She killed her first person at five.
Back then, it had been simple. Someone tried to take what kept her alive, so she stopped them. Every kill after that followed the same rule—there had to be a clear reason, or a mission.
So when this body was accused of killing its own sister, she didn’t feel guilt.
She felt confusion.
She knew what killing felt like. This wasn’t it.
If she hadn’t done it, then the girl who used to live in this body must have had a very good reason. At least that’s what she told herself.
A sharp stiffness spread across her shoulders as a muscular man in uniform forced her arms behind her back and pushed her down onto her knees in the middle of the bedroom.
She glanced down at herself.
This body was weak. Almost embarrassingly so. Barely any muscle at all.
"So, Jasmine, please tell me." A middle-aged woman sat beside the bed, one hand clutching her daughter’s limp arm. Tears ran down her face as she shook it. "Tell me how you killed my daughter! Tell me how she died! She left the house perfectly fine, so... how? What did you do?"
Jasmine.
She still wasn’t used to that name. For the past two hours everyone had been calling her that. Apparently it belonged to this body. Her name used to be G-69, but the face in the mirror clearly belonged to someone else.
So it was Jasmine, for now. Apparently, her death came with paperwork.
"I... I don’t rem—mem—ber." The words came out thin and shaky.
Jasmine stopped. She tilted her head and cleared her throat.
What was wrong with this voice? She used to speak clearly even with zombies breathing down her neck. Now she sounded like she was apologizing for existing.
"This bastard must have planned everything." The middle-aged man behind the grieving woman pointed at her, voice sharp with anger. "She lured my niece into a blind spot and pretended to faint after killing her. How cruel. You deserve to be thrown into Ravenrock Prison!"
Jasmine watched him. His face was doing a good job of looking furious, but his eyes kept drifting from the mother to Rosalie, to her, then back again. Like he was checking whether everyone still believed the same story.
She made a mental note of it.
"Of course, Father." A pink-haired girl with a high ponytail stepped forward. "This shameless E-Rank must have been waiting for the chance when Rosalie was weakened after guiding her fiance. A kind-hearted S-Rank Guide like her simply walked into the trap. Vile."
She picked up the flower vase and tipped it.
Cold water hit Jasmine’s head, soaked her hair, and ran down her clothes.
She blinked the water from her eyes and wiped her face. That felt unnecessary.
Her gaze dropped to her lap. The left side of her black trousers was shredded from hip to thigh. Even through the dark fabric, the smell of blood was strong. A lot of blood.
She took a slow breath. Observe. Analyse. Then act. The old rules still applied.
She remembered dying in the lab while extracting toxin from a monster plant. Lungs burning, no air, then nothing. Next thing she knew, she was opening someone else’s eyes in a half-collapsed building with Rosalie’s body lying next to her. Minutes later, men in uniform dragged her here, and for the last two hours everyone had been very busy explaining why she was guilty.
They all seemed extremely sure of themselves. Even after she said she didn’t remember, no one cared.
Jasmine let her eyes move slowly around the room.
The woman by the bed was genuinely broken. Apparently, she was Jasmine’s stepmother, judging by how often she called Rosalie "my daughter." Yet, funny how easily that warmth disappeared whenever she looked at Jasmine.
The man behind her kept making soothing noises, but the calculation in his eyes never really left.
Then the pink-haired one—Tansy, someone had called her. She stared at Jasmine with real hatred. Yet every time her gaze landed on Rosalie, her face softened. But every so often the corner of her mouth suspiciously twitched upward, quick and wrong.
The rest were servants. Heads down, ears open, whispering whenever they thought it was safe.
No one was on her side. Even though this body supposedly belonged to the family.
Good. It was simpler that way. She didn’t know these people and had no interest in pretending she did.
Her attention returned to Rosalie.
Two hours dead, and the face still had color. The mother was still shaking one hand as if it might wake her. The fingers moved too easily. No real stiffness. It was strange.
"Doctor." Jasmine straightened and pushed her voice steadier. That made every head turn. "Do you have morrowbane compound in this world?"
The doctor froze. So did the rest of the room. Even the whispering stopped.
They were clearly used to Jasmine speaking in soft, shaky tones.
"What’s with that tone?" Tansy said. "Not stuttering anymore?"
Jasmine didn’t look at her. She kept her eyes on the doctor.
"I’m afraid I’ve never heard of that compound, Young Miss," he said after a moment. "What does it do?"
"Ah." She looked down. "Nothing."
There was no morrowbane here. In her world, it could shut down vital organs for a particular time and make someone look dead for a while.
So was Rosalie actually dead? No breath, no heartbeat, but she still looked like she was only sleeping.
A low rumble moved through her stomach, followed by a familiar surge of energy. Jasmine’s eyes narrowed. She knew that feeling. The same one people got when they awakened back in her world.
So this body had a core.
Not completely useless, then. With work, the muscles could be fixed. The starting point was just... embarrassing.
She felt stronger than when she first woke up. She made a slight attempt to loosen the guard’s grip, but it barely moved. No point wasting her strength yet. She breathed slowly and let the core keep charging.
The doctor prepared to leave.
"Doctor," Jasmine shouted louder this time. "Is it possible for someone here to fake their death by eating something?"
The room went quiet again.
Jasmine glanced around. It had been a straightforward question. Apparently not in this room.
Whispers started almost immediately.
"I’ve never heard Young Miss speak so clearly..."
"How can she not feel guilty?"
"Did she hit her head?"
She ignored them. She only wanted the doctor’s answer.
"We rarely hear her speak properly," Tansy said, "and when she does it’s just nonsense. Not even a hint of guilt!"
She grabbed another flower and threw it.
Jasmine tilted her head, letting the flower sail past her face. She looked at it, then at Tansy.
This one really enjoyed throwing things.
"What are you even saying?" the mother shouted, standing up. "Faking death? Are you saying my daughter is faking it? I took you in from that worthless mother of yours, raised you, and even Rosalie adored you, and... this is how you repay us? I should tear that mouth of yours so you never speak again!"
The moment she stepped forward, Jasmine felt it. Danger.
The core finished charging at the same time.
Perfect.
The mother’s hand swung.
Jasmine twisted free of the guard’s hold and rolled sideways. The slap missed her completely and landed squarely between the man’s legs.
He made a strangled sound and folded, both hands clamped tight.
The mother stood frozen.
Jasmine was already on the other side of the room.
She looked at the guard, then at the woman.
"Oh," she said. "That must hurt."
The room stared.
She looked back at them. Shock, confusion, anger—various combinations of the three. She seemed to have that effect.
"You dare avoid my slap?" the mother demanded.
Jasmine tilted her head. "Was I supposed to stand there and take it?"
The woman stared at her like the question itself was offensive.
Jasmine’s eyes moved across the room and landed on a wooden rolling pin leaning against a table. It looked exactly like the one she used to keep in her old kitchen.
She picked it up without thinking and spun it once in her hand. Then again. Old habit.
Several people sucked in a breath. The mother actually stepped back.
"You... you’re going to hit me with that?"
"No. It’s just a habit." She stopped the pin in her palm and met the woman’s eyes. "But don’t assume I can’t use it if I have to. I asked the doctor a normal question. I already told you I don’t remember. Why keep attacking me? Do I even have enough reason to kill your daughter?"
"Of course you do!" Tansy cut in. "Everyone knows you’ve been crazy about Oleander for years. You wanted to take him from your sister. Isn’t that enough?"
Jasmine followed Tansy’s pointing finger toward the door.
A tall young man with brown hair and glasses had just walked in. The atmosphere shifted around him. People straightened. The servants went quiet. Even the mother stopped mid-shout.
So this was Oleander.
Jasmine studied him for a second. Not unpleasant to look at. But enough reason to kill a sister over?
She glanced around the room again—the screaming mother, the uncle with the careful eyes, the pink-haired girl who couldn’t seem to stop talking, the servants whispering in the corners.
Then back at him.
Her brows drew together slightly.
Why would the previous owner of this body lose her mind over one man when the family alone already had enough material for several breakdowns?
She almost felt a little sorry for her.