Chapter 2: Eternal Oblivion

Night fell swiftly over the Charlotte estate.

Towering ivory pillars, teacups and dishes crafted from gold, lavishly embroidered Persian carpets…

The three-story mansion was not just luxurious, but decadently opulent.

Yet for some reason, despite all its material abundance, there was not a trace of warmth to be found within its walls.

An elegant shell—if anything could define this place, it was that hollow word.

Crash!

A deafening sound rang out from the first floor, causing the chandelier hanging from the ceiling to sway dangerously.

Soon after, a pair of eyes—gleaming gold, just like Leilia’s—flared in the shadows beyond.

“Oh, you’ve returned, Marquis Charlotte.”

With the predator’s arrival, the previously mild air turned frigid in an instant.

Even in middle age, the marquis retained the vigor of his youth, his sharp eyes sweeping slowly around the hall.

“Where is Leilia?”

At the question, the maid Margaret’s pupils quivered.

The marquis had never once inquired after his daughter’s well-being—never even cared whether she was alive or dead.

To outsiders, their relationship couldn’t be described as simply father and daughter.

To the marquis, Leilia was nothing more than a target for his frustration, a punching bag.

If he was asking for her now, it only meant he needed someone to vent his rage on.

“She… she said she was tired…”

As if anticipating what was to come, the lined-up servants exchanged nervous glances and mumbled vague answers.

Apparently dissatisfied, the marquis’s face twisted in anger as he repeated his question.

“I asked where she is.”

“She’s probably sleeping in her chambers by now…!”

At that very moment—creak—a floorboard groaned upstairs on the third floor.

Instantly, the marquis’s eyes narrowed, shooting up toward the ceiling where the attic was located.

Gritting his teeth as if swallowing his anger, he started up the stairs.

“I—I’ll explain everything, my lord. The young lady said she wanted to look at the stars for a while, that’s all. She absolutely hasn’t touched any alchemy—”

Margaret hurried after the marquis, wringing her hands anxiously as she tried to explain.

When they reached their destination, the marquis yanked open the attic door with a terrifying scowl.

“Leilia!!”

With a creak of ancient wood, the Marquis of Charlotte’s thunderous voice split the silence inside the attic.

Contrary to his expectations of chaos, the attic was utterly still.

Dusty white cloths, sticking up here and there, testified to how long it had been since anyone set foot in the room.

“You’re here.”

Leilia’s sunken voice echoed quietly through the moonlight, so calm it seemed almost regal.

The marquis trembled with rage, barely swallowing his anger.

He crossed the room, passing between the draped sheets, and stood beneath the moonlight.

His bear-like hand seized Leilia by the collar and slammed her against the wall.

The way her breath was cut off made clear just how far their relationship as father and daughter had fallen.

“You really are mad.”

“It’s Mother’s memorial day. Don’t make a scene.”

“Memorial day? As if sneaking in like a rat wasn’t enough—how dare you mention your mother with that mouth of yours?”

The marquis snarled, his face twisted with madness, pressing his massive weight into her pinned collar as if he might kill her then and there.

Two eyes—so similar, yet holding such different emotions—stared each other down, both trembling for different reasons.

“Losing your mother and my only son wasn’t enough for you, was it?”

Unlike the marquis, who was filled with fury and hatred, there wasn’t a hint of resentment in Leilia’s gaze.

Even as her airway was squeezed tight, she looked at him with an expression of utter loss, simply accepting everything.

She had pleaded, begged, and tried to explain countless times in her previous lives.

But after four cycles of regression, Leilia had learned the hard way: acceptance was better than desperation.

Running only ever led to her getting hurt in the end.

“Soon, everything will be over.”

“What?”

“Everything will go just as you wish.”

At his question, Leilia slowly closed her eyes and spoke in a low murmur.

Sensing something strange, the marquis loosened his grip and stepped back, his icy glare making the cold attic feel even colder.

“You’d do better to beg. Don’t disgrace yourself with this attitude.”

“And if I do, will I get beaten a little less?”

Leilia suddenly let out a laugh, scanning the room with her dull golden eyes as she shrugged her shoulders.

“What did you just say?”

At his cold response, Leilia tightened her grip on the potion in her hand, hiding it from view. Under her ornate dress, red and purple bruises spread like poisonous mushrooms.

“I asked if being obedient would make my life as your daughter any less miserable.”

Leilia replied, deliberately provoking him with mockery.

Judging by the look on his face, she knew he wouldn’t leave until he’d vented his anger—and if that was the goal, she might as well speed things along by stoking his rage.

“You?”

The marquis’s lips quivered with fury as he glared at her.

“That’s right, you. A real father wouldn’t treat his child like this. If I beg like a dog, will this life—less than that of an animal—get any easier—”

Smack!

Unable to contain his anger, the marquis’s hand sliced through the air, striking her hard across the face.

Leilia’s body lurched violently in the opposite direction from the force.

So I’m still alive, after all.

Even though she expected it, the slap hurt.

Blood trickled from her split lip, staining the floor, but Leilia didn’t move—as if time had stopped.

Her father had never been a kind man.

He always acted out of self-interest, justifying whatever he wanted with whatever excuse suited him.

If he’d come all the way here to stir up trouble, it was only because he had a purpose.

“A match has been arranged. You may be useless, but now you can sacrifice yourself for the sake of the family.”

A political marriage—that was why Marquis Pielon Charlotte had kept Leilia alive, his only goal all along.

Do people really never change? The same cycle left her feeling both empty and powerless.

“Within this month, you’ll be wed to the Duke of Liston.”

Wiping the blood from his hand with a handkerchief, Pielon spoke with unyielding authority.

Presented with this one-sided announcement, Leilia answered only with silence.

It didn’t matter anymore—after tonight, everything would end.

She had already heard from Timo, who had gone out to the plaza, that the item had been secured.

Now, at last, she could be free—from the hellish chains that had tormented her for so long, from the wretched fate she once thought inescapable.

“They’ll be guests tomorrow, so don’t even think about causing trouble. Just stay put and act as if you’re dead.”

At those words, Leilia gave a cold, mocking smile.

For her, tomorrow was never going to come anyway.

***

The closed door swung open, and countless shadows stretched along the long hallway.

Under the Marquis’s icy gaze, the waiting servants all bowed at once, each trying to read Pielon’s mood.

“Wash her thoroughly and make her presentable. Don’t give that lowborn merchant anything to find fault with.”

Marquis Charlotte gave a cursory glance at the assembled servants before striding down the corridor.

Behind him, Leilia’s glazed golden eyes slowly trailed his footsteps.

“Miss, are you all right? Why did you talk back to the Marquis? I was scared out of my wits—thank goodness it ended there, honestly.”

Margaret’s worried voice sounded above her, but Leilia ignored it.

Everyone pitied her, but she actually felt a sort of relief that her father had chosen to leave now—his “exit” meant she could be left alone for once.

“Timo?”

Leilia gripped the glass vial tightly as she quietly asked.

“She hasn’t returned yet.”

“Send her to me as soon as she’s back.”

“After all that happened, do you really want to stay here? Please, Miss, go back to your room. The Marquis may have let you off once, but you know he won’t let it go a second time.”

“Is that what it looks like to you, Nanny? After getting hit so many times, I suppose this doesn’t even count as being beaten anymore, does it?”

Leilia touched her swollen cheek with a bitter smile.

Waving her frail wrist, she motioned the gathered servants away.

“Miss, that’s not what I meant…”

“I want to be alone. I have a right to that, don’t I?”

At her sharp reply, Margaret faltered and finally left the attic.

Leilia held her breath, waiting for all signs of movement to fade.

Once everything was quiet, she drummed her thin fingers on the table to pass the time.

How long did she wait? At last, the creak of wood and a sudden burst as Timo burst in, panting.

“Huff… Miss! I got the fruit you asked for!”

Color returned to Leilia’s face at once.

Her dull golden eyes now sparkled brightly with life.

“Thank you, Timo. You really are my savior.”

Leilia spoke briefly, then snatched the cloth pouch from Timo’s hands.

Bang!

She locked the attic door and hurried across the room.

She ignored Timo’s pleas to open the door, humming to herself as she pulled away the white cloths shrouding the room.

Even just uncovering one sent laughter bubbling up inside her.

“This is really the last time.”

Leilia set the glass vial and the pouch on the table, opening the prepared old tome wide.

She scanned its contents quickly, then began selecting colored glass bottles from beneath the draped cloth.

Pouring the liquids into an empty vial, the clear solution slowly changed from red to blue. Her eager eyes darted as she turned the pages, her delicate fingers trembling as she carefully picked up the ancient parchment.

With a quiet sigh, Leilia’s nervous gaze swept the table.

When she untied the last cloth pouch, she found a few tiny fruits that looked almost like beans.

“So this is the fabled Alibu fruit.”

Alibu.

She’d first learned about it years ago in a secret book of magic—just a small amount could inflict a fatal wound, erasing the body, mind, and even soul.

The devil’s fruit.

Muttering softly, Leilia carefully ground the three fruits she had.

She added the fine powder to the vial, which instantly bubbled and frothed.

The blue liquid turned murky and black.

Her mouth, stiff with tension, finally curled upward in satisfaction.

With this, there would be no more pain, no more suffering.

Not only her body, but even the last vestige of her soul would vanish, and she’d finally be free.

“…I’m not afraid at all.”

Leilia tried to calm her trembling heart, whispering hypnotically to herself.

As if sensing the end, her long lashes fluttered and slowly lowered.

Her fingers gripping the glass vial had gone pale with tension, but she couldn’t stop herself.

She took a small, deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut.

Then, without the slightest hesitation, she drank the black liquid in a single gulp.

Burning heat surged down her throat, but Leilia endured it.

Eternal disappearance.

That was the only thing she wished for.