Forgetting, Piece by Piece

Shouting did nothing. Sneering did nothing. Presepe's face never so much as moved, as if she had become someone incapable of feeling at all.

Today was different.

The Presepe staring back at him looked, somehow, both grieved and angry. So many feelings lay bare across her that Dietrich could only falter before the stranger she had become.

"There was no lie in what you just said, was there, Presepe."

He asked it as if merely turning the conversation aside.

"If any of it was invented, you will not like what follows. I intend to hear the story again—from Noah Debern."

Tell him and he still throws a fit...

If he couldn't believe her, he might have spared himself the question. Or gone trotting along at Noah's heels. The thought rose, sharp as ever, but she had not yet lost her mind far enough to let it out of her mouth, and so Presepe only nodded, her face sunk in gloom.

"..."

Dietrich stared at her in silence for a moment, then rose slowly from his seat. With one hand on the door, he turned back.

"I didn't know you were the sort who could slap a man across the face."

"...Your Majesty?"

"In front of me you were always so meek. A doll, reciting the same stock lines by rote."

"That was... even so, I could hardly strike Your Majesty's cheek... no. Forgive me."

Her mouth really did run away with her. Once it opened, she babbled like someone unhinged. Of course, until now she had been forced to keep it shut as if someone had smeared glue across her lips, so perhaps it could not be helped.

"In any case, there is not the slightest lie in what I just told you. Please believe me, Your Majesty."

"Asking me to believe you seems to come very easily to you."

"..."

"All the more, when you do it without fear, again and again, to the one person in the world for whom it is the hardest thing."

Those were the last words Dietrich left her. He strode out of the tower, and before she knew it Presepe was alone.

"Does he have to act like someone who's sulking..."

Is he even listening to himself? Irritating.

A faintly incredulous look crossed her face. Then, as if to gather herself, she struck both cheeks lightly. She had remembered waking from the dream only a little while ago—the chilling dream in which she could not recall even her own name.

"Yoon Juyeon."

So she spoke her true name aloud.

Yoon Juyeon. Yoon Juyeon. Yoon Juyeon.

Unlike in the dream, Presepe turned it over again and again, like someone sworn never to forget it.

And yet...

What had she truly wanted to confirm?

What, exactly?

"..."

The eyes fixed on empty air went dull. Not long after, Presepe understood. Without her noticing, she had been losing her memories of the real world, little by little.

"I can't remember anything..."

All that remained was a cramped room, and the moment she had flung herself onto an equally cramped bed and spat the curse. Right before she crossed into this body.

Was it a miracle that she had managed to recall even the name?

"..."

Out of habit, Presepe clutched the left side of her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again.

"Right... Whether Dietrich finds his memories or not... that isn't what matters..."

She was the one losing her real memories, and brooding over a reason like his was nothing but a luxury. Besides, couldn't she turn it to her own use? If they could truly talk now, if he could act outside the plot, it might even help her.

In any case, there was something she had to do at once. Finding the True Male Lead. Even the smallest clue.

"It would be nice if I could step outside..."

For the whole of the game's progress, the places Presepe could move were severely limited. Before the main plot began, the only place she was free to live was this tower. Once the story started she could move as the plot allowed, but the only parts of the Imperial Palace she had ever seen were Dietrich's residence, the banquet hall, the Ice Prison, and the like. Nowhere that seemed likely to hold any information.

"Still, Presepe was born an imperial princess. There might be more to find in the palace."

Standing at the window, she looked down over the distant view.

"...But Atar is dead now, so wandering around as I please would look bad."

She could speak with Dietrich now, so she might ask him to let her move about the Imperial Palace. Saying so this very moment, though, didn't seem likely to gain her anything. In the end she decided to do what she could do now.

"Review the past memories of every character. Show me the album."

With the guide window, something shaped like an album appeared before her eyes. Atar, cut out of every illustration, and Dietrich, whose face had at some point been painted pitch-black, troubled her a little—no, a great deal. Presepe pretended not to see them and began checking, carefully, for anything she might have missed.

Noah Debern was Duke of the North, yet the time he actually spent in the north was very short. Unlike the other dukes of any use, he rarely looked in on his own domain, and he did not look after his parents either. He simply left the hard work to clever servants and passed extravagant days at a townhouse he kept in the capital, chasing after pleasure.

Today was no different. With nothing in particular to do, Noah was spending a somewhat dull evening in a townhouse lavish to the point of excess.

Until an unexpected visitor appeared.

"I did not expect a visit of this sort," Noah said, a little flustered as he received the unfamiliar guest.

"Grand Duke Fenrik."

Why has this man come looking for me at an hour like this? Unlike Noah, Fenrik's face was perfectly unruffled.

"I wondered whether you might have a moment."

"A... a moment?"

"If it is difficult, I will call again another time. Please speak freely."

Noah hesitated, then shook his head as if to say it was quite all right.

"Not at all. Please come in."

He led Fenrik to the reception room. Fenrik lowered himself slowly onto the sofa, and after a brief fluster Noah brought out tea.

"I am not sure the tea will suit your taste."

Sipping from a cup still breathing steam, Noah spoke as if stealing a glance at Fenrik's mood.

"You came so suddenly that I had no time to prepare anything. I would be grateful if you would understand."

"I am not the sort who enjoys tea, so I hardly know the taste."

Should I have brought out wine instead? A trace of tension crossed Noah's face.

"But of one thing I am certain. The tea Your Grace has offered me is the finest I have ever drunk."

"..."

"With my palate raised so high, I shall not be able to accept tea anywhere else."

"Ah. I am glad it pleases you."

Only then did the face stiffened by nerves loosen.

In truth, Noah was not the sort to flatter other nobles to excess, or to bow his head of his own accord. Not long ago, when he had locked horns with Atar in the flower garden over Presepe, he had worn a cold expression even though his opponent was an imperial prince. That alone was proof—and it was all the more so because he knew Atar was a prince of no particular worth.

To speak plainly, Noah was close to the typical empty-headed noble. Looking down on those beneath him was a daily habit, and clutching power and wealth so he might shake them about was one of his favorite pastimes. And yet the reason he watched Fenrik's mood so carefully...

"It is an honor that you came. As it happens, I have heard a great deal about the Grand Duke."

"I wonder what Your Grace has heard. Stories about me are never of good quality."

"Ah, that is not the sense in which I meant—"

"It hardly matters. A rumor of poor quality is not necessarily untrue. So. What did you hear?"

"Pardon?"

"A butcher who swings his sword without distinguishing man from woman, young from old?"

"..."

"Or a madman who cuts the throats of nobles and imperials alike, without the slightest hesitation."

...was that the man called Fenrik was frightening in himself.

"Well. Look closely enough, and the two are much the same in kind."

"That... that was not the story I meant to tell, Grand Duke."

Cold sweat broke out as Noah muttered, as if making an excuse.

"I have only heard many good things. That Your Grace's martial skill is extraordinary, and that His Majesty the Emperor trusts you greatly."

It was not a lie. Fenrik truly was Dietrich's closest confidant, and the man who had rendered immense service in Dietrich's taking of the throne.

"My martial skill must look extraordinary."

Fenrik's lips moved with a faint scoff.

"A lowborn beggar from the streets, surpassing every noble and receiving the rank of grand duke—how could that be possible with anything less than considerable skill?"

"..."

"Wouldn't you say?"

"Th-that must be... what it means. That the Grand Duke's martial skill is exceptionally outstanding..."

Fenrik gave no answer. He only stared at Noah as if mocking him. Those crimson eyes sent such a chill down the spine that Noah wanted to shove back his chair and flee at once, but he endured it with everything he had.