Last Moon: Rebirth, Love, and the Werewolf Rockstar

"Is that so?" Nancy asked, her voice honeyed with concern. Mizuki immediately caught the subtle relief in Nancy's posture—the way her shoulders eased and her step retreated ever so slightly, as though Nancy were grateful for any excuse to keep her distance. As always, Nancy wore her reluctance like a finely chosen accessory: understated yet unmistakably present.

In the eyes of Mizuki's parents, Nancy was the very picture of virtue—a living manual on generosity, grace, and thoughtfulness. Her carefully chosen words wove a comforting charm around everyone, leaving them in awe of her apparent selflessness. Yet Mizuki knew better. Nancy's so-called kindness was a performance, her gratitude little more than a polite obligation in exchange for all that Mizuki's family had provided for her and her mother over the years.

The old Mizuki might have been touched by Nancy's constant worrying, mistaking it for genuine care. Back when she was a timid, introverted girl, any attention felt like a blessing. But now, with her eyes open to the truth, she saw Nancy's concern for what it truly was: a well-rehearsed act, entirely devoid of sincerity.

"Auntie said you haven't gone out in two days. When you're feeling better, I'll take you shopping with the girls," Nancy declared with a saccharine smile, her voice sing-song sweet—as if she were dangling a reward in front of a child.

Mizuki forced a faint smile, her silver-gray eyes betraying her disinterest. There was no need to decipher the hidden message behind Nancy's invitation; it was always the same. Shopping with Nancy and her high-society friends never meant a carefree day of retail therapy—it meant trailing behind like a dutiful servant, burdened with shopping bags and invariably left to pick up the tab.

Technically, Mizuki's family would cover the expense. Owning one of Amsterdam's premier luxury malls had its perks, and Mizuki was granted unlimited access to its treasures. Yet every expense was charged under her name—a privilege that had long transformed into a golden shackle. Nancy delighted in exploiting this arrangement, and Mizuki had grown weary of always playing the role of benefactor.

Looking back, Mizuki finally understood why Nancy's friends treated her like an assistant. In her past life, when they attended the same bridge school—there being no proper high school in the Netherlands—Mizuki had made a fateful mistake. She'd timidly asked her parents to allow Nancy to join her, thinking that sharing her world would ease her loneliness. Instead, Nancy seized the opportunity with effortless grace, portraying herself as a poised young lady from a prominent family. Her polished manners and practiced charm dazzled their classmates, leaving Mizuki to linger in the shadows. Everyone assumed Nancy was the true daughter of wealth, while Mizuki was merely the fortunate child whose education was subsidized by Nancy's family.

It sounds ridiculous now, but it had happened. The subtle avoidance from classmates, the whispered comments behind her back—all of it made sense in hindsight. Mizuki had felt the sting of alienation every day, while Nancy, ever the actress, feigned sweetness with public pleas for everyone to "be kind" to her. And Mizuki, desperate for connection, had believed it all.

As for the shopping trips, Nancy's friends concocted their own explanation. To them, Mizuki paid because Nancy couldn't be bothered with the hassle of checkout lines. Carrying Nancy's bags was proof enough—Mizuki wasn't seen as a friend or an equal; she was simply Nancy's servant. After all, wasn't it natural for the helper's daughter to serve the lady of the house?

For the longest time, to the outside world, Mizuki and Nancy were a twisted inversion of The Princess and the Pauper—only in reverse. Mizuki, the true heiress, had unwittingly played the pauper, while Nancy, with her charm and cunning, basked in the spotlight as the princess. Mizuki might never have learned the truth had it not been for that fateful reunion.

She had stumbled upon them during a heated conversation, her ears catching their cruel laughter before she fully registered the words. A group of so-called friends was gleefully tearing her down, mocking her behind her back. And Nancy? Rather than defending her, Nancy had led the charge. Mizuki stood frozen, unable to reconcile the venom in Nancy's voice with the caring friend she once believed her to be.

Worse still, Nancy had framed her betrayal as an act of pity. "I mean, how could I not be nice to her? Her poor circumstances, you know—her mother was always so kind to me," Nancy had said, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. Those words cut deeper than any insult Mizuki had ever heard. It wasn't just betrayal—it was humiliation.

That night, Mizuki didn't confront Nancy. In her shock, she endured the remainder of the evening, letting the weight of what she'd witnessed sink in. It wasn't until they returned home that she attempted to address it, only to be met with gaslighting at its finest. Nancy dismissed her accusations with wide-eyed innocence and manipulative sweetness, twisting the truth until Mizuki almost doubted her own memory.

Yet Mizuki wasn't foolish—even if she'd once been naïve. Once the initial haze of disbelief cleared, she began piecing everything together—every pattern, every red flag she'd ignored. She recalled the friendships that had inexplicably fizzled out, and the anger she'd harbored towards those who betrayed her—anger that Nancy had likely sown with her lies.

In that moment of clarity, Mizuki finally saw Nancy for what she truly was: a master manipulator who had played her perfectly for years. Aside from that, she discovered that Nancy had played a pivotal role in framing one of Mizuki's closest, most loyal confidantes. When Mizuki found out, she was overcome with disbelief, anger, and a deep sense of remorse. 

No more. Mizuki was done.

But cutting Nancy out of her life wasn't simple—not yet. Living under her parents' roof, she couldn't sever ties without causing a stir, especially with her mother. Nancy had her parents wrapped around her little finger, playing the part of the perfect companion so flawlessly that even Mizuki's mother would be alarmed by any sudden fallout.

Not that Nancy would ever threaten Mizuki's inheritance. Her parents weren't that naïve. The family fortune was tightly secured under Mizuki's name. Even Pablo, her so-called husband, wasn't in a position to stake much of a claim. And then there were her grandparents—unyielding, sharp, and utterly uncompromising. No one dared challenge them, not even her father.

Nancy could charm her way into any situation, but the will—and the empire—remained untouchable.