Chapter 12
“Alright. If Grandma doesn’t want to hear it, I won’t say it.”
“Yes, good. I don’t want to think about anything right now.”
Grandmother clearly thought I was just a child spouting nonsense. She had no interest in hearing another word from me.
“Okay! But Grandma, are you sure you don’t want to hear it? You’ve been having trouble breathing lately.”
At that, the hand she’d been using to rub her temples froze midair.
“How… how do you know that?”
“I saw it last time too, remember? During that family dinner.”
For the first time, Grandmother leaned forward slightly, curiosity flickering across her face.
“So? What are you trying to say?”
“I think you might have an allergy.”
“An allergy?”
“Uh-huh! They say when people get older, they can suddenly develop new allergies. I noticed that you start having trouble breathing whenever you eat dessert. You like those sweet-and-sour lemon desserts, right? I think you might be allergic to lemons.”
“That’s ridiculous. Where did you hear such foolishness? Are you just saying nonsense to get attention? Tsk tsk.”
My second uncle, Apel, scoffed, clearly amused.
But Grandmother’s reaction was completely different.
“…I hadn’t thought of that.”
Her sharp voice and cold expression softened slightly.
Good. That was exactly what I wanted.
It was an attention-grabbing trick—but it was also deliberate.
There was only one reason I told her that.
In my past life, Grandmother used her illnesses as a weapon to torment Father.
As she got older, her body began to develop strange allergic reactions. Father, not knowing that, would always try to please her by bringing her favorite fruits—at my suggestion.
And so her health only got worse, and the blame always fell on me.
That was what I wanted to prevent this time.
I didn’t say it because I liked her. I said it because I wanted revenge.
This was just the first step of a very, very long payback.
Eventually, she’d learn that she really was allergic to lemons and stop eating them. But the foods she switched to afterward would be even worse for her.
There was one ingredient—so dangerous that even touching it caused severe swelling—and it was something her beloved grandsons would one day cook for her.
Because they’d try to make something sour for her, just like lemons.
They’d harvest it too early, when it was still unripe—when its sourness was strongest—and cook it wrong, without realizing how toxic it was in that state.
Grandmother would nearly die from it.
And all of that would start because of what I said today.
I did feel a little sorry for the doctor who would later “discover” her allergy, though.
Technically, I was stealing his credit.
But honestly, I didn’t like that doctor anyway.
He was a man who’d stolen another person’s discovery—the one who actually figured it out first.
It had been a servant, an herbalist by birth, who’d first noticed something strange about Grandmother’s condition. He told the doctor, and the doctor used that knowledge to get promoted and become the family’s official physician.
Whether or not someone became the household doctor didn’t matter to me.
But that man had hurt me and Father.
When Father’s health began to decline, the doctor ignored him completely. And whenever I got sick, he always said he was too busy—either attending to Grandmother or her precious grandsons.
So no, I didn’t feel bad about stealing his “discovery.”
When Grandmother finally finished thinking, she looked at me again—her expression calmer now.
“Just because you noticed that doesn’t make you smart. Any other child could’ve seen the same thing.”
She went right back to being mean, of course. It was as if she couldn’t stand the idea of admitting I might have done something right.
“Yup! I think so too,” I replied cheerfully.
My lack of reaction seemed to throw her off. She cleared her throat awkwardly and shook her head.
“In any case, this meeting is over. I suddenly have something to look into, thanks to you.”
She probably wanted to test whether she really was allergic to lemons.
It didn’t surprise me. Whenever Father and I came, the family gatherings always ended abruptly.
“Then we’ll be going now.”
“Mother, already?”
My two uncles, Behel and Apel, both stood up with worried looks, trying to stop her.
“I’m not feeling well.”
“I’m sure it’s because Amannet brought up nonsense again,” Apel said, clicking his tongue.
Even though his words made my blood boil, I held back my anger.
“Go rest, Mother. We’ll wrap things up here.”
Grandmother hurried out of the room, and the two uncles immediately surrounded Father.
“Leocal, your daughter has once again caused trouble and upset Mother.”
They looked at me with open disgust, refusing to acknowledge that I’d helped.
“How is that trouble? She was only trying to help Mother,” Father said, keeping his tone calm.
“Help her, you say?”
The two men closed in further, their towering frames dwarfing Father’s thin, frail body.
It looked like two predators cornering a helpless deer.
And their sons—three of them—immediately followed suit, surrounding me like a pack of hyenas.
They only acted brave when Grandmother wasn’t around.
“You’ve been trying really hard to win Grandma’s favor lately, haven’t you?” sneered Caleb, my eldest cousin—the son of my first uncle, Behel. He was five years older than me and every bit as obnoxious as his father.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Don’t lie. You’re trying to suck up to her. You think a little bug like you could ever be on the same level as us?”
“Oh, I see.”
I looked at him quietly.
“You’re right—we’re not on the same level.”
Because you’re garbage.
When I died in my past life, you and your fathers—already adults by then—had blamed everything on me.
You were cowards, all of you.
Pathetic, selfish cowards.
“Haha, so you finally admit it?” Caleb laughed. “You’ve grown up a bit, huh?”
“Yeah. You’re older than me, but you’re still an idiot. So, of course, we’re on different levels.”
The words came out before I could stop them.
“What?! Did you just call us idiots?”
“Yup.”
Their fathers, who’d been watching, snapped their heads toward me in disbelief.
“What did you say?”
“Amannet!” Father cried out, panicking.
“Dad, let’s go home. This is boring,” I said flatly.
In my past life, I would’ve cried whenever they glared at me like that.
I used to ask Father why they hated me so much.
But now, I didn’t care.
No matter how hard I tried, they’d never love me.
I’d already learned that lesson.
‘I won’t beg for affection anymore.’
I hated seeing echoes of my past self—always desperate for love from people who would never give it.
I used to think that if I behaved well enough, maybe they’d come to like me.
But no.
‘As long as I have Dad, that’s enough.’
Even if the rest of my family hates me—even if no one in the world likes me—that’s fine.
I’m not that helpless little girl anymore.
I won’t crave love that doesn’t exist.
Even this “diamond spoon” life I was reborn into isn’t as shiny as it looks. Every day is a fight to survive.
‘Love isn’t something I believe in anymore.’
That was the only promise I made to myself in this third life.
So I didn’t even spare those hateful faces another glance.
