Chapter Text
Dandelion
Subaru's grip on the broken joystick was so tight that his fingers hurt. His breathing was uneven, his vision unfocused, and his ears rang as his heart pounded against his ribs. His room was dark except for the flickering screen of his game console, the "Game Over" text mocking him. His uselessness. His pathetic excuse for a life. He let the joystick slip from his grasp, his hand shaking. He had broken it, just like everything else. He couldn't even play a damn game without proving how worthless he was.
His gaze shifted back to the family portrait on his desk. His parents' smiles were frozen in time, stuck in a moment that would never exist again. Their faces were so familiar, yet now they felt distant, unreachable. Their deaths had been quick, brutal, and meaningless. A terrorist attack in Ohayo, a place they had only been visiting for work. A stray bullet, a sudden explosion—he never even got to say goodbye. He had been there. He had been right there, standing in the chaos, his legs locked in place, his voice stolen by fear. He did nothing. He was useless. He was always useless.
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.
And now, even in their absence, all he could think about was himself. He hated himself for it. He thought of his father as a source of money, his mother as someone who took care of him. Without them, he had nothing. No money. No support. He couldn't even survive on his own. What kind of person was he? He was selfish. Weak. A taint to love. He didn't deserve the love they had given him. A loser. A loser. A loser.
The thoughts circled in his head, spiraling out of control. His chest tightened. His vision swam.
He needed to distract himself. He grabbed another controller, started up a different game, but the screen blurred. His hands were trembling. The pressure in his skull built, the weight of everything crushing down on him. His temples throbbed. His heartbeat roared in his ears. The characters on the screen became meaningless shapes, their movements chaotic and incomprehensible. The pain grew sharper. Hot. Searing. His fingers lost their grip. The joystick slipped again, but this time, he didn't care.
The pressure in his head surged to unbearable levels.
It hurt.
It hurt so much.
He gasped. His vision turned white, then red. A sharp, splitting sensation crackled through his skull. A sudden, horrifying snap.
Something inside him burst.
His body convulsed.
His head was splitting open from the inside.
His world turned cold.
Then—
Darkness.
The darkness lasted an eternity. Or maybe it was just a moment.
Then—
Pain.
Excruciating pain.
His body was being crushed. No, twisted. His neck felt like it was being wrung out like a rag. His lungs burned. His muscles screamed.
No, this was worse than death. This was hell.
The world was red.
A deep, wet crimson surrounded him, pulsating and shifting. He couldn't move. His body wasn't his own. He had no control.
Then—
Voices.
"I can see the head!" Someone shouted, urgent and excited.
The pain intensified. His entire body was being forced through something too small, too tight, suffocating him. His skull ached, his skin burned.
He tried to scream, but his throat was raw. No sound came out.
Then—
Light.
A blinding, painful light.
A rush of cold air.
Then—
A cry.
A newborn's cry.
His own cry.
No. No. No. No. No.
Something was terribly wrong.
"Lord Astera, it's a girl!"
No.
Subaru's vision was still blurry, his body weak, unresponsive. But he could see them. Silhouettes shifting above him. A woman holding him. A man watching over him.
His mind screamed in denial, but his body was too small, too helpless to resist.
He wasn't supposed to be here.
This wasn't right.
This wasn't real.
It couldn't be.
But then—
A voice.
Gentle. Firm.
"Beautiful," the man said. His deep voice was filled with warmth, but also something else—expectation. Power.
Subaru—or whoever he was now—was lifted, cradled in strong arms. He was held up, as if being presented to the world.
"I can see the potential in you," the man continued, his blue eyes gleaming as they locked onto Subaru's. No—not Subaru.
From here on, he wasn't Subaru anymore.
"You shall be Theresia. Theresia Astrea."
His world shattered.
—SS—SS—
Theresia's early days were a fever dream. Blurry faces, bright chandeliers, and an overwhelming sea of red hair surrounding her. The people who cooed over her were undoubtedly family—brothers who were way too enthusiastic, fawning over how "mature" she was for barely ever crying. Maids dressed in crisp uniforms handled her with precision, bathing her, feeding her, wrapping her in the finest silks and linens. She didn't even need to fuss to get attention. They were always there, always watching, always ready to serve.
It was definitely a royal family. Or something close.
The halls were too grand, the beds too soft, the food too refined. Even as a baby, she could tell she had been born into privilege. People whispered about her in admiration, marveling at how "composed" she was, how she barely acted like an infant at all.
Of course, she barely acted like an infant.
Because she wasn't one.
Subaru Natsuki had been reborn.
As a girl.
What.
She wasn't Subaru anymore. Not legally. Not physically.
She was Theresia Astrea.
No. No, no, no. This was a joke, right? A terrible, messed-up joke.
She retained everything. Every single memory of her past life.
She remembered his parents. His failures. The blood vessel bursting in his head. The suffocating loneliness. The terror. The moment he died.
And now? This.
A noble baby. A redhead. With an entire family doting on her like she was the second coming of something important.
What kind of Isekai nonsense was this?
One moment, she was a depressed shut-in with a headache strong enough to send her to the grave, and the next, she was reincarnated into the body of some noble baby with a name that sounded way too important.
Theresia Astrea.
The name itched at the back of her mind, like she should recognize it, but her thoughts were too scrambled to place it.
And then—
One day, while being bathed by one of the maids, she saw herself.
The water rippled as she was lowered into the basin, and across the room, a large mirror reflected her image.
A child.
A tiny, fragile thing with wisps of red hair and impossibly wide blue eyes.
Her breath caught—not that she could do anything about it in this tiny body.
That was her.
Her new body.
She was really, truly, undeniably not Subaru Natsuki anymore.
She was Theresia van Astrea.
And there was no going back.