As soon as breakfast was over, Ione headed straight for the study.
She needed a quiet place to think.
The moment she stepped inside, she dismissed Catherine.
“What are you standing there for? Go rest. I’ll call you if I need anything.”
After perfectly clearing out any possible distractions, Ione sat alone to organize her thoughts about her memory loss.
It had already been several days, yet the only thing she’d managed to uncover was that the memory loss was growing worse over time.
She wondered if it was some kind of penalty for hijacking the main character’s storyline.
‘If they were going to hit me with a penalty, a bolt of lightning would’ve been better. If they wanted to mess with my memories, they might as well have wiped everything from the start.’
So what was the problem?
Frowning and deep in thought, Ione suddenly felt a cool sensation against her skin—and a realization hit her.
“Could it be…”
This was the only thing that had changed.
Even wearing Penelope’s communication ring hadn’t triggered anything unusual.
Her memory loss had started the moment she received the ring at the first magical item shop Penelope couldn’t remember.
‘This is it!’
Ione grabbed the ring on her finger and twisted it tightly.
Adrian hadn’t seen anything strange, and Penelope couldn’t even recall the shop, let alone the ring.
She had feared it might not come off, like before.
But when she tugged at it, the ring slid off easily, without resistance.
In that moment, she felt as though a strange pressure weighing down her entire body had lifted.
“Korean!”
Ione tried to recall the forgotten language by reading through a paper she’d written notes on.
But… nothing.
Her memories still didn’t return.
“…Seriously?”
So much for that.
‘Well, if I were good at solving problems, I wouldn’t be the ex-wife—I’d be the heroine.’
She tried to brush it off lightly, but her disappointment was hard to ignore.
Still, she didn’t have time to wallow.
If removing the ring changed nothing, she needed to write down everything she could remember about the original story—before her memory faded any further.
“….”
But there was nothing to write if nothing came to mind.
‘Memory is disappearing.’
‘Body feels lighter without the ring (just my imagination?)’
Once written down, it all felt rather pitiful.
It was just a ring.
Maybe she’d expected something magical because of its size-adjusting feature.
Ione let out a short laugh and held the ring in her hand.
“….”
It wasn’t just her imagination.
Just holding the ring made her body feel heavier.
How could she describe this feeling?
A sense of physical weight? Tangibility?
Like her flesh suddenly felt more
real.
Ione decided she needed to find that old man who had given her the ring.
‘Find the first magical item shop. Find its owner. Ask about the ring.’
She recorded everything.
Anything she could remember might help her later.
‘Don’t get attached to Adrian.’
‘His “true partner” appears when the monster wave hits.’
‘The heroine…’
The heroine gets captured by the monsters. But her name wouldn’t come back.
It wasn’t even a long name.
The frustration was real.
She thought about writing down what the heroine looked like, but even her eye color and hair color wouldn’t come to mind.
All she could recall was something vague like: “
Of course, she was beautiful. She was the heroine, after all.”
“Wow… this is really killing me.”
I’ve transmigrated into the doomed ex-wife of a romance-fantasy novel—only now I’m losing my memories of the original plot.
Describe your emotional state in 2,000 characters.
I could write twenty million and still not cover it.
Knock, knock.
Just then, as Ione lay slumped over her desk in despair and irritation, someone knocked at the door.
“Who is it?”
“Your Grace, it’s Orgen.”
“Come in.”
Orgen—Adrian’s aide.
What could he want?
‘Did I do something wrong?’
Ione, familiar with his infamously stern attitude from the original story, found herself slightly intimidated.
“I hope I’m not intruding at a busy time.”
He carried a thick stack of documents.
The moment she saw them, Ione swallowed hard.
Something told her this was no ordinary visit.
“Shall I prepare tea first?”
“Thank you, Your Grace. But if it’s all right with you, I’d like to show you the documents first.”
Polite, but firm—Orgen declined the tea.
He was so serious that Ione’s head started spinning.
‘Wait a second. I don’t think I’ve done anything yet…’
Tense, she watched him as he laid the documents in front of her.
She had to suppress a gasp.
“How…?”
It was the progress report on the
Bakran
tree planting she had requested from Adrian.
“I tried to prepare everything as quickly as possible, though it still took some time.”
“How did you manage to procure the saplings so fast? I thought it would take at least a month.”
“Fast? Not at all, Your Grace. I only regret not moving sooner.”
“That must’ve been hard. I was worried you were pushing yourself too much.”
Orgen didn’t seem to understand her awe.
“A cold wave is approaching.”
Come again?
Everything had been going so smoothly, but now Ione wasn’t sure she heard correctly.
It was already cold enough to freeze her face off, and that wasn’t even the
cold wave
yet?
What kind of place
was
this?
“When the cold wave hits the North, everything stops.”
She felt herself pale.
“That’s why I rushed the planting.”
“I appreciate your efforts, Orgen.”
“Not at all, Your Grace. In fact, I should be the one thanking you—for your insight and care.”
“Thanking me?”
That made Ione’s heart sink a little.
“After reviewing the mining zone’s soil report, I understood why you insisted on planting
Bakran
there, of all places.”
Ione pursed her lips.
Something nearly slipped out. Like a curse, or… another curse.
‘This is insane. He figured it out?’
‘Genius. Literal chills.’
She struggled to keep her mouth shut.
“How did you—”
“As you know, the mine is due to be shut down soon. After generations of use, the fact that there’s anything left to extract is a miracle. The previous Duke had already stopped allocating funds to the area.”
A reasonable decision.
After all, who would invest in a permafrost wasteland?
“So we’ve also stopped reinforcing the tunnels or calling in mages to assess the structure.”
“I see.”
She nodded.
“Frozen soil is solid, and the North has never had a cave-in. Collapses usually happen in warmer, wetter areas with softer ground.”
“I understand.”
“So… we got complacent.”
Orgen had grasped Ione’s intentions perfectly.
“You rushed things because of that? Thank you for your hard work, Sir Orgen.”
“My duty is to ensure Your Grace’s compassion bears fruit.”
Still calm and professional.
But Ione noticed the tips of his ears had turned red.
It was unexpectedly… cute.
But she couldn’t let it show. She had to protect this competent man’s social dignity.
Biting back a smile, she simply nodded.
Orgen continued his report.
So far, they had managed to secure about half the number of saplings Ione had requested.
He planned to mobilize the staff to plant them today.
“And so, I wanted to ask Your Grace’s permission to let the castle servants assist in planting.”
“Of course.”
He was still sharp and composed.
Even though all she had done was collapse in bed upon arrival, he treated her as the Duchess.
The sincerity moved Ione. She placed a hand over her chest to stop it from bursting.
“Considering the distance and workload, it’ll take at least four days.”
“Don’t rush. Even if it’s only half the number I asked for, you’re planting trees in frozen ground. I know the locals are used to the cold, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.”
“Then let’s say… five days?”
“No. Just don’t overdo it. You know I’m from Clarke territory in the South. I’m the daughter of a crumbling noble house—our life wasn’t any better than that of a well-paid maid. I did the chores, helped manage the estate, and cared for my sick mother. I never had personal attendants. So don’t pressure the staff. I can’t clean this massive manor by myself, but…”
“Your Grace!”
Orgen looked like he might faint.
Ione continued anyway.
“Even if I wanted to clean it, I couldn’t. It’s too big—and too cold. I just want to stay in my room. But I can go down to the kitchen and cook if I’m hungry.”
“The head chef will remain in the castle.”
“Well, that’s good.”
She nodded.
“There’s no need to rush. Unless the tunnels are in danger, that is. And it doesn’t sound like they are.”
“Then I’ll use the staff with the utmost care—without letting them so much as scrape a finger.”
“Please do.”
“Then I’ll return to my duties and report back.”
With a respectful farewell, Orgen left.
Ione was left blinking in disbelief.
Everything was going so smoothly.
Not that it was over yet—but still, how had everything progressed this easily?
“…So, is the trick just not to steal the protagonist’s events?”
Her cheeks flushed a warm red.