Come Back
"…"
"…"
Trembling. The hand clenched in Aslan's collar shook like a leaf in a gale, and for a long moment Irene could not find a single word.
She had spent half her life honing the blade of her revenge. The one she had meant to turn that blade on was standing right in front of her. So why—how—had she become a mute fool with honey still stuck in her mouth?
Even she could not understand what was happening to her.
"Maybe… it's just become a habit…"
"…"
Irene bit down hard on her lip.
It was absurd. Aslan would never believe a line like that. And yet, at the same time, it was the closest thing to the truth.
Because of habit. Because change was terrifying. Even knowing that neither her father, who had once wanted her to play the villainess, nor the Aslan of the past still existed—she simply could not overcome her own inertia, and so she kept on going.
She wished someone would stop her. But who? Who on earth could stop her? The girl no one dared to touch out of fear… no. Out of disgust. Who would have the nerve?
Irene ground her teeth, released his collar, and spun on her heel.
"I-I'll take the experiment later. You can have my word. I'm not running away, so don't worry."
"Don't go, Noona."
"Let go…"
"Stay the night at the manor."
"I said let go…"
"This isn't a request or a suggestion. It's an order from the head of the house. Last time you dragged me out by calling an emergency meeting—and now you're going to ignore an order from the head of the house?"
"…"
A large hand closed around Irene's wrist. Held fast, she stopped in her tracks.
If she put her mind to it, she could have twisted free of a weakling's grip like this without a second thought. She could have ignored him entirely and dragged Aslan out after her. And yet, for some reason, her body refused to move an inch.
At this rate, it's going to look like I wanted him to stop me all along…
"Your old room is still the way you left it."
"I hate that room…"
Why do you think I left this house in the first place? What do you think I was running from? Wasn't it so I could get away from that corner of a room that made my skin crawl every time I lay down…?
"Then I guess there's no helping it."
"…"
Aslan sighed, ruffling Irene's already messy hair. If she refused to sleep in her own room, there was only one other option.
"We'll just have to do a group sleepover."
"…!?"
What is this supposed to be…?
Thud.
Sprawled on the bed with her face burning, Irene could not hide how flustered she was. She was not alone. Beside her came the soft rustle of blankets, the sound of bare skin brushing against the sheets—and Irene could only lie there, frozen stiff.
"Hnnngh! I can't sleep…"
"Charlotte. Shh. Aslan's sister is trying to rest."
"Oh. I thought I smelled something nice from somewhere… Guess it was coming from Mister's sister."
"In that case, you're supposed to say 'fragrance,' not 'smell'…"
"Yuri, you're still awake too?"
"Mm-hmm…"
"Then should we whisper for a bit and then sleep? Carefully, so we don't wake his sister… What do you think, Charlotte?"
"Khhrrrr… Hmm, munch-munch… Pfffuuuh…"
"…She's already out."
"We should just sleep too."
"Yeah…"
Chatter from every direction—left, right, above, below. Irene squeezed her eyes shut, pretending to sleep, and heaved a long internal sigh.
A group sleepover, he'd said… Aslan had said it with such a strange look on his face that she had gotten her hopes up—no, gotten worried—and the result was nothing like what she had expected.
If you stretched the definition far enough, this was a sleepover… but still.
What a complete idiot.
Rustle.
Sliding her face deeper under the covers, Irene ground her teeth. She was so irritated she could die. She had said sleeping in her own room was scary and awful—and his brilliant solution was to dump her in a room packed full of kids?
Wasn't the person who had ripped her mask off supposed to help her fall asleep here…? Aslan had just shown her to the room and vanished. She had never resented him more than she did tonight.
But… somehow… I think I'm getting drowsy…
Softly, softly—her eyelids grew heavier, and Irene's mind began to blur. It was strange. She had been certain she could never sleep in the Belmont manor again. In this dreadful, skin-crawling place, she should not have been able to close her eyes for even a moment.
The soft shuffling of the children. The whispers they tried so hard to keep quiet and still could not quite hold back. And the peaceful sound of their breathing…
Surrounded by all of it, Irene began to forget that this was the place she had so desperately feared. It was only warm. Only calm.
For the first time in a long while—a truly long while—Irene found peace in the house that had once made her into a monster, and sank into a deep sleep.
Ah. I was sleeping so well…
Her eyes snapped open in the dark—and Irene squeezed them shut again at once. She had finally gotten a proper night's rest, and for some reason her mind had jolted wide awake.
Huh? Wait—I can't move my body…!
The moment she tried to pull the blanket back up, Irene realized her arms would not obey. Her legs would not move either. Neither would her body. Even when she tried to make a sound, her mouth only opened and closed soundlessly.
Sleep paralysis!
Ah. This was exactly why she had never wanted to sleep in this damned manor…
Cursing Aslan for forcing her to stay, Irene closed her eyes and began to count. It would pass with time. It was only temporary. She would be fine…
Clinging to that belief, she counted toward one hundred—and then the hair on her body stood on end as she felt someone approach beside her.
One of the kids…?
Charlotte? Yulia? Or maybe one of the junior girls from the security firm? Having her bed invaded was deeply unpleasant under normal circumstances—but right now was an exception.
Irene let out a breath of relief and opened her eyes.
And in that exact instant, a hand brushed over the back of her head, and a full-body shiver ran through her.
"…!?"
It was not a child's hand. It was far larger—an adult's hand. The hand stroked her tangled hair as if smoothing it out, then gently brushed the strands away from her ear.
A small voice slipped into Irene's ear.
"Hide yourself."
"…!?"
At the low, resonant voice, her whole body shuddered. What was this? She was certain she had never heard it before—and yet it was strangely, unnervingly familiar.
"Close your heart. Kill your own voice. Hide so thoroughly that, in the end, even you forget who you are."
"Until when…?"
A tearful voice rang in her other ear. The moment she heard it, Irene knew at once that it was her own.
And with that, she understood. This was no ordinary dream.
My memory…?
That day in the reverse world, the memories she had glimpsed only in passing. This was clearly one of them. On the surface of her waking mind, she had already forgotten it—but her unconscious had held it precious.
She had forgotten why she forgot. She had forgotten even why she had to forget. And now that memory was pouring into her ears.
"Someone you can trust will appear. Just wait until then."
"And if they don't…?"
"They will. No—they will definitely appear for y—"
The voice thinned and blurred—and Irene's eyes flew open.
"Haaah…!"
"Noona. Calm down."
"Haa! Hwaaah! Haah…!"
When she opened her eyes, what filled Irene's vision was bedding scattered across the room—pillows and blankets flung everywhere. Aslan, held by the throat, looking up at her with miserable eyes. And the owner of the hands locked around Aslan's neck was…
"Ah! Ah!? I'm sorry…!"
As Aslan's face grew paler and paler, the life draining out of it, Irene finally came fully to her senses and yanked her hands away from his throat in a panic.
Clear handprints remained on his neck. And on his forearms, long, ragged scratches—left by her nails while she had been unconscious—branched across his skin.
The moment she saw them, the tears came in a flood.
"I'm sorry! Hic—I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you…!"
"Come home now, Noona. You slept better at the manor than you thought, didn't you?"
"How is this better…?! I had some weird dream and I hurt you like this…!"
"I'm fine. Just come back. It'll get better little by little."
"Khhnnngh…"
Burying her face in Aslan's chest, Irene finally let the sobs she had been holding back break free.
I understand now… Aslan is completely on my side.
The blade she had spent so long sharpening for revenge had become useless. This was the moment Aslan became her true ally.
"I can't come back yet…"
And with that came another realization: for the time being, she could not stay in this manor. Today it had only gone this far—but the ferocity that had clung to her for so long like a bad habit would, someday, inflict a real wound on Aslan.
She would hurt her only ally with her own hands, and then she would regret it.
"But you'll come back someday, right?"
"Yeah…"
"Then that's enough."
"…"
Then that's enough. Those few words brought her more relief than she could have imagined. Irene rested her head against Aslan's chest and sank into thought.
So who was the person in that dream…?
Who had owned that low, resonant voice? And the "someone you can trust" he had spoken of—who was that?
She felt as though she had wandered into a fog with no way out.