No, It was My Fault for Loving You

uilding up your strength.”

“I don’t need it.”

He rejected it immediately.

“Huh, why? I was worried about my brother’s health, that’s why I’m offering them to you.”

“I know you’re just trying to be nice, but you know me.
I know it’s the stuff Edgar sent from Drieste.
You know, that incredibly bitter herb that they make you drink every day and make you look funny.”

“I’m sorry, but the effects are amazing, you know?”

“I know that too.
And I also know that herbal tea is the reason why you don’t collapse anymore.”

“Yes, I’ve been healthy! So please have some, Brother.”

“I don’t need it.
You should be the one to drink such potent tea every day.”

“…Brother.
You’re pretending to care about me, but the truth is, you just don’t want to drink it.”

“You’re the one who’s saying that.
It’s obvious that it’s you who wants to drink a little less yourself.”

“Ugh.”

Rembrandt’s mouth naturally relaxes as he and Beatrice talk lightly.

He knew that she certainly never saw such a scene before her rebirth.

When Beatrice was born, before they could rejoice, they learned that she had a congenital blood disorder, and the whole family despaired.

Still, the ignorant baby cried when she was hungry and laughed when she was making a fuss.

If his tiny little sister, who was just born and knew nothing about anything, loosened her mouth with a pout, it was enough to bring tears into his eyes.

Eventually, she grew into her own self, recognizes her brother, and smiles angelically and innocently at the Buddha-faced Rembrandt.

She waddled and clutched at him.

She climbed onto his lap and asked him to read her a book.

Each time she did, his chest ached.

How long.

How long will she live?

Will she be able to attend school?

Will she be able to become an adult?

Will she be able to fall in love like other people, will she be able to enjoy her own time as a young girl?

Yeah, but surely she can’t get married, can she?

I felt sorry for having a healthy body.

I couldn’t help myself because I could draw the future easily.

Once, I cried in front of Edgar.

And then I told my parents that I would not get married while Beatrice was still alive, even though I knew that this was just self-indulgence.

I can’t show a happy married life in front of my sister, who can’t envision the future.
I don’t want to show it.

And if I don’t want to be seen being happy and yet I welcome a wife, it would be disrespectful to the one who would be my wife, or so I thought.

I’m fine.
I still have plenty of time.

But my sister.
Trice is…

“…really.
Brother takes too little care of himself.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.
So let’s have a drink?”

“No, thanks.”

“You’re so stubborn.
Then together.
Let’s drink together.
That would be good, wouldn’t it?”

“…it can’t be helped.
Just one drink.”

Beatrice’s pouty face, her begging sweet eyes, her happy smile.

Rembrandt thinks it is a miracle that such an interaction is even possible.

This time, I think they will make it in time.

Yes, I am sure they will make it.

But last time.

Last time, I learned that they didn’t make it.

Even if his decision to turn back time was not for Beatrice’s sake.

Even if he was only thinking about his own little Natalia…

Still…

If he hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t be able to see this smile now.

Every time I feel this pain, my thoughts waver.

I could not think properly.

My inner self cries out, “How can I be thankful to such a man?” and begins to ask inane questions as to why it was not me who invested 700 gold coins to do it.