Chapter 1: Prologue
Translated by Vine
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Just like yesterday, there would be no customers today.
This was an absolute prophecy in itself.

"Rose Taylor, you idiot."

In the small office, furnished only with a couch for customers and a desk for work, Rose muttered, squatting on her chair.
Her soft, pinkish-brown hair had lost its luster and was dry, and her violet eyes, once sparkling like sweet violet candies, were now clouded with gloom.

"To think this is the result of my choices, it's not even funny."

Her solitary muttering, unheard by anyone, faded into the noise seeping through the thin window.

'If Mrs. Brown saw me sitting on the chair like this, she would surely scold me…'

Two months ago.
Rose had fled from the capital, Rombutton, to Lynden and, in a desperate attempt to make a living, had spent all her money to open an office.

The result was disastrous.
It was a week after opening that an old lady, her first and last customer, requested to 'find her lost dog', which said it all.

Even if there were customers, it would be a problem.
Rose's magic was draining in real-time, and its recovery was so minimal that she would have to risk her life to use even a simple spell.

Since 'that day', all her choices had turned into regrets, her mood sinking lower and lower, as if she was about to discover an underground water source.
She tried to lift her head to cheer up, but the sky beyond the window seemed to foretell her future.

Spring, full of the scent of flowers, was passing, and summer with its radiant sunlight was approaching, but the sky of the industrial city of Lynden remained a consistent gray.
Looking at the sky, covered in the same smog yesterday, today, and probably tomorrow, a heavy stone seemed to settle on her already heavy heart.

"This is driving me crazy!"

Rose, unable to contain her frustration, finally yelled out.

"The business has failed! I have no money! It's impossible to do business in Rombutton now, and my magic is at rock bottom!"

Right now, Rose's future was either to starve to death due to lack of living expenses or to wither away due to magic depletion. She was literally on the edge of a cliff.

Knock, knock, knock.

It was the moment Rose's self-criticism, blaming her choices, was about to begin in earnest.

'A knock?'

For a moment, she thought it was an auditory hallucination.
As if to prove it wasn't a hallucination, her office door, which hadn't greeted a customer in a month and a half, opened.

"Is this the Hampton Psychic Research Office?"

A formal, upper-class Rombutton accent.
She could tell just by the voice.

This was a paying customer.

"Yes! Specializing in paranormal phenomena, psychic research, and lectures, Hampton Office…"

Rose jumped up from her seat as if she had been waiting.

"Welcome…"

But her lively greeting gradually diminished as she confirmed the visitor's face.

A young man had entered through the door.
A head taller than most, his broad shoulders and dizzyingly long and straight legs held the dignity and majesty of an ancient stone temple.
The fine suit, made of high-quality material at a glance, perfectly encased his muscular, firm body.
The pure white kidskin gloves covering his large hands were undoubtedly of the highest quality.
And the ebony cane was surely worth more than all the money she had earned so far.

His dark golden-brown hair was neatly styled with pomade. A sharp nose. The intelligent blue eyes beneath his thick eyebrows sparkled coldly, and his tightly closed lips looked determined.

Rose knew this man.
After all, the reason she had fled from the capital, Rombutton, to Lynden was because of this man.
For several reasons.

"Finally found you, Miss Olga Blavatsky."

Although it was an abandoned alias, she flinched as if her real name had been called.
Rose started to back away slowly, trying to figure out how to get out of this situation.

James. R. Dotrish.
The owner of Fellows, the kingdom's foremost department store, and Dotrish Company, which supplies the highest quality fabrics to the royal family, and the rising railroad tycoon.
And…

"Ho ho ho… Mister, I think you are mistaken, I am not Olga Blavatsky."

"Don't lie. Do you know how much money I spent to find you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about…"

"You have to take responsibility, necromancer Miss Olga Blavatsky. Or, should I say, Miss Alice Hampton here."

As soon as the word 'responsibility' came out of his mouth, Rose felt the blood in her body turn cold.

"Responsibility, you say?"

It couldn't be because of 'that'.
No way, surely not. An ordinary person would never notice?
Absolutely, absolutely, an ordinary person could never know.

Rose subtly ignored her stinging conscience and tried to deny it, but the man smiled with one corner of his mouth raised.

"The responsibility for taking James Dotrish's night."

Oh, my god.

"And the responsibility for leaving a graffiti on this body and running away."

Oh, my god. Oh, dear god.