The torchlight flickered. Stone walls. Damp air. Only the sound of water dripping from somewhere. The basement of the Tower of Judgment—deep within the palace, where daylight never reached. "The execution of Seraphina Croft will be carried out as scheduled, in 90 days." A fat man bowed deeply. Around fifty years old. He wore an ornate judicial robe, but his eyes darted about with cunning. Carrion Meltz, the Justice Administrator. The man who managed this nation's "justice." "Compensation for the witnesses has already been completed. The evidence for the three crimes is flawless. We have no intention of allowing any appeal proceedings." "[cold]...I see." The figure standing in the darkness had no visible face. It seemed deliberately positioned at an angle where the torchlight couldn't reach. Carrion was sweating. Despite being in an underground chamber at night. "[cold]Failure will not be tolerated." With only those words, the shadow vanished. Without even leaving a footstep behind. Carrion stood motionless for a while. The torch swayed gently. A water droplet fell from the wall with a soft patter. --- The first thing she noticed was the smell. Flowers. But not fresh ones. Perfume, perhaps. Sweet, heavy, an unfamiliar scent. Next came the sensation. (What is this bedsheet? It's too soft.) She tried to sit up, and a dull pain shot through her head. White light flashed behind her eyes. The last thing she remembered was the heat of an explosion. A rescue operation. A building with hostages. Explosives that shouldn't have been planted beneath the floor— Slowly, she opened her eyes. On the ceiling hung a golden chandelier. (What...?) Real gold. Dozens of candles burned within it, glittering as they swayed. Looking around, she saw silk curtains. A polished floor. Morning light streaming through the windows. Where was this? "Lady Seraphina...!" A small voice called out. She turned to see a maid standing by the door. A woman in her mid-twenties. Chestnut hair neatly arranged, a white apron tied at her waist. In her hands, she held parchment. Her hands were trembling. "[scared]Today... an official warrant has arrived from the Tower of Judgment." She held out the parchment with both hands. Her eyes were red. Perhaps she had already been crying. "[scared]In 90 days... your execution will be carried out." Yoon Hajin took it. The parchment was heavy. Official seals were pressed into it. Some characters were unreadable, but the numbers were clear. "90." And something that seemed to correspond to "execution." (A death warrant.) Strangely, she didn't panic. During her time in the special forces, she'd been thrown into incomprehensible situations countless times. First, assess the situation. Emotions come later. She got out of bed and approached the vanity. The face reflected back was unfamiliar. Long chestnut hair. Delicate features. Pale skin. A beautiful face like some nobleman's daughter. Faint shadows under the eyes, but otherwise perfectly composed. (This isn't me.) She knew her own face. Short black hair, sharp brown eyes, a small scar above her left eyebrow—from her special forces days. This wasn't that face. Hajin looked at her hands in the mirror. The fingers were slender. The nails were perfect. These were hands that had never held a gun, she was certain. In that moment, images flooded her mind. —A hand dropping liquid into someone's cup. —A hand carving something into a wall in a darkened room. —A hand placing a glowing metal plate into a pocket. All of them were her hands. Memories belonging to these slender fingers. And one more thing. The faces of seven men. All of them looking at her with the same gaze. Cold, contemptuous, eyes that seemed to say, "It would be better if you didn't exist." (Ah. I see.) Hajin took a deep breath. Standing before the mirror, she organized her current situation. A habit from her special forces days, something she'd done hundreds of times before operations began. I am Yoon Hajin. Former special forces captain, 24 years old. I died in an explosion during a hostage rescue operation. And now I'm in the body of someone named Seraphina Croft. Apparently a villainess from some kingdom. She's accused of three crimes—attempted poisoning of her stepmother, cursing someone, and stealing the royal seal—and is scheduled for execution in 90 days. "[serious]Mia." "Y-yes!" "[serious]Explain the Three-Crime Verdict system. In detail." Mia froze for a moment. But she quickly began speaking, trembling slightly, carefully. "[scared]The Three-Crime Verdict system is... a law established about 180 years ago. When three or more serious crimes are simultaneously proven, execution is confirmed without opportunity for defense. However—" Mia hesitated for a moment. Her face showed she was uncertain whether to offer hope. "[scared]There is a system called the Appeal of Objection. If, within 90 days, you can prove innocence in even one crime... all remaining charges will be subject to retrial. However, it can only be used once." Hajin read the warrant again. (I only need to break one. Breakthrough at a single point in the encirclement. Standard tactics.) She quietly placed the warrant on the desk. Mia approached hesitantly. "[surprised]Um... Lady Seraphina, your manner of speaking seems... different from before..." "[sarcastic]I think I hit my head a bit. Don't worry about it." Mia's expression became confused. Then, for some reason, she almost smiled before hastily covering her mouth. The tension broke for just a moment. Internally, Hajin thought: (Usable. This girl is usable.) --- After that, Hajin left the room with Mia. The corridor was vast. Stone construction, but with intricate carvings in the walls and a deep crimson carpet on the floor. High ceilings. Beyond the windows lay expansive gardens. This was Veralis Palace. The political center of a kingdom with 420 years of history—Seraphina's memories told her this. "[gentle]Where is the Seven-Day Corridor?" She tried to ask casually. She didn't want to seem ignorant. "It's at the far end of the south wing. Seven audience chambers for the princes are lined up there... most political discussions happen there. It's about 180 meters long, I believe." "[gentle]And the Tower of Judgment?" "It's the stone tower visible just beside the palace, to the southeast. It's about 35 meters tall, and in the basement there are—" Mia paused slightly. "There are dungeons. I've heard that 12 people are currently imprisoned there." (So that's where I was supposed to end up. For now, at least, I'm not there.) "[gentle]The Croft Estate?" "About 2 kilometers east of the palace, in the middle of the noble district. However... it's currently sealed off, and entry is—" At that moment, people approached from down the corridor. Three noblewomen. Luxurious dresses. Carefully arranged hair. Jewelry. The moment they saw Hajin, they turned their faces away deliberately. As they passed, she heard whispered voices. "...Is she still walking around?" "I hope she gets executed soon." Hajin's expression didn't change. Her pace didn't falter. (Enemy count and intensity of hostility: confirmed. As expected.) She could see Mia's shoulders droop slightly. The maid wanted to defend her mistress but had no words to say. That was the look on her face. Hajin glanced at Mia for just a moment. (This girl is afraid, yet she still follows. Not bad.) She continued walking down the corridor. --- Back in the Jade Chamber, Hajin stood by the window. The palace courtyard. Stone-paved paths stretched in orderly lines, flanked by carefully maintained trees. A fountain caught the morning light and sparkled. There were figures there. Mia whispered to her. "[whispers]That is... First Prince Lee Heeseung. Beside him is Second Prince Yang Jungwon." Both were clearly visible. One was tall with black hair, dressed in a crisp formal uniform. The other was slightly shorter with a gentle-looking face. They didn't look in her direction. Or rather—their gazes flicked toward her for just an instant. But then they immediately resumed their conversation. As if they had seen something invisible. Hajin placed her hand on the window frame. Seven against zero. Zero allies. Everyone was either an enemy or at best indifferent. (...Well, it's a familiar situation.) She'd experienced something similar in her previous life. When she'd infiltrated enemy territory alone. When her team was wiped out and she had to escape by herself. That same sensation. A quiet, yet razor-sharp tension. This was actually—easier. No attachments. Nothing to lose. Only a 90-day deadline. Hajin picked up the warrant. (First target: the stepmother poisoning incident.) According to Seraphina's memories, there were multiple witnesses. But that image that had flooded in—the hand dropping liquid into a cup—something about it felt wrong. The timing was off. Why were there conveniently so many witnesses at that location? Fabricated evidence always had holes. That was an interrogator's instinct, worn into her very being. The people who created evidence couldn't make it perfect. Hajin put the warrant away in a drawer. Then she returned to the window and gazed out at the full view of the capital, Eldias. The Felis River cut through the city north to south. The east bank was the noble district, the west bank the commoner's district. Somewhere there was a tavern called the Crescent Moon, where information gathered—Seraphina's memories held that detail. Across the river, market rooftops were visible. Stalls lined up, and morning commerce had already begun, with countless small figures moving about. In the distance, the ridgeline of the Calvarn Mountains was visible. Snow-capped peaks. Beyond them lay the Levanol Duchy. If she were to flee, that would be the way—but no, she wouldn't flee. There was no point in fleeing. Gather evidence. Break through at one point. Win the retrial. That was all. Mia brought tea. A faintly sweet aroma. When Hajin took it, Mia looked slightly surprised. Probably the previous Seraphina hadn't taken tea herself. "Thank you." Just two words, and Mia's eyes widened slightly. Then her face took on that confused, gentle smile again. Hajin kept looking out the window and took a sip of tea. It was warm. 90 days. Operation commence.