Chapter 1. Sacrificing for Mother.
The boy picked up the teacup. His mother's blood sloshed gently within it. As the surface settled into stillness, his reflection sharpened in the crimson liquid—a delicately handsome face that lacked any hint of rugged masculinity. A tiny frame, just 148cm tall. No one would ever guess that inside this adorable exterior lurked the mind of a man well over forty.
So the day has finally come.
Twenty-one years. It had been twenty-one years since the boy reincarnated into the world of the novel he himself had created. A short time, perhaps, but it had felt endlessly long. There were good memories, sure—but the painful ones far outnumbered them.
If I drink this, I can forget it all.
The teacup in the boy's hand was no ordinary vessel. It was a Relic—an item that demanded memories as the price for its power.
It's not all bad, though...
Forgetting was immense suffering, yet it could also be a blessing. The number of people he'd killed, directly or indirectly, was beyond counting. Losing those memories would free him from the guilt of murder.
But...
No matter how I spin it, I really don't want to drink this.
He gripped the cup tighter, knuckles whitening.
"J-Ji-hoon-ah..."
A choked, tearful voice made him turn. His older sister was crying, her eyes swollen and bloodshot from hours of weeping. Her long black hair hung in disheveled tangles down to her waist, giving her the eerie look of a vengeful ghost lurking in a dark alley.
"Th-this... this just doesn't feel right..."
"What doesn't?"
The boy forced a calm expression.
"L-losing your memories... it's like d-dying, isn't it...? I don't want you to die... never..."
"I don't want this either, but it's the only way to save Mom."
He soothed her as gently as he could.
"M-maybe there's another way..."
"There isn't. You know that. Without me, it's gone."
"Ugh... I know, but..."
She knew it too. The boy was practically the creator god of this world. Without him, it ceased to exist.
"Th-then let me do it instead. I-I can't live without you..."
"Haha..."
The boy scratched his cheek with a wry smile—his go-to habit in awkward moments.
"A-young, can you talk her down?"
He called on his younger sister, Joo A-young, who stood nearby.
"Knew you'd end up asking me," she said with a knowing grin, as if she'd seen it coming.
"Sis, cut it out! Keep crying and you'll ruin your skin!"
She pulled a handkerchief from her bosom and dabbed at her sister's tears. Her blonde twintails swayed with each motion.
"The more I see it, the more amazing it is. Where does all that water come from? You got a well hooked up to your eyes or something?"
"Pfft... th-that's ridiculous."
Her sister's joke coaxed a rare laugh from the older girl.
"Hehe. See? You look even prettier when you smile, sis. Now stop it for real."
"A-A-young, aren't you sad?"
"Not really. Why would I be?"
"J-Ji-hoon's losing his memories..."
Losing one's memories was a form of death. It was natural for family to worry.
But A-young just beamed.
"Even without his memories, big bro's still big bro, right?"
"W-well, yeah, but..."
"Then why act like he's dying tomorrow? It's hilarious."
"Ugh..."
"Who knows? Maybe he'll get them back with some 'power of bonds' crap. You think?"
"I-is that possible? Yeah! It has to be. Ji-hoon-ie forgetting me? That doesn't make any sense!"
By the end of the exchange, her sister had perked up a bit. She still couldn't face reality, but at least the tears had stopped.
The boy watched his sisters' banter with a warm smile. He set the teacup on the table and approached them.
"Sis, A-young's right. Nothing's gonna change."
He reached up—his short stature forcing his arm high—to stroke his older sister's hair.
"Me too, big bro!"
A-young latched onto his other hand. The height difference was less extreme with her.
"Sis, like I said—I'm not losing all my memories."
If his hunch was correct, his past-life recollections would remain.
"And even if I lose everything, we're family. That doesn't change."
"B-but... hngh..."
He averted his eyes from her renewed whimpering and looked to A-young.
"A-young."
"Yeah?"
"You're always so bright, no matter what. I wasn't too worried about you."
He peered into her eyes, glistening as if tears might spill any second. She was holding them back with effort. In this moment, he admired her strength—but it also weighed heavy on his heart. He hated burdening such a commendable girl.
"Sis won't be okay for a while, so help her out a lot. For her, for me, for Mom."
"Got it! Leave it to me."
"I will. And..."
His gaze shifted to the woman standing silently behind his sisters. Ravisse, with her emotionless face and short black bob.
She deserved a farewell too.
"Ravisse."
"...Yes, young master."
Her response came a fraction slower than usual. He figured her heart must be complicated, facing this parting.
He stepped closer, stopping a pace away. She towered over even his sisters; he had to crane his neck sharply to meet her eyes.
"Ravisse. Ear."
"Yes."
She bent low at the waist. He wrapped an arm around her neck, lips brushing her ear.
"Thanks for everything so far. I wouldn't be alive today without you."
"..."
"In some ways, I trust you more than family. Take care of things from now on."
"...Yes. I will protect you, no matter what."
Her face remained blankly expressionless, as always. But the boy, who'd spent so much time with her, could see it—the resolute determination etched into her features.
"Alright! Time for one last goodbye to Mom."
He raised his voice deliberately, banishing the heavy mood.
He stood by the bed where his mother lay. Her face was ghostly pale, her body slick with cold sweat, her breaths shallow and faint. No one in the world would believe it—the infamous murderer they all feared, reduced to this pitiful state.
"Mother."
"..."
No response. She couldn't. She'd been comatose for a full day now. Without breaking the curse, she'd last three days at most.
"Thank you for everything."
He gently took her hand. Long, slender fingers, beautiful—yet her palm was callused and rough from endless battles. He reflected anew on her bloodstained life of strife.
"Someone else gave birth to me, but you made me feel truly loved as a parent."
His stepmother had originally been his aunt. His birth mother was murdered when he was just two. The fifteen-year-old girl she'd been back then had taken in her three nephews and raised them for nearly twenty years. Anyone with a shred of humanity would feel gratitude.
The world reviled her as a killer, but to him, she was forever his benefactor.
"I'm glad I could repay even a fraction of that debt."
Clink! He snatched up the teacup.
The room filled with sobs. His older sister burst into fresh tears. Even A-young couldn't stop her this time, bowing her head and clenching her fists.
Ji-hoon gritted his teeth amid the wails. Prolonging this would only hurt more.
He pressed the rim to his lips and tilted it back. The moment the blood flooded his mouth, a woman's image flashed like a montage.
Kang Se-hee, the heroine of his novel—face flushed crimson, finally spilling the feelings she'd bottled up.
—I like you... Let's date.
Her voice trembled like a frightened puppy.
—Argh, seriously! You made me confess first.
She had a habit of snapping whenever she felt embarrassed.
—You knew all my feelings, but why did I have to say it from my own mouth?
He could imagine the effort it took her strong-willed self. That's why it pained him to reject her.
—Sorry.
—What?
Her eyes widened—she'd never dreamed of refusal.
—Didn't you... like me too?
—I do.
—Then... why?
He explained calmly: he'd soon lose his memories. He wouldn't even remember her name.
Kang Se-hee listened quietly, no anger, no tears. Silence fell after he finished. She needed time to process.
A few minutes later, she spoke.
—Ji-hoon, after you lose your memories... you won't meet me anymore?
—Probably not. I won't even be able to contact you—I won't know who you are.
—Idiot. I'll contact you.
—Even if you do, would I pick up from a stranger?
—You'll answer if you see my picture.
She flashed a confident grin—one of her charms.
—But do I have to confess first again?
—Not necessarily, but if you want me to hear it... might take a while.
—Ugh, seriously. You're killing me here.
In those final moments before memory faded, a smile lingered on the boy's lips.