Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Prologue
They say that the hormones of love have an expiration date.
No matter how passionate the love, there is a theory that it cools after three years.
Indeed, the more dazzling the flame, the more it leaves behind nothing but pitch-black ashes.
But what about a flame that never managed to burn?
Like a bud that never bloomed, does it remain forever holding its petals,
drifting in a time that has stopped, unable even to wither?
At least, that was the case for the present Count’s daughter, Roze Volanschefort.
The expression “young lady” had long since ceased to suit her.
After all, Roze had already passed seventy.
Yet despite the countless marriage proposals sent her way, she remained silent,
and having grown old alone, no one could even call her “madam.”
Roze Volanschefort.
Once mocked at the academy as a magician without talent,
later revealed to be a hidden wielder suited for ancient magic, astonishing everyone,
and after countless adventures, a legendary mage whose stories were still spoken of even now.
Yet no honor or fame ever brought her happiness.
Roze spent her entire life in sorrow, regret, remorse, and grief, and had now become an old, withered woman whom no one looked back on.
Even today, she gazed out the window at branches that had nearly lost all their leaves, remembering only one person.
“Solo…mon…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…It’s all my fault, Solomon….”
Solomon.
A man who had once been her knight.
But…a man who lost his life fighting for her.
After sending him away, she lived for fifty years steeped in longing.
“In the end…I never even once…managed to tell you how I felt.”
Roze raised her dried arm, like a breaking branch, and quietly looked at the back of her hand.
On the fourth finger of her left hand was an old ring.
Long ago, Solomon had placed it there.
“The truth is…I liked you. Maybe…since the very first time we met.”
Tears that had become part of her daily routine fell once again.
The honor of being a noble, the praise of being a hero, the respect of the people—
all of it was no different from trash.
The only thing she longed for was to meet the one she loved again.
But that was a wish that could never be fulfilled.
“I really…liked you.”
At the age of seventy-three,
Roze Volanschefort, the Count’s daughter, quietly breathed her last with a face full of sorrow.
And so, it seemed that everything had come to an end.
But—
“——Ba-bu? (Huh?)”
She opened her eyes again.
The dimness around her eyes felt clear.
Her body, which once ached everywhere, now moved as if it had never hurt at all.
“Ba-bu-ba-bu? (This place…could it be…my family home?)”
A familiar ceiling.
She saw her childhood room.
“Mi-Miss Roze, you’re awake? Shall I feed you?”
“Ba-bu (Elise?)”
The maid who had attended her, Elise, approached.
She looked far younger than Roze remembered.
‘Did I…get reborn?’
‘No…this feels closer to having returned to the past.’
‘Then…’
‘Does that mean…I can meet Solomon again?’
Twenty years.
If she waited twenty years, she could reunite with Solomon at the academy.
Realizing this, Roze cried out in joy for the first time in fifty years.
“Ba-bu———!!”
“Oh my, Miss is shouting. Why are you smiling so brightly? I wonder what you’re thinking.”
Twenty years was a long time, but it was better than waiting without any promise.
‘Wait for me, Solomon! This time, I’ll be the one to say I like you first! I’ll confess. I’ll treat you well. I’ll make you happy, no matter what! SolomonSolomonSolomon!’
Just thinking about how to make Solomon happy felt like it would make those twenty years fly by in an instant.