Egg Bread

The sun dipping beyond the horizon. Its rays pierced through the leaves, sparkling crimson in the early summer evening. Inside the Glass Garden below, tea time was in full swing.

Though the party was rather modest—just two people.

A man and a woman, both in their early twenties, sat facing each other. Their expressions stood in stark contrast. The woman kept a straight-faced poker expression, lips pressed thin, while the man couldn't hide his grin.

Among them, the silver-haired, red-eyed woman twirled a lock of hair around her finger as she eyed the man across from her.

"Rio."

"Yes, milady?"

"What day is it today?"

"Solar Calendar, July 3rd, 2026."

"...Right. So we really regressed, you and me."

The lady wore a look of utter disbelief. But honestly, I was the most shocked one sitting there.

The moment my neck snapped in the noose. I'd wished to see her face one last time, but I never imagined it'd be like this.

No, come on. Usually it's 'I miss you before I die' or 'see you in heaven' vibes, right?

But when I closed my eyes and opened them, bam—12 years back. At first, I wandered around clueless for days. But the lady from back then? She was the real deal, twenty years old, no clue about the future. No memory ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of future me.

That disconnect drove me insane. Day by day, facing her drained me dry.

Then this morning, like always, I met her at the door with dead eyes—and it hit me instantly.

I had no choice but to recognize her. It was the lady from those days we'd spent together.

She'd regressed too. With her memories intact.

But man, she was cute earlier.

She's twenty now, so about 155cm tall, right?

That's a 30cm difference with me.

The pint-sized lady who'd charged over on those stubby legs and kicked me square. Even her fiery temper came off as endearing.

[You! You regressed too?!]

Her shrill voice echoing behind me as I slipped away from prying eyes, ending up here in the Glass Garden.

"Never thought the ability would work like this..."

A sigh slipped from her tiny cherry lips.

As I watched her, chuckling, a question popped into my head.

"Milady."

"What."

"So, does that mean you can't use the Resurrection Ability anymore?"

Three ducal houses in the empire. Netr (Nôtre). L’Aube. L’Éternel.

Their direct descendants are born with a unique power.

And the Netr family, the one the lady belonged to—they got resurrection from the gods.

Sounds cheat-like at first glance, but dig deeper and it's not so simple. They never knew how they'd revive until they actually died.

Like that one time it took 20 years for her bones to twitch in the coffin.

As long as it counted as resurrection, they'd come back to life. In that sense, her regression was the jackpot form.

Full body, full memories, back from the past.

But one nagging question: Why me?

I was just a guard for the family's precious flower. No way my common sense could explain it.

Then, catching my dumbstruck face, she replied flatly.

"Yeah. Can't use it anymore."

"Ah..."

What a shame. She was just an ordinary woman now. One who'd already died once, with trauma to boot.

But how did she die? Old age? Or...

...some accident?

I was dying to ask, but too scared it'd hurt her.

What if I poked a wound?

Right on cue, she picked up on my curiosity and mentioned it herself.

"And I died from an illness."

"What kind of—"

I started to ask preventatively, but she cut me off.

"Hwa-byeong."

"......."

Hwa-byeong. A syndrome where bottled-up frustration from unvented anger manifests as physical and mental symptoms.

A uniquely cultural thing from my past life.

It exists here too?

Well, the symptoms sure, but the term? Who knew.

I gawked at her, jaw dropped. She snorted, turning her head sharply. Her ears flushed red through the flying silver strands.

Looked embarrassed.

"I see."

"Yeah."

"So in the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠end, it was that crown prince bastard's—"

"No, not that."

"Then why?"

She hesitated, eyes dropping to the ground. Fingers and toes fidgeting.

"...You weren't there. You're my emotional trash bin!"

She yelled it, face red to the neck. No trace of her earlier shyness.

One eyebrow cocked, glaring at me. Adorable as ever.

"What're you staring at?!"

I grinned wide; she narrowed her eyes, glared, then sighed in defeat.

"Haa... Anyway, it all happened 'cause you died, so you absolutely can't die before me."

"Got it, got it."

"How'd I end up stuck with a guy like you..."

"Ahaha."

How could I not adore her? The crown prince cheating on this woman—what a moron.

Next time he pulls crap, I'll burst one of his balls.

I'd let him off easy before 'cause I had to play nice.

As I steeled my resolve, she twirled her hair with an odd look, then pointed at the plate with her delicate fingers, hiding her fluster.

"So what's this? Some bakery stuff?"

"Ah, I made it."

"You?"

"Yep. Bet it's good, right?"

"Hmmm..."

Heh heh. This lady. Probably never heard of egg bread.

Custard bread stuffed with a whole egg. In my past life, it rivaled hotteok for top street snack spot.

"Sweet, savory, delicious, milady."

"Ugh... Made by a guy who just swings toothpicks around? Kinda iffy..."

"Toothpicks? Milady! This is my famed sword!"

"You use it to poke scarecrows—call it a scarecrow toothpick?"

"...Toothpick it is."

Scarecrow toothpick. Fair from her view, but I did slice animals.

Wait, not the point.

I reached for the plate, grabbing an egg bread.

"Try it quick. Hold it like this, bite into the egg and all."

I munched, eyeing her. She looked skeptical, then took one and bit.

Munch munch.

Gulp.

"......."

Munch munch munch.

Gulp—another.

Voice ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠full of hope, I asked.

"Good, right?!"

"...Yeah, it's good."

"Right?! Man, I'm the best!"

Totally self-praise worthy. She never touches food twice if it doesn't suit her.

Making her eat more than once? High praise.

Guess I should snag another—

Then she dropped the bomb.

"Leave 'em."

"...Pardon?"

"Leave them all."

"Eh...?"

"Go."

"......."

No way. I made these to eat too? And there were seven!

I helped the head chef prep ingredients today—that bear of a guy with his strict ass. Does she know how picky he is?!

I wanted to scream it.

But I'd just get smacked and lose 'em anyway.

Beaten or not, same result—better without the hit.

"Yeees..."

I stood, dejected. Glancing back with lingering regret.

Smack.

Only got one—total tease.

Should I raid the kitchen again? Remembering the chef's horrified face at my cooking, I chuckled and left the Glass Garden.

Rio faded beyond the door. His sneaky glances back annoyed her a bit, but she endured patiently.

Egg bread, huh...?

First time hearing of it. Wrinkly like street stall fare, but the plump eggs made her heart go all fluffy too.

Made for her, no less. Kinda touching.

...Did I say that?

Whatever.

If it's good, it's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mine.

Nom.

"Should I ask for more tomorrow?"

She swung her legs from the chair, fidgeting. The remaining six tasted so sweet-salty good, she regretted nothing.

She savored them till sunset, polishing off every last one.

Oblivious to her guard peeking in secret.