Crack, crunch.
One by one, tiny pawprints of a small kitten were stamped into the pristine white snow where not a single trace of others could be found.
The sensation of the cold snow touching the pads of its feet felt unfamiliar.
Still, even though people had been saying these past few days that it was warmer, it was just as chilly as ever—enough to make its fur stand on end.
Cold in spring, chilly even in summer, brisk in autumn, and even colder in winter.
‘Come to think of it, I’ve always been cold… I don’t think I’ve ever felt hot before.’
Even so, after shivering from the cold every day, it seemed the kitten had grown somewhat used to it.
Every time it opened its mouth, a puff of white breath rose into the air.
‘Damn it… why am I being made to do something like this…’
A somewhat extraordinary kitten—with pitch-black fur—(19 years old) was lamenting its life.
‘Which idiot said a cat’s life is an easy one? I’m going to track that person down to the ends of the continent and argue with them.’
Irritated for no reason, it kicked at the snow in front of it with its front paws.
‘I’ll definitely confront them.’
The innocent snow it struck scattered in all directions.
Even those humans who were said to have lived such hard lives in the past must have had it easier than me. At least, none of the humans in my memories ever went to snowy mountains to pick flowers.
And yet here I was, wandering through a mountain in the dead of winter because that damned Celestine Simonde suddenly said she wanted to see flowers and ordered me to pick some.
Even though the Simonde estate already had plenty of flowers for Celestine.
This was nothing more than malicious harassment directed at me.
To hell with this.
‘You’d think I’d be used to how the Simonde family treats me by now… but it still stings.’
Or maybe it wasn’t sadness—just annoyance and irritation.
The Simonde family—the “noble white cats.”
They were a high-ranking noble house.
‘After all, they’re the leaders of the cat tribe.’
On the continent of beastfolk, white cats symbolized good fortune, while black cats symbolized misfortune.
And every single member of the Simonde bloodline was born a white cat, which made the family itself a symbol of luck.
Simonde of Fortune.
That was what people called them.
And they took immense pride in that title.
Well, it was something worth being proud of.
It proved they were descendants of Arithea, a being like an untouchable star.
Then one day, in a lineage where only white cats had ever been born, a black cat was born.
That black cat was me—a misfit.
“That thing carries an ominous aura! It will bring ruin to our family!”
“Why is that lump of misfortune still alive?”
“Who are you calling sister? Don’t call me that. It’s filthy.”
As expected, those noble white cats hated me.
No—not just hated. They despised and loathed my very existence. I was their disgrace.
But I had questions too.
Why was a small black cat born among those pristine white ones?
Was I really a member of the Simonde family?
They tormented me relentlessly while thoroughly hiding my existence, as if I shouldn’t exist in this world at all.
As if they were afraid of something.
Since the age of six, I never once properly called a family member by name, nor was my own name ever called. I was nothing more than a convenient outlet for their anger.
My name? I don’t know it either.
Everyone just called me “lump of misfortune.”
I only hoped that wasn’t truly my name.
If it was… that would be really sad.
The people who were supposed to be my family were too busy tormenting me. It started with small errands—bring water, put on their shoes, polish them—but gradually escalated.
When they spoke cruel words with their angelic white hair, that hair seemed more vicious than anything.
If they told me to polish shoes and I did, they would throw them away in front of everyone, claiming they were tainted.
If they told me to bring drinks, they would pour them over my head in front of everyone.
If they ordered me to fetch flowers in the dead of winter, I would suffer to bring them—only for them to trample and burn them, saying they carried a sinister aura.
Wow. Thinking about it like this, they really were outstanding human beings.
‘Trash that can’t even be incinerated.’
At nine, when I finally succeeded in transforming into a human—later than others—I got angry at Celestine for making absurd demands and rebelled a few times.
“I suddenly feel like seeing flowers. Go pick some.”
“Here you go.”
“Where are the flowers?”
Back then, I smiled brightly at the ridiculous demand, held out my hand, and said:
“Right here.”
And then—
Smack!
In front of everyone, I was struck hard across the face.
“Anne, throw these gloves away.”
From that day on, Lady Simonde and Celestine beat me all over.
Fine. I admit my rebellion was a bit abnormal.
But I didn’t hit Celestine, and it barely even counted as rebellion—wasn’t that too much?
As time passed, the punishments grew harsher, and eventually, I gave up resisting and decided to live quietly.
And as if they had been waiting for that, the moment I became obedient, they began making even more unreasonable demands.
Thinking back on it now… they really were remarkable people.
Still, I endured.
No matter how much I was hurt, no matter how much my heart was trampled, even when I was treated as if I didn’t exist—I could endure it.
…Until one day, when the head of the family said this:
“I will remove the misfortune from that lump of misfortune.”
The moment he said it, everyone praised his benevolence.
Not only allowing the lump of misfortune to stay in the estate, but even removing its misfortune! How generous!
It was ironic, praising someone for accepting their own child.
The servants and maids snickered and kicked me lightly.
“You should be grateful. As a lump of misfortune, you should’ve been kicked out already, yet you get to stay thanks to His Grace’s mercy.”
“He’s so kind, taking in something like that. If it were me, I’d have thrown it out long ago.”
“Exactly. It’s unsettling to keep it around. A being that brings misfortune.”
“But His Grace said he’d even remove your bad luck.”
“Even if your misfortune is gone, don’t forget your nature. You’re still filth that brings misery to others.”
“It’s only because this is fortunate Simonde that you’re allowed to exist. Somewhere else, you’d already be dead from your bad luck.”
“That’s the fate you were meant for.”
It was strange that servants bullied someone who was technically part of the family, but no one stopped them.
If anything, they encouraged it.
My existence was a disgrace to the Simonde family. Inside the estate, they treated me like this, but outside, everyone kept silent about me.
No matter how cruel they were, it would never leak out.
Because I was something that shouldn’t exist.
Even the butler avoided places where I was, as if encountering me was filthy.
Seeing how Lady Simonde and Celestine openly tormented me in front of everyone, it was obvious no one would intervene.
People pretended not to see me, as if I didn’t exist at all.
Naturally, the abuse only worsened over time.
Perhaps because of the head’s command, after he declared he would remove my misfortune, Lady Simonde and Celestine no longer came to beat me.
They only occasionally gave me strange errands, looking at me with disgust.
Instead, something far worse began.
A hell beyond imagination.
An absurd hell.
Pain so intense that even a beastfolk could barely maintain sanity.
Endless agony that crushed the mind and made normal life impossible.
Compared to this, the past torment from Celestine, Lady Simonde, and the servants felt like child’s play.
My veins constantly screamed from the unbearable pain.
“…Doctor…”
“…Still… half a success…”
Those were always the last words I heard before fainting from pain.
Whenever they came, I would run desperately through the mansion, not wanting to experience that agony again.
It was a desperate attempt to survive.
The wounds stitched into my body would often tear open from my frantic movements.
But in the end, I was always caught and dragged back to that place—whether it was an infirmary or a laboratory.
Whoever said giving up makes things easier was right.
Yes. It did.
My resistance was useless, and the sense of helplessness that had sprouted inside me had grown large enough to consume me entirely.
After I gave up running, I could no longer move from the tattered box I had been thrown into.
They said it hurt less when asleep, so I lay still, trying to fall asleep before the experiments began.
Even then, someone would come daily to check if I was alive, and others frequently came to record something on paper while observing me.
I didn’t even know why. I wasn’t in any condition to move.
My state never changed.
I always lay in that box, and whenever I opened my eyes, I was covered in blood, unable to move.
Still, it hurt less than when I ran and tore open my stitched wounds.
And then—
“Tch. That one’s a failure.”
With those words and a look of contempt, my hell ended.
I thought I saw a flicker of fear in their eyes.
The surveillance remained, but I was no longer dragged into that horrifying place filled with scissors, needles, knives, and all sorts of drugs.
For a while, no one paid attention to me.
After the final experiment, I lay in that box for days, unable to move.
It hurt terribly.
Some kind of energy tore through my body, stabbing me from within.
The body that could once transform into a human could no longer even dream of it.
It felt as though frost had formed around my heart—my whole body freezing solid—yet at the same time, it burned as if seared by fire.
A contradictory, extreme pain.
Even breathing was difficult under that paradoxical agony, and eventually, I lost consciousness.
And then—
‘…Oh, damn.’
That was when I regained memories of my past life.
‘My life…’
