behind arrogance. The Amy before now preferred sitting under the garden tree, reading in silence, feeding the birds with her bare hands as if trying to make peace with the world.
I didn’t understand it.
I didn’t understand why she was here, alive, in the North — or how this world had rewritten itself after my regression.
Was this world fixing itself?
Or was I just another bug trapped in its loop?
The morning bells rang three tis, echoing faintly across the frozen hills. I stepped forward and knocked lightly on her door.
"Lady Amy," I said, lowering my voice to sound more formal, "it’s ti for your morning schedule."
There was a mont of stillness before a calm, gentle voice replied.
"Co in."
When I entered, sunlight filtered through the tall glass windows, falling across the polished floors like ribbons of light. Amy sat by her desk, her long hair tied loosely behind her, a cup of tea untouched beside her.
Her eyes lifted to mine, and for a second, the world felt... wrong.
That sa stillness I rembered — the sa cold calm she wore right before her death — flashed before my eyes.
I blinked, and the image twisted. The room faded for just a second, and I saw her again — dangling from the ceiling, rope wrapped around her neck, her face pale and her lips parted as if whispering my na. The sa sight I saw in the last route.
I clenched my fists until the pain brought back to reality.
"...Are you all right, Sir Noah?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "You seem pale."
I forced a small smile. "I’m fine, my lady. Just... a little tired. I’ll prepare your tea."
She gave a faint nod, turning her gaze back to the open book before her.
Her hands trembled ever so slightly as she traced the page. There was a subtle sadness in her movents, one that didn’t belong to soone her age. I noticed that every day, but I never asked.
She had her secrets, and I had mine.
The orange-haired butler — the other servant of the house — wasn’t around this morning. He had gone out for errands, leaving in charge.
I didn’t like him much. He was too kind, too cheerful.
People like him didn’t belong in this world.
But Amy trusted him... and that was enough to make keep my distance.
As I poured the tea, Amy suddenly spoke.
"Noah, can I ask you sothing?"
Her tone was curious, hesitant — not the usual noble command. I turned slightly to look at her.
"Of course, my lady."
She smiled faintly, her blue eyes reflecting the pale light. "Do you ever wonder... if people are born for a reason?"
I froze mid-motion.
Her words cut through the silence sharper than any blade.
"I an," she continued softly, looking out the window, "why so people live, and others... don’t? Why so are given everything, and others lose everything trying to find it? My professors used to ask that at the academy. I never had an answer then."
She laughed quietly, but it was hollow — empty.
"I still don’t."
I stared at her, the tea cup trembling slightly in my hand.
For a mont, my chest felt tight. Her words echoed through , wrapping around the remnants of who I used to be — the murderer of her past self.
"...Do you think we ever get to choose what we live for?" she asked, turning toward .
I hesitated. My throat felt dry. "I... don’t know, my lady. But I believe people can choose what they die for."
She blinked, studying for a mont. "That’s... a strange answer."
"It’s the only one I have," I said quietly, setting her tea down.
For a heartbeat, the air between us thickened with sothing unspoken.
She tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "You sound like soone who’s already made that choice."
Her words struck too close to ho. I forced a faint smirk, turning away.
"Maybe I have."
But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew sothing.
Sothing about .
Sothing about then.
I looked outside the window to distract myself. Chro Hearts had started moving faster lately. Reports ca in from the abandoned theatre — new recruits, small criminal cells absorbed, territories seized. The Northern Parliant had started noticing, though they didn’t know it was pulling the strings. To the world, Machiavelli was a ghost. A na whispered in dark alleys and in the smoke-filled bars of Victoria.
A necessary evil, as I liked to think of it.
To unite the chaos, you first had to wear the face of the devil.
That’s what I told myself every ti I gave an order.
Every ti I burned another organization to the ground.
Amy suddenly broke the silence again. "You’re lost in thought."
I turned, realizing I had been staring too long. "Ah, apologies. I was thinking about... nothing important."
"Nothing important?" she repeated with a small smile. "That’s the most suspicious answer I’ve ever heard from you."
I almost laughed at that. Almost.
Her tone was playful, but her eyes weren’t. They held a strange depth — as if she were searching for sothing in .
For a fleeting mont, I wondered — did she rember? Did she rember the last route, her death, my hand on her throat as the world collapsed around us?
I wanted to ask.
But I didn’t.
Because I was afraid of her answer.
Instead, I busied myself with the tray, glancing at the window. Outside, the snow began to fall — thin flakes, drifting lazily through the air. Amy followed my gaze and whispered, "It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Snow always makes feel like ti stops."
"Or maybe," I said, "it just hides what we don’t want to see."
She turned to , her expression unreadable. "You speak like soone who’s lived a long ti."
"Maybe I have."
That earned a soft laugh. "You really are strange, Noah."
"I’ve been told that," I replied quietly.
Silence returned. The kind that wasn’t awkward, just heavy.
Amy sipped her tea slowly, watching the snow. I stood by, pretending to be the dutiful guard, but my thoughts were far elsewhere — in the shadows of the city, where Chro Hearts moved in secrecy, and in the cracks of the tiline I no longer understood.
Sowhere in this world, another transmigrator existed.
Soone like .
Soone who rembered.
Was it Maya?
No... she was gone, or so I thought.
The thought made my stomach tighten. The system was gone, my power replaced by Chro — that tallic, living weapon bound to my body through runes. I had lost so much of what I was, yet gained sothing monstrous in return.
And now, sitting in this quiet mansion, serving tea to the woman I once killed — I couldn’t help but wonder.
How much of was still ?
Amy suddenly spoke again, breaking the chain of my thoughts.
"Noah... do you believe people can change?"
I looked at her — really looked at her.
Her hair, her eyes, her fragile smile that seed to tremble whenever she thought no one was looking.
"Yes," I said finally. "People can change. But not the past."
She nodded slowly, lowering her gaze. "That’s what I thought too."
There was sadness in her voice. A deep, quiet sadness that reminded of my own reflection.
Maybe we were both ghosts here, clinging to lives that weren’t ant to exist anymore.
She stood, walking toward the balcony. Her fingers brushed against the frost on the railing, lting it. "My father says the North is changing. That soon, even noble houses won’t be safe. Do you think that’s true?"
"It’s already happening," I said. "The Northern Parliant is split. The people are restless. The rich are afraid. The poor are hungry. The world doesn’t need another spark. It needs soone to control the fire."
She turned her head slightly, her voice calm. "And do you think you’re that soone?"
I froze. My fingers tightened around the hilt of my cane.
"Why do you ask that?"
She smiled faintly. "Because every ti you speak about the world, it sounds like you want to fix it. But people who want to fix the world... usually break it first."
Her words lingered in the cold air, sharp and haunting. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
In the distance, the faint chi of the clock tower echoed.
The sound reminded that even if ti kept moving, I was still the sa — trapped in loops, deaths, and regrets that refused to fade.
Amy turned back toward , her eyes softer now. "Don’t look so serious. It was just a thought."
She smiled — a genuine, fragile smile.
And for the first ti in what felt like forever, I found myself smiling back.
Outside, snow continued to fall over Victoria, blanketing the chaos beneath a fragile peace.
But I knew it wouldn’t last.
Because peace never lasts in a world built on lies.
And in the heart of those lies, Chro Hearts was already moving.
And so was I.
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