The corridor leading to my father's office felt longer than it ever had.
Each step echoed too loudly against the marble floor, like the mansion itself was announcing my hesitation. My hands were clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms, but I barely felt the sting. My chest was tight instead, filled with something heavy and restless that refused to settle.
I had walked this path countless times in my past life.
Usually to argue.
Sometimes to demand money.
Most of the time to pretend I didn't care.
Now my legs moved on their own, carrying a version of me that didn't belong to any of those memories.
I stopped in front of the large oak doors. The family crest was carved into the wood—two crossed spears beneath a crown. Once, I'd hated that symbol. Hated everything it stood for. Hated the man behind these doors most of all.
'You abandoned us,' I had told myself.
'You let Mother die. You let me rot.'
The memories pressed in, uninvited. A cold study. A tall man with tired eyes. A boy yelling accusations he didn't fully understand.
I exhaled slowly and raised my hand.
Knock. Knock.
"Come in."
His voice was the same. Calm. Controlled. A little distant.
I pushed the door open.
Count Edric Mangrave stood behind his desk, reading a report. His dark red hair was streaked with gray now. He looked older than he had in my memories. Not weaker—just… worn.
His eyes lifted when he sensed me.
"Daniel."
Just my name. No anger. No warmth. Just acknowledgment.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. The air felt thicker in here, like all the unspoken words had been waiting for me.
"I've awakened," I said, before I could lose my nerve.
His eyebrows rose slightly. Only slightly. But his hand paused mid-motion, fingers tightening around the edge of the paper.
"…I see," he said. "What class?"
"Martial Artist."
This time he didn't hide it. His eyes widened.
"And your potential rank?"
I hesitated.
In my past life, this moment never happened. I never stood here with something worth saying.
"…SSS."
Silence dropped into the room.
The paper slipped from his hand and fluttered onto the desk.
For a long second, he just stared at me. Then he straightened, clearing his throat.
"SSS," he repeated, like he was tasting the word. "That's… extraordinary."
I waited for him to smile. Or praise me. Or say something dramatic.
He didn't.
Instead, he sat down slowly.
"When did this happen?"
"Recently."
Another pause.
"Your martial arts," he said carefully. "Where did you think you learn them?"
The image of a cold cave flickered in my mind. Of a man with silver hair and rough hands correcting my stance with a wooden spear.
My chest tightened.
"…I had a teacher."
He nodded, not pressing further.
For some reason, that made it worse.
"If you need anything," he said, folding his hands together, "resources, tutors, facilities—"
"I already have plans," I cut in.
The words came out sharper than I intended.
His eyes flickered.
Plans.
That word dragged my thoughts straight back to the dungeon. To my master.
'Is he still alive?'
'Am I too late again?'
My fingers twitched.
"I'll be leaving the estate soon," I added.
He studied me quietly.
"…Very well."
I turned toward the door.
I didn't know why I came here. To inform him? To prove something? To hear an apology he'd never give?
My hand was already on the doorknob when his voice stopped me.
"Daniel."
I froze.
"…Do you still hate me?"
The question wasn't loud.
It wasn't angry.
It sounded tired.
My throat tightened.
The room blurred just a little.
In my past life, I had blamed him for everything.
For Mother's death.
For my sister crying alone at night.
For my own weakness.
For the emptiness that swallowed me whole.
But standing here now, with memories of another life crushing against this one…
I wasn't sure what I felt anymore.
I didn't turn around.
"…I don't know," I said.
And for the first time in two lifetimes, that was the honest answer.