EPISODE 6

Fort Nexus — three days after the war in Centraxis had ended — Chanel could be found standing in a special underground laboratory. Doctors and researchers surrounded her petite figure in a vast, sterile room. It appeared that they were conducting her routine periodic examination. Using an array of advanced instruments, several doctors instructed the princess to stretch out her arms for body measurements, open her mouth for inspection, and submit to various other thorough checks.

In one corner of the room, a group of research and development members huddled together, whispering among themselves while occasionally stealing glances at Chanel from afar. Noticing their stares, Chanel flashed an unusual smile and waved at them. The reaction was immediate — some were startled, others delighted, as if lifelong fans had suddenly been acknowledged by their idol. A few were so shocked they couldn’t even speak.

Once the examination concluded, Chanel was escorted to the thirty-fifth floor of the X Tower, where the main conference room for the R&D executive committee was located. Inside, she sat on a cold metal chair placed in the center of the room, facing a long oval table. Three people were seated along the sides — two to her right and one to her left — leaving one seat conspicuously empty beside her.

The three other people in the room were Redo, the head of the senior research division—more commonly known as the Oracle group; seated beside him was a young man with orange hair and glasses, Mono, the leader of the junior research division, better known as Proxima; and across from Mono sat Auto—around the same age as him, in his mid-thirties, with neatly combed black hair and glasses—head of the junior development division, whose team was known as Apex.

The small, soundproof, metal-adorned room was filled with an uneasy silence. The three men exchanged awkward glances while Chanel quietly waited for one of them to speak.

Redo cleared his throat before finally breaking the silence.

Redo: “Umm… It’s been three days since the war in Centraxis ended. Yesterday, Her Highness finally regained consciousness. We’re all deeply grateful for that, but…”

He shifted his chair slightly closer to Chanel, his eyes fixed on her with visible concern.

Redo: “Are you feeling any better now, Your Highness?”

The moment Redo asked that, both Mono and Auto turned their gazes toward Chanel, who remained silent. The question stirred something in her mind—pulling her thoughts back to the moment she had first awakened yesterday, after two long days of unconsciousness.

In a room completely bathed in white, her body lay inside a large cylindrical chamber—its lid, made of some translucent composite material, stood open. Several advanced monitoring devices were connected to her body through cables that ran from her head to the tips of her feet, tracking her temperature and vital organs.

As her eyelids fluttered open slightly, she could faintly feel someone touching her abdomen, carefully adjusting the cables to ensure they were properly secured. Still half-conscious, Chanel’s thoughts echoed hazily in her mind.

Chanel (thinking): “What is he doing…? Touching my stomach like that… Hm? And what are all these strange devices attached to me?”

She tried to move her hands, to shift her body—but nothing responded.

Chanel (thinking): “Eh? What is this? Why… why can’t I move?”

At that exact moment, the person checking the cables—apparently a doctor—froze in shock when he noticed her eyes were open.

Doctor: “At last! The Princess has awakened!”

The doctor’s excited shout echoed through the sterile chamber. In an instant, everyone who had been busy monitoring Chanel’s condition on the large screens or engaged in hushed discussions rushed toward the cylindrical pod where she lay.

Now surrounded by a crowd of researchers, developers, and doctors—all staring at her with palpable enthusiasm—Chanel simply blinked, her gaze drifting around the unfamiliar room. Most of them were senior Betagirs; it was no secret that the population of Fort Nexus largely consisted of Betagirs well past their forties.

Chanel (thinking): “Who are these old people… and why do they all smell like herbal balm?”

Her brows furrowed slightly, and even that small movement drew a collective gasp from the group. She could tell they were whispering to each other, though she couldn’t make out their words.

Then, from among the cluster of white coats, an older man with thinning hair stepped forward and approached her bedside.

Redo: “Your Highness, are you fully conscious? How do you feel now that you’ve awakened?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Chanel’s frown deepened.

Chanel (thinking): “Wait… I know this old man. But where have I seen him before?”

Before she could chase that thought further, her eyes widened slightly as she caught sight of her own body lying beneath the tangle of cables and machinery.

Chanel (thinking): “Hm? Wait… has my body always been this small?” She glanced down at herself, puzzled. “And that bump on my chest… huh?”

Utterly confused, Chanel darted her eyes around the room. The people surrounding her merely stared back, wide-eyed and speechless—everyone except Redo. Spotting the only familiar face among them, she tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat, coming out as little more than a whisper.

Chanel: “Is this… Heaven?”

Redo: “Eh?” He blinked, startled.

Chanel: “Have I… died and been reincarnated?”

Redo: “W–what are you saying, Your Highness? Of course, you’re still alive. You suddenly lost consciousness during the battle in Centraxis. Don’t you remember?”

Chanel: “The battle in Centraxis?” she murmured.

Redo: “Yes.”

Chanel: “You mean that battle in the barren plains?” Her voice, faint but clear now, filled the air.

Redo: “Yes, Your Highness.”

Chanel: —startled by the sound of her own voice—“Was… was that my voice just now?”

Redo: “Yes, Your Highness,” he replied, his tone now tinged with weary exasperation.

Chanel’s memories suddenly surged in a storm of flashes—she remembered herself on the battlefield of Centraxis, leading her troops astride her horse, sword swinging, arrows loosed from afar. Then, without warning, time itself had seemed to stop… and she heard a woman’s voice speaking to her from somewhere beyond.

A rush of unease jolted through her body. Instinctively, she sat up, her eyes flying wide open as they caught her own reflection in a transparent glass partition nearby. One trembling hand lifted, pointing toward the reflection—a small body, short purple hair, and unfamiliar, delicate features.

Chanel: “Is that… me?”

Redo followed her gaze, his voice low and hesitant. “Yes, Your Highness.”

For a moment, Chanel froze, speechless. Then suddenly—

Chanel: “AHAHAHAHAHA!!”

Her laughter rang out, sharp and echoing against the sterile walls. Redo and everyone else in the room were stunned. Never—not once—had anyone seen the princess laugh, or even show much of an expression.

Chanel wagged her index finger, as if to say the whole situation was nothing but a joke. But when she noticed the uneasy stares around her, she drew in a long, deep breath… then exhaled slowly.

A moment later, her body slumped backward onto the bed—unconscious once again.

Redo and the Betagirs: “YOUR HIGHNESS!”

Chanel—or rather, the true mind now inhabiting her body, Benzo Jacques Grenulos, the leader of the Commador—had fainted for the second time, overwhelmed by the avalanche of reality crashing down upon him.

Back in the present, inside the conference room, Redo’s voice broke through Chanel’s spiraling memories, steering the conversation back on track.

Redo: “So… essentially, the reason for this meeting is that we’d like to understand what exactly happened to Your Highness during the battle in Centraxis three days ago. Because ever since you awoke… it seems you’ve been acting a little different.” His tone was cautious, almost hesitant.

Chanel: “Different? Different how?” she asked, her expression shifting visibly.

Redo: “Exactly that, Your Highness!” he exclaimed, pointing toward her face.
“You never show expressions like that. You once said emotions were tiring—and useless.”

Chanel (thinking): “Ugh, troublesome. Do I have to act like a stone just to make these people believe me?”

With a forced look of seriousness, Chanel attempted to spin her metal chair around to face away from them—using her legs for leverage.

The chair didn’t budge.

Chanel: “Eh? How do I—”

Redo: “Ah, you wish to turn your chair around? Allow me to assist you, Your Highness.”

Redo stepped forward and placed a hand on one of the chair’s armrests, pressing a small button marked with a circular arrow symbol. At once, the chair whirred softly and rotated on its own.

Chanel: “Ooh…” she murmured in faint amazement, raising her eyebrows as she watched the chair spin beneath her.

Redo, Mono, and Auto exchanged puzzled glances before turning their attention back to her. Chanel exhaled sharply—a long, deliberate sigh that filled the quiet room.

Chanel: “All my life since birth, I’ve never known how to smile… or to be angry, or even sad. And now that I wish to change—now that I want to show how I truly feel… does that mean I can no longer earn your trust?”

Just as she was finishing her sentence, Chanel proudly pressed the rotation button on the chair’s armrest, turning it back around to face them again—this time with a pair of carefully crafted tears glistening in her eyes.

Benzo—formerly the shrewd leader of Westgaard, where authority was earned through skill rather than birthright and politics were ruled by three great parties—was a master of performance. Or, more accurately… of deception.

The sight of the little princess crying—for the very first time in front of them—left all three men utterly stunned. Their expressions quickly shifted from shock to panic.

Redo: “O-oh! Your Highness! We didn’t mean it like that!” he said awkwardly, raising his hands in flustered apology.

Mono: “You’ve changed? That’s perfectly fine, Your Highness! Our love and devotion to you will never change!” he added earnestly—though his hand discreetly lifted his phone, snapping a photo of Chanel like an overzealous fan.

Auto: “H-here, Your Highness!” he stammered, tapping the interface on his wristwatch.

A small robot dog named Focus—one of Auto’s inventions—sprang to life. Its metallic body gleamed under the sterile lights, four legs equipped with tiny wheels that sent it speeding across the floor. It stopped beside Chanel and extended a box of tissues toward her with mechanical precision, made her startled.

Chanel: “Fuc—!”

Benzo barely managed to stop himself mid-curse, realizing he had nearly broken character. Catching the puzzled looks from Redo, Mono, and Auto, he quickly recomposed himself, pretending nothing had happened, and resumed his tearful performance with renewed vigor.

Chanel: “Huhuu… huhuu…” she whimpered softly, plucking a tissue from Focus’s metallic paw and dabbing at the fake tears on her cheeks.

Redo: “Y-Your Highness, please don’t cry. It’s all right—seeing you work so hard to express yourself like this, we’re… we’re truly moved!” His voice trembled with emotion. “Isn’t that right, Mono? Auto?”

Mono raised a trembling thumbs-up, tears welling in his eyes while he casually snapped another photo of Chanel with his phone. Auto, on the other hand, maintained his stoic composure—his gaze lowered, head bowing slightly in silent agreement. Even Focus mimicked them, nodding its little mechanical head in rhythm.

Chanel: “Really?” she asked, her crocodile tears still glistening under the lights.

Redo: “Of course, Your Highness. Please forgive us for offending your feelings.” He bowed his head deeply.

Mono, Auto, and even Focus followed suit, lowering their heads in apology.

Watching the synchronized display of remorse, Chanel’s lips curled into a satisfied smile.

Chanel: “Very well. Then the meeting’s over, isn’t it? In that case, I’ll take my leave.” She stood gracefully, tossing the used tissue aside without a second thought.

Redo: “B-but, Your Highness! The meeting isn’t—”

Redo moved to stop Chanel as she strode calmly toward the exit, but before he could say a word, she halted on her own—right in front of the door. Her eyes narrowed at it as if facing a formidable enemy.

Chanel (thinking): “Damn it… where’s the handle?” Her gaze sharpened. “When I left that little gremlin room earlier, the door opened on its own when I stood in front of it. But this one… seems different.”

Redo: “Is something wrong, Your Highness?”

Chanel (thinking): “It would look ridiculous if I asked this old man how to open a door, wouldn’t it?” she muttered inwardly, lips pressed tight.

As her thoughts churned, the metallic door suddenly slid open with a soft hiss—almost as if by magic. Standing there was a tall man with neatly kept black hair, dressed in the same white lab coat as Redo, Mono, and Auto. It was Undo, head of the senior development division—known as Binary. Unlike Redo, despite being in his fifties, Undo still carried a strikingly youthful air.

Undo: “Your Highness? What’s going on here? Why are you standing in front of the door?”

Chanel turned to him with the purest angelic gaze, as though she had just been rescued by divine grace. Without hesitation, she reached out and clasped Undo’s hand tightly.

Chanel: “Thank you, sir.” She spoke softly as she tugged lightly at Undo’s hand, still holding it.

Undo’s eyes widened in surprise—the princess was gripping his hand tightly, and that smile… that smile—he had never seen it before. He glanced at his colleagues for some kind of explanation, but Redo and Mono only looked back with somber eyes, their gazes fixed on the intertwined hands between Chanel and Undo. A hint of envy flickered across their faces. Auto, meanwhile, remained seated, shaking his head in quiet disbelief.

Chanel: “Well then, I’ll be going now, old men.”

She released Undo’s hand and started toward the door, but Undo quickly spoke up.

Undo: “Wait, Your Highness—where are you going? We still have matters to discuss in today’s meeting. Are you... feeling all right?”

Undo’s eyes followed her slender figure as she turned away. From behind, her posture looked tense—irritated, even. But when Chanel finally spun back around, her face broke into a wide, radiant smile.

For the second time, Undo was caught completely off guard.

Chanel: “I’m perfectly fine.”

Chanel replied in a flat tone, though her face maintained a polite smile. The sound of a camera shutter clicked through the air—Mono had just taken another photo. Redo leaned slightly to the side, sneaking a glance at the captured image on Mono’s phone, while Undo remained still, quietly studying Chanel before returning her smile.

Undo: “I’m glad to hear that. It’s good to see you fully recovered.”

Chanel’s brow arched slightly, then she smiled again.

Undo: “By the way, Your Highness, have you heard the latest news from the west?”

Chanel’s eyes widened with curiosity just as Undo began to explain what he knew.

Some time later, Benzo—still trapped within Chanel’s body—walked calmly back toward her quarters. But once again, he found himself frozen in confusion in front of a row of elevators.

A fleeting memory flashed in his mind—of being escorted from his room to the underground laboratory for examination. Her room was on the seventy-first floor, the highest level of X Tower, and they had descended using a private elevator.

Benzo recalled, with his usual sharpness, the sequence of buttons pressed and how the machine was operated. Yet now, staring ahead, he realized something he hadn’t noticed before—there were three identical elevators before him.

Chanel (thinking): “Which one am I supposed to take?”

???: “Any of them would work. But the one on the left is the emergency lift—used only by technicians, service staff, and building security. The middle one’s for guests, and the one on the right is reserved for the research and development teams.”

Chanel: “O-oh, I see. Ah—I mean, of course I knew that.”

Her violet eyes darted toward the man who had just offered that surprisingly useful explanation. His dark brown hair was messy, and a white mask covered the lower half of his face. Like the others, he wore a white lab coat.

Chanel (thinking): “Wait… why does that voice sound so familiar?”

???: “But you’re no ordinary person. You’re a Princess—so your lift is separate from the others.”

Chanel stiffened at his words. That was something she, as the princess, should have known perfectly well. Narrowing her eyes, she studied the man beside her, suspicion flickering in her gaze.

???: “Confused? Surprised? Lost for words?”

The man let out a sharp sigh before tugging down his mask just enough for Chanel to see his face.

Benzo: “I never make expressions like that, Ben Jaq Grel.”

Benzo said with a mocking tone, making an abbreviation of his real name. Chanel’s eyes went wide in shock. Before she could shout in response, he—Benzo, or rather the real Chanel—swiftly covered her mouth and dragged her into a private elevator beside the stairwell.

By the time they reached Chanel’s private chamber on the seventy-first floor, Benzo finally released his grip. Chanel gasped for air, her breathing uneven and furious.

Chanel: “Hey! You… you almost killed yourself, you emotionless idiot!”

Benzo: “Ohh? How did you figure out it was me?” he asked in mock amazement—his face completely blank.

Chanel: “Hah! So it really is you inside my body?!”

Benzo: “I take back what I said.”

Fuming, Chanel marched up to him. With her smaller frame, she had to stand on tiptoe just to grab Benzo by the collar.

Chanel: “Damn it—how can you even live in such a short body?” she snapped, glancing down at her legs before glaring furiously up at Benzo. “Oi! There are a lot of things we need to talk about, but first of all—how did you even get in here so easily? Wasn’t I supposed to have an important meeting with the party representatives today?!” Her voice carried a note of exasperated disbelief.

Benzo: “Huh? Oh, you mean those attention-seekers? I canceled it.”

Chanel: “WHAT?!”

Her scream echoed through the room, but Benzo merely winced, pressing a finger against his ear with an indifferent sigh.

Benzo: “Didn’t you hear me? Are you deaf? Should I repeat it for you?”

Chanel opened her mouth to retort but stopped herself, realizing that arguing with Benzo would be completely pointless. And more than that, this was a matter of state affairs. A foe like her couldn’t be allowed to know what he was plotting.

With a growl of frustration, she instead reached up and yanked on Benzo’s now dark brown hair.

Benzo: “Ow.” he muttered flatly, though his face remained perfectly emotionless.

Chanel: “And this? Did you change my appearance without my permission?!”

Benzo: “Why? I just turned green grass into brown dirt. What’s the problem?”

Chanel: “W–what? Dirt?! This is my hair!”

Benzo: “And?”

Chanel clenched her teeth, the veins on her temple twitching as she struggled to contain her fury.

Benzo: “I don’t like green. I even thought about straightening it so it could be tied up—like a horse. Neigh neigh neigh.”

Chanel glared daggers at him, her violet eyes practically blazing.

Benzo: “Relax, it was a joke.” His expression didn’t change in the slightest. “Maybe.”

A low growl escaped Chanel’s throat, but Benzo merely covered his ears lazily as if she were nothing more than background noise.

Benzo: “Do people in your kingdom all enjoy yelling this much?”

Chanel: [exhaling sharply] “Now, about my question earlier—how did you manage to sneak in here so easily?”

Benzo: “I know a shortcut. And for your information, I changed your hair color so I could slip in unnoticed. Because I implemented Regulation No. 113: no citizen of Betagir is allowed to have green hair—or dye it green.”

Chanel: “What do you have against green?!”

Benzo: “The real question is—what’s wrong with you? Do you actually want people to mistake you for walking fodder?”

Chanel was ready to snap back, but as the image formed in her mind, she paused.
As much as she hated to admit it, his comparison wasn’t entirely wrong.

Benzo: “Relax. I’ve completely assumed the identity of a Betagir here. No one will suspect a thing.”

Chanel: “Did you kill him?”

Benzo: “What do you think?” He raised his sleeve, revealing faint, dried traces of blood beneath his white lab coat.

Chanel: “And the rest?”

Benzo: “Cut up and disposed of.”

Chanel: “…Good.”

Benzo: “Heh. Worried they’ll catch you, huh? Making sure every little detail’s covered?” he teased, his tone flat as ever.

Chanel didn’t answer—because he was right.
If the real Chanel, wearing his body, were discovered to have murdered a Betagir within the tower, his chances of escaping suspicion would be nonexistent.

Rather than push the tease further, Benzo continued speaking, his voice steady and detached.

Benzo: “More importantly, you and I need to find the root of this mess. I can’t live as the so-called leader of a nation of simpletons whose only hobby is reproduction without a single thought for the future.”

Chanel: “That blank face and vile mouth of yours—ugh!”

Benzo: “From what I’ve analyzed so far, there’s no logical explanation for this soul exchange. Which means the cause must be spiritual—or magical. That points to the Western dominions. Their rulers must know something.”

At that, Chanel’s eyes widened slightly as a memory surfaced—Undo had mentioned something before. The intelligence division had intercepted a report from the West: the leader of Devilor had personally visited the Silver Palace of Angelir.

Chanel: “You might be right. Earlier, I received word from Dodo that the Devilor leader met directly with Angelir’s sovereign.” [not memorized the real name]

Chanel—currently in Benzo’s body—blinked, his usual flat expression tinged with faint confusion. Dodo? He clearly had no recollection of any subordinate by that name. Chanel, meanwhile, was already piecing things together in her mind.

Chanel: “Before this body swap happened—during the battle at Centraxis—didn’t you hear a woman’s voice speaking to you?”

Benzo: “Yes. She claimed to be the Goddess of Time.”

Chanel: “Then doesn’t that mean all of this is tied to something far beyond the affairs of Devilor and Angelir’s rulers?”

Benzo: “No wonder you’re the weakest. Is that really the limit of your thinking ability?”

Chanel shot him a sharp, irritated glare.

Benzo: “Of course, it could be as you said. But there’s another possibility… that someone with immense magical power deliberately cast a spell like this—an attack meant to strike directly at their enemy’s soul.”

Chanel’s eyes widened as realization dawned.

Benzo: “The leaders of Angelir and Devilor… I’m certain they’re behind all of this.”

Far away, in a realm unseen by mortals, the Goddess of Time herself watched the two bickering souls from above. Her expression was blank for a long moment—then she sighed deeply and smacked her forehead with an audible slap.