"Melek?"
I am a displaced person. There wasn't a shred of my own will in being drawn into this novel, into someone else's body, and I still don't understand why it happened or what rules govern it. Besides, I don't know the original story and am essentially stumbling through on pure conjecture—so resurrecting Ryder the same way I was brought back is simply impossible.
But by pure chance, a different kind of inhabitant happened to be standing beside me. Melek was a ghost, and therefore could possess an empty body—*if* it was truly empty.
Melek was immediately summoned by Jelly. All that remained was convincing him.
"Did you call, my lady?"
"Melek, do you see that child? Can you possess his body?"
"What?" His face crumpled with genuine alarm. "But... I—I can't do that."
He looked so thoroughly flustered, as if he'd been dropped into someone else's story mid-page. And yet, it was still astonishing: his eyes were covered by a black bandage, but his expression remained completely visible, down to the slightest tremor of uncertainty.
*Wait... he said he didn't understand how he'd "possessed" himself?* I didn't really know the mechanics either. But if he was a ghost, shouldn't he instinctively understand how to enter a human body?
And it seemed that wasn't the only problem.
"How can you ask me to do such a thing to someone? He's a *child*." Melek's voice dropped with something close to horror. "Using someone else's body without permission... It seems too great a sin."
*Well, yes.* This was the same man who couldn't eat animals and couldn't bring himself to kill a mouse. Naturally, he would value human life even more highly, treat it even more carefully. He seemed to regard his current existence as if he'd merely clung to his body like a borrowed shell—not occupied it by right.
Although... wasn't this a veiled accusation directed at me as well? I was doing exactly the same thing. Yes, it wasn't of my own free will, but the fact didn't simply vanish.
Madame Toten stared at me as though clinging to her last straw. I understood perfectly what Melek feared. He didn't want to feel like he was exploiting someone's flesh without permission, thereby insulting the dead. So I simply needed to convey that this wasn't the point at all.
"Melek. This child's mother *wants* this. If things remain as they are, Ryder will die branded as cursed, and people will whisper that he deserved his fate. No one will mourn him—they'll say it serves him right. But if you help, Madame Toten will be able to hold onto the marquisate, and Ryder's name won't be buried in the mud."
As the words left my lips, a realization struck me: how reminiscent this was of dirty blackmail, almost hypnotic manipulation. It had been a long time since I'd delved so deeply into Evangeline's character, and in trying to sound like a true "villain," I'd apparently crossed a line—plunged in too abruptly. But on Melek, it worked with unexpected, almost frightening effectiveness.
"This is... true?"
"Look at that man." I gestured toward Diaz. "He's absolutely *furious* that he couldn't kill his nephew—even though they're blood relatives."
While Melek and I whispered, Diaz was still desperately trying to breach the door. He looked like a man who wasn't merely unwilling to mourn Ryder's death, but rather *dreamed* of flaunting it—and while the heir to the marquisate lay cold, he intended to seize the title for himself.
"Bad man."
Melek spat this out with genuine anger. He seemed to be heating up, practically ready to leap into Ryder's body—but suddenly, as if remembering something important, he hesitated again.
"My lady... how should I portray a child?"
"You don't have to pretend. Lady Toten knows the truth, and Ryder himself was mature beyond his years. You don't need to be perfect. You only need one thing: for Madame Toten to have someone who can accept the title and hold the marquisate."
Melek seemed to have finally gathered his courage. His outline began to blur, losing clarity, and I realized he was entering his ghostly state. To me, he appeared as nothing more than billowing black smoke. Perhaps the reason was simple: I lacked either the spiritual vision or the affinity with spirits that would allow me to discern the true form of ghosts. It was disappointing, certainly—but I didn't envy those who possessed such sight in the least.
*Frankly, I was glad I didn't have it.*
The black smoke swayed slowly, then stretched forward and was absorbed into the child's body.
Melek had successfully possessed Ryder.
---
"The young master *moved*!"
Hena shouted this so sharply that it immediately seized everyone's attention. Almost instantly after her words, Ryder's body jerked—once, then again—writhing as if returning to life. Diaz, witnessing this, was visibly taken aback.
"What is this? Why is he *alive*?"
He demanded an answer, genuinely bewildered. It seemed this man had also known Ryder was dead—that was precisely why he'd been pushing so persistently.
*See what a terrible person you are? Why shouldn't the boy be alive?*
Soon, Melek opened his eyes. He looked disoriented, as if uncertain of where he was, and slowly glanced around the room.
"Mom... Mom..."
The word emerged awkward and hesitant—probably because Melek had grown up in an orphanage, and the very act of addressing someone as "mother" was foreign to him.
"Madame Toten, go to him."
Madame Toten stood frozen, petrified, staring at her son who had just returned to life. I gently touched her shoulder, letting her know that now was not the time to lose composure—she needed to take control of the situation.
"Weather, open the door, please."
"Y-yes! Right away!"
The maid, still cradling Ryder, was clearly confused—but she obeyed, walking to the door and pulling it open. From her perspective, it must have seemed like a genuine miracle: a dead child had suddenly come back to life. If Madame Toten had trusted her with her son, then she was a reliable servant. Everything would be explained to her privately later.
The door—half-destroyed by the axe—creaked open on splintered hinges. Melek slipped from the maid's arms and found himself embraced by Madame Toten, who finally returned to her senses and clutched him tightly to her chest.
"Did you sleep well...?"
Her voice trembled, thick with moisture. Even though she knew rationally that this was no longer her true son, the mere sight of Ryder alive—breathing, moving—filled her heart with such profound sorrow that she could no longer contain it.
"I haven't slept so soundly in a long time... but I was woken up by some strange noise."
The petulant, slightly drowsy tone was exactly what a child his age should sound like. Melek had claimed he couldn't pretend, but in reality, it sounded like flawless acting. Hadn't he done a better job than me? Judging by the faces around him, no one even doubted that the soul within the body had changed.
*Oh, yes. Except for one madman waving an axe.*
"You're lying!" Diaz exploded with rage. "He was just *dead*!"
He twitched in place, eyes darting around as if searching for a weapon. I'd already ordered Jelly to remove the axe after it had rolled to Madame Toten's feet—since the incident with Donau, I'd finally learned to be more careful.
"What tricks did you use?" Spittle flew from his mouth with every word, his eye twitching nervously. "Daughter-in-law, have you actually resorted to villainous acts?"
Unable to locate his axe, Diaz shouted this accusation into the stunned silence.
To be honest, the ghost's presence *was* genuinely ominous. Madame Toten, either choking on tears or simply unable to speak, couldn't defend herself. I was forced to step forward. Once I'd decided to intervene, retreat was no longer an option.
"Why are you so certain of this?"
Diaz, who hadn't taken his eyes off Melek until then, fell silent for a moment and finally looked at me. Was he frightened? Apparently, Evangeline's notoriety occasionally proved useful—even when dealing with such street-hardened brawlers. It was moments like these that made one appreciate the advantages of possessing a villain.
"Who the hell are *you*?" He recovered quickly. "This is a family matter! Outsiders shouldn't interfere!"
"I'm not an outsider." I let my smile sharpen. "Madame Toten is my chaperone."
I gave him not the polished, practiced smile one employed in society, but a genuine villain's smile—the kind I hadn't used in quite some time. It had a particular effect. It had once captivated Donau, driven our household servants to swoon, and even made Gabriel—who was madly devoted to me—freeze in his tracks.
"You didn't check whether his heart had stopped. You didn't examine him up close. So what exactly was the basis for your certainty that Heir Toten was dead?"
Diaz hesitated.
"Really..."
"And I thought he was merely sleeping."
I deliberately framed my reasoning to sound logical and plausible, and that was enough. Several servants in the crowd immediately nodded in agreement.
"Only two people could have determined the heir's death with certainty. The maid who held him in her arms and was closest to him." I paused for effect. "And the man who desperately awaited his death—and ultimately attempted to cause it."
I tilted my head, as if trying to remember.
"What was that maid's name? I believe Madame Toten mentioned it."
"Weather, I think?"
"Yes, my lady."
I turned to face her directly.
"Was Heir Toten truly dead? Did his heart actually stop and then restart? Or perhaps there's a puppeteer here, capable of tying strings to a corpse and manipulating it?" My gaze held hers steadily. "You were holding the heir in your arms the entire time. You should be able to answer."
"No." Weather's response came immediately, without hesitation. "The young master simply fell asleep from exhaustion."
I hadn't given her any direct instructions—but since Madame Toten had entrusted her with her son, she was truly a reliable servant and had caught the hint instantly. In my mind, she now stood alongside Kanna, Hena, and Daisy.
I turned my attention back to Diaz, smoothly redirecting the attack.
"Mr. Diaz. Why were *you* so certain that the heir of Toten was dead?"
I was already calculating how, if this went well, I could accuse Diaz of conspiracy and strip him of his inheritance rights—when the butler suddenly intervened.
"It was me."
"Butler!"
"I'm not claiming I had any hand in Master Ryder's death." The old man's voice remained perfectly measured. "I merely mentioned that Master Ryder's health had recently deteriorated sharply, and that he might require assistance. I believe the young master simply misunderstood my words."
"Y-yes, exactly!" Diaz seized the lifeline eagerly. "The butler said so, and I believed him!"
*So he takes all the blame, shielding Diaz.*
Formally, the accusation remained—but its sting had noticeably dulled, reduced to a simple misunderstanding. I had suspected this before, but now I was completely certain: this old man was a true master of rhetoric. It was precisely because of his kindly face and impeccably polite manners that I had once fallen into his trap.
"How *impudent*!"
While I was considering the best response, a sharp voice rang out—condemning the butler without a trace of hesitation. It belonged to Madame Toten. Her tone carried an authoritative rebuke so unexpected that it was hard to believe it came from someone always distinguished by courtesy and impeccable dignity.
"You—a mere hired servant—dared to predict the death of a minor marquis? What's more, you *spread* these rumors!" Her eyes blazed. "This is truly disappointing. Butler, why did you allow yourself such impudence?"
"For the sake of the Marquisate of Toten."
"It seems you've forgotten to whom exactly you owe your loyalty." Her voice cut like ice. "You were supposed to serve not the Marquisate, but *me* and *my son*!"
The Marquise, clutching Melek's hand tightly, rose to her full height. Though her appearance was far from her usual perfection, she looked more majestic than anyone present.
The people of this house could see clearly. Before them stood the *true* mistress.
"Lock the butler in the basement. Have three people watch him. I'll assign the butler's position to whoever demonstrates the most diligence."
Those who had been watching hesitantly until then instantly perked up at the word "butler" and began volunteering. Without further deliberation, Madame Toten pointed to three individuals and ordered the butler escorted away. The selection seemed random, but I was certain some calculation lay behind it.
"Lock the nanny and Diaz in their rooms for now. They are the people who could have harmed Ryder. Anyone who assists them before I return will be considered an accomplice."
The nanny, grasping her situation, allowed herself to be led away without resistance. Diaz, however, struggled furiously—screaming and ranting until he was forcibly removed.
"Hands *off*! Do you think I'm some servant like you? You dare lock *me* up?"
It took four grown men rushing him simultaneously before Diaz was finally overpowered and dragged away.
---
Having dealt with the others, Madame Toten turned her gaze at last to the maid.
"Weather. You've done well. I promised you a reward. Tell me what you wish for."
"I..." Weather's eyes widened. "Can I really say what I want?"
She seemed genuinely surprised that Madame Toten intended to keep her word. Her eyes lit up, and her curly hair—as if responding to her sudden excitement—became even more disheveled.
*What's so surprising? Is Madame Toten usually stingy? Then this is an opportunity that can't be missed!* I wanted to tell her: *She risked herself for you—there's no point in being modest! Ask for more!*
Weather clutched the frayed edge of her apron, nervously fidgeting with her burned hands. It took her a long time to gather her thoughts, as if she were selecting her deepest desire. Finally, she drew a deep breath, steadied herself, and spoke firmly:
"I... if the lady permits... I want to stop being a laundress."
The wish proved unexpectedly modest. Weather—who had protected Ryder even at the cost of her own injuries—asked for neither gold nor jewels. In her place, I would have been listing chests and bills by now. *Are all truly devoted servants like this?* Our household members, too, often seemed embarrassed and awkward when they received gold.
*Although Kanna, of course, would have been delighted.*
Madame Toten appeared to have thought the same thing and asked again, clearly surprised:
"Is that enough? Not gold or jewels? You protected my son, after all..."