It was horrific.
Fifteen years ago, Seton had seen those very eyes.
Since then, a repulsive leech had clung to him.
With a sharp smack, Seton hit his own forehead.
It seemed that disgusting thing had already latched itself onto the Grand Duchess.
“I
did
warn you last time.”
“If only you could borrow my eyes.”
“…”
“Then maybe you’d understand too.”
“If you’re really that attached, then by all means—become her footrest. Who knows? Maybe if she kicks you enough, she’ll give you a place at her feet.”
“Don’t worry.”
“This is an order from the Grand Duke. There’s no room for disobedience.”
“I’m the master of the Western Tower.”
“Do you think the Grand Duke will let someone with no official reason stay in his territory?”
At Seton's pointed remark, Penelope scoffed.
She wasn't anything here. The only reason she could stay was the Grand Duke's invitation.
So if he ordered her to return to the Tower, she'd have no choice.
“How long are you planning to stay?”
“A month?”
“Ridiculous. Make it two weeks.”
“I’ve already cut it down as much as I can. The Northern Territory is wider than you think.”
“You said you’d track the flow. Isn’t that what wide-area scans are for?”
“Right. But I told you—the North is
big.
Do you know how many regions we’ll have to scan just to find the main flow—”
In the middle of his sentence, Seton caught a small pouch flying at him.
It made a familiar clinking sound in his hand.
“You didn’t…”
“Just in case. You take one too. And give one to the sub-tower master.”
Another pouch flew from Penelope’s sleeve—this one noticeably heavier.
The weight sagged her sleeve.
“You collected
this
many magic stones?”
“Did you forget? The Western Tower is also called the Golden Tower.”
Penelope said it playfully, but this was no joke.
She had just handed him a fortune worth hundreds of thousands in gold.
“So? Two weeks—deal?”
If they could replenish their mana, it might just be possible.
Seton found himself at a loss for words.
“Ah…”
Starting from the day she gave the order to purchase the
Bakran
, memories began slipping away like a receding tide.
She’d hoped a good night’s sleep might bring them back—but each day, she lost more and more, faster and faster.
Ione finally accepted her condition.
For reasons unknown, the memories of
Choi Eun-young
were being erased.
She tried compulsively to recall them, but only fragments remained.
Thankfully, she had at least mapped out the major confession points between the protagonists in advance.
And perhaps it was a blessing that she had realized she was inside a novel
before
she met the Grand Duke.
‘No, I can’t console myself with that.’
Ione stopped the empty comfort and quickly moved her hands.
Since her memories were vanishing, she had to write down as much as possible while she still remembered.
I’m going to die soon
Must not fall in love with Adrian
Mine collapses
Heroine meets Adrian during monster subjugation
Heroine makes balm, struggles due to lack of proper containers
She scribbled everything that came to mind.
Main events take place in the capital and north. Dangerous.
Heroine creates a merchant group, opens a café, develops freeze-drying using northern climate
Interrupting protagonist events = lightning strikes
Struck by lightning twice
Next to “lightning,” Ione quickly added a note:
(
Didn’t get hit directly, but was terrifying. Third strike might be fatal.
)
“…Guess I’m Korean after all. Can’t ignore the ‘three strikes’ thing.”
Muttering to herself, Ione tilted her head.
Korean?
She repeated the word several times—and suddenly, it came back.
She
was
Korean. Her name was
Choi Eun-young
, and she had been an office worker in South Korea.
It was frustrating that she couldn’t remember her age.
Choi Eun-young, office worker, Korean
She wrote those down too and let out a long sigh.
“Wow. What even is this?”
The difficulty level had suddenly shot through the roof.
“….”
Don’t deviate from the original story
Cling to Adrian—but only moderately
She drew five stars next to the word
moderately
.
If only she could write in Hangul—it would’ve been much easier.
‘I’ll have to hide this somewhere.’
Pulling the service cord, she summoned a maid.
She vaguely recalled asking Catherine to step out earlier out of concern, which must be why the face was unfamiliar.
“I must have a study of my own, yes?”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“Could you show me the way?”
Much had been forgotten, but one piece of wisdom surfaced in Ione’s mind:
To hide a tree, plant it in a forest. To hide paper—an office full of paperwork.
“Oh, this makes me
want
to work.”
Ione’s jaw dropped upon seeing the Grand Duchess’s study.
Even to her untrained eye, the desk looked expensive, the chair seemed comfortable enough to sit in for twelve hours straight, and sunlight poured in through wide windows.
Neatly organized stationery and the scent of fine paper filled the air.
If her old office had looked like this, maybe even
The Witch
wouldn’t have had to beg her to go home.
“…”
The Witch?
Who was that?
Ione blinked slowly.
She had remembered something—but as soon as she recognized it, it slipped away again.
The chilling sensation down her spine made her clench her jaw.
Still, she moved without showing it.
“This is where internal affairs documents are handled?”
“Handling documents is not under my jurisdiction, Your Grace. You’ll likely hear about it from the Grand Duke, the steward, or the head lady-in-waiting.”
“What about a library?”
The maid guarding her side opened a small door beside the office.
“This way, Your Grace.”
“A private library?”
“Yes. It connects only to the study, and has no other external door.”
A fortress,
Ione thought, her heart fluttering slightly.
It felt like the perfect hiding spot.
But she didn’t move.
If something looked
too
perfect for hiding—it would be the first place anyone searched.
“There’s still some time before dinner. Shall we take a look?”
“Shall I prepare some tea?”
“Please.”
As the maid stepped out, Ione quickly slipped the note into a desk drawer and covered it with other documents.
She closed it silently and began browsing the library just as she heard footsteps again.
So soon? The maid must’ve returned with the tea.
“Can I take this book to my room to read?”
“Please enjoy it at your leisure, Your Grace.”
Gasp!
Ione flinched as Adrian’s voice rang out behind her.
A moment later, the quiet clink of teacups followed—her maid had come in right after him.
“Shall I pour you a cup?”
Her memo came to mind then, perhaps by chance:
Cling to Adrian—but only moderately
.
“Would you join me for a cup?”
“It would be an honor.”
His greeting was succinct—just a slight nod and graceful gesture.
Ione gently placed her hand in his and took a seat.
As they sipped their tea and made small talk, she felt an unexpected peace settle over her.
For the first time in a while, she felt truly
alive.
With a quiet sigh, Ione set her cup down on its saucer.
The sigh was soft and sweet, as if her breath had melted into honey.
“You seem in good spirits today.”
“Really? Maybe the tea’s just that good.”
She answered with a light tone.
Around him, her nerves were always tightly wound.
Whether because she feared him, found him too charming, or simply felt guilty—she was never relaxed.
But today was different.
The fireplace in the library crackled with warmth and pleasant noise, the tea had cooled just enough to bring out its fragrance, and the conversation was light.
It was impossible
not
to feel at ease.
Her rigid posture softened, her stiff shoulders loosened.
“Has Benson been well?”
“Oh… he should be dropping by today.”
“I see.”
“He’ll probably stop by this evening.”
Adrian gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment, long enough that Ione thought she imagined it.
Why would he scrutinize
her,
of all people?
“Have you been feeling unwell? Any discomfort?”
“No, thank you for asking. I had a good rest—I feel fine now.”
With a gentle smile, Ione added softly:
“And thank you.”
She met his gaze directly and got straight to the point—no small talk or evasive chatter this time.
“Penelope was conscripted, wasn’t she… because of your consideration?”
“Consideration might not be the right word…”
“It
was
.”
Ione cut him off—an unusual move for her—and clearly stated her opinion.
“Thank you.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
The man who had once taken her ring listened to her speak with surprising patience.
At first, it had felt like an interrogation, but over time she realized something.
His questions had always been focused solely on
her.
How she had felt, what she had thought.
“Did it make you uncomfortable?”
“Did you feel threatened?”
“Why didn’t you get angry?”
At one point, she nearly confessed about the first magic shop.