Jasmine closed her eyes as a heavy force pulled through her body, shaking her hard. When the pressure finally stopped, she opened them again and froze.
This was not the same room.
Shiny titanium walls. A bed frame lined with small lights and buttons. A metal desk. A bright white oval sofa that looked soft enough to sink into.
Only one thing hadn’t changed, she was still leaning against Oleander, his hand firm around her arm from behind.
She met his gaze and blinked, caught between confusion and quiet awe.
"You... just now... Did we just teleport?"
The question came out plain and curious, almost childlike.
Oleander didn’t answer right away. He guided her to the bed and sat her down, then walked toward the metal wall. He pressed his palm against what looked like a smooth panel. A hidden cabinet slid open.
"That’s the first time today you’ve sounded like yourself," he said. Then, after a pause, "Though not really. My Jasmine would never ask about my S-Rank ability."
He turned back with a small box in his hands.
Jasmine quickly closed her mouth and straightened her back, expression flattening again.
Something about the way he said my Jasmine felt off. She didn’t know why her heart had picked up speed.
"Why am I your Jasmine?" she asked blandly.
Oleander’s jaw tightened. His gaze dropped as he walked over and sat beside her. When she shifted away to put space between them, his frown deepened.
He studied her from head to toe.
Same face. Same icy blue eyes. But none of the usual signs. No flushed cheeks. No darting glances. No shy little smile she used to hide. Even the way she looked at him was wrong, sharp, empty of the admiration he was used to.
It scraped at his pride.
He opened the box and took out the ointment.
"Turn around. Lift your shirt."
Jasmine’s eyes dropped to the tube in his hand. She recognized the label fast enough. Without argument, she turned her back to him, shrugged off her brown leather jacket, and pulled her white shirt over her head, leaving only her bra.
With the same tired, resting expression, she swept her long hair forward over one shoulder to give him a clear view of her back.
Should I cut this hair short? The thought crossed her mind as she tugged at a strand.
But this isn’t my hair.
She waited.
Seconds passed. He still hadn’t touched her.
"What are you waiting for?" She tried twisting her neck to look, failed, and kept talking. "Isn’t there a bruise? It’s throbbing. The impact was hard. There has to be something."
She spotted a mirror across the room and decided her legs felt steady enough. She stood too quickly.
Oleander grabbed her arm and pulled her closer. Too bad, the wobble was back.
She lost her balance, tipped forward, and landed on top of him, pinning him to the bed.
"What are you doing with this behaviour?" His calm cracked. His face flushed dark. "Did you change your mind? Is that why you killed her? So you could do this? Who are you really?"
Jasmine disliked the interrogation more than the fall. Why was he so angry?
"Am I heavy? You can just roll me off. My legs are still weak. No need to get angry. If you hadn’t pulled my arm, I wouldn’t have fallen on you."
She said it flatly, still expressionless.
Oleander stared at her like he was trying to force the pieces into a shape that made sense. Same face. Same eyes. Completely different person.
In the next second, he reversed their positions, pinning her down.
Jasmine gasped. Her hands came up reflexively against his chest, keeping distance.
"Do you think I’m angry because you fell on me?"
"Aren’t you?"
"Don’t play with me, Jasmine. We’re alone here."
"Should we invite more people? Make it three? Four? Five? You’re the one who brought us here alone."
Her confusion was genuine.
"You said the professors would prove I lost my memory. That’s why I accepted your help earlier."
Oleander’s hand tightened in the sheet. There was no shy, flirtatious edge in her voice. And the fact that she had stripped so casually in front of him was already enough proof that something was deeply wrong.
He swallowed hard, then pushed himself off her.
"I don’t need the professors." He grabbed the blanket and threw it over her, looking away. "This is enough."
Jasmine sat up on the edge of the bed, head slightly spinning, the blanket sliding down to her lap. She looked at him with a questioning look.
"What do you mean?"
"I believe you." He paused, then looked at her, who was still confused. "I believe you lost your memory."
For the first time that day, Jasmine smiled. Her eyes brightened a little.
"Thank you."
Oleander looked irritated that she still hadn’t fixed the blanket. Without looking at her, he said, "Turn around."
"Ah. The ointment. Right."
She turned her back to him again.
He sat behind her and let out a heavy breath before carefully spreading the cool ointment over the bruise.
The moment his fingers touched her skin, a faint shiver ran through her. The ointment was cold, but the warmth of his fingertips underneath it was clearer than she expected. Her shoulders tensed slightly before she forced them still.
Her mind stayed quiet. Her body did not.
"I don’t know if your memory loss is causing you to lose your sense of shame," he muttered, "but don’t take your clothes off so easily in front of men."
"Ah... That’s not normal here?"
"Of course it’s not normal at all!"
"Fine." Her answer was clipped.
In her past life, when she lived alongside her team, she had been used to changing clothes in the barracks with men and women mingling together. It had been completely normal to her.
Apparently, this world was more modest. Noted.
"Is that why you got angry? Because I took my shirt off? What did you mean by ’changed my mind’?"
Oleander clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to press too hard on the bruise.
"No. Nothing. Forget it. I wasn’t angry. My mental energy dropped after using teleportation. I almost lost control."
"Ah. I see."
Jasmine nodded slowly, filing the information away. S-Rank ability. Teleportation. Costs mental energy.
Behind her, Oleander’s expression twisted with something bitter.
He couldn’t say the real reason out loud.
You came to me. Threw yourself at me. Said you wanted a deep bond. You pushed until I lost my restraint, then the moment I reached for you, you shoved me away and ran.
How dare you forget that? How dare you forget how you left me here?
His breath stayed uneven as he continued treating the bruise, the words locked firmly behind his teeth.
Oleander closed the ointment tube and placed it back into the box.
"It’s done. Put your clothes on."
As Jasmine reached for her shirt, a low rumble came from her stomach.
Silence.
Oleander stared.
Jasmine turned her head slowly, lips pressed thin, and blinked at him.
"Do you have something I can eat? Seems this body gets weak easily because it’s hungry."
Oleander sighed and walked back to the titanium wall. Another panel slid open, revealing stacked rows of metal meal boxes.
"Your body isn’t weak just because of hunger," he said. "It’s surprising you can still talk back after being thrown by a former B-Rank Guide."
Jasmine filed the information away, but her eyes stayed fixed on the boxes in his hands as he walked toward her.
She wanted to see what kind of food this world had.
It had to be interesting.
The moment he held one out, she reached for it too quickly. Oleander pulled it back.
"Wear your clothes first." His tone was tight.
Jasmine pulled the white shirt over her head without argument. Only then did he hand her the box.
Oleander watched her face brighten at the sight of it and frowned slightly. Is she that hungry?
She opened the lid.
The brightness drained from her expression. Her jaw slackened.
"What kind of food is this?" Her voice sounded like she had just witnessed a crime.
For a former head chef of the Assassin Bureau, the contents of that box might have been the most offensive thing she had seen in her entire career.