Viewpoint Shift

Inside my room, I kept sinking into thought. In a way, my mission to say thank you was accomplished—I had done it well enough.

And yet, a hollow dissatisfaction lingered deep inside me, as if something remained unfulfilled—something I longed for far more than just those words of gratitude.

Oh, right… I didn’t even learn her name. It sounds trivial, but that was my greatest failure, one that stung the most.

Sure, I could’ve asked the other servants in the palace. They’d know, wouldn’t they? Just ask, and I’d get an answer. Simple.

But would that really fix this disappointment? Would knowing her name erase this weight on my chest? I doubted it.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized it wasn’t just about failing to know her name. Something else made this feeling heavier.

That feeling kept tightening its grip. The longer I held onto it, the more I wanted to avoid seeing her again. My admiration, once so bright, was fading. The first impression had already shattered every expectation I’d built.

Maybe that was how it should be. If she clearly didn’t want me near, wouldn’t it be better to stay away? Why force it, only to hurt myself in the end?

But why, Lucian? In your past life, you were used to being shunned, dismissed by so many people. So why now—why does it bother you this much when just one stranger, someone you barely even know, treats you the same way?

While my mind and heart wrestled without answers, a sudden knock echoed from my door, breaking my thoughts. Slowly, the door slid open.

“Lucian, how are you? Feeling any better?”

It was my mother—Riangelin Ardanart. She stepped in gently and closed the door behind her.

“Yes, I’m a little better,” I answered briefly.

She came closer and sat on the edge of my bed, right beside me.

“Then why do you still look so gloomy? Is something troubling you?” Her gaze was so deep, as if she could see right through the walls I’d built inside myself.

“N-No, it’s nothing,” I muttered, trying to hide it, though I knew such a weak lie wouldn’t last long.

But that’s a mother’s instinct. No matter what excuse I gave, she always knew. She was the one who could sense every unseen wound, the one who gave comfort in my sorrow, the one who planted hope with her simplest touch.

She didn’t speak right away. Instead, her fingers gently ran through my hair, from my head down to my neck. Silent, patient. She did it long enough that I felt something inside me slowly loosen—only then did she finally speak again.

“So, did you meet your angel who saved you?” she asked softly.

“Y-Yeah,” I answered quietly.

“Did you get to know her name?” she asked again, her tone teasing.

“N-Not yet,” I said, eyes falling to the floor.

She paused, letting silence stretch so I could breathe easier. Then her hand stroked my head once more.

“Did you at least thank her?” she asked.

“I did. But—” I stopped mid-sentence, realizing maybe this wasn’t something I should confess so carelessly.

“But what?” she pressed gently, not letting me close the gap I’d opened.

Since I’d already slipped, I let it all out. I didn’t care what came after—even if that girl ended up punished for her words.

“S-She said I didn’t need to thank her… b-because it’s her duty. S-She said her life exists only to protect a noble’s life—even if it means trading it with her own.”

I said it between sobs, tears streaming down uncontrollably. Once again, this small body betrayed me, exposing the deepest weakness I could never hide. That feeling was no longer a mere metaphor or an empty image—my fragile heart was truly wounded by words like those.

Seeing me sobbing like that, my mother didn’t stop stroking my hair. Instead, she pulled me into her embrace, pressing my face gently against her chest. Perhaps she knew all too well that such words were far too heavy for a child my age to bear. With the warmth of her embrace, she tried to replace that suffocating sorrow with her own version of love.

“You know, Lucian…” when my sobs began to ease, within that tender embrace, my mother slowly tried to open a conversation.

“Not everyone is born as fortunate as you. Some are born into poverty, some never know the faces of their parents, and some must live with bodies that are incomplete. And there are even those who are trapped in all three of those miseries at once,” she whispered softly.

As for such things, I already knew. Who do you think I once lived as? Hyperbolically, perhaps I belonged to every condition she mentioned. Euphemistically, what she was giving me was a glimpse of how I had been born in my previous life.

“If her words ever wounded your heart, forgive her, Lucian. Perhaps it’s my fault as well, for never telling you sooner...” my mother continued, her voice laced with regret.

Still within her embrace, it was from there that she began to tell me things I had never known before about that girl.

Long ago, she had been nothing more than a little slave. At the age of only four, she was auctioned at the slave market, until my grandfather eventually bought her. From that day forward, she was freed from her chains and even adopted as his foster daughter.

But after my grandfather’s passing, those old wounds began to haunt her once more...

Etched upon the side of her neck lay a scar—a brand, burned into her flesh with searing iron in those days of bondage. That mark was proof that she had once been a slave.

And it would never fade. Even as the years grew old, that scar would remain, an eternal reminder of her bitter past.

Because of that brand, coupled with the difference in her skin color, she became an easy target for ridicule, discrimination, and even racism from nobles and knights alike. It was this that drove her to eventually choose the life of a scullery maid within this palace.

Yet all that cruelty had never stemmed from this kingdom itself. My father—King Cassian Ardanart—had sworn upon my grandfather’s will to treat her fairly. He had even forbidden all forms of oppression and racism among his people. But no law, no matter how just, could ever silence the whispers of humans.

Rumors still seeped into the ears of society. Even within the palace walls, maids spread their bitter gossip, whispering that they could not bear to wear the same uniform as hers. In the end, she was once again forced to don clothes that set her apart.

All her life, that girl lived in solitude. She dwelled in a palace that appeared magnificent to all others, yet to her, it was nothing but a gilded cage. She remained a stain in their eyes, an unclean thing unworthy of standing as an equal—cast out from the social pyramid, shunned even by those at its lowest rungs.

...

“So it is your duty, Lucian. As someone born with countless blessings—it is your responsibility to make sure someone like her can live with a little more dignity.”

“But—” My words faltered, cut off by her before I could finish.

“Perhaps she said those things not because she despises you, but because you approached her the wrong way. Try to change your perspective, Lucian. Place yourself as if you and she were standing on the same ground, sharing the same status.”

At once, I lifted my face. My mother, with her eyes closed, pressed her forehead against mine, whispering so softly—so close that I could feel her breath upon my skin:

“I believe, Lucian is wise. And the wise… always find the best path for themselves—even when the world seems to leave no choice.”

The moment those words left her lips, my eyes widened. A strange feeling welled up inside me, for the words sounded achingly familiar. As if I had heard them before, somewhere, sometime—yet my memory was too clouded to grasp the whole picture. Still, the phrase struck a chord deep within me, awakening something I had not realized until now.

“But Mother… please don’t punish her. This was my fault,” I murmured, lowering my gaze.

“Punish her? What kind of cruel mother do you take me for? If anyone deserves punishment, it’s you. Such a handsome boy, yet you can’t even introduce yourself to a girl,” she teased, pinching my cheek and stretching it with a playful laugh.

I fell silent, yet her playful words made me realize all the more. My life now was vastly different, and I had to learn to adapt to these new perspectives. With this body, with this status—even without intending to, even without doing anything at all—I could so easily wound another’s heart.

And so, I began to wonder… in my past life, did those I once ignored feel this same pain? If so, I truly wished I could apologize.

But now I understood—the disappointment that had shackled me, that drove me to tears, was not solely because of that girl’s words or her rejection. In truth, I wept because of the exclusion itself—because being rejected by her felt no different from being rejected by myself.