TINOT 01

Chapter: 1

“At most, one year. In a body like this… how could anyone—”

The blind physician trailed off, hesitation heavy in his voice.

He drew himself in, bracing for the lightning strike he knew was coming.

First would come the demand—can you take responsibility for those words?
Then the desperate grip on his collar, the insistence that he save her no matter what.

He had lived through this dozens of times. As he replayed those familiar scenes in his mind, he considered how best to persuade this patient, who was clearly of high standing.

It was then—

The slender wrist he had been holding for examination slipped gently from his grasp.

It wasn’t the trembling withdrawal of anger, nor the limp collapse of shattered hope.
It was a composed, deliberate movement.

In that instant, he realized his premonition had been wrong.

“I see. You may leave now.”

A woman’s cool, low voice dismissed him.

It was far too calm for someone who had just received a terminal diagnosis.

Having spent his life as a physician, tending to the sick, he recognized that tone.

Those who had already accepted death always spoke of it that way.

“…I will prescribe painkillers. If the pain persists for more than two hours even after taking them, please return. I will give you something stronger.”

“You’re making this unnecessarily complicated. You might as well give me everything at once.”

A soft, deflating laugh escaped her.

Amused by his transparent attempt at caution, the woman spoke lightly.

“Do as you wish. But anything you learned here must remain a secret.”

With her permission granted, he was allowed to look in on her condition again.

Even if he couldn’t save someone who was destined to die, at least he could help them spend their remaining time in comfort.

Wasn’t that a physician’s duty?

“See him to his carriage,” the woman said. “And be careful not to draw attention.”

At her words, the maid standing nearby took his hand.

“I—I’ll guide you.”

Her hand trembled faintly. She must have been deeply shaken by what she’d heard of her mistress’s condition.

Even the maid closest to her hadn’t known.

How had she endured that pain alone?

How lonely must she have been?

The physician clicked his tongue silently, pity rising in his chest at the woman who seemed hollow inside, as though she’d grown up smiling through emptiness.

But someone of her rank would surely not want his sympathy.

“Haa…”

An hour earlier, after hearing the terminal diagnosis, Lisithea Aster pressed her fingers against her aching eyelids and let out a weary sigh.

She had known for a long time that her body wasn’t normal.

Ever since she’d suffered a severe fever at sixteen, it had felt as though something inside her had broken beyond repair.

Her stamina declined. Illnesses became frequent. One by one, she had been forced to give up the things she once poured her passion into.

As she drifted farther from the efforts she’d once made to prove her worth, Lisithea grew accustomed to resignation and despair.

The family physician could only repeat the same words: her vitality was weak, her body somewhat depleted—but beyond that, he could find neither cause nor abnormality.

She endured for two years, sustaining herself on tonics.

Then, six days ago, she finally collapsed after coughing up blood.

At the tearful insistence of her maid, she summoned a physician reputed to be skilled.

And the blind physician had given her a time limit: one year.

One year.

At that clear-cut phrase, a chill ran down Lisithea’s spine.

To pinpoint a truth only she had known—he was undoubtedly a master physician.

That was why she’d laughed off his presumptuous concern.

Someone that capable might at least ease her suffering.

After receiving the diagnosis, Lisithea didn’t once think about how to avoid death.

No matter what she did, the ending couldn’t be changed.

This world had already decided her fate.

It was, in truth, an all-too-familiar story.

So familiar that it was hard to tell where one was even supposed to find enjoyment in it.

A world where magicians, drawing power from guardian stars, performed miracles.

There was a powerful male protagonist.

Decently handsome, heir to one of only three ducal houses in the kingdom, and blessed with overwhelming talent.

Add to that a tragic past—losing both parents in an unforeseen accident.

He possessed everything a male lead was meant to have.

Ah, yes. Even a greedy fiancée bound to him through family interests.

And as all such stories go, the male lead inevitably encounters the female lead.

A kind, beautiful girl who saves his life when his magical power is depleted and he stands at death’s door.

She is the sole surviving daughter of a fallen baronial house, struggling to make ends meet.

Upon learning this, the male lead brings her to his estate and showers her with care.

The fiancée grows suspicious, interferes at every turn, and through her schemes the two protagonists come to realize their true feelings for one another.

An outdated tale, through and through.

Even the ending—where the fiancée self-destructs and dies—was painfully cliché.

And the archetypal villain of that trite story was none other than Lisithea Aster herself.

The book she had seen in her fevered dream at sixteen—the one that depicted this world—had been easy to recognize for what it was.

Every name printed within it belonged to someone she knew.

The world within its pages was undeniably the reality she lived in.

She hadn’t wanted to die at nineteen like the villain in the story.

At first, she’d fought desperately to change the ending.

But after countless attempts, she’d learned a single truth:

This world’s conclusion was fixed—and could not be altered.

Every scene she had seen in her dream was faithfully reproduced in reality.

This time will be different. Just this once.

That hope had only poisoned her.

Once she let go of it, her days grew strangely peaceful.

What she hadn’t expected was that her death wasn’t the result of a villain’s greed—but something far more mundane.

So I was terminally ill from the start. No wonder I always acted like someone with no tomorrow.

Was the villain’s terminal illness such trivial information that it hadn’t even been worth mentioning?

Lisithea let out a hollow laugh and slumped against the table.

Pain stabbed through her head and heart like needles.

This world wanted her dead.

Everything moved exactly as predetermined, without the slightest deviation.

In a world where the protagonists would reach a happy ending, no one would mourn the villain’s death.

Just then, hurried, rough footsteps approached, making her head throb.

The door flew open, and Marie burst into the room.

“My lady! Where does it hurt? Where—where—!”

Marie rushed to her side, hopping anxiously, tears welling in her eyes.

She must have cried for quite some time after hearing the physician’s words—her eyes were red and swollen.

“Bring the painkillers the doctor left. And some water.”

Lisithea forced herself upright, leaning heavily against the chair.

Marie rattled noisily as she gathered the medicine and tilted the cup to Lisithea’s lips.

Her hands trembled pitifully.

Ah. Perhaps there was one person who would grieve the villain’s death.

As the medicine took effect, the jagged pain gradually subsided.

Marie gently wiped the sweat from Lisithea’s face and hair with a dry cloth.

Relaxing beneath the familiar touch, Lisithea asked,

“What did you hear outside that startled you so much?”

She could already guess.

True to her expectations, Marie hesitated, unable to answer at once.

When Lisithea waited without pressing her, Marie finally spoke.

“…Sir Spencer encountered a magical beast last night and nearly lost his life.”

“I see. He didn’t die, then?”

“They say his life isn’t in danger, b-but—”

“It’s all right. Go on.”

“They brought the woman who saved him into the Spencer ducal house…”

When Marie finished speaking, Lisithea opened her eyes and whispered softly,

“Lillian Rose.”

Her golden eyes gleamed strangely as she spoke the name.

Startled, Marie cried out,

“H-How did you know? Do you know her?”

Even Marie, who was usually immersed in gossip, had only just heard the name herself.

For a fleeting moment, she wondered if her lady had secretly placed someone near that man.

“…Who knows.”

It was hard to say she knew her—yet impossible to say she didn’t.

Lillian Rose was the female protagonist of this world.

“Marie, if you were going to die tomorrow, what would you want to do?”

This world had finally taken even tomorrow away from her.

“My lady…”

Marie’s face twisted with grief once more.

“Isn’t it ridiculous to suddenly become kind just because you’re dying?”

Regret and repentance at death’s door—that was something reserved for protagonists.

It didn’t suit a mere villain.

“If I’m going to die no matter what, then I’ll just keep living the way I always have.”

Just as she had all her life—

Lisithea Aster intended to live selfishly… and die that way too.