Red Dandelions

[McPhoenixDavid]

Dandelion​

Subaru's grip on the broken joystick was so tight that his fingers hurt. His breathing was uneven, his vision unfocused, and his ears rang as his heart pounded against his ribs. His room was dark except for the flickering screen of his game console, the "Game Over" text mocking him. His uselessness. His pathetic excuse for a life. He let the joystick slip from his grasp, his hand shaking. He had broken it, just like everything else. He couldn't even play a damn game without proving how worthless he was.



His gaze shifted back to the family portrait on his desk. His parents' smiles were frozen in time, stuck in a moment that would never exist again. Their faces were so familiar, yet now they felt distant, unreachable. Their deaths had been quick, brutal, and meaningless. A terrorist attack in Ohayo, a place they had only been visiting for work. A stray bullet, a sudden explosion—he never even got to say goodbye. He had been there. He had been right there, standing in the chaos, his legs locked in place, his voice stolen by fear. He did nothing. He was useless. He was always useless.



He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.



And now, even in their absence, all he could think about was himself. He hated himself for it. He thought of his father as a source of money, his mother as someone who took care of him. Without them, he had nothing. No money. No support. He couldn't even survive on his own. What kind of person was he? He was selfish. Weak. A taint to love. He didn't deserve the love they had given him. A loser. A loser. A loser.



The thoughts circled in his head, spiraling out of control. His chest tightened. His vision swam.



He needed to distract himself. He grabbed another controller, started up a different game, but the screen blurred. His hands were trembling. The pressure in his skull built, the weight of everything crushing down on him. His temples throbbed. His heartbeat roared in his ears. The characters on the screen became meaningless shapes, their movements chaotic and incomprehensible. The pain grew sharper. Hot. Searing. His fingers lost their grip. The joystick slipped again, but this time, he didn't care.



The pressure in his head surged to unbearable levels.



It hurt.



It hurt so much.



He gasped. His vision turned white, then red. A sharp, splitting sensation crackled through his skull. A sudden, horrifying snap.



Something inside him burst.



His body convulsed.



His head was splitting open from the inside.



His world turned cold.



Then—



Darkness.



The darkness lasted an eternity. Or maybe it was just a moment.



Then—



Pain.



Excruciating pain.



His body was being crushed. No, twisted. His neck felt like it was being wrung out like a rag. His lungs burned. His muscles screamed.



No, this was worse than death. This was hell.



The world was red.



A deep, wet crimson surrounded him, pulsating and shifting. He couldn't move. His body wasn't his own. He had no control.



Then—



Voices.



"I can see the head!" Someone shouted, urgent and excited.



The pain intensified. His entire body was being forced through something too small, too tight, suffocating him. His skull ached, his skin burned.



He tried to scream, but his throat was raw. No sound came out.



Then—



Light.



A blinding, painful light.



A rush of cold air.



Then—



A cry.



A newborn's cry.



His own cry.



No. No. No. No. No.



Something was terribly wrong.



"Lord Astera, it's a girl!"



No.



Subaru's vision was still blurry, his body weak, unresponsive. But he could see them. Silhouettes shifting above him. A woman holding him. A man watching over him.



His mind screamed in denial, but his body was too small, too helpless to resist.



He wasn't supposed to be here.



This wasn't right.



This wasn't real.



It couldn't be.



But then—



A voice.



Gentle. Firm.



"Beautiful," the man said. His deep voice was filled with warmth, but also something else—expectation. Power.



Subaru—or whoever he was now—was lifted, cradled in strong arms. He was held up, as if being presented to the world.



"I can see the potential in you," the man continued, his blue eyes gleaming as they locked onto Subaru's. No—not Subaru.



From here on, he wasn't Subaru anymore.



"You shall be Theresia. Theresia Astrea."



His world shattered.

—SS—SS—​

Theresia's early days were a fever dream. Blurry faces, bright chandeliers, and an overwhelming sea of red hair surrounding her. The people who cooed over her were undoubtedly family—brothers who were way too enthusiastic, fawning over how "mature" she was for barely ever crying. Maids dressed in crisp uniforms handled her with precision, bathing her, feeding her, wrapping her in the finest silks and linens. She didn't even need to fuss to get attention. They were always there, always watching, always ready to serve.



It was definitely a royal family. Or something close.



The halls were too grand, the beds too soft, the food too refined. Even as a baby, she could tell she had been born into privilege. People whispered about her in admiration, marveling at how "composed" she was, how she barely acted like an infant at all.



Of course, she barely acted like an infant.



Because she wasn't one.



Subaru Natsuki had been reborn.



As a girl.



What.



She wasn't Subaru anymore. Not legally. Not physically.



She was Theresia Astrea.



No. No, no, no. This was a joke, right? A terrible, messed-up joke.



She retained everything. Every single memory of her past life.



She remembered his parents. His failures. The blood vessel bursting in his head. The suffocating loneliness. The terror. The moment he died.



And now? This.



A noble baby. A redhead. With an entire family doting on her like she was the second coming of something important.



What kind of Isekai nonsense was this?



One moment, she was a depressed shut-in with a headache strong enough to send her to the grave, and the next, she was reincarnated into the body of some noble baby with a name that sounded way too important.



Theresia Astrea.



The name itched at the back of her mind, like she should recognize it, but her thoughts were too scrambled to place it.



And then—



One day, while being bathed by one of the maids, she saw herself.



The water rippled as she was lowered into the basin, and across the room, a large mirror reflected her image.



A child.



A tiny, fragile thing with wisps of red hair and impossibly wide blue eyes.



Her breath caught—not that she could do anything about it in this tiny body.



That was her.



Her new body.



She was really, truly, undeniably not Subaru Natsuki anymore.



She was Theresia van Astrea.



And there was no going back.

---

A/N:

Red Dandelions

Genre: Dark-Fantasy, Comedy, Romance and Adventure.

Icon Cover: Me.

Chapter Cover:

無題 — pixiv ID: 87709047

Twitter re_zero_rezelos

Words: 213K.

Updates: Regularly.

I hate disappointing readers so I'll give away spoilers:

1. This will be extremely dark in the begining.

2. Will get rom-com vibes in the mid arcs.

3. Then absolutely romance and comedy.

4. Dark again.

5. Ending: by the time when canon had began in Season One.

6. Characters like Grimm, Carol will not appear because I did not read LN (At the time).

7. Characters like Valga Cromwell, Sphnix will be different.

8. The battles will be significantly different from canon.

9. Will Focus entirely on the Witch Cult and so on.

10. Characters like Rosewall J. Mathers and Weilhelm will obviously be here.

That's all for now.

If you are feeling generous, then do support me on Patreon.

 

[McPhoenixDavid]

Roses​

---

Theresia still hadn't decided if she should curse or admire whoever the mad author of this absurd story was—if one even existed. A gender swap? Really? She knew she was living in some kind of fantasy world now, but the fact that she had been reincarnated as a noble girl of all things was a cruel joke. What happened to waking up in a cozy, modern world with convenience stores and gaming consoles? What about anime? Manga? Internet? Nope. All gone. Instead, she got this—maids who fussed over her every little movement, brothers who acted like she was a divine treasure, and an overwhelming amount of frilly dresses.



Yeah. She was struggling.



But at least the bedtime stories were kind of cool.



Her mother had this habit of telling her about their family's legacy—the whole "descendants of the legendary Sword Saints" thing. A long bloodline of warriors, heroes who wielded unmatched strength, protectors of the kingdom. Apparently, her uncle was the current Sword Saint, which meant he was the big deal of this generation.



Fantasy world confirmed.



Honestly? She wasn't too surprised. After all, she had literally been reborn. Fantasy rules applied.



Still, it didn't make the whole noble baby girl thing any less annoying.



The maids, for example, were everywhere. Every time she so much as shifted in her crib, they'd rush in like she had just performed some miracle. When she finally started sitting up by herself? Applause. The first time she grabbed a spoon? They practically cried. And don't even get her started on the toddler dresses—layers of lace, ribbons, and puffy sleeves. Ugh. Just thinking about it made her want to scream. It was going to take some time to get used to this.



But, well. She had to admit.



Some things were kind of fun.



Like her first words.



When she finally got control over her baby mouth, her first words weren't anything profound or meaningful. Nope. They were simple. True to herself.



"Lemme sleep."



And, of course, they all thought it was adorable.



More fuss. More cooing. More suffocating attention.



She could already tell—this was going to be her life.



But things got better when she learned how to move.



At first, it was just crawling. Then, eventually, walking. The moment she realized she could explore the manor on her own, her days of boredom were over.



The place was huge.



Endless hallways, fancy furniture, rooms she probably wasn't even allowed to be in. But the best part? The garden.



Oh, the garden.



She stumbled upon it by accident one day, wobbling her way through the corridors until she found herself outside. And what she saw nearly made her forget her frustrations.



Flowers.



Lots and lots of flowers.



The kind that looked straight out of a painting—vivid colors, delicate petals, arranged in breathtaking patterns. Unlike anything she had ever seen in her past life. It was so awesome.



So, while her older brothers were busy practicing sword swings and showing off their Ken—swords—she found her new favorite spot.



As a three-year-old, there wasn't much she could do. But sitting in the middle of a gorgeous garden, watching the world move around her? That was enough.

—SS—SS—​

Theresia quickly realized that her brothers were obsessed with swords. Not just a normal fascination, either. No, it was a full-on, all-consuming devotion. From the moment they could stand, they were training. If they weren't swinging wooden practice swords, they were watching the knights in the courtyard. If they weren't watching the knights, they were reading about sword techniques. If they weren't reading, they were sparring with each other. It was an endless cycle of sword worship, and they loved every second of it. Thames, Karan, Casiles, Carlan—all of them talked about swords like they were the greatest thing to ever exist. And considering their bloodline, maybe they were.



It wasn't just them, either. Their uncle, Fribal van Astrea, was the current Sword Saint. A living legend. People spoke about him with reverence, like he was the embodiment of strength itself. The pressure to follow in his footsteps must have been enormous, but her brothers wanted that. They thrived in it.



Theresia, on the other hand, wasn't so sure.



At first, she didn't think much of it. She figured it was normal for noble families in a fantasy world to train in combat, especially when they had a legacy like this one. It wasn't like anyone was forcing her to pick up a sword. No one even expected her to. She was a girl, after all, and the Astrea family already had plenty of warriors to offer the kingdom. No one needed her to fight.



Which was fine.



Absolutely fine.



She told herself that over and over again.



She wasn't scared of swords. She wasn't scared of fighting. She wasn't scared of blood.



Except she was.



The problem was, she remembered.



She remembered her past life too well. The memories of her parents' deaths weren't just faint, blurry images in the back of her mind. They were vivid. Sharp. The sounds, the smells, the warmth of blood splattered across her face—it was all real. Too real. And no matter how much she tried to suppress it, it never went away.



So when her uncle handed her a wooden sword for the first time, she had been confident.



For about three seconds.



She had taken it without hesitation, because, in her mind, she had already decided. She was going to be like one of those isekai protagonists. She was going to break expectations. Be cool. A noble girl who wielded a sword? That sounded awesome. People would talk about her like a legend.



At least, that's what she had thought.



But the moment her fingers wrapped around the hilt, something in her body rebelled.



Her grip wavered. A chill spread through her limbs, crawling up her arms and into her chest. Her stomach twisted. The wooden sword, which had felt so light a moment ago, suddenly weighed a thousand pounds in her hands. Her breath hitched. Her vision blurred.



And then—



Blood.



It wasn't real. It wasn't actually there. But she saw it.



Dripping. Pooling. A deep, suffocating red.



Naoko's face.



Kenichi's face.



Lifeless. Empty. Staring at nothing.



Dead.



She dropped the sword.



It clattered against the ground, but the sound was distant, barely reaching her ears over the pounding of her heart. Her chest was tight, her throat closing up. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think.



For a split second, she was back there. Back in her old world. A scared, useless kid standing in the middle of a massacre, covered in her parents' blood, unable to do anything but watch.



"Theresia?"



Someone's voice pulled her back.



She blinked. The garden. The sun. The warmth of daylight. Her uncle. Her brothers.



She wasn't there.



She was here.



She wasn't Subaru.



She was Theresia.



She let out a slow breath, forcing her hands to stop shaking.



Her uncle watched her carefully, but he didn't say anything.



Her brothers didn't say anything, either.



Because no one needed her to fight.



They had enough warriors. Enough soldiers. Enough men ready to dedicate their lives to the sword.



No one expected anything from her.



So no one scolded her. No one questioned why she had dropped the sword. No one pressured her to pick it back up.



And that should have been a relief.



But instead, it felt like a quiet, suffocating failure.

TBC
If you are feeling generous, then do support me on Patreon.
​

 

[McPhoenixDavid]

Then came schooling. Proper noble education. Because, of course, even though no one expected her to pick up a sword, she still had to be useful somehow. And in this world, that meant learning politics, history, arithmetic, etiquette, and whatever else nobles deemed important.



Theresia took to it with ease. Home school was nothing compared to modern schooling. Advanced math? Science? Concepts from an entirely different world? She had already done it all before. So when the tutors came in expecting to teach her how to count, she was already solving complex equations in her head. When they tried to explain the basics of history, she was busy comparing it to the rise and fall of civilizations from Earth. She wasn't just learning—she was finessing the whole system.



It didn't take long for the entire manor to realize she was a genius.



"Lord Astrea, your daughter is remarkable," one of her tutors had gushed after a lesson. "Her understanding of arithmetic surpasses even the adults in court."



"She solved the puzzle in less than a minute!" another had exclaimed, breathless. "I was certain it would take her days!"



"She comprehends texts meant for scholars! At this rate, she could be writing treaties by the time she's ten!"



At least it was a relief. They allowed women to be educated. To lead. To take positions of power. She wasn't being trained to be some noble's obedient wife or just another pawn in a political marriage. No, she had options.



Which was great.



Because Theresia had plans.



And those plans involved food.



It all started with pizza.



She was six years old when she introduced the concept. A simple idea, really. Dough, sauce, cheese. A staple of her past life. Something so basic, so obvious, that it was insane to her that this world hadn't already thought of it. But when she described it to the manor's chefs, they had looked at her like she had discovered fire.



"Flatbread with sauce and toppings?" the head chef had repeated, skeptical.



"Yes," she had said, nodding seriously. "Trust me. It'll be amazing."



They had hesitated but, eventually, indulged her.



And then—



Boom.



The manor lost its mind.



The first time the pizza was served, it was meant to be a small, quiet affair. Just a test. A casual experiment. But then one person tasted it. And then another. And another. And suddenly, everyone was talking about it.



"This is divine," one noblewoman had gasped.



"I've never tasted anything like it," a knight had murmured, eyes wide.



And then—because fate had a sense of humor—the Princess got involved.



She was a teenager. A noble young lady of high status. Smart, kind, and already a good friend to Theresia's family. And when she took her first bite, she froze.



Silence.



Then, slowly, she placed the slice down.



Then she turned to Theresia.



And in the most serious voice imaginable, she declared, "You are now the Master Chef."



Theresia stared.



What.



What the fuck.



The title stuck.



And it didn't end there.



Because once she realized she had struck gold, she kept going.



Burgers? Boom. Sensation.



Sandwiches? A marvel. Revolutionary.



Sausages? Nuggets? Hot dogs? She was changing history.



And soon—before she even knew what was happening—the Royal Family bought the recipes.



Like, actually bought them. With money. And influence. And power.



The next thing she knew, she was being summoned to the palace. Not as a noble child. Not as an Astrea.



But as Theresia, the Master Chef.



She was seven years old.



And she had just been declared a National Treasure.



She didn't even know what to do with that information.

—SS—SS—​

Dinner with the Astrea family was always an event, but tonight was special. It wasn't often that everyone was together at the same time. With her brothers so focused on their training and her father constantly involved in noble affairs, family meals usually consisted of scattered faces at different times. But tonight, somehow, everyone had managed to sit at the same table, all in one place.



Which, of course, meant chaos.



"Look at this," Thames said dramatically, gesturing toward the table as if making a grand announcement. "A rare sight indeed! All of the great and noble Astreas gathered in one place! A miracle!"



Karan snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Don't act like you weren't just stuffing your face with bread a second ago."



"First of all, I was savoring it. You were the one inhaling it like you haven't eaten in days."



"I haven't eaten in days. Training, remember?"



"Oh, forgive me, great warrior. Truly, your sacrifice is beyond words."



Carlan groaned. "Can you two not start before the meal even begins?"



Theresia just sighed, stirring the soup in front of her. This was why she preferred eating alone. Nobles were supposed to have refined, elegant dinners with quiet conversations and proper etiquette. But this? This was a bunch of rowdy knights disguised as a family.



"So," Fribal, her uncle and the famed Sword Saint, leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "I hear our little Theresia has been causing quite a stir in the palace."



Instant regret.



She felt all eyes on her immediately.



Casiles grinned. "Oh yeah. Our baby sister, a National Treasure?"



"You know, when I said I wanted someone from our family to make history, I was thinking more along the lines of legendary swordsman," Karan added, smirking.



"Not legendary cook," Thames added.



Theresia scowled. "It's Master Chef, thank you very much."



That only made it worse.



"Master Chef!" Thames repeated dramatically, pretending to bow. "Oh, how the mighty Astreas have changed! No longer warriors! No longer protectors of the realm! But culinary angel!"



"Hey, it pays," she shot back. "Do you have nobles throwing money at you for making them food? No? Didn't think so."



Carlan snickered. "She's got a point."



Casiles nudged her with his elbow. "You do know you're completely un-noble, right? You eat like a commoner. You talk like a commoner. I bet if Father let you, you'd be out there selling food in the streets."



"Theresia's dream is to open a food stand confirmed," Thames said. "She's going to run away from nobility and become a legend in the culinary underworld."



Karan leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Honestly, I wouldn't even be surprised."



Theresia clicked her tongue. "I'll have you know I have very noble goals. Expanding culture. Sharing knowledge. Teaching this world the wonders of fast food."



"You're a menace."



"And rich."



"Alright, alright," their father finally cut in, shaking his head. "As amusing as it is to hear you all tease your sister, let's actually eat before this turns into another round of bickering."



There was a collective sigh, but everyone picked up their utensils. For a brief moment, the table was quiet, filled only with the sounds of food being eaten. But, of course, the peace didn't last.



"So," Carlan said after a few bites, glancing at Theresia. "You're not interested in sword training at all, huh?"



Silence.



Theresia stiffened.



She knew it wasn't meant to be a jab. It was just an honest question. But still, she felt the weight of it. Because the truth was, no matter how much they joked, no matter how much they accepted her as she was, she knew she was different. She knew she didn't fit the mold of an Astrea.



The brothers all trained. Her uncle was the Sword Saint. Her father was a decorated warrior. Even the nobles who weren't actively fighting still knew how to wield a blade. But her?



She couldn't even hold a sword.



She cleared her throat, forcing her expression to stay neutral. "Not really my thing."



"Hm." Carlan hummed, taking another bite. "That's fine. I mean, it's not like we need another fighter. We've got plenty."



"Exactly!" Thames said, grinning. "Who needs swords when you have Theresia's Holy Cooking Powers?"



Fribal chuckled. "Truly, a talent beyond combat."



The conversation shifted after that, moving on to other topics—court gossip, upcoming tournaments, the state of the kingdom. Theresia relaxed, letting herself enjoy the moment.



Even if she didn't fit in the way they did, even if she wasn't like them in some ways, she was still family. And that was enough.

—SS—SS—​

The journey to the nearby city had been meant to be a simple outing. A day of fresh air, of time spent together as a family, of something normal for once. It was rare for her father to have time away from his duties, and her mother had been insistent that they should enjoy it. Theresia had been looking forward to seeing something beyond the manor's walls, beyond the carefully maintained gardens and the endless halls of nobility.



The trip had started peacefully enough. The carriage rolled smoothly over the dirt path, the sound of hooves clopping steadily as the sun filtered through the leaves. She had been sitting between her parents, half-listening as her mother talked about the city's bustling markets, the way the air smelled like fresh bread and spices, the different kinds of fabrics and jewelry she thought would suit Theresia. Her father had been amused, making jokes about how his daughter would grow up to be a woman of expensive taste.



It had been warm. Comfortable.



Then the carriage jolted.



The horses screamed.



The world turned red.



Theresia barely registered the moment the MaBeasts came. One second, they were moving. The next, the guards were shouting. Claws tore through armor. Blood splattered against the ground. The carriage shook violently as the beasts slammed into it.



Her father was already moving. His sword was drawn before she could even process what was happening. He shoved the door open, barking orders at the remaining knights, his presence like an unshakable force amidst the chaos.



"Stay inside," he ordered, his voice calm, but firm.



Theresia couldn't breathe.



The screams outside, the sound of swords clashing, the scent of iron in the air—it was all too familiar. It wasn't just this moment anymore. It was another memory. Another life.



Her parents.



Blood on her face.



The way they had fallen.



The way she had stood there, frozen.



"Theresia!" Her mother was shaking her. "Sweetheart, look at me!"



She couldn't.



She couldn't move.



She couldn't think.



Then the MaBeast lunged.



And her father stepped in front of it.



Time slowed.



The sword came down. Blood sprayed. The beast snarled.



Her father did not falter.



Not at first.



Then she saw the wound.



It was deep. Too deep.



And yet, he still stood.



Still fought.



Still—



Another beast came.



He shoved them back into the carriage.



The last thing she saw was the look in his eyes.



Unwavering. Unbreakable.



Then the door slammed shut.



The carriage lurched forward, the horses breaking into a desperate sprint, the remaining knights doing everything they could to get them away. Her mother was holding her. Clutching her so tightly it hurt. She could hear her heartbeat, the rapid pounding of fear and grief and disbelief.



Her father did not return.



Not that night.



Not ever.



The next days passed in a blur. There was no body to bury. No closure. Just a message from the knights. A confirmation.



Lord Astrea had fallen in battle, saving his wife and daughter.



Theresia did not speak.



She did not move.



She did not exist.



She locked herself away.



Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. The world outside her room ceased to matter. She did not respond to her brothers when they knocked. Did not acknowledge the maids when they brought food. She simply sat in silence, staring at nothing, trapped in a loop of images she could not erase.



Her father's blood.



Her mother's tears.



And then—



One day, there was no more weeping.



Only silence.



When she finally left her room—dragged out by her uncle—she learned the truth.



Her mother was gone.



Dead, they said. Not by blade, nor beast, nor any external force.



But by grief.



She had simply stopped.



Stopped eating. Stopped trying.



Stopped living.



Theresia did not smile again for a year.



She existed. That was all. She ate because she was told to. She walked because her legs still functioned. She answered when spoken to, because some part of her knew that was what she was supposed to do.



But she was not alive.



Not until her uncle—her savior—shook her out of it.



"My brother died protecting your life." His voice was sharp, edged with something almost like anger. "Don't dishonor him by wasting it."



She had looked at him then, really looked at him.



The great Sword Saint. A man who had faced countless battles. And yet, in that moment, he had never looked more human.



Because he, too, had lost someone.



He, too, was hurting.



And yet, he still stood.



Still fought.



For his family.



For the ones left behind.



Something in her cracked.



And she breathed.



For the first time in a long time, she breathed.



And she remembered.



Her father's voice.



Her mother's laughter.



The warmth of their presence.



She could not bring them back. Could not undo what had been done.



But she could live.



For them.



And so, she did.



She picked up her ink and parchment.



And she began once more.



The world was about to change. Again.

TBC

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