Chapter 35: Fantasy in the middle of the night

“Ah—”

Would it be enough to describe it as a sensation of being dragged down by something unseen? A soft sigh slipped from Izana’s lips.

Her wide, glassy eyes blinked like a goldfish’s as gravity slowly pulled her downward. The spotless marble floor loomed ever closer.

The fall couldn’t have lasted even a full second, and yet, to Izana, it felt as if the entire world around her had slowed to an unnatural crawl. Like watching a videotape stretched past its limit.

They say people experience a strange kind of clarity just before death—was that what this was? Was she really going to die here, like this?

What a joke. Tripping down the stairs. What a pathetic, anticlimactic death. Her life didn’t flash before her eyes or anything, but Izana couldn’t help but scoff at herself.

Then again, didn’t even Kushina—stronger than Zoro—die from stairs?

There was a time she used to wonder when death would finally come for her. Now that it had, there was no rush of emotion. Her heart remained surprisingly calm. No panic. No fear. Just… stillness.

Maybe that was because there wasn’t much to feel regret over.

Not because she’d lived her life to the fullest, but because she had never really lived at all.

Despite everything she had—money, status, luxury—there was always something missing. Like a band playing without a bass line.

You might not notice at first, but it leaves a hollow space that’s impossible to ignore.

And she still didn’t know what that missing thing was.

Not that it mattered enough to wallow in misery. Today was just another empty day, like all the others.

That probably sounds dramatic, but in truth, it was just a small kind of resignation.

Not unhappiness, exactly. Just a lack of happiness.

Still, she had hoped to die gracefully, if it ever came to that. But of course, she had to fall head first.

As she imagined her skull splitting open like a watermelon, she winced.

On nights when the depression got too loud, she’d snort bitter pills like powdered candy, but even Izana was still just a girl.

Just another cliché inner monologue.

And as she neared the tail end of that slow-motion moment, she gently closed her eyes.

Not because it meant anything, but because she didn’t want to die with a dumb, wide-eyed face.

“…”

She wondered what her funeral would be like.

Her parents were rich, so definitely not cremation. Probably a burial in some lavish cemetery.

The ceremony would be held in a massive cathedral, filled with people.

Everyone from the housemaids to a British prince whose tabloid drama made headlines.

Some would pretend to be solemn. Others might force out a tear or two.

Her parents, at least, would probably cry for real. For all their faults, their family wasn’t that dysfunctional.

As for her fiancé—who didn’t even like her all that much—he’d probably be sad, too.

A beautiful lily had wilted, he’d say, and put on a show of grief. Then move on to some new girl before the month was out.

“…”

Honestly? She hated that image.

She couldn’t stand crybabies. Especially grown-up ones. And all that fake solemnity? It just wasn’t her thing.

Her ideal funeral would be way different. First, install giant speakers and a projector.

Play the entire RHCP discography. Invite tiny, adorable girls to laugh their way through the ceremony, each one wearing a glittering tiara.

Skip the creepy embalming fluid. Just bury her under a mound of Prozac.

And instead of white chrysanthemums, cover her with royal blue roses.

When it’s all done, let the black coffin scream, “Welcome to your new home!” Hell, invite Freddie Mercury while you’re at it.

And then… wait. Why am I still conscious?

A creeping sense of wrongness jolted her back to reality. Izana quickly opened her eyes.

“Ouch…”

The first thing she saw was a face—frowning, scowling, pale as ivory.

Lips pink as ranunculus petals, tightly pressed together. Those lips belonged to none other than—

“Sia…?”

She blinked, still dazed. She had been certain she would die or at least break a few bones.

Yet here she was—alive, confused, and… cradled in someone’s arms?

Sia sat on the floor, holding Izana in her lap.

“Having too much money must rot your eyesight, huh? Maybe try watching where you’re going.”

“Ah… right. Yes.”

The cold tone contrasted with the gentle way Sia laid her down and rubbed her now-swollen arm.

“You’re fine, right? Then I’m leaving.”

“Ah, um—w-wait, I— I mean… g-goodbye.”

She stammered like a fool. She sounded like a fool. And yet—strangely—she didn’t hate it. No, she couldn’t afford to care about that.

Her gaze locked on Sia’s retreating back.

Her unique green eyes, for once, looked heavy with something. Wet with something. She couldn’t name it.

“Ah…”

And Sia left. Without a glance. As if Izana were nothing more than background noise.

But even as she was treated like a pebble on the roadside, Izana didn’t feel insulted. In fact, she felt…

Exhilarated.

Yes—like something missing was finally, finally being filled.

Her whole body was warm, floating, like she’d swallowed an entire bottle of Viagra. Her heart pounded with the ache of rediscovering a long-lost first love.

“Miss, are you alright?!”

A black-suited man emerged from the shadows. His massive build and rough features screamed ex-special forces. He dropped to his knees before her.

“I’m so sorry, Miss! I ran the moment I saw you fall, but I was guarding the perimeter outside—”

It was the man who had protected her since childhood. But Izana didn’t hear a word he said.

She was busy. Too busy chasing the name of the emotion that now engulfed her.

She ransacked her own mind until finally, she found it. A trace. A memory.

When she was still a little girl—barely six—she had fallen in love with a prince from a storybook.

“I… am so, so sorry! Whatever punishment you deem fit, I’ll accept it without question—”

“Shut up, Black Bear.”

“…”

Love, before even hitting puberty. Laughable now, maybe. But it hadn’t been a joke to her then. Sure, the prince had only existed in a picture book, but she had loved him all the same. Dreamed of being the princess who’d marry him.

Her current fiancé—a shallow, womanizing idiot—had only been chosen because he looked like that childhood prince.

Yes. Her sweet, elegant prince.

The flutter in her chest now… it was the same feeling from back then. Only now, it was real. Real and much, much more intense. She pressed a hand to her chest. She could still feel Sia’s warmth.

Of course, Sia looked nothing like the fairy tale prince. Her body was slender, delicate.

If anything, Sia resembled the princess. Snow White, to be specific.

But Izana remembered everything.

The way Sia had held her. The way she’d protected her. Cared for her more than herself.

To appear out of nowhere in the heroine’s moment of peril, and sacrifice herself to save her—

Wasn’t that exactly what a prince would do?

Izana exhaled shakily, breath still hot with adrenaline.

Sure, Sia’s attitude was rough, and her words were sharp—but she was nothing like that pompous idiot of a fiancé.

That brief moment of eye contact, that protective embrace, had already filled every hollow corner of Izana’s empty heart. Even her crooked personality now seemed… charming.

“Black Bear.”

“Yes, Miss?”

Only now did Izana realize why she had come to this faraway Eastern country in the first place.

What had seemed like meaningless circumstance was, in fact, destiny. Her fiancé taking an interest in Korea. Her near-death on the stairs. The beautiful girl who caught her in her arms.

All of it had been leading to this.

Destiny. There was no other explanation for such an absurdly perfect chain of events.

Yes—destiny.

And once she realized that, her cheeks blazed with heat. Embarrassment and elation mingled like fire. She pressed cool hands to her face.

Overwhelming, ecstatic joy.

Was this LSD? She peeked out the window—just in case.

But no. The sky was crimson.

Not coral pink like in her memories.

Crimson. Real. The sun shimmered in heatwaves.

It was all real.

Her heartbeat finally calmed, just a little. And Izana smiled.

This time, for real.

A smile with not a hint of pretense.

“I… I think I’ve finally found my fate.”

“…Pardon?”

The beginning of love, it turns out, was also the end of loneliness.