Lyselle struggled to dig herself out of the grave.

The Champion’s coffin was way too sturdy—nailed shut tight. No matter how hard she tried inside, it wouldn’t budge. Immovable, like the Champion’s stubborn mouth.

Luckily, she was a Sorceress.

That coffin could trap a faking-dead Priestess, but not a risen Sorceress.

With just a touch of wondrous magic, Lyselle burst free and returned to the living world.

She emerged into a graveyard—or rather, a vast empty field with only one tombstone.

Lyselle stood before it, reading the epitaph:

"Here lies a devout Priestess, the best companion, a lovely lady. Her name is—"

"Lyselle Charlotte."

What a coincidence—the resting Priestess shared her name. But this Lyselle wasn’t that Lyselle. One was a Priestess, the other a Sorceress; one had golden hair and green eyes, the other silver hair and blue eyes. Worlds apart. How could they be the same?

Yet they were.

Just thinking of it made Lyselle grin wide.

She recalled the Champion’s utterly devastated face when she, disguised as a Priestess, took a fatal blow for him and faked her death.

Pain! Oh, the sweet pain!

She’d never thought she’d see that guy—the Champion—shed a tear.

He was stronger and more optimistic than anyone. In her three years following him, no matter how dire the crisis, he never gave up.

He even spared energy to encourage his teammates.

Though sometimes unserious and stubborn, even Lyselle admitted Shall was a truly capable Champion.

Upright, decisive, kind, gentle—he had nearly all a Champion’s virtues.

Slaying monsters, mediating wars, protecting humanity—he fulfilled every duty flawlessly.

So why did Lyselle seek revenge?

Because that guy had offended her.

Every time she thought of it, she ground her teeth.

She wasn’t native to this world.

She came from another—one without Champions or Sorceresses, bathed in science’s light.

There, she was an ordinary office drone.

Day in, day out, commuting and pulling all-nighters. Even a donkey grinding grain would beg, "Bro, please stop—you’re scaring me!"

After three or four years, he finally snapped. Before he could shout, "Damn it! Today I storm the CEO’s office and take that seat!", darkness swallowed him.

He died of overwork.

Darkly humorous.

After death, he reincarnated here.

She died, but not completely—she began anew. The cost? Becoming this:

White hair, a small round face, blue eyes, petite and light—a sweet, soft lion cat, though she couldn’t meow.

She also lost something vital.

Though it had never been useful, the sudden loss saddened her… But she didn’t mourn her manhood for a second. What rushed in was—

Sorceress Lyselle.

She discovered a talent for sorcery.

Better to live poorly than die well. With little to miss from her past life, she embraced this one fast.

Brewing potions, learning spells, flying broomsticks—she became a true Sorceress.

But her past life clung like a leech. The longer she stayed here, the more she missed her old world.

Online shopping, food delivery, unfinished anime, pre-ordered games, gaming buddies she’d planned to meet…

In her tenth year here, Lyselle decided to return.

She devoured every plane-shifting tome she could find. Then spent nearly a decade scouring the continent for materials.

Finally, she succeeded.

She built a massive array for interdimensional travel. But just as she activated it, eager to go home—the Champion arrived.

He’d come to her hideout to slay a monster.

Their battle’s aftershocks disrupted the array. Her decade of work shattered in the Champion’s hands.

As a Sorceress, lifespan meant little. The array might not even have worked.

But she couldn’t swallow this insult!

"A gentleman’s revenge takes ten years." Pre-reincarnation Lyselle had been a gentleman—a proper 24-year-old tough guy.

Now? She had nothing to do with "gentleman."

She was a Sorceress. By their moral standards, why shouldn’t others obey her?

She’d given up on herself.

A barbarian now—if bitten, she’d bite back hard!

An eye for an eye, doubled!

The Champion destroyed her array? She’d make him taste losing a loved one.

Three years ago, she left her hideout. Disguised as Priestess Charlotte Lyselle, she infiltrated his party and made him fall for her.

It still annoyed her.

This Champion, Shall, was the dumbest she’d ever seen!

How could someone be so dense!?

No matter her fake smiles and flattery, he stayed unmoved. Only after huge effort did that stubborn tree bloom. Yet he never said "I love you."

Let those words rot in his gut.

Until her fake death, she gave him zero chances to say it.

Let him live with regret!

Lyselle clicked her tongue. "Tsk."

But revenge was sweet. Her mood soared—she hummed a cheerful tune.

Whether the Champion sank into despair wasn’t her concern. Served him right!

Remembering his tearful, pathetic face, she wanted to shout "Good riddance!" and pop champagne.

After the imaginary toast, the satisfied Sorceress glanced at the tombstone.

Today was her revenge day. Her resurrection day.

No more Priestess Lyselle Charlotte—only Sorceress Lyselle.

No more scheming to win the Champion’s love. She’d sweep him aside and be herself again!

Nothing deserved celebration more. She’d treat herself to a feast at home.

But the array’s collapse ruined her materials. Building a new one meant another decade gathering them.

Terrible news. It gave her a headache.

Her sunny mood turned cloudy with showers.

Grinding her teeth, she pulled out her Magic Wand. "Damn Champion, don’t let me catch you," she thought. "If I do, you won’t get any good juice!"

She’d planned it all.

If she ever met him, she’d circle him, singing and dancing sarcastically:

"Oh dear, who failed to protect their beloved, watching them die in their arms? Who missed everything, never saying ‘I love you’ before death? Who was powerless, crying like a clown?"

Just imagining his face filled her with bountiful joy.

She hummed happily.

Waving her wand, she cast the Blink Spell without chanting.

Her form vanished on a breeze. Another breeze stirred—Lyselle reappeared near her hideout, now in Sorceress garb, the Priestess disguise gone. She pressed down her slightly flared skirt. Tap-tap. Her feet landed.

She faintly remembered last coming home… well, last time.

In high spirits, she hurried toward her nest, planning her celebratory meal.

But she froze before the door.

A familiar figure stood there—who absolutely shouldn’t be here. Head drooping wearily, clothes disheveled, exhausted from roughing it.

Honestly, he looked unrecognizable. But even as ashes, Lyselle would know him.

"Ch-Ch-Ch-Champion?!"

She gasped softly, almost biting her tongue.

[To be continued]