PSW 03

Chapter 3

“Ren?”

“Yes.”

“A rather ordinary name.”

“What kind of special name would a girl from the streets have?”

Rix frowned slightly.

Ren?
At the old woman’s words, Suji felt certain.

Not Rena.
At least for now, it was clear again that she was not the female lead.

Then what exactly was this situation?
Where in the novel was she right now?

Rix’s golden eyes met her blue ones from the shadows.

The tight pressure around her throat felt like it came from that gaze.

It was irritating—those eyes were devastatingly beautiful.

He spoke in a calm voice.

“I’ll have to see it with my own eyes.”

The old woman said nothing.
No one dared to oppose him.

Only now did the weight of the title “Prince” truly sink in.

“I’ll take her to the forest tomorrow evening.”

“The forest? Isn’t that dangerous?”

The old woman objected, displeased.
Rix remained unfazed.

“If she’s real, she’ll come back alive even from the demon forest.”

“Your Highness!”

“That’s enough.”

As she tried to protest, Rix raised his index finger to his red lips, silencing her with a single gesture.

Then he swept his cold gaze over Ren again.
Her entire body tingled as if shocked by electricity.

He turned his back.

With each step he took, large bloody footprints once again stained the white floor.

“You want to bathe alone?”

Ren nodded.

The female attendants who had been about to undress her stepped back, looking awkward.

The old woman stood there silently, staring at her.
When Ren showed no sign of backing down, the old woman sighed and nodded.

“As expected of someone from the streets.”

The repeated “from the streets” annoyed her.

She wasn’t actually from the streets—but having grown up alone with no one to rely on made her sympathize even more.

Maybe this woman named Ren had been alone too.

That must be why no one came looking for her, even now.

The thought left a bitter taste.

“I’ll have someone stand guard outside. Ring the bell when you’re finished.”

The old woman tapped a small bell on the table with her cane.

The clear sound echoed through the night.

Was that her way of saying don’t even think about running?

Not that Ren knew anything about this world anyway.
Running would only make things worse.

She nodded obediently.

Seeing that Ren had no intention of escaping, the old woman finally turned away.
The two attendants also withdrew.

As soon as the door closed, Ren hurried to the mirror.

A massive mirror, taller than a grown man, reflected her fully.

Min Suji examined Ren from head to toe.

Long, thick silver curls.
Sky-blue eyes that looked like they held both clouds and open sky.

She reached out and touched her reflection.

In The Saintess’s Dilemma, the heroine’s eyes were described as a deep lake shimmering with light.
Compared to that, Ren’s eyes were unmistakably sky-blue.

And the heroine had straight hair.

A quiet scoff escaped her lips.

She had been so immersed in the novel that even the descriptions were vivid in her memory.

She compared every detail from the book with the person in the mirror.

Similar—yet different.

A reader’s instinct told her the truth.

This place was the Temple of the Goddess Fiora, the novel’s main setting.

But her name now was Ren.
Not Rena.

So who exactly was Ren?

When would the real heroine appear?

Before the story began?
After it ended?
Would she even appear at all?

It wasn’t just confusion.

It felt like her entire world had flipped upside down.

Her gaze fell to her hands.

She spread her fingers wide, then clenched them, again and again.

The movements were smooth.

Long, slender fingers.

She traced the fingerprints that had once been erased by burns.

She felt delicate, soft skin.

Slowly, she touched her face.

Her fingers followed gentle lines, like sculpting something fragile.

When her fingers reached her chin, she looked back at the mirror.

Ren’s lips curved upward naturally.
No pain. No tightness.

She was beautiful.

Min Suji no longer existed in the mirror.

She had lost everything in South Korea and died there.

Now—

“I am Ren…”

She whispered softly.

Accepting the new name was easier than she expected.

With no hair dryer, she gave up on fully drying her hair.
Water dripped onto her shoulders as she pressed it dry with a soft towel and rang the bell.

Soon, the same two women appeared, silent as ghosts.

Without a word, they led her away.

This was a temple, not a noble’s estate.
The wide-open corridors let cold night air blow straight through her body.

“Achoo!”

They turned back at her sneeze.

She smiled awkwardly and sniffed, but they still said nothing.

The night was bright under the two moons.

They brought her to a secluded room.

One window.
One bed.
One table.

Simple, but serviceable.

A temple covered in gold would be stranger, really.

They lit the small fireplace.

Ren flinched instinctively.

Fire was warm—but she didn’t want to be near it.

She thought they were being cold to her, exchanging only glances among themselves, but it seemed they were simply quiet people.

The room warmed quickly.

They bowed and left without a single word.

She couldn’t tell whether it was kindness or caution.

With no phone and nothing to do, she just sat there blankly.

Even staring at the fire—something people claimed to love—was torture for her.

The crackling sound of burning wood frightened her.

But turning it off wasn’t an option in this cold.

She crawled into a corner of the bed, pulled the blanket over herself, and tried to sleep.

Then someone knocked.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

The old woman.

When Ren opened the door, the woman—much smaller than her—stood perfectly composed.

“May I come in for a moment?”

Ren nodded.

The woman entered without hesitation and pulled out a chair, sitting as if she owned the room.

Come to think of it—wasn’t the High Priestess the true master of this temple?

Sitting across from her made eye contact uncomfortable.

The old woman stared at Ren with unreadable deep blue eyes.

“Do you remember what happened before you collapsed?”

Of course not.

Ren shook her head, deciding to stick with the amnesia angle.

The old woman nodded, as if she had expected that answer.

“You came to the temple to sell this.”

She placed a .38 revolver on the table.

The same gun Ren had used to kill the demon.

The only link between Ren and Min Suji.

Ren reached for it—but the old woman pulled it back with lightning-fast reflexes.

“You said it could erase demons without a trace. That it came from beyond Lake Tarkana. You asked for ten thousand gold. Still don’t remember?”

Ten thousand gold—she had no idea how much that was, but judging by the woman’s expression, it wasn’t cheap.

Trying to sell a useless old gun for that price…

The original Ren must have been something else.

Lake Tarkana had been mentioned in the novel.

A place known as an unknown world—where objects not belonging to this world sometimes appeared.

Even the heroine had only theorized about it.

And the novel was unfinished.

There was no more information.

Ren chose silence.

She neither nodded nor shook her head.

The old woman sighed.

“Looks like bullets aren’t necessary anymore.”

“….”

“…What was your previous name?”

Her entire body froze.

The warmth in the room vanished.

Ren instinctively knew—this question couldn’t be dodged.

She had to remain Ren.

Min Suji was already dead.

“I don’t know.”

She forced the words out, suppressing the tension in her throat.

Thankfully, the questioning stopped there.

The old woman slid the gun toward her and stood up.

Before leaving, she turned back.

“Our eyes finally met.

“I am High Priestess Hatasha. From now on, address me as Lady Hatasha.”

“…Yes.”

She left without another word.

Only the crackling fire remained.

Ren stared at the revolver.

Her hand moved as if controlled by invisible strings.

She traced the gun with her finger.

Cold.

When she’d fired it at the demon, it had burned like it was gripping her heart.

Shooting had been her entire life.

Losing it in the fire had been crueler than the burns themselves.

And now—

She could feel it again.

Her heart raced.

She held the gun, pulling it to her chest as if it were her own heart.

The familiar smell of metal.
The weight.
The way it fit her palm.

She would never lose it again.

Biting her lip, she made her vow