As If Awakening From a Dream

Eric liked seeing his older brother’s annoyed expression.

When his brother glanced coldly at him with unwillingness, Eric’s smile would only grow more arrogant.

—Brother, oh brother, see, I’ve grown into someone troublesome even for you, haven’t I?

But that smile only lasted for that brief moment.

When his brother Solor turned away, the smile that always hung on Eric’s face would disappear.

At the very least, he never wanted this result… from being the closest siblings to becoming enemies where only one could survive.

In their final confrontation, Eric walked across the palace’s red carpet.

The crown he had spent his entire life fighting for was placed beneath the portrait of his late mother.

To him, that gem-embedded golden crown was nothing more than a heavy lump of gold that kept him from lifting his head.

It was also a sharp blade that severed the last thread of emotion between him and his brother.

Deep breaths, Eric, deep breaths.

He knew he was going to die, and he had prepared for this day for more than ten years.

He watched the guards on both sides fight fiercely.

He watched the fires blazing across the city in the middle of the night.

He felt as if he were standing on a high platform, outside of everything—yet he was the very center of it all.

He always remembered that night.

He took countless deep breaths, prepared himself, then turned around and smiled at his brother.

“Victory makes the king; defeat makes the captive.”

The two of them each held a sword, pointing at each other’s throat.

And in the end, it was nothing but a prank—an elaborate, childish performance he had set up himself.

Solor’s blade pierced through his chest.

He gave Solor a hug he would remember for the rest of his life.

A hug that would haunt him in nightmares forever.

He lost, and his life as the villain ended.

He staggered back, stepped into empty air, and fell from the shattered platform.

In the last moment of consciousness, he saw Solor’s terrified expression.

That was enough.

He had fought him all his life—at least, to Solor, that was his whole life.

From childhood playmates to sworn enemies parted by life and death, that was his story.

He won the struggle for imperial power, becoming emperor for at least a month.

He lost the final battle, becoming a wandering soul who fell from the high platform.

But in the very end, when he realized that every time Solor stepped out of the palace gates he would see the bloodstain where Eric had fallen, he felt… win or lose, the result was never truly clear.

…

…

In the instant before death, people often begin to recall everything.

Whether recent or long past, memories flip like the pages of a heavy book.

Some say it’s because you’re dying, so the brain searches through the deepest memories for a way to save you.

As if the brain’s survival instinct is the one that loves you the most—the only one desperately trying to keep you alive.

But most people prefer to call it “life’s revolving lantern.”

It sounds somewhat romantic, doesn’t it?

At the final moment of life, everything bursts like brilliant fireworks.

Just like a head shattering on the ground with a “bang,” all of one’s efforts and emotions come to an end.

When the script named Eric turned to its final page, the protagonist of this tragedy reached out his hand.

Perhaps, even after preparing for over ten years, in the very last second, he still wanted to live.

…See, I knew it.

At the last moment, we all show that expression to match the drama of our own death.

Just like the old saying: if we knew things would come to this, why did we make those choices back then…

If there really were another chance—

Bang.

Like the first firework of a festival celebration, Eric’s fall was the first firework celebrating Solor’s ascension.

His body hit the ground, spilling crimson.

The next second, a surge of consciousness ran through his mind.

Eric jolted awake from what felt like a nightmare, gasping sharply and opening his eyes.

Breathing. Heartbeat.

Everything seemed intact, though his heart raced far faster than a normal person’s.

“…Ha… huh…?”

Inhale, exhale—proof of being alive.

After all, he truly experienced that death.

He really fell from above.

Maybe because the death came so quickly, he still felt the immense pain from his shattered organs—pain that lingered even now.

But… how strange.

He was sitting upright in a bed.

…

…?

His own bed?

Eric’s first reaction was confusion.

The room looked impossibly soft and pink—nothing like his taste.

What color did he value most?

Gold—the color of royal glory.

And red—the color of pure blood.

Those red eyes… he might never forget them in his lifetime.

“Are you alright?”

While he was lost in thought, the door opened with a click.

Golden short hair, crimson eyes—the figure exactly as he remembered.

“…Brother…?”

Although this Solor looked much younger than the one he last remembered, what bothered him more… was his own voice.

That high, delicate voice… was that really his?

“If you don’t feel well, lie down for a while, Ellie. Rest.”

…Who?

Ellie?

Who was that?

The man before him was indeed his brother Solor.

He looked younger, but Eric was certain of who he was seeing.

“What’s wrong, Ellie? Did the fall rattle your brain? Don’t scare me…”

“…?”

Eric really was rattled.

But as a child of the royal family, he had to remain calm even in crisis.

Within those few seconds of Solor’s stunned silence, Eric quickly analyzed the situation.

And for clarity, he even touched his own body—confirming that he had become female.

…Female…?

No—set that aside.

I really did die.

Different furnishings, a strangely younger brother…

As unbelievable as it seemed, his current “self” was no longer the “Eric” he once was.

Was this the moment before death? A dream created by a brain fearing death?

He didn’t know.

But one thing was clear: if he couldn’t escape this dream anytime soon, he had to adapt.

He was no longer Eric, but “Ellie.”

The time was before his death—no, far earlier.

Solor looked about twenty now, while at Eric’s death, Solor had been around twenty-seven.

So this was… time travel?

It seemed so.

Not only had he traveled back several years, he had even become a woman.

But Eric knew he was still of royal blood.

He was still not free.

Still a pawn trapped beneath power.

He had spent his entire life trying to become the player instead of the piece.

And now… was he being made to live it again?

Forget it—reflect later.

What he needed now was to confirm his identity.

And… from Solor’s words, it seemed he had fallen?

Eric lowered his head and examined his body.

His tall frame was now small and delicate like a woman’s.

That was surprising enough, but what he noticed more were the bandages covering him.

No wonder the pain was so intense.

He thought it was the lingering sensation of death, but this body had also taken a serious fall.

Eric ended with a fall; Ellie began with one.

It fit strangely well.

“Ellie, take a deep breath. Look—can you tell me what number this is?”

Seeing his sister unresponsive, Solor looked anxious.

He raised three fingers.

“It’s three, Brother. I’m fine.”

The worry on Solor’s face looked unfamiliar.

It had been so long since Eric had seen this expression on him.

So long that Ellie couldn’t tell whether this was genuine concern.

After all, his brother… Crown Prince Solor Cleia… was someone even more ruthless than himself.

Of course he was.

As crown prince and future emperor, he had to be.

Eric had always acknowledged that part of him.

“What? Are you… angry at me?”

Eric’s calm answer made Solor tense up.

“Of course not, Brother. Why would I be angry at you?”

—As long as you’re not angry at me, brother.

Eric said with a gentle smile.

He thought his smile was soft, but to Solor, his sister seemed strange.

At the very least… she had never addressed him as “Brother” so formally.

“I—ah! Wait! Don’t pull the bandages—! Oh heavens!”

As Solor struggled to respond to the awkwardness, Eric, wanting to test his brother’s sincerity, tugged at his bandages.

Solor panicked, jumped up, and grabbed her hand.

“Even if it hurts, you can’t do it so forcefully! Ah—alright, I’ll get a doctor to loosen them. Just wait. Don’t move, please. Just wait.”

His frantic gaze met only the calm pink eyes of Ellie—once Eric.

Not knowing what was wrong, Solor could only plead with her before running into the hallway calling for a doctor, turning back anxiously between shouts.

“…”

Eric simply sat quietly.

Bandages and recovery were nothing new to him.

He could have rewound the bandages perfectly by himself.

But he just watched his brother panic.

For some reason—it made him happy.

And made him want to laugh.

Hah.

How refreshing.