Who Is the One Smiling?
Elizabeth coughed a few times, pulling the noose from her throat. She breathed in slowly, very slowly, then exhaled. Her neck stung. No, more precisely, reality stung.
Dust-covered boxes lay scattered on the floor. They felt like some absurd device from a novel she had no memory of. Elizabeth knelt before one of the boxes and stayed there for a moment.
“What is this…?”
She murmured, channeling magic into her fingertips to brush away the dust. It was as if no one's touch had reached these crevices for ages; they were sealed in a quiet, stubborn silence. An ominous premonition told her not to open the lid. But she could no longer turn back.
A gold ring embedded with a ruby. An aged letter. A black uniform. It all seemed like the beginning of a narrative—something pulled from someone's timeline.
In that instant, her heart clenched. These weren't mere objects. They were someone's past, remnants of a hidden truth. Why were they concealed in the ceiling?
Elizabeth carefully lifted out the ring. The moment she did—
Tzzzzzt—
Electricity coursed through her skin, piercing straight to her bones. Her breath caught, and the world spun before her eyes.
“Ngh….”
She dropped the ring. Clink. A faint metallic chime echoed.
“….”
She said nothing for a long while, just clutching her fingertips and staring at the ring on the floor. It looked like an ordinary band, but the sensation was anything but. It brushed past her like a language of silence.
After sitting motionless for some time, she steeled herself and reached for the second item. The black military uniform.
“…A uniform?”
She held it up by the shoulders. A familiar silhouette, worn but impeccably neat. Holding her breath, she touched it. The soft yet sturdy fabric felt strangely familiar.
Suicide didn't even cross her mind. More than that, in this moment, one fact stood crystal clear: a vast secret was quietly approaching her.
Thud.
Something fell from inside the uniform. She leaned down and picked it up. It was an identification card, stamped with the imperial coat of arms—a double-headed eagle—and the insignia of the Imperial Guard.
Imperial Guard ID
Holder: Gert
Unit: Imperial Guard
“…Imperial Guard.”
She whispered. The empire's elite force. How much blood had been spilled under that name? The symbol of that brutal honor now lay in her hands.
Why is this in our house?
The name field on Gert's ID. She read it and pressed her lips tight. A name she'd never seen, yet it didn't feel unfamiliar.
“…Dad's?”
It was the only logical suspicion. The uniform's size. The build. Dad was just over 190 cm tall—a rare height in the world.
As if suffocating, she slowly sank onto the sofa.
“Ha…. You said there were no more secrets.”
Elizabeth laughed into the empty air. A dry, resigned chuckle.
You're lying to me again.
The final item was the letter, sealed with the emperor's red wax stamp. When she pressed it, the aged wax crumbled.
She unfolded it. Each printed word stabbed into her eyes like needles. Peering into an emperor's letter was illegal for commoners, but she didn't care.
The first line read:
With my meager authority, I have erased your movements and emigration records.
Thus, you will appear to have vanished without a trace. Pursuit will be impossible.
An utterly incomprehensible opening. Sitting on the sofa, she read on through the suffocating silence, each character cautiously tapping at her heart.
Time passed, and the curtains rustled faintly. Wind from the open window tousled her golden hair.
“…….”
“…….”
“…….”
Having finished the letter, Elizabeth clutched her head. Her mind was a tangled mess.
What the hell is this…?
* * *
Suicide was no longer an option. Like the silence left after a typhoon swept everything away, it had been utterly erased from her mind.
Elizabeth gazed at the letter again. Moisture gathered in her vacant eyes, a faint spark of life glimmering like rain-soaked grass.
She sat at the desk, carefully unfolding the letter. Notebook and fountain pen at her side, she began recording it with the meticulous care of a trial scribe.
She didn't even know what she was doing. But deep in her bones, she knew it had to be done. This was a duty—hers, and that of whoever discovered it.
Three figures appeared in the letter: Emperor Marcus. Guard Gert. And—
“Yulia Hesenia Stella…”
Strangers, all. Yet why did their names squeeze her heart so? They felt familiar. Familiar enough to hurt, like wind slipping into an old wound, a subtle pain crawling up her back.
The letter was genuine, penned by Emperor Marcus himself. Elizabeth compared the handwriting to that in his book Senate from his lifetime. Not a single stroke differed—the pressure, the pauses between sentences. A perfect match.
Tap, tap.
She drummed the fountain pen on the notebook, sorting her chaotic thoughts.
The emperor had entrusted the imperial princess to Gert (that is, her father Leo). The reason: a prophecy that Crown Prince Joshua would kill the emperor.
Then… who was the princess? Yulia. Yulia….
The name echoed in her mind, lingering on her tongue, catching on the roof of her mouth three times. Suddenly, a memory slammed into her brain.
Four years ago, on a school trip to the eastern empire. There, she first encountered the “Demon of Memory.” He had called her “Yulia.”
‘…What did you just say?’
‘Huh?’
‘You called me “Yulia,” but my name is Elizabeth.’
‘Yeah, right. Your name is Elizabeth.’
‘…You said Yulia earlier?’
‘You're Yulia and Elizabeth.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Exactly what it sounds like.’
That conversation resurfaced with chilling clarity.
Drip. Elizabeth's thoughts froze. She stared blankly at the letter.
“….”
Exactly what it sounds like?
Bang!
She yanked open the drawer. It shuddered like a living thing. Reaching in, she pulled out a silver ring—the one from the Demon of Memory, Oblivius.
She'd thrown it away, yet somehow it had returned to her pocket. Like fate.
Swallowing hard, she slipped it onto her index finger. In that instant, the world fell silent.
The rustle of curtains in the breeze. The rumble of the magic train. The hum of daily life from the streets. Every sound in existence halted as if severed by a blade.
Elizabeth looked up. There it was—the horrific, alien being from four years ago. A figure shrouded in a tattered robe, a shadow without distinct features.
“Took you longer than I expected. I figured two years at most.”
Oblivius waved his gaunt hand in greeting.
Elizabeth thrust the letter at him, grinding her teeth.
“You knew from the start.”
No pleasantries. She went straight for the throat.
“Knew what?”
“This—what the hell does it say? Who's this Yulia?”
“Are you really clueless, or just pretending?”
The demon chuckled.
“I told you. You're Yulia.”
“So what does that mean?”
“Don't turn from the truth. You're smart enough to figure it out. Emperor Marcus, Gert, Yulia. Put them together…. Isn't it obvious?”
Oblivius continued calmly. His whispery voice rang like a bell in her skull.
Elizabeth held her breath. Her heart trembled like fragile glass, pounding as if it might shatter.
“Simple. Your real father is the emperor.”
“Bullshit!”
She shouted, the words bursting out.
“My dad is Leo Valentine!”
That name encapsulated all her memories and emotions. Leo had hugged her, protected her, loved her. He was “Dad”—irreplaceable, one of a kind.
But the moment she said it, a faint “what if” she'd buried deep flickered like a dim light.
What if… it's not true?
Gulp. She swallowed involuntarily.
Oblivius watched her silently. Even without visible eyes, his presence pierced her.
After a pause, the demon sneered.
“You.”
That single word laid bare the emotions she'd hidden.
“Why not wipe that smile off first before getting mad?”
“What?”
She reflexively shot back, her voice trembling unbeknownst to her. Frowning, she whipped her head away.
In that moment, her gaze caught the mirror on the far wall. And in it, herself—or rather, the “current” her.
Her eyes shook, jaw clenched, lips pressed tight. But… ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, the corners of her mouth were upturned.
Not a forced grin, not a sneer. An unconscious bloom of anticipation. The deepest wish she'd never voiced, now etched on her face.
“You're enjoying this way too much. You.”