No More Repeating the Same Mistakes

At the time, he hadn't possessed the mental clarity to properly assess his second nephew's condition.

He was right in the thick of political intrigue.

The king was incompetent, and the queen was lost to madness.

Industrialization was accelerating, transforming the era day by day, and as grand duke, he had to know, understand, and decide everything.

Days that offered no respite.

He vaguely recalled telling the butler to find a suitable hospital because Genevieve's nagging had grown annoying.

"S-Sir, I stake my position on this. But the second young master is still so young... surely not..."

Recalling the elderly man who had spoken those words with difficulty, eyes squeezed shut, Victor added Butler Willen to his mental list of people worth keeping.

"I won't send him to a hospital."

"Good, you've come to your sen— What did you say?"

"I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠said I won't send him. He's still a child. A mental hospital at this age? Are you in your right mind?"

"!"

Right after the second boy was sent to the mental hospital, the first one started going completely off the rails.

Victor never forgot how the boy, who had inherited the thick Bayern blood and was always so composed, screamed like a monster, spewing venomous resentment.

I can't repeat the same mistakes.

This time, he would live differently.

The words he'd said to Abel in his final moments had all been sincere.

If he had to go to war again, he'd do so staking the Bayern honor... but

better not to go at all.

"Fine, you're the family head, after all. If you've decided, what can I do?"

Genevieve grumbled, sweeping her long hair behind her ear.

As the meal ended in silence,

Genevieve posed another question, her tone far softer than before.

"So, when are you heading up this time?"

"Who knows."

"Isn't the capital keeping you busy? I can't even remember the last time you stayed at the capital estate. You've been so tied up tending to the children and managing the household."

He stared impassively at Genevieve, who was subtly inflating her own merits, then slowly shook his head.

"I'll be away briefly, but I have no intention of returning after that."

"What?"

"My leave will be extended."

Indeed, his descent to the territory had been under the pretext of 'leave.'

Beneath that lay tangled circumstances involving the mad queen, but no one else needed to know.

Yet it was amusing.

The moment it seemed he wouldn't be gone long, a faint crack appeared in Genevieve's expression.

She flipped like a palm, smiling and murmuring, "Yes, you deserve some rest."

Victor picked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up his napkin, leaving his aunt behind.

It's been so long since I tended to family, Victor Bayern.

He smiled bitterly to himself.

He'd already suspected his aunt's movements were suspicious.

With him at the capital estate and her here in the territory, he simply hadn't had time to call her out on it.

No— to be precise, it was a lower priority.

And he always had higher priorities.

Lower ones stayed lower.

Victor Bayern was always busy.

During the previous king's reign, he'd shouldered intelligence work; now, under the current king, it was grasping the shifting global landscape.

Thus, he had clear reasons to ignore household matters.

Besides, if he drove out his aunt, who would raise the two slightly deranged ten-year-olds?

His gaze settled on the golden goblets adorning the table as he thought of someone with those eyes.

Abel.

The most rational and steadfast person he knew.

When a mentally broken soldier had charged frothing at the mouth, he'd struck the nape without flinching.

Recalling that impassive, clear face, Victor appended "if I can find him" to his plan.

"I'm planning to marry soon, so rest assured."

"What? Marry whom?"

"No need to concern yourself. Aunt, perhaps it's time for you to rest as well."

Ibel froze upon unfolding today's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠newspaper.

Three days had passed since the flash of light, after which she'd surely died—yet realized she'd returned to the past.

Perhaps because she'd endured so many absurdities on the battlefield, or maybe it was a blessing.

Either way, she'd accepted this miracle without much fuss.

If it'd been right after enrollment, I'd have cursed the heavens.

Gratefully, it was after graduation, just as she'd opened a small clinic in a quiet town.

Before heading to work.

She brewed coffee and sat at the tiny table, her amber eyes fixed on the bizarre ad dominating the front page.

"No way..."

It might be megalomania, but Ibel couldn't shake the feeling this odd ad was meant for her.

Pinpointing "internal medicine specialist" and "military doctor experience welcome."

Who else at this point ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in time could meet all these criteria?

If the grand duke regressed too...

Ridiculous hypothesis.

Ibel shook her head, then sank back into thought.

Still, it was possible. They'd died together there, after all.

Her hesitation stemmed from the "female" requirement.

Did he figure out I'm a woman?

She'd thought her disguise perfect.

Of course, at this point, the Richter-Franche war hadn't happened, so no military law violation yet.

Pacing the kitchen anxiously, she reread the ad carefully.

Absolute protection from the grand ducal house during normal duties.

She didn't know why the grand duke sought her as a "Contract Duchess," but the conditions were tempting.

Moreover... if he already knew she was a woman, other officers might have too.

Yet she'd escaped any filthy advances—perhaps thanks to Victor Bayern's protection.

Subtle extras, like an extra bread roll just for her, or appearing silently when she mingled with other officers.

Should I trust it? It's a contract anyway—no pressure of an ill-fitting role. Staying here offers no real prospects.

Tap, tap-tap.

Her fingers drumming busily on the ad stilled.

If—if he really had returned too... it might prove she wasn't going mad.

Ibel still heard cannon fire in her ears. The groans of the dying replayed when she closed her eyes.

So she hadn't dismissed the possibility that she'd snapped, hallucinating a breakdown beyond repair.

Time travel wasn't scientifically possible.

I'll know when I meet him.

But first, deal with the bastard pounding relentlessly on her door.

"My beloved little sister! If you don't open up, I'll piss right here!"

What a piece of work.

Sighing, Ibel opened the door.

A wave of alcohol stench hit her as a man identical to her in face collapsed inside.

"My proud little sister! Sister who stole your brother's name and ran!"

"If you need money, take it and get out. Shut your mouth."

"How did you know! As expected, only you understand this brother's heart. Only you."