Chapter 49: Truth

My mind went completely blank.

Was there any better way to describe my current state?

Probably not.

My head really had gone white, just like my hair looked now.

It felt like I wasn’t me.

It might sound like nonsense, but it was true.

The me from just a moment ago didn’t feel like the me I’d been until now.

Here, “just a moment ago” referred to the time after I woke up in bed and met Kim Soo-ho and Christina.

And “until now” referred to the period starting from when I realized I had been reincarnated up until the aforementioned “moment ago.”

“…”

Of course, it was still nonsense.

If I said this to a normal person, they’d instantly call it bullsh*t.

Yeah, to a normal person.

It was probably best to abandon the assumption that I was one of those.

“…Seo-yeon.”

“Yes, Your Highness? You called me?”

“…Have you come back?”

“Yes. Though I’m not sure if ‘come back’ is the right way to put it.”

A normal person probably wouldn’t even be able to answer a question like that.

“Come back? What are you talking about, Tina?”

Unlike Christina, who seemed to fully understand what was going on, Kim Soo-ho still had a completely confused expression.

Right, that’s how a normal person reacts.

Someone who can’t keep up with how fast things are moving, who asks about the parts they haven’t grasped.

A completely normal reaction.

And the fact that I found it a bit irritating probably meant I wasn’t a normal person anymore.

As I kept silent, Christina began explaining the situation to Kim Soo-ho.

“…At first, I only had a hunch. The person I saw when I first met Seo-yeon, and the person I’ve been talking to since, felt completely different.”

“So you mean…”

“Yes. I’m convinced that Seo-yeon’s personality has split into two.”

It wasn’t hard to understand.

Basically, a person had developed a second personality due to a traumatic event.

A very common trope.

Not that I hadn’t suspected it before.

No, I’d had plenty of moments that felt suspicious.

Memories from before the reincarnation that I couldn’t recall at all.

Too little knowledge about the “original story” for someone who’d supposedly been reincarnated.

And the fragmented moments where my memory just cut out, despite knowing I was the one making decisions.

This wasn’t just amnesia.

The memory gaps only ever happened in certain situations—mostly when I was tied up with Han-sia, or when I lost consciousness.

A classic cliché.

When someone suffers severe trauma, their mind splits to cope with the pain.

I just never thought I’d actually go through it.

“Cough.”

“Seo-yeon!”

The now-familiar cough burst out, and Kim Soo-ho quickly tried to rush toward me.

“…Don’t come any closer.”

“…Seo-yeon?”

“Just… cough… just stay there. It’s not a big deal.”

Because that was the last thing I wanted, I quickly reached out my hand to stop him.

If it had been “Lee Seo-yeon” instead of me, she might not have stopped him.

Because “Lee Seo-yeon” still saw Kim Soo-ho as her closest friend, more than anyone.

As I was thinking that, Christina—who had been watching us silently—spoke.

“Please, tell us now, Seo-yeon.”

“Tell you what, exactly?”

“The illness you’re suffering from. We need to know so we can prepare the proper treatment—”

“Heh.”

“…Seo-yeon?”

“…Seo-yeon-ah?”

My sudden laughter made both of them look at me.

I laughed, looking between the two of them.

“Like I said before, I don’t get why you’re suddenly caring about ‘me.’ ‘I’ was never anything to you, Your Highness.”

“…”

“If you had just shown me this kind of concern from the beginning, maybe I never would’ve ended up like this.”

All I could do was laugh bitterly.

To realize I wasn’t even the real me, and that it was other people who made me aware of it.

I didn’t even know how I ended up in this situation, or if I could even believe I was me anymore.

Hearing my words, Christina continued with a regretful expression.

“…I know. I know it’s my fault more than anyone else that you ended up this way.”

“Tina.”

“But still, for the future… I have to know your illness so we can—”

“I’ll tell you. It’s not like it’s something I’m unwilling to say.”

“Really? Then I’ll start preparing treatment right away, just as you say.”

“…Thank you, Seo-yeon-ah.”

At my willingness to share my condition, both Christina and Kim Soo-ho visibly brightened.

“My illness is mana rejection.”

“…What?”

“Should I say it again? The illness I’ve had since before enrolling in this academy is called mana rejection.”

“…”

Though of course, that brightness lasted only a moment—easily shattered by my words.

---

“…Mana rejection?”

“Seo-yeon-ah, what did you just say…?”

Christina and Kim Soo-ho both looked stunned, like they couldn’t believe what they were hearing.

What? You asked, and I told you.

Though, I couldn’t really blame them.

Given their nature as mana users, they would obviously know what mana rejection was.

Mana rejection.

A condition where one’s body is incompatible with mana, making it impossible to use it.

More precisely—it’s possible to use mana, but doing so causes severe side effects.

Of course, to them, it probably sounded completely unbelievable.

Because everyone knew that someone with mana rejection would never be accepted into the academy.

“Surprising, isn’t it? That someone like ‘me’ got into the academy with this illness.”

“…”

“I think it’s surprising too. So much so that even ‘I’ can’t understand ‘me.’”

But I guess “I” was someone who didn’t abide by normal logic.

Looking at the two of them react like this, it was clear they couldn’t wrap their heads around it.

Well then, guess I’ll just have to show them.

“Sigh.”

“…Seo-yeon?”

“…Seo-yeon-ah?”

I ignored their questioning voices.

After all, channeling mana into the dagger I always carried around was just about the hardest thing I could do—except for picking a fight with Han-sia.

Yeah, no way.

I have zero confidence in beating that crazy b*tch.

So this was probably the most I could handle.

“Cough—!”

“Seo-yeon!”

The dagger I was holding barely turned blue before blood surged up my throat.

Even during the mock dungeon trial, it wasn’t this bad.

Guess my body really has gotten worse.

“…Ugh.”

“Okay! We get it! Just stop now, Seo-yeon!”

“I believe you, just stop it already!”

Only after hearing the two of them shout at me, begging me to stop—

“Cough.”

—I finally stopped channeling mana into the dagger, ending the not-so-gentle episode of internal bleeding.

See? Should’ve believed me earlier.

You doubted me, so I had to show you myself.

As I looked at the two of them, someone spoke in a trembling voice.

“…Since when?”

“Huh?”

“When did this illness start? The one you just showed us.”

The one asking, voice shaking so much I could feel it, was none other than Kim Soo-ho.

“…”

“Seo-yeon-ah, I asked you—since when?”

Even I was slightly surprised, though I didn’t show it.

Because I had never seen Kim Soo-ho look like this before.

He looked scared.

As if what I just showed him was the most horrifying thing in the world.

…When he was the one who kept his distance from the “me” of the past.

“Heh.”

“…Seo-yeon-ah?”

A dry laugh escaped me.

I couldn’t help it, not with the thought that had just crossed my mind.

No, now wasn’t the time for this.

Someone asked a question. I should answer.

“…You really want to know?”

“Huh?”

“You really want to know when I got mana rejection?”

“…”

Kim Soo-ho fell silent, as if my follow-up had stolen all the words from his mouth.

What’s wrong?

I’m going to answer.

I’m answering the question you asked.

“It’s kind of amazing, Soo-ho. We haven’t exactly been close since we entered the academy, have we?”

“…”

“Or more accurately, you refused to be close with ‘me.’ So ‘I’ eventually gave up.”

“…Seo-yeon.”

“Yeah. My name is Seo-yeon. Though I’m not sure if I’m the ‘Lee Seo-yeon’ you remember.”

Even I didn’t know for sure.

Whether this “me” was truly me.

Whether the “me” right now was really myself.

After all, I’m me, and “I” am me too.

What’s the point of distinguishing between “me” and “I”?

Even I, the person involved, didn’t fully understand that truth.

And the only truth I could say for certain to the two people standing in front of me was this:

“But, you already abandoned me. So why does it matter when I got sick?”

“…”

“Isn’t that right?”

Because Lee Seo-yeon—no, “I”—had been abandoned by them.

That was the only truth I could say with confidence to their faces.