In her memories, Diana always exploited her noble status to force Lenna into playing "games" meant for adults.

She called it "learning," but the truth was evident: several bedsheets were torn beyond repair, countless pairs of silk stockings ruined—stacked high enough to tower over one’s head.

Yet the culprit never admitted to losing control of her "water gun." She’d just pull on fresh stockings and demand another round, only to be repeatedly rejected by Lenna’s excuse of frail health. "Another time," she’d pout.

Beyond her private antics, Diana also pestered Lenna with endless questions. No matter how random the topic started, it always circled back to romance. Like a hopeless romantic novice, she’d chatter obsessively about love.

Lenna grew suspicious—this little brat must have a crush.

At first, Lenna nodded along politely. Later, tired of the nagging, she’d ignore her entirely. That’s when Diana switched tactics to stay in the spotlight.

For instance, she’d empty Lenna’s spellbook and replace its contents with a three-legged golden toad—a creature so rare even the Fran Black Market seldom saw one. When Lenna yelped in shock, flinging the book away, Diana would leap out, pointing and laughing: "Weakling~ ❤!" Her tiny hands covered her giggling cherry lips, revealing her true nature as a little demon.

Was Lenna angry?

Not really.

Back then, she wasn’t the Lenna she is now. Cautious and fearful of trouble, she worried provoking Diana might anger the Imperial powers backing her. So she endured, again and again.

But Diana was the type who grew bolder with every ray of sunshine. Lenna’s constant yielding only inflated the little princess’s arrogance, escalating her torment.

Sometimes, before Lenna could even rest, the haughty Imperial Princess would drag her off for more teasing. Only after Diana was satisfied did Lenna have to feign outrage to amuse her—a daily ritual she couldn’t escape.

Lenna once believed pleasing Diana meant securing the Empire’s favor. She didn’t realize that by lowering herself too much, she’d become a doormat for the insolent brat to stomp on and mock, sinking deeper into a vicious cycle.

So, did she truly hate Diana? Not really. How could she hate a mischievous little brat?

At most, she’d just teach her a lesson—beat her up, scold her—and call it even.

But after the Falmore Family’s destruction, when Lingling helped her flee, every trace of magic left during their escape pointed squarely to that ill-tempered Imperial Princess.

Like a scorned ex-wife clinging desperately to a shattered relationship, Diana’s actions crossed Lenna’s final line.

Enough was enough.

Cornered by pursuers once more, Lenna finally snapped: "Is Imperial Princess Diana behind this?"

When they confirmed it, she slaughtered every Imperial soldier on the spot—leaving only one alive to deliver a message:

*"If I ever rise again, I’ll make that arrogant little brat taste the wrath of a grown woman. What goes around comes around—I’ll make you regret it."*

The exact words were rougher, but the meaning stood.

She was furious—so furious she’d actually *wanted* to make someone regret it for the first time. So furious it cleared her mind.

In a twisted way, Diana had pulled Lenna back from the brink.

Back then, drowning in grief over her ruined family and shattered identity, Lenna drifted through days in a daze, losing all sense of self. But Diana’s provocation jolted her awake. She cursed the ungrateful brat, the white wolf that couldn’t be tamed.

News reached the Empire a week later.

Diana fell silent.

Yet the pursuers didn’t lessen—in fact, their numbers grew.

Lenna assumed her threat had made the high-and-mighty little princess cry to the Empress for more troops. But strangely, the fierce soldiers showed no trace of Diana’s magic.

Baffled, she packed her bags and fled again.

With Lingling, she embarked on a never-ending escape.

Lenna felt as if the little brat’s interference no longer mattered. A hollow emptiness filled her chest—was it loneliness or relief? It was as if they’d severed all ties, becoming strangers who’d never met.

Later, after Lingling fell in battle and Lenna was exiled to the Bis Wastelands, she never saw Diana again.

That purple silhouette that had shouted "weakling" at her every single day seemed to vanish from her life forever—along with the soul Lenna had sold to demons, and Lingling’s very existence.

Ashen robe, ashen hair. For ten years, she wandered every continent, gathering only one piece of news:

*Diana van Tavesa was dead. She’d slit her own throat in her chambers, tear tracks staining her cheeks.*

Diana died in the third year of Almeria’s civil war. Factions clashed violently; famine and plague ravaged the so-called "greatest empire." The nation crumbled, its people suffering.

Perhaps that’s why she chose death.

But Lenna believed Diana had killed herself to escape an arranged marriage. As a powerless Imperial Princess, death was her only leverage against the Empress. A futile gesture—the Empress cared only for her crumbling throne. Her daughter’s fate had been sealed at birth.

The civil war itself was a power struggle. Diana’s faction, though strong, lacked crucial combat strength to counter the Empire’s Hero-led forces. Her death left them leaderless, slowly devoured by the Imperial faction—reduced to dust in history’s river.

Hmm. Diana’s life sounded tragic enough. But compared to Lenna’s? A pale shadow.

Besides, Lenna doubted this story would move her. Not unless someone pierced her heart like Angela had. Though Lenna refused to lose to the same trick twice—Angela had just gotten lucky.

*Diana van Tavesa.* That name wouldn’t be erased from her list.

Lenna would personally make that arrogant little brat eat her words, watching her smug mouth soften into surrender before drowning her in cream puff justice!

*You little brat! Time to learn what adults are made of!!*

......

Shaking off the thoughts, Lenna walked on, stopping only when she reached the heart of the Fran Black Market.

Before her stood a dilapidated colosseum. Weathered by wind and sun, its grandeur still lingered beneath the scars. Towering ruins blocked most sunlight, casting the area where Lenna stood in gloom and desolation.

A man in a black robe sold tickets at the entrance. A coin-gulping wyvern hovered above his head as he waved tickets, its maw sucking coins straight from his pocket: "One silver coin per ticket—now only fifty copper! Half-session deals! First come, first served!"

"One for me!"

"Me too! I’ll win it back this time!!"

Gamblers surged forward, their shadowed eyes blazing with desperate fervor.

Amid the crowd, Lenna bought a ticket, then paid two silver coins to skip the line. Only then did she slip inside...