Chapter 3
「Francis Patella
: Captain of the Imperial Guard / Affection level unknown ▼ 」
Red hair, but his eyes are blue? No, wait—they’re gray.
Since he’s one of the princess’s men, and the fact that I can even see an affection gauge means… he must be one of the game’s characters.
The mask I was wearing suddenly felt uncomfortable, so I adjusted it.
“I just wanted to pick some flowers.”
“Why not order the gardeners to do it?”
“I’d rather do it myself.”
「 ▼ Despises Princess Gracie enough to want her dead. 」
So it wasn’t just the blunt tone. His face was expressionless, but he really hated me. That much was clear—and the level of it was terrifying.
“Why?”
“I have someone I want to give them to.”
Roses formed tangled vines, neatly trimmed by the gardeners so they were all the same height but didn’t block the paths.
“Who do you intend to give them to?”
Shouldn’t the captain of the guard be protecting the Emperor, not me? Why was he even here?
Since this was a game, even the blue roses were in full, pretty bloom. I plucked one absentmindedly, not wanting to answer, and because there were no thorns, I got careless—scraping my palm.
It stung, but I didn’t show it. Everyone here already hated me anyway, so what was the point of showing pain?
“I asked who you were going to give it to.”
His voice was low. If he’d spoken kindly, I might have wavered a little.
“None of your business.”
I grabbed at another stem, trying to yank it free, but it wasn’t easy.
“Lend me your sword.”
“……”
“What are you waiting for? Hand it over.”
He looked at me with a deep scowl. Clearly, he hated me a lot. He didn’t even bother responding. Feeling awkward, I reached toward one of the knights behind him, but that knight only looked helplessly at Francis Patella.
“Do you not know what it means to ask a knight for his sword?”
“I don’t know. I just want to cut the flowers cleanly.”
I must have really ticked him off. Now that I thought about it, a knight’s sword was his life. Asking for it was like asking for his life. No wonder he was furious. My words slipped into formal speech without me realizing.
Ugh. Seriously, I don’t even know what kind of damn game this is anymore!
“I’ll cut them for you.”
“Fine.”
“If you tell me who you plan to give them to.”
Why was that so important to him? My scraped palm hurt more and more, and if I kept going, it might even make writing uncomfortable later.
Princesses had to write a lot, after all. Even in my real body, I’d gripped pens enough to grow calluses.
His bright red hair swayed softly in the wind. If not for that cold face, his handsome features might have actually made my heart race.
“I’m giving them to Duke Clayton de Lebois.”
—Shhhk!
Francis instantly drew his sword. The problem was, it wasn’t pointed at the flowers—it was pointed at my neck.
“Is this the flower you meant to give him?”
This bastard really did hate me enough to kill me.
Well then… since I couldn’t force a “forced quit” myself, maybe I could let someone else do it for me.
Damn it, if it meant winning the grand prize, I could handle dying one more time.
His fierce, defiant gaze was actually beautiful enough to wipe away my hesitation.
When I tried to quit earlier by drinking that toxic water, there’d been a penalty.
But if someone else killed me?
Then it wasn’t my fault, and the system would terminate me cleanly.
Closing my eyes, I suddenly thought of the orphanage director, her hands wrinkled with age. She used to sneak me candy when the other kids weren’t looking.
If I got out of here, I’d collect my winnings and go see her. And the kind nun who’d cared for me second-best, too.
“That’s right.”
His smile was gone, but somehow, he looked even more handsome than before. Of course—he was one of the main male leads.
Still, who cared how handsome he was? I was ending this stupid game anyway.
“Well? Go on, do it already.”
His frown deepened. At this rate, he might just lower the sword. I needed to push harder.
“Bet your dick’s as tiny as your courage. What’s wrong? Scared?”
“…What did you say?”
Yes! Get mad. Get angrier!
“Did I stutter? Bet your dick’s puny as hell. That’s why you’re always drawing your sword for no reason.”
His face went blank with disbelief, but I heard the grinding of his teeth. His clenched jaw told me it was taking everything not to lose control.
“Do you wish for death?”
Oh!
“Coward.”
That must have been the last straw—because the blade plunged forward.
With a loud, slicing whoosh, searing pain exploded in my chest.
“Guh!”
Clutching the sword that had run me through, I collapsed, my mask slipping off and falling to the ground. Francis staggered back as if he hadn’t meant to let go, but I collapsed around the blade, choking on the pain.
“F-fuck, ahhh, shit—!”
But even as blood filled my mouth, laughter bubbled up uncontrollably.
Apparently, it worked—because I could see my real body again!
A nurse in a pink cardigan was seated at my bedside, jotting something down. Looking around, I realized all the other patients were lying in identical positions, unconscious.
An intensive care unit.
Damn it.
Why did I still look like a ghost instead of merging back into my body?
My feet hovered above the ground. I lay down on my bed again, hoping I’d sync with it, but instead I just floated above it.
“Why won’t it work?!”
No matter how much I struggled, I couldn’t merge.
My oxygen mask fogged and cleared with each breath. My chest rose and fell steadily.
—Beep, beep, beep.
So regular.
Beside me was a bouquet of flowers.
“Are those… for me?”
When I leaned in to check, there was a card tucked inside. I tried to grab it, but my hand went straight through. Of course. Nothing was ever easy!
I peeked at the slightly opened envelope—only to see a man’s name written there. Not mine.
Beep, beeep, beeeeep, beeeeeeeep!!!
The nurse shot to her feet, rushing over to check the monitors. Then she frantically grabbed the phone.
“CPR, Code Blue, NSICU!”
“What, it’s me again?!”
And then—everything blurred away.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the rose garden, surrounded by blue vines swaying sweetly in the breeze. My white hair drifted ghostlike in the wind.
“Freaking CPR!”
So it didn’t work when I forced a quit.
And it didn’t work when someone else killed me either.
So the only way was… actually clearing the game?
Seriously?
Really?
Did I really have to go that far?
I’d already died twice here! And nearly a third time before that!
“Doesn’t anyone feel sorry for me?!”
Shouting into the empty air did nothing.
“What are you doing?”
Crap. Another rollback.
「Francis Patella
: Captain of the Imperial Guard / Affection level unknown ▼ 」
This time, I didn’t press the arrow. I didn’t need to confirm again how much he hated me.
“I’m just picking flowers.”
Suppressing a sigh, I worked my aching brain.
“Why not order the gardeners?”
“Well, I figured if I worked hard picking them myself, the person I give them to will be happier.”
Yes. Good. This time, let’s play nice.
Be kind, get an apology from my sister, and clear this damn game!
Once I finish this flower quest, I’m running straight to Kiira.
Wait for me, sis! I love you, sis!
Just apologize to me!
Please!
Let me go!
“Who are you planning to give them to?”
“To you, Sir Francis.”
My chest still throbbed from where he’d stabbed me last time, but hey—I was a generous person. I’d even apologize for the harsh words I said earlier.
He stared silently, no longer with that mocking gleam in his eyes. Instead, he looked almost… subdued.
“…Why would you give them to me?”
“Because you’re my guard, Sir Francis. So… I wanted to say thank you.”
“……”
His lips parted as if he wanted to speak, but his face was conflicted.
“Do you not like it?”
I tilted my masked face up at him. The darkness through the eyeholes made the stare uncomfortable. Our eyes met briefly, and I quickly looked away—but that alone seemed to have some effect.
“…It’s fine.”
“That’s too bad, then.”
I let go of the flower stem I’d been holding. The scrape on my palm still hurt, and when I glanced at it, Francis suddenly caught my hand.
“I’ll summon a healer.”
“Are you… worried about me?”
“No.”
I smiled artificially, and he quickly averted his gaze. Looks like the saying was true: no one can spit in the face of a smiling person.
Noted. Francis Patella is weak against smiles. (Memo.)
“I’d prefer if you gave it to someone else.”
His hand was warm as he tied a handkerchief around my palm. I’d expected sweat or steel from a knight, but instead there was a faint, clean scent of freesia.
“To who?”
“To His Grace, Duke de Lebois.”
As I fidgeted my fingers, he looked at me with an expression that strangely suited the fragrance.
