Misreading
"By any chance, is she a woman?"
"Yeah. I figured you'd hate a guy. Better to go with someone of the same sex, right?"
She answered like that, but in my head, I kept mulling over the smile she'd just shown me. The more I chewed on it, though, the more something felt off. A sense of duty usually comes with a heavier expression. Self-sacrificial resolve, grim determination. But that smile of hers—it was twisted somehow. Closer to joy.
Even if it's a smile born from a sense of accomplishment, it still feels weird.
I decided to revise my conclusion. Ella's emotion wasn't duty—it was something thicker, darker.
Then what is it? If not duty, what?
It was raw, intensely concentrated. I rolled this new variable around in my mind. Duty is rational. It operates within a logical framework. "This is necessary, so I do it." Predictable, relatively easy to manipulate.
But this was different.
...What conclusion did she reach to change so suddenly like this?
I pondered, but couldn't pin it down easily. I switched tactics.
She's still fixated on me, at least.
If things were going as I'd predicted, this was the product of the same process as duty—just with a slight variation. The core goal would be the same.
Right on schedule.
Right now, Ella was gripped by an obsession to stop me—maybe something close to that. To turn her into an ally, simply telling her, "Be my partner," wouldn't cut it. Her brain had etched in the moment I'd played the little brother role. That wound hadn't healed; recent events had only complicated it further.
Time for a new approach. I'd dust off some old theatrical props I'd shelved long ago. The "man with a tragic past," the "redeemable human," the "twisted soul with circumstances"—that repertoire. Cliché, sure, but nothing works quite as well.
Pity is a powerful emotion. It outlasts hatred toward an enemy, surprisingly. And pity pairs perfectly with obsession. If the object of that obsession has a pitiful past? It can be repackaged as protective instinct.
I'll have to build it up gradually.
After toying with people yesterday, pretending to have a backstory now would just come off as repulsive. So, more subtly—over a long period. Perfect timing, too. This was when Ella was starting to fixate on me. She'd never bothered learning much about my past, so she had no idea what baggage I carried. No clue how I'd become this scum, which meant I could fabricate it freely.
That was my target from here on out.
The tutor interview went smoother than expected. Mid-thirties woman, ten years of experience, had guided several cases like Ella's. Ella sat right next to me the whole time, watching silently. Her gaze on the woman was anything but casual—like she'd hack away anything that rubbed her wrong.
But contrary to her expectations, the new tutor checked out fine.
"Then, starting next week, if you please."
"Yes, thank you."
Once the tutor left, Ella was still glued to the seat beside me.
"Like her?"
"...She's okay, I guess."
Even as she said it, she looked disappointed—like she'd wanted an excuse to cut her loose. After that, Ella kept stubbornly positioning herself in my line of sight.
"What're you thinking about right now?"
The question came out of nowhere. I took a sip of coffee and turned to her.
"The past. Why the sudden interest?"
"Curious."
Ella sat on the sofa, knees hugged to her chest, staring at me. Her face was neutral, but her eyes were sharp, probing for something.
"Nothing special. Grew up normal."
"Maybe. But normal people don't turn out like you. Do you even realize you're not normal?"
I was aware. That's why I picked the abnormal paths. But I didn't say it. Better to let her think otherwise.
"Tell me. With your abilities... you've probably existed since far in the past."
I set down my coffee cup. Had to choose my words carefully. Overt sob stories would just disgust her. Anything mismatched or out of character would backfire.
"What kind of answer do you want?"
"Your past."
She fell silent for a beat, then tossed it out. "Your childhood. The real one, no lies. That's what I want."
I could feel her tense up slightly.
"If that's what you want, I'll tell you anything."
She didn't have some special sob story in mind. Before my reincarnation, I'd lived an utterly ordinary modern life—finished compulsory education, got my bachelor's, landed a job.
Too mundane—pass. So... that one, then.
Mariam von Lorenz. Court mage granted the noble surname Lorenz. I'd stolen his body, but I knew his growth inside out. I'd been watching long before the takeover, and I'd manipulated parts of his life myself.
Lived a tragic life. Perfect for stirring pity.
I hesitated just a bit before speaking, acting like I was dredging up painful memories. Then I opened up.
"Mariam von Lorenz. Know the name?"
Ella's eyes widened. Famous historical figure. Known in this era for major contributions to the empire's progress.
"That was one of my identities."
"...!!"
I launched into the full story.
Mariam von Lorenz. Recognized for magical aptitude at twelve, court mage apprentice at twenty-three.
In life, Mariam invented the technique to maintain barriers of different attributes simultaneously. It dramatically boosted mages' survival rates, earning him instant fame.
At twenty-eight, granted the Lorenz surname. Exceedingly rare for a commoner.
But that fame isolated him. Commoner, young, alone—the nobles schemed endlessly to exploit those traits.
I don't want to be called Mage Mariam by people. I just want to be called Mariam. But no one does.
Records show he never had a single lover. Another diary entry:
He took my hand. But he wasn't looking at my hand—he was staring at the magical light coming from it. In the end, I shook him off.
At thirty-seven, the first signs of mental breakdown. He began hallucinating that he was trapped inside one of his own barriers.
Later scholars analyzed it as him projecting cold reality inside the barrier and his ideals outside.
Let me out.
By the time the story ended, Ella realized she'd been holding her breath without knowing it.
Mariam von Lorenz. A name she'd only seen in history books. Great contributor to the empire's magical advancement. To think that mad bastard had gone senile in his final years.
Has to be a lie.
She thought it immediately. This guy was a liar. Played little brother, betrayed the broker, toys with emotions. He had some ulterior motive for spilling this now—probably "Pity me!" or something pathetic.
But... he's probably telling the truth about living over 300 years.
Even if the whole tale was fabricated, he'd endured equivalents of it multiple times. Three hundred years was unimaginably long. She'd faced back-to-back traumas in just two. What about 150 times that for him?
If all that changed him into this monster...
Ella watched him sip his coffee nonchalantly. No change in expression despite baring his past—like he had no lingering attachments, as if recounting someone else's life.
For some reason, he looked a little different.
A bit pitiful... but no, this changes nothing.
Whatever his past, he was still the same now. That monster needed stopping, and only she could do it.
Got the hint I wanted.
Until now, it'd been hard, but from his story, she'd grasped a faint fragment. Why he kept this game going. Why he destroyed relationships and toyed with people with that freakish power.
Mariam von Lorenz's deficiency.
A longing for human connection. Twisted into his current destructive tendencies...
The look in Ella's eyes as she stared at him began to burn with a strange fervor.
Only I can stop him. Only I can understand him.
No one else could have this. It was something only she could achieve.
So—
You can only look at me.