Four years. That's a long time for me.

This year, I turn sixteen. I should have been eighteen already, the most beautiful age in life. If nothing unusual had happened, I would have been stuck in a high school chair, preparing for the national university entrance exam right now.

Instead, I am here.

During my time being educated at the mansion, I took the opportunity to search for information about traveling between worlds. It seems that no wise sage has come here before, as there are almost no records of transmigration. (Maybe I should visit some place like a divine temple or something similar.)

But that period wasn't entirely meaningless. I was trained to become an intellectual aristocrat. The education system here is quite harsh, but Ariette has an outstanding intelligence, so I was able to absorb knowledge without too much difficulty.

This year is 1624, the early phase of the Renaissance on Earth. It's a time when the Empire flourishes, producing a mountain of talents as if they were being mass-manufactured. Because of that, the demand for gifted individuals is high, and I am forced to adapt.

The Bellouis family is in decline. That's because of Ariette's dreadful illness. She suffers from a strange disease that eats away at her vitality day by day, and it's predicted that by the time she turns twenty, she will be dead. (Maybe that's why she has become so irritable.) Sometimes, I cough up blood or faint because of this damned disease. If this continues for another four years, I'll die.

I once considered letting myself wither away like this and return to my old life. There was once a heroine who managed to do just that—but that was because she followed the storyline. As for me, I don't even know whether Ariette is the heroine or some sort of villain. The name is completely unfamiliar, even to someone like me.

My family is drowning in debt because the medicine that slows down this disease is outrageously expensive and is only sold in some not-so-clean places. I've even grown accustomed to debt collectors knocking on our door every day.

Look, they're here again.

—Hey, you Marquis bastard! Are you gonna pay up or what?! Today's the deadline!!!

My father had left for work early in the morning, and my mother was out doing tailoring for others. Henry had returned to the academy. I was the only one home.

I opened the pitifully cracked door.

—Hello, sir. What brings you here to see my father?

The debt collector froze for a brief moment at the sight of my "innocent beauty." But bad people remain bad people. He wasn't the type to soften up at the sight of a weak girl.

—Call your father out here.

—Sir, my father is not home right now...

—Then tell him this. —He leaned in close, his eyes burning with menace. —If he knows what's good for him, he better cough up the money, or else!

I trembled with fear. I unclipped the brooch from my chest and held it out to him.

—Sir, please take this as collateral, will you?

The debt collector glanced at the brooch before snatching it from my hand.

—Hmph! At least you know your place. Next time, make sure the debt is paid properly.

I watched him leave, silently cursing:

"That bastard, how dare he talk to me like that?"

I leaned against the door. My house was like a haunted mansion—desolate and rundown. The servants had all abandoned us. And soon, this house would be sold. We would soon move to a much smaller place.

"This can't go on." I told myself. "I can't let this continue." When I grow up, I must do something—for myself, and for this 'fake family' of mine.

"What if I use magic to heal people...?"

Oh, I forgot to mention—this is a fantasy world. A world that is no longer unfamiliar to most novel and anime fans. Naturally, magic is everywhere. Here, people use mana to cast spells, like shooting fireballs or summoning tidal waves.

But there is one rare kind of mage that hardly ever appears in this world: Healers. They're like the healers in dungeon-based stories, but they're so rare that an entire kingdom only has a handful of them.

I am a powerful healer, of course. My healing abilities are among the best in the world—it's an essential trait for a heroine. But I have a reason for keeping my powers a secret.

Any healer who is discovered will be taken to the temple, and I absolutely do not want that. They undergo hellish training and cruel experiments in an attempt to produce more healers. But hardly anyone survives such ordeals. As a result, instead of increasing, the number of healers has plummeted, and now, there are fewer than five official healers in the entire Empire.

Healers cannot heal themselves. So, even if I am the second-best healer in the world, my fate remains unchanged—unless I can find another healer who is both powerful and free from the temple's control. But obviously, no such person exists.

It's so frustrating. I wish there was some handsome guy out there who could heal me!

~~~~~~~~~

Another two years passed. Ariette turned eighteen.

I had long since stopped caring about my real age. Six years had passed in utter despair, and all I could see ahead was a dead end.

I now lived with my father and mother in a shabby two-story "townhouse," where stretching out my arms could reach both walls, eating stale bread and awful soup every day. My brother, Henry, had become the deputy captain of the city guards, working tirelessly day and night. But in an environment full of nepotism, and as the only one who "rose through merit," he was constantly mistreated and often wasn't even paid properly.

However, in every misfortune, there is a silver lining.

Because of my excessively striking appearance, I was welcomed wherever I went. Some people gave me food, some gave me clothes, some gave me blankets, and sometimes, a basket of fresh fruit that kept my family from starving for the day. In a way, I was both the main reason for Bellouis' downfall (I say 'main reason' because there were other factors too) and the reason why my family hadn't starved to death.

One day, I was walking down the street after receiving a fragrant basket of madeleines from the neighbor's kid when I heard murmuring.

People were crowding around the town bulletin board, which was usually empty. I approached and tapped a woman on the shoulder.

—What's going on, Aunt Tara?