I was the hero’s first love, the one who died too young. Fifteen years after my death, a system resurrected me and told me to save the boy on the rooftop. “He is your flesh and blood. If you don’t help him, he’ll have nothing left.” But I’ve always been spoiled and hot-tempered. I’m the one who gets waited on, not the other way around. So I strode over in my heels, grabbed him by the collar, and snapped, “Stop with the theatrics. You’re just as pathetic as your father.” “Speaking of him, where is he? Doesn’t he know I’m back? Why isn’t he here to pick me up?”
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