I won't let you go in this life.

2. Another World... Again

I don't know where I am. 

Did I transmigrate again?

But I didn't die. Why?

I only remembered reading some reports in the library and then sleeping, so why did I transmigrate?

Many complicated thoughts filled my head as I thought about my situation. 

I was so focused that I forgot about the children who are around me. 

"..."

"Big sister," I felt a tug on the right side of my clothes. 

As I looked to see who was tugging at me, I saw a kid about 3 years old wearing dirty clothes that I think had not been washed.

He has silver hair and blue jeweled eyes, and although he only has 80 to 60 percent of my face, its attractiveness has been lowered because of malnutrition. 

While I was thinking, I received memories of this body when I wasn't still possessing it.

The original owner of this body was born on the Northern Continent in this world.

The owner of this body's name is Keira. Although poor, it was a great life because of the kind and caring parents. And because Keira was a commoner and lived in poverty, she is not knowledgeable.

The only thing that she knows is that her parents will stay with her for the rest of her life. 

She loves her parents too much that she—

She starved herself when her parents died, leaving behind these five pitiful children. 

'How selfish'

As I kept thinking that Keira was too obsessive, I raised my almost-only-bone hand and tried to pat the head of the toddler. 

It seems that the white-haired toddler, whom I assumed to be my youngest brother, understood my action of raising my hand because he lowered his head for my hand to easily land on his own head.

Pat, pat, pat

I know that I will have to take a lot of time to think about what to do from now on.

The priority now is to—

Growl...

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"I—that wasn't me at a-all," stutters the 3-year-old. 

We just stared at him. 

"R-weally it wasn't me, I - I pwomise," he uttered again. 

The 3-year-old child is trying his best to convince us that the sound was not made by him, to the point of biting his own tongue. 

'...I think if I don't reassure him that it wasn't him, he will probably cry at this point...'

"I... know, it... was....mine."

Damn it, this is so difficult. My throat hurts so much. I should have asked for a cup of water.

But. 

Do these kids even know—wait, does this family, who is so poor to the point that they have a dilapidated ceiling where water comes through, even have water?