A fortune-telling princess Chapter 183

“Isn’t that obvious? Everything I had was there.”

She had lived her entire life acting. She loved performing and considered it her calling. She never once doubted she would live and die on stage.

Missing it—longing for it—was only natural.

“As expected.”

Dorman nodded slowly, the trace of a smile still lingering on his face. It was clearly the answer he had anticipated.

“Then… if you had the chance to go back, would you take it?”

“Are you seriously going to keep asking the obvious? Are you picking a fight right now? Why bring up something impossible and poke at my nerves?”

“Haha.”

He laughed again.

Something was definitely off about him today. Why was he saying so much unnecessary stuff?

‘What did he hear while he was out?’

Camilla shot him a suspicious look, but he simply stood up with a placid smile, as if he had nothing more to say.

****

“Argh! You damn bitch!”

The man collapsed on the floor suddenly jerked upright.

He rubbed his head—his hand came back soaked in blood.

“F***! My damn head…!”

His bloodshot eyes flared with fury—until they fell on someone. A woman, mid-thirties.

She was in a state too. Her hair was disheveled, her clothes torn.

Bruises and wounds were visible all over her exposed skin.

“You worthless bitch!”

The moment he saw her, a stream of curses poured out. She—she had actually dared to fight back today. For the first time.

Caught off guard by her sudden resistance, he’d stumbled and slipped on an empty bottle on the floor, knocking himself out against the table.

He had just come to, and his rage was boiling over.

She dared to lay hands on her husband?

“You’ll only come to your senses if you die today!”

He strode toward her.

She must have been getting bold from not getting beaten lately. He would end it once and for all today!

“…Hmm?”

But something was off.

Normally, she would cower the moment he raised his voice. But she didn’t even flinch. Her face remained vacant.

Had she gone catatonic from fear?

“Hey! Are you ignoring your husband now—!”

As he shouted again, he abruptly stopped. He finally noticed something.

Someone was lying on the floor. Bleeding heavily.

And when he saw the face of that person, his jaw dropped open.

“Why… why am I…”

The person lying on the floor was him.

“W-What the hell is this?!”

Panic creeping in, he looked around wildly. But no one responded to his cries.

“Hey! What the hell happened?!”

He instinctively swung his hand at the woman—but nothing happened. His hand passed right through her.

“No… This can’t be.”

His expression went blank again.

“Don’t tell me… I’m dead?”

Shock turned to disbelief, and disbelief to rage.

She—she had shoved him earlier! It had to be her fault!

“You—you bitch—!”

Just then, the woman, who had been sitting limply, slowly got to her feet and walked toward the kitchen.

What, was she seriously thinking of eating at a time like this?

He screamed, cursing her every step of the way—until she returned.

With a knife in her hand.

“Hey! What do you think you’re—!”

Before he could finish, the woman stabbed herself in the chest.

“G-Gah!”

He stumbled back in shock.

“You… you—!”

But then, just like him, her soul began to separate from her body.

The man rushed toward her.

“Arkville. Age 38.”

Flinch.

A cold, unfamiliar voice pierced his ears. His body froze instantly, as if paralyzed.

He turned his head slowly. Two unfamiliar men stood there. One of them spoke again.

“Arkville. 38. Is that correct?”

“Wh-Who are you?”

“Answer.”

“…Y-Yes.”

The flat voice sent shivers down Arkville’s spine. He couldn’t resist.

The other man stepped forward and gently approached the newly released female soul.

“Are you Anze, age 33?”

“…Yes.”

She gave a small nod, her posture limp with resignation.

The man took her hand and softly comforted her.

“You’ve endured so much.”

Anze looked up at him, startled. Her eyes trembled as if they had nowhere to focus.

“You endured terrible suffering with such strength.”

“I…”

“Yes, you went through a lot.”

At those kind words, Anze finally burst into tears.

The man gently patted her hand again.

“You’ll stand trial in the afterlife. But don’t worry—contrary to what mortals believe, God does not condemn suicide unconditionally.”

Though the church considered suicide a grave sin, the truth was different. The reasons behind it weighed heavily in judgment.

“Ugh… sob…”

Anze nodded repeatedly, sobbing uncontrollably.

“I hope you’ll find peace from now on.”

With those final words, he held her hand firmly once more and waved his other hand gently. Her form disappeared in a soft shimmer of light.

“You too will face judgment.”

“Of course I will!”

Arkville, who had been staring blankly where Anze disappeared, snapped out of it at the reaper’s voice and shouted proudly.

What was there to be afraid of? These guys just ferried souls.

“She gets judged and sent somewhere nice, so of course I should too!”

But surprisingly, Havel—the reaper—offered a rare retort.

“Originally, you were destined for hell—without a trial.”

“…What?!”

H-Hell?

“But long ago, your wife offered a heartfelt prayer for your sake. Thanks to that, you’ve been granted a trial.”

Though it wouldn’t change his eventual destination.

Havel swallowed the rest of his words, then waved his hand. Arkville, too, vanished instantly.

His eyes had trembled with fear in his final moment—but that wasn’t Havel’s concern.

“Senior!”

The moment the soul guidance ended, the reaper Kin bounced over to Havel with a bright smile. Ever cheerful, his face radiated joy.

“It’s so great working with you again! I hope we get more jobs like this—two souls at once in one location!”

“……”

Even as Kin chattered excitedly, Havel remained silent, his eyes cold and distant.

“Is something wrong?”

Kin lowered his voice, now cautiously concerned.

Havel was always quiet and heavy in demeanor, but today he seemed even more so. He usually at least returned greetings.

“I thought you’d be happy.”

“Me?”

At last, Havel responded.

“Yes, I heard wonderful news! Dorman is returning soon, right? That’s amazing!”

Among the reapers, Dorman was quite popular.

He was cheerful and, unlike other administrators, never looked down on reapers. He was flexible and often helped them in tough spots.

So when he was dismissed long ago, many had been deeply disappointed. Some had even organized petitions to bring him back.

The idea that someone as meticulous as Dorman could make such a huge error—putting a soul in the wrong body—was hard for many to accept.

Some whispered he’d purposely caused the mistake because he’d grown disillusioned with the administrator role.

Whatever the case, he had been dismissed and removed from his position—but now, he had handled everything and was finally coming back.

Those in the know were already aware of it. But wasn’t Havel—the one who should be happiest—acting strange?

Havel was infamous among reapers. He spoke to no one, regardless of rank.

Not because he was rude, but because he simply didn’t engage.

But the only one he ever followed was Dorman.

“Is there… some kind of problem with his return?”

“…He might not come back.”

“What?”

“……”

“Why not? What happened?”

Returning from dismissal was no small feat. Dorman had been exceptionally skilled—it was only possible because of that.

And yet now… things had gone awry?

“Did Dorman refuse?”

Was the old rumor true—that he’d made that mistake on purpose, just to get kicked out of the job he’d grown to hate?

But Havel didn’t want to talk anymore. His lips pressed into a thin line.

‘Dorman! What are you saying?!’

‘What?’

‘You’re giving up that opportunity—for a mere human?!’

‘Not just any human. One whose life was ruined because of my mistake.’

‘You’ve already paid for that! Why—!’

‘“Paid enough”? Who decides that?’

‘Dorman!’

“……”

Recalling his recent conversation with Dorman, Havel let out a long, silent sigh.

Then, without a word, he disappeared.