Victoria Amelia Rockefeller had often been called unusual since childhood.
She was born into one of the wealthiest families in the United States and had never known material hardship.
Yet even as a young child, she felt an inexplicable emptiness.
She wanted to do something, but did not know what it was.
Some relatives even suggested taking her to a hospital, worried that such melancholy at a young age was not normal.
Her parents also grew concerned and brought her to specialists.
But there was nothing wrong.
"Your daughter is simply more mature than her peers," they said.
"She is like an older student rather than a child."
Her tenth birthday changed everything.
A sudden, severe fever struck her.
At one point, her life was said to be in danger.
Strange images and unfamiliar faces filled her mind.
She feared she was losing her sanity.
But after a few days, her condition improved dramatically.
From that moment, her life changed.
She could see more.
Understand more.
Others praised her maturity.
They called her refined, even aristocratic.
She chose to pursue something unrelated to her family.
AI development.
Perhaps influenced by someone who had always been ahead of his time.
"Why not enter politics?" her father asked.
"With your abilities, you could easily succeed."
"I do not want to."
She wanted to live as herself, not as a political figure.
Through effort and perhaps family support, her business succeeded beyond expectation.
Her branch family became central to the James Killian Group.
Wealth, influence, and power followed.
Suitors increased.
She accepted introductions, but every meeting was the same.
She always chose the same place.
The Killian Museum.
Men would praise Killian endlessly.
His intelligence.
His kindness.
His devotion.
But their words were always the same.
Predictable.
She knew it was natural.
Still, she questioned herself.
Why did she keep coming here?
There was nothing here but traces of the past.
Would it not be more rational to move forward?
Yet every time she returned to London, she found herself here again.
"Amelia, you are here again."
"Yes. I am meeting someone."
"Again at the museum?"
"Yes."
She herself did not fully understand why.
Perhaps it was because of one face.
A face she could never forget.
Even after so many years.
That was why she kept returning.
Afraid she might forget.
"…"
"…"
Silence.
I had made a mistake.
Suggesting dinner had been impulsive.
What should I say now?
But she spoke first.
"You do not need to force yourself. I was also pushed into this."
"…Same here. Especially with Edward IX involved."
"Then let us just meet casually from time to time. Like friends."
"That sounds good."
Relief.
We talked comfortably after that.
More than expected.
"Do you have any hobbies?"
"I enjoy performances. Classical music, ballet, opera."
"That is… surprisingly traditional."
"And card tricks."
"…Card tricks?"
"Yes. Would you like to try?"
She spread the cards.
I recognized the method immediately.
"This trick creates a sentence prepared in advance."
"Yes. It makes people happy."
"Let me try."
"Of course."
Then I spoke.
"There is a phrase I like."
"What phrase?"
Even after all this time, it remained clear.
"Patience, waiting for one's moment."
She froze.
"…Why that phrase?"
"Because I once gave it to someone I loved."
My heart raced.
She looked at me with tears in her eyes.
"…I am happy."
I moved beside her.
There was no need for more words.
I touched her cheek gently.
She tilted her head slightly.
As if it had always been this way.
As if nothing had ever changed.
(Side Story End)