* * *

“Ha…”

I sighed deeply.

How many times had I sighed already?

At this rate, I might cause a sinkhole.

And if the ground caved in, I’d fall to the bottom. Ha.

How could it be the Fourth Prince, of all people?

Even in this baffling world, the number four carried an undeniable sense of doom.

If anything, dying at his hands had only deepened that aversion.

Who was the Fourth Prince?

He rarely left his palace, hardly made public appearances, and had little to his name other than a series of scandals.

The kind of trouble he caused wasn’t the stuff that made anyone think, ‘Ah, perhaps he’s a hidden genius.’

His mother came from an unremarkable lineage, and he had no notable achievements.

Even the Emperor despised him, blaming him for the troubles he caused.

The throne was as far from him as the moon was from Earth.

On top of that, his reclusiveness fueled all kinds of rumors: that he had a hidden disability (though his outward appearance contradicted this), that he secretly harbored madness (if it’s a secret, how is it already a rumor?), or that he was scandalously promiscuous (which I had no desire to confirm).

But I didn’t care about the rumors.

Whether he was a troublemaker or a hermit, he mattered to me about as much as Marly’s younger siblings did.

Who could have predicted that someone so irrelevant would one day show up with the “real Yuri” and cut me down?

Not literally with a blade, but close enough.

Remembering that moment made my body tremble.

Still, I had to admit I was grateful to whoever—or whatever—allowed me to regress.

My former life—yes, calling it a “former life” felt more fitting than “first round.”

Calling it that made a “third” or “fourth round” seem too likely, and I didn’t want to jinx myself.

It was true that I had lived carelessly back then.

But I had never committed any crimes worthy of death.

I hadn’t massacred villages or extorted taxes from the people.

If I was guilty of anything, it was failing to realize that I was the fake and the villain.

But that was something I could only know by reading the entirety of this boring story.

In other words, my only crime was not finishing the book.

Is quitting a fantasy novel really a crime punishable by death?

Honestly, it was disgustingly boring.

This isn’t just my opinion—it’s an objective fact.

The view counts and comments on the serial release page were practically non-existent.

It wasn’t just me who stopped reading it, okay?

The more I think about it, the more ridiculous it seems.

Anyway, after regressing, this status window appeared. It’s… functional, to put it nicely.

If I were being blunt, I’d call it pathetic.

It only displays three things: health, mana, and the current mission.

My mana is marked as 999+, which I assume means nearly infinite.

Compared to that, my health is 12.

Surely the max stat isn’t 999 here, too?

If 999 is the cap, then I’m practically a houseplant.

No wonder I always felt exhausted and lethargic no matter what I did.

If my health was just 12, then it all makes sense.

As for the mission… “Meet the Fourth Prince and befriend him.”

So if I follow this route, I assume the outcome won’t mirror my previous life, right?

It’s not like the status window is saying, “Die again after understanding your situation better this time! ♥” Surely, it doesn’t exist just to torture me again before killing me.

No, no, that can’t be it.

I might be naive, but why would this world go out of its way to mess with me like that?

Dragging me here with a metaphorical truck, no less.

It doesn’t make sense.

I stared at the faintly chipped edge of the gauge displayed in the status window.

‘So, if I act differently from my past life, this gauge decreases, huh?’

When I treated the servants naturally, as I had for the past six years, the gauge slightly decreased.

The unevenly colored edges, where it had chipped away, were irritating to look at.

I glanced at the clock. I

t was about time for the steward to bring in breakfast.

I needed to test how the gauge reacted to changes in behavior, particularly how much it dropped.

“……”

Still in my pajamas, I sat quietly on the bed, staring at the door.

In my past life, I hadn’t even thought about changing out of my clothes on the first day. L

ater, out of laziness, I spent most of my time lounging around in loungewear with an outer robe draped over me.

After enduring 20 minutes of painfully slow time, the sound of knocking finally came.

I feigned surprise. Just like in my previous life.

Was it too obvious?

I glanced at the status window.

The gauge stayed the same… then, barely noticeable, it went up.

By a single pixel!

Acting identically on purpose causes it to increase?

This might be easier than I thought.

“Tower Master, it’s Cloden. I’ve brought your breakfast.”

Cloden, my steward.

I waited a moment longer, staying still until he opened the door himself.

The aroma of this world’s breakfast foods wafted in, tantalizingly familiar.

The food here was delicious—exotic, yet comforting, as if I’d grown up eating it.

Occasionally, I got confused about what to spread or dip where, but observing others helped me figure it out quickly.

Cloden and the servants set down the plates one by one, each trimmed with gold.

I waited until the small bowl of water for washing my hands was placed before slowly starting to eat.

I dropped a coin-sized piece of bread and some cheese into a tomato soup made with cabbage and chicken, then raised a spoonful to my lips.

Clang! Jangle! Crash!
A sound straight out of a game, like when a weapon shatters, echoed.

Simultaneously, the gauge plummeted.

Stunned, I froze mid-bite, spoon still in hand, wearing a dumbfounded expression.

“……”

“Is something the matter?”

Cloden tilted his head, puzzled, then began inspecting the table to see if anything was amiss.

Of course, the problem wasn’t with the table but with me, so he didn’t find anything unusual.

“What is the criteria for this?!”

At this rate, I need some kind of transparent probability disclosure.

No, wait—this isn’t about probability, is it? Either way, something needs to be clarified.

I desperately wanted to lodge a complaint, but unfortunately, this system didn’t have a customer service menu.

Ignoring it was impossible—too much had been deducted.

I stared blankly at the gauge, now reduced by nearly 20%, and came to a resolution.

‘I have no choice.’

From now on, I’d just have to replicate my actions from six years ago.

I closed my eyes tightly.

Cloden’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Of course, they did. I dipped my fingers into the hand-washing bowl, then ate a spoonful of the salty sauce meant to be mixed with bean paste.

Next, I chugged the lukewarm tea, which was supposed to be sipped slowly at the end of the meal, while it was still scalding hot.

“T-Tower Master…?”

Cloden stammered, his voice laced with concern.

Ignoring him, I scooped three pieces of bread with my spoon and shoved them into my mouth all at once.

It felt like crawling on all fours after walking upright my whole life.

Cloden, the poor steward, stood there in shock, utterly appalled.

Suppressing the urge to meet his wavering gaze behind his glasses, I endured the undignified meal.

Thankfully, by the time I was done, the gauge had nearly recovered.

“I will bring dessert now.”

By then, Cloden had composed himself, masking his bewilderment as he spoke in his usual tone.

I shook my head quietly.

Even though the post-meal desserts were delicious enough to tempt even me, who didn’t like sweets, I had rejected them in my past life.

So I had to do the same now.

* * *