The Time That Will Never Return (1)

Suddenly, time rewound three years into the past. No one could read that sentence without questioning it. Time, which should flow like water, always marches straight forward and never turns back. And yet, could anyone refuse to accept it upon seeing this? It went beyond mere dissonance—it felt familiar.

The furniture was arranged just as it had been three years ago. Objects that existed only back then were present. The woman I was looking at right now was exactly as she had been three years prior. And then...

Regression. The word itself was stark and straightforward. Any doubts folded away in an instant. Who could deny it when staring at it with their own two eyes? With all this evidence laid out before me? No. The time I had lived through had clearly been rewound.

Hoo. I took a deep breath to calm my chaotic mind for a moment. Then I faced reality once more.

No one had come to see me right away—except for one person. No one was calling me a fake, a criminal masquerading as the fake duke. Even after some time had passed, not a single reaction stirred. It was regression. Mine alone.

'Regression...'

Anyone would think the same in this situation. After all, I'd gone back in time. True to the word, it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to change my life, to turn what had happened into what had never happened at all.

Countless events flashed through my mind. The Freyvelric ducal family. How many incidents had unfolded here? More than ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fingers and toes could count combined. And the one who had taken the blows and the finger-pointing for all of them... was none other than ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me.

My lacking knowledge of high society. The noble etiquette and refinement that never quite took root in me. The foolish remarks that bound me, the misjudgments I regretted only after the damage was done. Thinking back made the world go dark. I had been the ducal family's greatest stain.

It was an obvious future that the girls would come to despise me because of it. But this time, didn't I know everything that would happen in advance? This was the privilege of a regressor. I could make it all as if it never was.

I knew who would meet whom, when, and what plans they'd make, leading to what events. I knew exactly who would come to the ducal family with what grievances. Even if accidents happened, I knew who, how, and why. Things no one else knew—I alone knew them.

Things could change. This time.

I could dodge the blows that would come. Knowing why I'd been criticized, I could preempt them by a step. If I acted meticulously and hid my identity, there'd be no reason to become a criminal.

But was avoiding becoming a criminal all there was to it? No. This was a fresh start.

Change my gaze. Change my words. Recognize taboo actions. Behaviors they'd hate? I knew them all. Judgments that had been problematic? No one knew better than I did.

Becoming someone they wouldn't despise—surely that was possible?

And if I did... if only that much...

Then my relationship with those girls—

"Your Grace."

As I buttoned my shirt, lost in deep thought, she called to me.

"Did you perhaps have a bad dream?"

Her soft, gentle voice roused my mind.

...A dream? As if. The musty smell and sticky foreign sensations from those beatings still lingered in my senses. That was no dream.

'Idiot.' I could only curse myself.

Yeah. What would change? Nothing would. That itself would be the real dream. I was an outsider. No matter what, just a stranger playacting as a fake. To those girls, I was nothing more than an unnecessary existence.

"If it's just ten or fifteen minutes, I can give you time to collect yourself. You can calm down and—"

"...No. I was just shaking off the sleep. It's fine—go on ahead. There are people waiting outside."

"Pardon? Waiting, you say...?"

Click.

"...Oh."

"Sorry for being late, Veronica."

My fate stretching out before me? It was already set in stone.

There was no conversation as we walked the corridor. One might expect a simple question like how I knew she'd come, leading to light chit-chat about how I knew—but no such explanation flowed.

I didn't need one either. Why I was walking this corridor. Why I'd said to go to the dining hall. What would happen there. No questions arose, no explanations needed.

"Enjoy your meal, Lady Veronica."

"...You too."

The maids bowed to Veronica and opened the dining hall doors. Familiar faces greeted us the moment we entered. No explanations needed there either—they were people I'd seen constantly.

"Why—"

The doors opened, and a whining voice rang out immediately.

"I've finished everything else, so can't I have pudding now?"

"What if you skip the meal and only eat pudding?"

"Tch. I did finish."

A child pouting with lips jutted out. For someone who'd "finished," her plate was piled high. But to a child's palate, spoiled by sweet snacks, that heap didn't register.

"Mommy! Pudding for me. Pleeease? Pleeease?"

Her childish voice whined about picky eating. The girl's name was Lucilla Freyvelric, the youngest of the Freyvelric ducal family.

A sigh heavy with worry followed, then a soft voice addressed her.

"Lucie, you can't do that. Mom's worried because you skip meals for snacks, right?"

"...Sis."

"Eat just a little more for your big sis's sake. Then I'll play with you today."

"Really?"

"Yes. Pinky promise."

The hand that had gently stroked the youngest's hair hooked pinkies in promise. With the mature girl's help, the whining ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠faded, utensils moved again, and the plate emptied bit by bit. The one warmly coaxing her sister with a smile was Freyvelric's second daughter, Ellensia Freyvelric.

And then, pulling out a chair to join them, one more person sat.

"Yeah, Lucie. Keep eating only pudding like that, and you won't grow tall."

"Veronica sis, height has nothing to do with it."

"It does, for real. Ellen and I grew up fine. You're the only tiny one, Lucie."

"Ughhh, stop teasing meee."

"Pffft."

She tossed light jokes while cutting meat for her baby sister to eat easily.

"Don't get too mad at Mom nagging you, Lucie. She's worried you'll get sick like Ellen did. Hmm, yeah. Finish this, and today we can all go play together for once?"

"Really?!"

The jutting lips retracted, and the nearly sulking Lucilla dove back into her meal. With the addition of Freyvelric's eldest, Veronica Freyvelric, the big sister of the three.

At the head seat, the duchess—watching her three daughters—seemed to set aside her worries with a smile, ordering pudding brought, and wiped sauce from her youngest's mouth with a handkerchief.

From mother to eldest and youngest. The sisters brimmed with familial love toward each other, the mother pouring affection onto her three daughters, creating a warm, harmonious atmosphere. Watching could warm a corner of your heart. No mealtime could be more wholesome and peaceful.

But... that was where it ended.

A pair of eyes turned my way. The eyes of the current head of Freyvelric.

"How long do you intend to just stand there staring?"

The duchess's single remark drew all eyes to me. The warm atmosphere plummeted, the cozy air turning icy in an instant. Even so, I moved. To the seat right beside the duchess.

"Welcome, Your Grace."

Ellensia broke the silence. From the right, her soft voice and smiling eyes greeted me.

"Oh yeah, Veronica sis, you came with the duke today? That's rare."

"Coincidence. We ran into each other in the hall on the way to the dining room."

She glanced my way briefly, framing the late arrival as a chance encounter, but the mood showed no sign of thawing. It was only natural. An intruder like me had crashed their wholesome family time.

"...Let's eat."

They tried light chatter to ease the tension, but conversation ceased. This was no longer mealtime. Silence reigned. Occasional clinks of cutlery pierced it, but they weren't cheerful sounds. Time lost meaning.

'...Soon.'

And then, that moment arrived. Today marked the third month. At this breakfast, shortly after I intruded. Without the slightest deviation, it would happen.

Bam!

Someone kicked back from the table and stood. The sound was explosive, matching the pent-up frustration and the long silence. Past or present, the same.

"Why's that old man eating with us?!"

Lucilla, eyes blazing, glared and yelled at me.

"This is our time! Me and my sisters, eating with Mom! Why's that old man butting in?!"

"Lucie, wait—"

"Not only butting in for food, but why next to Mom? Is that guy our dad? He's not! So why's he sitting there?!"

"Lucie."

Crash!

"I hate him! I hate that old man!"

No gentle pudding could stop the massively swollen lump of resentment, beyond earlier coaxing. In the end, the duchess raised her voice.

"Lucie! What manners are these at mealtime?!"

"Mom..."

"And using such vile language to ruin the mood?!"

"..."

"Apologize to him."

The duchess told Lucilla to apologize to me. Yet Lucilla clamped her mouth shut, unmoving. She didn't want to.

"Now."

"..."

Even ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠repeated urgings didn't budge her. The duchess's voice rose again. As she yelled once more—

"Lucie! Apologize right— Urk."

"Mom?"

"Mother!"

The duchess suddenly staggered and collapsed. Just as in the past.

"Call the physician!"

"It'd be best to move her to her room first, milady."

"R-Right. As Tia says, to her room. You there, fetch a litter!"

"M-Mom...?"

The sisters gathered for breakfast, the duchess watching fondly. Outwardly, no family mealtime could be more harmonious. But as someone who'd been through the past, I knew: this scene would never be seen again after today.