A Past I Want to Erase
Lucia Prien. Fifteen years of age.
Fifteen was the age for weathering that storm of adolescence—what people commonly called puberty—but Lucia never felt any fierce urge to rebel, nor did she cross any lines into delinquency.
What she did suffer, however, was a crisis of identity.
Who am I?
Fifteen years had already passed since her reincarnation, and still Lucia found herself thinking that from time to time. Lately she had become aware that her fretting over self-reflection had only increased. She had gone through this same confusion back when she was first learning to walk and could look in a mirror—so when the turmoil came back this late, even she found it absurd.
Still, she had a fairly clear idea why.
Every morning and evening, whenever she showered to keep clean, she inevitably found herself facing a large mirror whether she wanted to or not.
Red hair, golden eyes—different from her past life. The swell of her chest and the curves steadily taking shape across her body didn't lose out even compared to her previous incarnation, and yet—
Lucia was still dissatisfied.
Small.
By "small," she meant her height. When she cupped her chest from below she could feel a substantial weight, and she was certainly bigger than the average of the kids her age she'd once glimpsed in a changing room.
But compared to her past life as Kylie, she was unmistakably smaller.
Not just her height—everything was smaller. Arms, legs, stature, even her chest. All of it.
Don't tell me… I'm not going to grow any more?
A faint regret settled over Lucia. A boy might still have room left, but for a girl, growth usually stopped around this age. Fifteen was, in the old days, the age when a girl would already be married with children. That wasn't true anymore—but five hundred years ago, it had been.
Reincarnation…
She had never dreamed she would feel the reality of having been reborn in quite this way, but the dissatisfaction was unavoidable.
Being short was inconvenient in any number of ways. And as a library committee member, Lucia ran into those inconveniences often enough.
When she needed a book from a high shelf, she had to use not just tiptoes but a step stool. She even wondered whether the reason mean kids looked down on her might have something to do with her petite stature.
Even so—
Lucia was happy with the present. So what if she was short? At last she could live an ordinary life.
Five hundred years ago, the hero Kylie—who had risen with grand resolve to slay the Evil God—had died.
Looking back, Lucia considered her past self's path noble and great. But the sacrifice had been far too steep. Countless people had died, countless cities had burned, and Kylie's life itself had been torn away completely.
She had been alive, but it hadn't been living.
I never want to do that again.
For that reason, Lucia never thought much about why or how she had been reincarnated.
Back when she'd been toddling about on all fours, and when some red-haired man had kidnapped her, she had dabbled in deep philosophical fretting. But once a peaceful life settled into its daily rhythm, she realized that worrying about it did no good at all.
This life is compensation for the last one.
Living as Lucia Prien was satisfying enough for that.
Her mother had died young, and she'd had to face a family that brazenly claimed to be her descendants—but she was well-fed and warm, she had sisters of good character, and having a family she could lean on made her truly happy.
Family.
And the hunger for love.
Lucia felt the hole in her chest gradually filling in.
I suffered so much in my past life. Isn't it okay to be a little happy this time around?
With that mindset, Lucia had decided to enroll at the Academy.
She wanted to study what she hadn't finished in her previous life, and she wanted to mingle with kids her age and sing of her youth.
And she had chosen to sleep in Shiron's room—the brother who'd gone far away and only sent the occasional letter.
Shiron's room was well-ventilated, south-facing with excellent light. Lucia's own room was the same, but somehow she seemed to sleep better in his.
Most decisively, the nightmares that had started not long after Shiron left had stopped coming.
They had been bizarre nightmares.
Dreams of her adult self driving a sword into adult Shiron's chest—enough to give her chills even though she wasn't an adult yet. It almost felt like a prophetic dream, didn't it?
Dream-Lucia, seething with irritation, scowling, cursing, lifting a blurred sword and stabbing wildly into Shiron's chest.
A voice thick with rage.
A plea heavy with sorrow.
The Lucia in the dream seemed to hate Shiron utterly.
It's a ridiculous dream. No matter how much I hated him, how could I…
Lucia didn't hate Shiron.
If anything, she felt gratitude. Shiron had never shown her the prophecy of the world's destruction, nor the Holy Sword that might well have been the real thing. She understood that as consideration.
And so for several years, Lucia had lived in Shiron's room. But tonight would be the last of it.
Siriel's immigration records had listed Shiron, yet even past midnight he hadn't returned.
So just for today—just until today—she'd sleep in Shiron's room. If she had a pointless nightmare, it'd leave her in a foul mood. That was what she'd thought, and yet…
"What are you doing here? Isn't this my room?"
"Uh… well… that is…"
Faced with Shiron's long-awaited return, Lucia couldn't get a word out.
Welcome back? You must've had it rough? I missed you…—she wouldn't go as far as those cringeworthy lines, but she'd wanted to throw him at least a proper welcome.
In this situation, though, she had no idea what to say or do.
You stupid, idiotic, brain-dead girl. I must be out of my mind.
"Oh, long time no see. I missed you."
Lucia recited the line she'd prepared like a golem. She'd spent the whole day fretting over what to say first when she saw him—but with things turning out like this, far from being moved, she felt blood rush to her face.
All she could do now was divert attention to forget the embarrassment. Lucia blurted out whatever warm words floated into her head.
"Must've been hard coming all that way, right? You must be exhausted—welcome home. You've gotten so tall. Are we really siblings?"
"…"
"Even if we have different mothers, if we look this different, who would think we were brother and sister? Weird, huh."
"Hey, stop changing the subject and just answer me. This is my room, right?"
Shiron strode closer. Lucia worked her mouth open and shut as she looked up at him. The closer he came, the more the height difference forced her head to tilt toward the ceiling.
Five years wasn't a long time for an adult, but for a child it was apparently long enough. Shiron had grown much taller and broader than five years ago.
His voice deeper now, Shiron frowned.
"Don't tell me, while I was gone, my room…"
"Waaah! Waaaaah!"
Lucia shoved him back and yelled.
"Sh-shut up! Wh-what the hell are you talking about?! I just sensed something weird in your room and thought a thief might've, m-might've broken in, that's all! Don't be ridiculous!"
"…If it isn't, just say so. Why are you screaming?"
"A-anyway! Why are you coming in through the window? I almost hit you again! Is the door just for decoration?"
Lucia insisted desperately. She absolutely could not let him find out she'd been living in his room because she didn't want to have nightmares.
Someday she wanted to tell the people around her that she was Kylie's reincarnation, so she needed to make as few humiliating memories as possible. Unfortunately—and very, very shitily—only embarrassing experiences kept piling up.
"Hey, little girl. Aren't you being a bit harsh with your big brother?"
Just then, a woman's voice came from behind Shiron.
"Can't you say something nice to the big brother you haven't seen in so long?"
Shit. Who the hell is that bitch?
Lucia felt her head go cold. An unfamiliar woman's voice. The woman was currently hidden behind Shiron's body. Lucia decided to shove Shiron aside.
"Who are you…"
"Do you have any idea how hard your big brother has worked to get here?"
"…Huh?"
Lucia's mind went cold once more.
Shiron's room.
Behind Shiron's back.
There stood a silver-haired elf.
The silver-haired elf was glaring at Lucia with purple eyes.
…Seira?
The elf before her looked very much like the irritating elf from Lucia's memories.
What is that—she looks just like Seira…
Lucia froze solid in place. Silver hair, purple eyes, that gratingly provocative way of speaking. The elf in front of her was Seira.
There was no denying it. Even checked against the past-life memories etched in her mind, the woman before her was the old comrade who'd stood with her to slay the Evil God.
"You… who are you?"
Why are you coming out from over there?
Lucia stared at Seira in bewilderment, and Seira crossed her arms with a cocky look.
"What, want me to introduce myself? My name is Seira Lomer, the greatest mage of all time, the most—"
"I'm sorry."
Ignoring Seira, Lucia grabbed Shiron's shoulders.
"You must be exhausted. Go wash your feet and get to bed."
"Huh? Uh…"
Shiron answered awkwardly. Lucia trudged toward the door.
She opened it slowly and looked back. She wasn't flustered—if anything, her expression was perfectly calm.
"I have to get up early tomorrow."
Click—
And then Lucia ran down the hallway. Even in the dark, her bowed face was visibly red.
What? It really is Seira? Seira?
Heart pounding, Lucia returned to her room and locked the door. She leaned against it and slid down to the floor.
Why the hell is that bastard with Shiron? He never even wrote about meeting her in his letters!
Memories flashed through Lucia's mind like a revolving lantern.
The scene of her thrashing Shiron and knocking him out.
The scene of her acting spoiled with him.
The scene of her whining for food.
And even the scene of her bawling like a child in front of him…
Most humiliating of all was the fact that, even while exchanging letters with Shiron, she'd spent years living in his room. Come to think of it, there was also the memory of reading Kylie's fairy-tale books thousands of times.
"Haa…… shit."
Strangely, she felt none of the emotion of a reunion. Instead, her head was full of the urge to bite her tongue and die.