AnotherdaytoLive

  “Dinner time!” Zenith called out from the kitchen, her voice echoing through the house.

  Paul was already seated at the table, acting casual as he flipped through a magazine upside down—but his eyes occasionally flicked toward the window. He’d been quietly observing Rudeus’s progress… and Anastasia’s, of course.

  Seeing his kids train so hard filled him with a warm kind of pride.

  Perfect. They're working themselves up just in time for my early retirement.

  He chuckled to himself. Kidding... mostly.

  The chairs filled in one by one.

  Anastasia entered with the same confidence of a war hero returning home. Her steps were steady, her chin high, and her smugness impossible to ignore.

  “It seems,” she decred, sitting down like a monarch gracing the table with her presence, “that my swordsmanship has ascended yet again.”

  Ange sighed, already halfway done buttering her bread. “It would be even better if you didn’t have to get hurt to ascend.”

  Anastasia ignored her entirely.

  “Pain walks beside me,” she replied solemnly, eyes half-lidded with faux wisdom. “I must wed it. If I don’t make peace with suffering now… I’ll learn to fear it ter.”

  Ange pced her bread down and stared at her ftly. “You’re impossible.”

  Zenith, seated beside her daughter, gave a small smile—but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  She gnced at Anastasia, then down at her pte. For a moment, she felt something hollow stir in her chest. When did she start thinking like this? Was I too te to notice...?

  She hadn’t realized it until now, but...

  Lilia knows her better than I do.

  That thought stung.

  Then something unexpected happened.

  Anastasia shifted, scooting slightly closer to her mother. Not enough to be dramatic—but just enough to be intentional. Her voice dropped its pompous tone as she tilted her head slightly.

  “Mother,” she said sweetly, “will you allow me to train like a beast… for the betterment of our future?”

  Zenith blinked.

  The words were dramatic. The delivery was over the top.

  But the sincerity was there, hiding underneath all the chuuni fir.

  Zenith felt her chest warm. She smiled—gently this time.

  “I think,” she said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Anastasia’s cheek, “you should pace yourself. But… I trust you not to break yourself.”

  Anastasia gave a small smirk—genuine this time—and leaned slightly against her mother’s side.

  “Understood,” she murmured. “Then I’ll only train like a semi-beast for now.”

  Paul watched them with a grin. “Gd we’re all on the same page. Now eat up—you’re burning your future inheritance with all this emotional bonding.”

  Ange threw a biscuit at him. “Let the girls have a moment, you overgrown child.”

  Paul caught the flying biscuit in his mouth mid-air without even looking.

  He gave a proud grin and shot a wink toward Anastasia like he’d just pulled off a world-css feat.

  Anastasia stared at him with the bnk, horrified expression of someone who just realized her genes came from that man.

  Her internal list adjusted accordingly.#1: Beat up Father. With grace.

  Zenith, already anticipating Paul’s antics, reached over and pinched his side under the table.

  He stiffened. A full-body shiver ran down his spine. No words were needed—he got the message.

  Behave… or perish.

  Paul wisely decided to focus on his food for the rest of dinner.

  Meanwhile, Rudeus and Roxy were still lost in their own world, animatedly discussing the nuances of chantless casting and mana compression.

  Wistoria quietly nibbled at her meal—not because she needed nourishment, but because the act of eating with others helped her feel... part of the group.

  On Anastasia’s other side, Lilia continued her silent tradition: feeding Anastasia between bites of her own meal. Each forkful was offered with the smooth efficiency of someone who'd long since accepted her tiny tyrant’s preferences.

  Eventually, the night grew deep, and the warm glow of candles filled the house.

  Without a word—or warning—Anastasia turned her head slightly and unsummoned both Ange and Wistoria on the spot.

  The two flickered and vanished in a fsh of magical light, not even finishing their bites.

  “...I suppose that’s her version of ‘goodnight,’” Paul muttered.

  And before anyone could ask her why, Anastasia turned toward Roxy, hands on her hips.

  “Miss Magician. Bath water. Now.”

  Roxy blinked, still holding her tea. “I’m not your maid.”

  Anastasia tilted her head with a slow, deliberate smile.

  “I suppose I could try using fire magic again. I’m sure the house insurance would—”

  “I’m getting the water,” Roxy said, already standing.

  Lilia simply smiled and handed over a towel.

  Steam filled the small bath chamber, curling gently in the candlelight. Anastasia soaked in the wooden tub, humming to herself as if the world outside her head didn’t exist.

  She cracked one eye open.

  “You’re still here,” she said ftly. “What, are you just going to stare the whole time?”

  Roxy, seated stiffly on the bathroom stool, didn’t flinch. She kept her gaze at a respectful angle, but her brows were drawn in focus.

  “I need to talk to you,” Roxy replied. “I have... questions.”

  Anastasia tilted her head, her soaked golden hair clinging to her cheeks. “About my perfect skin? My divine elegance? It’s all natural.”

  “You’re quite adept at magic, aren’t you?” Roxy said—not asking, stating. Her voice was calm, but edged with certainty.

  Anastasia’s gaze narrowed slightly. Sharp, she thought. She’s piecing it together.

  She leaned back against the tub’s edge, completely unfazed. “Indeed. In my past life, gods bowed before me. The world sang songs of my triumphs. I was the peerless Grand Marshal of magic.”

  Roxy blinked. The conviction was so strong it was hard to tell if it was the truth… or a delusion so deep even Anastasia couldn’t escape it.

  Then came the follow-up. Quiet. Piercing.

  “You know magic… but you don’t like it.”

  Anastasia stopped humming.

  “Indeed,” she said again, this time softly. The bathwater rippled.

  Roxy gnced down. Anastasia’s body bore no signs of training injuries. No bruises. No burn marks. No leftover scarring from the self-inflicted failures she’d described before. Ange’s healing was clearly top-tier. And Wistoria’s ice control? Impeccable.

  Roxy’s theories solidified. This girl didn’t just know magic. She had mastered it—long before they met.

  But she hated it.

  Before Roxy could push further, Anastasia tilted her head again, her smile wicked.

  “Anyway… do you like kids?”

  Roxy blinked, caught off guard. “Huh?”

  “Because your eyes have been on my body for an unusually long time,” Anastasia said with a sly grin. “Highly concerning behavior, Miss Magician.”

  Roxy’s mind short-circuited.

  “W–WHAT?! No—I—You were talking! I was analyzing! Not staring—!”

  Anastasia giggled. “Rex. I won’t call the guards.”

  Face crimson, Roxy bolted from the room, nearly slipping on the damp floor as she smmed the door shut behind her.

  From inside the bath, Anastasia’s soft ughter echoed behind the steam.

  The moonlight bathed Anastasia’s room in soft silver as she waited, arms crossed, sitting calmly on her bed.

  She snapped her fingers.

  A swirl of purple light fshed beside her—and Ange fell sideways onto the floor with a very undignified thud.

  “Ouch!” Ange winced, rubbing her shoulder. “You cut off my dinner and summoned me mid-nap—what kind of tyrant are you?!”

  “The efficient kind,” Anastasia said ftly. “Enough drama, sve. I need you to go to Lilia’s room.”

  Ange looked confused.

  “You’ll tell her you noticed something’s wrong with her gait,” Anastasia continued coolly. “Her bance is off. Offer to heal her. Say you asked me for permission. But never mention that it was my pn.”

  Ange blinked. “And if I do?”

  “I’ll halve your summon time,” Anastasia replied with a deadpan smile. “Permanently.”

  Ange gulped. “...Understood.”

  She turned to leave, but paused as Anastasia called behind her.

  “Other side of the floor.”

  “R-right. Thank you, Mistress.”

  Ange hurried off like a startled cat.

  Moments ter, Roxy entered the room dressed in her nightwear, towel slung over one shoulder. She blinked in confusion.

  “Why is Ange scurrying like she’s being chased by death?”

  Anastasia shrugged zily, brushing a stray lock from her forehead.

  “Because I ordered her to,” she replied with a small, cryptic smile.

  Roxy sighed. “Why am I not surprised…”

  She sat down, pulling a comb from the nightstand. But before she could begin, Anastasia reached out and grabbed her wrist.

  In one swift motion, she pulled Roxy down onto the bed and straddled her.

  “W–What are you doing?!” Roxy said, startled, struggling to rise—but Anastasia held her down, not by force, but by sheer presence. Her golden hair fell around her face like a curtain, and her glowing eyes stared into Roxy’s own.

  “Roxy,” she murmured, her voice low and too calm. “You’re far too sharp for your own good.”

  Her pupils shimmered unnaturally. Something ancient churned behind them—runes flickering deep in her irises.

  “You keep dissecting me. Analyzing me. I can’t afford it. I don’t know if you’ll become my ally or my enemy. But I do know this—if you see my truth, and you tell my parents, or Rudeus…”

  Her hand pressed gently on Roxy’s forehead.

  “Then everything will spiral out of my control. So I’ll do something temporary. Reshape your essence. Blur the crity. Dull the edges.”

  Magic surged from her fingertips. It wasn’t fshy—but precise, like a lock clicking into pce.

  Roxy’s eyes widened.

  “Wait—what are you—?”

  Just then—

  BANG.

  The door smmed open.

  “Anastasia, I finished healing—ah, wait... did I walk in on something...?”

  Ange stood in the doorway holding a biscuit and looking bewildered.

  Anastasia's entire body jerked. Her focus shattered.

  The magic ritual backfired.

  A violent pulse of raw mana erupted across her chest, crawling up her throat like fire. Her body convulsed—and she colpsed onto Roxy’s chest, breath ragged, glowing veins flickering with instability.

  Roxy gasped, instinctively catching her.

  “ANASTASIA?!”

  Ange dropped her snack. “Oh gods—NOT AGAIN!”

  Mana fred violently in Anastasia’s core. Her skin turned ghostly pale, and her magic circuits blinked with red error glyphs—burning unstable spells along her skin.

  “Don’t move her!” Ange cried, rushing forward. “Her body’s rejecting the incomplete ritual!”

  Roxy clutched the unconscious girl tightly.

  “What was she trying to do…?”

  Ange’s face was pale as she began casting a purification weave.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “But whatever it was… it wasn’t meant to be used yet.”

  Darkness surrounded her.Familiar. Heavy. Infinite.

  Anastasia jolted upright inside her mindscape—the eternal, personalized realm where her truest self reigned supreme. Her surroundings were as she left them: a grand gothic-style office adorned with relics from countless lifetimes. Books lined the shelves in towering stacks. A statue of Merrylyn loomed from the central pza beyond her gss windows.

  But something was wrong.

  The Book of Avatars—her core artifact—y on her desk, pulsing erratically with violet light. Cracks ran along its spine, bleeding sparks of unstable mana.

  "Ange..." she growled through clenched teeth. Her voice trembled not from fear—but fury.

  “That damned woman and her ck of timing!”

  Mana fred wildly from her body, rattling the crystal chandeliers above. Her desk smmed backward as she rose, fists trembling. Glyphs of broken circuits flickered along her temple where her Sage Eye would be, the ocur ability now completely locked.

  “This is a disaster! I can’t use my Eye—and the backsh is going to take weeks to heal!” she shouted, pacing back and forth like a general losing a war.

  Her thoughts spiraled toward the real world.

  “Roxy. She’ll start investigating. She’s too sharp. Too curious. Too inconvenient.”

  With a roar, she smmed her palm down on the desk, sending parchment flying.

  “NO. I can still salvage this! I just need... I need a pn.”

  She stormed to the bookcase lining the far wall and began flipping open tomes—volumes of memories, knowledge, and skills from all her past incarnations.

  “Come on, come on... there has to be something in here...!”

  Magical Body Reconstruction? No.Emotional Rewriting through Pressure Magic? Too unstable.Ritual Seals of Silence? Already failed once—dammit!

  Her fingers paused on a weathered pink spine.

  “Seduce Your Enemy: Tactical Affection and Charisma Dominance”By: Lilium, Sixth Life.

  Anastasia blinked. Then, she grinned.

  “Of course… of course!” she cackled, clutching the book like it was divine revetion. “I’ll flip the narrative! A forbidden love arc! A genius girl risking it all to ‘alter herself for love!’ A beautiful tragic twist that’ll stun even Roxy’s heart!”

  The lights of her office fred bright as she began rapidly drafting emotional blueprints and memorizing Lilium’s absurd techniques.

  “If I succeed in fooling her completely,” she whispered, eyes gleaming, “then I’ll qualify to unlock the Lilium Avatar.”

  The Temptress of Empathy. The Master of Mind Games. The Saint of Sweet Lies.

  She let out a ugh—half-manic, half-gleeful.

  “This is no longer a setback. This... is a transformation arc.”

  Her gaze turned to the fractured Book of Avatars, still flickering ominously.

  “I’ll make this work. I always do.”

  And with that, the office darkened. The lights dimmed. The scene pulled back as Anastasia began preparing her next act in the world’s most unhinged one-woman theater of dominance and emotional manipution.