Chapter 2 – 

She didn’t know why such a thought came to her right away, but she was certain she was right.

And this—removing the poison—must be the very “heroic action” the protagonist was supposed to perform before the helper arrived.

But how?

Biting her lip, she suddenly remembered something she heard long ago.

A friend who loved hiking and fishing once told her—

“Hey, hey. Look at this. They say if you get bitten by a snake, you do it like this.”

He had shown her a phone screen. Of course, it wasn’t official first aid—it was a folk remedy, risky and unreliable.

But doing nothing meant the man could die.

He wasn’t bitten by a snake, but poison was poison—surely the method to draw it out would be the same!

Of all things… why is this the only thing I can think of…

She squeezed her eyes shut and smacked her own forehead.

“…Wh-… what…?”

His hoarse voice struggled out, but she didn’t notice. Stopping her self-scolding, she clenched her fist and steeled herself.

If it won’t change the outcome whether I act or not, then just do it.

Alright. That was enough mental preparation.

It was better to try something dangerous than to do nothing at all.

I hope… it works for you too.

Taking a big breath, she grabbed his shoulders tightly and brought her mouth to the wound.

“—Hk!”

His whole body jerked violently. Hers jumped with him. Her hands tightened around his shoulders.

She sucked hard on the wound, then pulled her mouth away and spat out what filled it. The blood that hit the ground was, as expected, black.

Once wouldn’t be enough.

Wiping the blood from her lips with the back of her hand, she leaned over him again.

“…Ugh.”

He seemed to be trying to hold back his groans, but failing. His pale fingers dug helplessly into the dirt, unable to clutch anything else.

She spat out more blood.

Then again. And again.

After about ten repetitions, the blood no longer had that ominous black tint.

Only then did she stop, pressing a handkerchief on the wound.

Her lips and mouth were filled with the metallic reek of blood, but there was no helping it.

Someone should be arriving soon.
Now that she had completed her “heroic action,” that much should follow.

Thinking that eased her anxiety. Sneaking a glance at his face, she thought he looked a little better. Maybe it was just her imagination.

With his face covered in blood and dirt, it was difficult to make out his features. Soot had smudged him somewhere too.

He has silver hair.

Unexpected, but in a fantasy world, silver hair wasn’t uncommon.

She’d already seen his violet eyes earlier. His clothes—now ragged—had once been quite fine.

Fine clothes, poisoned arrow, collapsed alone and covered in blood… Summing it up, she guessed:

He must be some high-ranking person who was ambushed.

But why does this color combination feel so familiar? Silver hair and violet eyes…

Now that the immediate danger had passed, she finally had the leisure to observe him carefully.

He definitely looked familiar… but she couldn’t recall from where.

“Name…”

He moved his lips.

“…What?”

“Your name… what is… your name…?”

“My name?”

My name…?

She froze.

What… is my name?

No matter how she tried to recall it, it wouldn’t come. And it wasn’t simple panic—no, it was like something had painted over that part of her memory in black ink.

Why? She rolled her eyes helplessly.

But for some reason, she felt she absolutely must answer him now.

“Tell me… your name.”

His faint urgency pushed her over the edge.

She blurted out the only name that came to her.

“R-Rita!”

“Rita…?”

“Yes! Rita, that’s me!”

“I see…”

Repeating the name, he gave a faint smile.

“I will never… forget… your noble act…”

“Huh?”

She blinked dumbly.

Noble? Noble??

Well, a high-ranking person would choose fancy words…

Not only was it a word she’d only seen in books, but he had applied it to her. She was baffled.

It didn’t feel like anything “noble” at all.

But before she could question it, he slipped back into unconsciousness.

“Ah!”

She caught him quickly before he toppled sideways, sighing.

And soon enough, the helper she’d been waiting for arrived.

“Huh? Rita nuna, what’re you doing there?”

Approaching her was a red-haired boy of about ten.

*

Hearing Rita’s explanation, the boy readily ran to the village to bring people. Before long, a group of sturdy men returned with him.

“Looks like Rita brought in trouble again!”

“Hey, Rita. You hurt anywhere?”

“Good work, Rita.”

Even while lifting the unconscious man onto a stretcher, they each tossed a comment her way.

Some playful, some warm and encouraging.

Rita gave vague replies—but inside, she was growing confused.

They know me? Why??

Their familiarity indicated that they already knew “Rita.”

Even the boy had called her “Rita” without her ever introducing herself.

There must have been someone in this village named Rita before she came.

Is this… my preset identity?

If she had possessed the body of a character in the novel, then this must be the village where the original “Rita” had lived.

Not wanting to claim amnesia, she simply acted like she belonged.

“Rita, come help with this!”

“Yes!”

The village was closer than she expected.

Its name was Igraine.

Crossing a low hill, the sign came into view. It wasn’t large, but comparable to a small town.

The men carried the man into a small clinic.

The doctor, calmly sorting herbs, jumped to his feet when he saw the bloodied patient. His chair crashed over behind him.

“L-Lay him here, quick!”

He kicked the fallen chair aside and pointed to the bed.

After placing the man on it, the men left as if their job was done.

The doctor hurriedly prepared bandages and medicines. The boy righted the fallen chair and pushed it into a corner. Rita stood awkwardly near the bed before raising her hand.

“Um… is there anything I can help with?”

“Oh, Rita! You were here too.”

So the doctor knew “Rita” as well. Rita nodded stiffly.

“You were the one who found him?”

“Yes… um… he was hit by a poisoned arrow, so I sucked the poison out. I thought it might spread…”

“You did? Good job! You’ve always known so many things. But be careful. Come here and help me cut these bandages. We’ll need to get his clothes off too.”

“O-okay.”

The doctor rolled up his sleeves and began treatment.

Rita struggled to remove the man’s blood-soaked clothes. Unfortunately, they were beyond salvage.

The doctor injected antibiotics and painkillers, made a small additional incision to remove the remaining arrowhead.

The arrow wound itself wasn’t large; the real issue had been the poison, but apparently it had been a small dose.

The doctor continued treating the poisoning and tended to the wound.

Clean gauze soaked in disinfectant covered the area, then layers of bandage.

Only then did Rita feel relieved.

The medical level here seemed similar to the 21st century.

She had worried it would be medieval barbarity.

“…?”

As she wiped his face with a damp cloth, she saw his true features emerge.

Why does he look so… familiar?

Wiping away soot, dirt, and dried blood revealed a pure, pale face.

Delicate features.

His cheeks, now recovering color, were soft peach; his lips a pretty red.

Well… if I can’t recall him, he must not be that important.

Perhaps the original Rita had seen him somewhere.

After all, it was a common trope.

If Rita felt familiarity, it must be leftover memory from the original owner of this body.

Meaning they probably had some connection—and might get involved again.

“Wow… he’s really handsome.”

Rita stared at his sleeping face, imagining Sleeping Beauty, then coughed awkwardly when the boy gave her a weird look.

Men this handsome were usually main characters in stories.

A male lead. And with his seemingly noble status… definitely a male lead.

Wait. Then what about me?

Could this novel… be a romance fantasy?

Does that mean I’m the heroine?

A romance fantasy where another soul possesses the heroine’s body…

Rita’s face went pale. She whirled to the boy.

With the doctor out of the room, no one would question her odd questions.

“When did I start living in this village?”

The boy blinked, puzzled, but answered.

“Seven? Eight years ago?”

“And my house?”

“Huh? You live with Aunt Margaret.”

“R-right… and my family?”

“You lost them in the war, didn’t you? Geez, why’re you asking this stuff? You’re making me sad too. Grandpa always says we have to be nice to you!”

“S-sorry.”

Thinking it over, it seemed unlikely she was the protagonist.

She had assumed she was the heroine only because everything felt like a cliché and the timing matched too perfectly.

But other characters could fit clichés too—authors arranged things however they liked.

Yeah, I’m not heroine material anyway.

A girl who lost her family in the war, living in a strange village.

And she happens to find an unidentified but clearly high-status, handsome man.

She even feels a strange familiarity with him…

Her mind instantly conjured a romance plot. She rubbed her goosebump-covered arms to shake it away.

A proper heroine would have at least one special ability. She didn’t.

“No way. It can’t be.”

Her muttered thought slipped out.

Only the boy heard it, tilting his head in confusion.