You Can Deal With Your Regrets Yourself

The last thing I remembered was miserable.

I had been falsely accused and killed unjustly.

Since I died as a great criminal, my honor had fallen into the abyss, and I thought that not even a single bone fragment would remain intact, let alone a grave.

"It’s Saint Beatrice’s Day?"

"That’s right! It’s the day we offer flowers at the mausoleum of the late Lady Beatrice and remember and give thanks for her noble sacrifice!"

No, ...since when did my birthday become a national holiday?

And more importantly, why was I born into this family again!

People remember me as a sublime sacrifice, and my half-brother, who despised me in life and is now my father, even preserves my dead room exactly as it was. My former fiancé, who treated me as if I didn’t exist, has become emperor, yet he still can’t forget me and acts as if he’s bereaved.

What on earth happened while I was dead?