chapter 4

But—something was off.

Everything felt wrong—like she had been yanked out of her own existence and shoved into some elaborate fever dream. The bed beneath her? WAY too soft. Like, suspiciously soft. Like, "Are these sheets woven by the gods themselves?" soft. Like she was lying on a cloud handcrafted by ancient immortals who specialized in luxury.

And the smell—oh my god, the smell.

It wasn’t the sterile, bleach-scented hospital she had expected after, you know, DYING. No gross antiseptic. No suffocating stench of despair and overpriced medical bills.

Instead, the air was rich. Velvety. It carried a faint aroma of incense, aged wood, and something expensive and exotic, like the essence of royalty itself had been bottled and spritzed around the room just for her convenience.

Her brain did not compute.

She blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Slowly—so, so painfully slowly—she let her gaze sweep across the massive, obscenely opulent room.

And oh. OH.

She gasped.

The ceiling stretched impossibly high, carved with intricate golden designs that shimmered under the glow of candlelight. Silk drapes cascaded around the colossal bed, flowing like liquid gold. Every piece of furniture gleamed, polished to such perfection that she could probably see her own ugly panic-stricken face reflected on the surfaces.

Everything in the room screamed wealth, power, and an era that did NOT include smartphones or modern plumbing.

Her entire soul went into ERROR 404.

And before her poor, abused brain could even attempt to make sense of it—

A voice shattered the silence.

"HIS MAJESTY IS AWAKE!"

The sudden shout nearly sent Ha-Yoon into cardiac arrest.

Her head snapped to the side so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.

HUH?!

Standing by the bedside in a disciplined, straight line were several people—actual, real-life people—dressed in old-fashioned, flowing robes straight out of a period drama. Their heads were bowed slightly in respect, hands clasped in front of them like they were waiting for a royal decree.

Ha-Yoon blinked.

They blinked back.

She pointed at herself. "Who, me?"

Wait.

WAIT.

WAIT, WAIT, WAIT.

Was that her voice???

WHY did she sound like a deep-voiced, elegant drama actor narrating a tragic war epic?!

Her hands flew to her throat. Nope. Still deep.

Her breathing hitched.

Her fingers darted up to her face, touching her jaw, her nose, her lips—

Something was wrong.

Something was very, very wrong.

Her hands TREMBLED.

She SLAPPED her own cheeks.

Ow.

Okay. Not a dream.

Her panic skyrocketed.

A servant hesitantly stepped forward, his expression laced with genuine concern.

"M-My lord, do you require something? Perhaps some tea? A light snack?"

Ha-Yoon’s soul left her body.

She was spiraling—her thoughts moving faster than a caffeinated squirrel on cocaine.

This had to be a prank.

Right?

Right?!

Before she even realized what she was doing, she lunged off the bed, her legs wobbly like a newborn deer on an ice rink.

The servants exchanged worried glances as their "lord"—who was clearly losing his mind— STUMBLED across the room like a deranged zombie.

Her wide, frantic eyes locked onto the massive, ornate mirror.

She had to see.

With the grace of a lunatic in free-fall, she staggered forward, nearly TRIPPING over the edge of her own robe.

Trembling fingers reached out.

She touched the mirror’s cold surface.

And then.

She saw it.

"WHO—?!"

The person staring back at her was not Ha-Yoon.

It was a man.

A devastatingly, unfairly, heartbreakingly beautiful man.

No—not just beautiful. Ethereal. Unbelievable. So pretty that if he walked down a street, people would stop and ask for a damn painting of him.

His long, flowing black hair cascaded down his back, silky and perfect, tied with a delicate golden ribbon. His features were so inhumanly flawless they barely seemed real—high cheekbones, a straight nose, lips that looked like they belonged on a tragic poetry-loving prince.

And his eyes—dark, piercing, the kind of eyes that could silence a room with just one look.

But the worst part?

He looked like a girl.

No, scratch that—he looked more feminine than Ha-Yoon ever did in her entire life. If someone put this guy in a dress, he would be more beautiful than any princess in the entire kingdom.

And worst of all—

He was her.

Her fingers twitched.

Slowly—so, so slowly—she raised her hands and pressed them against her very flat chest.

…Nothing.

Nothing was there.

No softness.

No curves.

Her breath caught.

Oh. Oh no.

Oh NO.

"No way," she whispered, voice hoarse.

But she had to be sure.

In a moment of pure, primal desperation, she yanked at the sash of her robe—

Peeked down—

Silence.

Complete. Utter. Silence.

Her soul evaporated.

There was a dick.

A REAL, ATTACHED, FUNCTIONING DICK.

Her entire existence shattered into dust.

And then—she screamed.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH—"

Thud.

She fainted.

She collapsed like a sack of rice.

The last thing she heard before the world went dark again was the pure, absolute panic in the voices around her—

"MY LORD!! SOMEONE CALL THE PHYSICIAN!!!"

That goddamn, soul-sucking, life-ruining ceiling.

If Ha-Yoon had to keep staring at it for one more second, she was going to lose her goddamn mind. And not in the cute, relatable, “Oh no, I forgot where I put my keys” kind of way. No, no, no. This was going to be a full-blown, earth-shattering, scream-into-the-void, rip-out-her-own-hair, “send her straight to a padded room” kind of breakdown. The kind that would make therapists sigh in exhaustion, psychiatrists start prescribing meds like they were passing out Halloween candy, and religious elders shake their heads while muttering prayers for her lost soul.

Because what in the actual, unfiltered, unscripted, brain-melting, horror-movie NIGHTMARE was happening right now?

She was supposed to be dead.

As in game over. Delete save file. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Gone. Expired. Ceased to exist. A mere statistic on a traffic report somewhere. She had been hit by a truck, for god’s sake! A quick, dramatic, no-time-for-goodbyes kind of ending. Maybe, just maybe, if there was any justice in the universe, she was supposed to have drifted peacefully into some kind of non-corporate-owned afterlife. No taxes. No rent. No emails. Just eternal bliss and maybe reincarnation as a pampered house cat in a rich person’s mansion.

That was the plan.

Not… this.

Not waking up in a world that made zero sense. Not finding herself lying in an unfamiliar, absurdly soft bed, surrounded by sheer curtains and the kind of luxurious furniture that screamed I have way too much money and no concept of budgeting.

Not waking up in a body that wasn’t even hers.

Her brain was lagging. Her soul was buffering.

Her entire existence felt like it had just been thrown into a blender, put on high-speed puree, and poured into some medieval nobleman’s ridiculous body.

And she hated it.

Her chest was flat.

Her voice was deep.

And the silk robes draped over her frame felt wrong, foreign, like an expensive costume for a role she never agreed to play.

This was not her body. This was not her world. This was not her.

It was like she had been thrown headfirst into a historical drama she hadn’t even auditioned for. And if the universe was waiting for her to be grateful for the opportunity?

She wanted to quit.

Immediately.

Right the hell now.

Before she could spiral further into an existential crisis, a voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

"My lord… are you okay, my lord?"

The sudden words nearly sent her launching out of the bed like a startled cat. Her head whipped toward the speaker, eyes wide with confusion, her heart racing.

It was an old man. A doctor, judging by his robes and the whole wise elder aesthetic he had going on. He was staring down at her with an expression of deep concern, like he was waiting for her to say something reassuring.

Ha-Yoon opened her mouth.

Then closed it.

Then opened it again—

And realized she had absolutely no idea what to say.

Because what was she supposed to do here?

Be honest? Tell the doctor that no, she was not okay? That she was actually a completely different person trapped inside some medieval nobleman’s body? That she had zero clue where she was, who she was supposed to be, or how she had even gotten here?

That she was one bad decision away from throwing herself out of a palace window just to test if this was all some kind of messed-up dream?

Yeah. No. That was probably a bad idea.

So instead, she just stared.

Blankly.

Silently.

Like a computer that had just crashed.

The doctor cleared his throat. "Lord Hae-Won, are you feeling unwell?"

Ha-Yoon froze.

Hae-Won?

That was this body’s name?

Oh. OH.

Okay. Okay. She could work with this. She was Hae-Won now. Great. Fantastic. That definitely made everything so much better and not completely terrifying.

Her brain immediately filed the name under Shit I Should Probably Remember.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm perfectly fine," she muttered, her voice coming out way too rough, way too unconvincing, like a criminal failing miserably at lying in court.

The doctor didn’t look convinced.

"Are you sure, my lord?"

NO, SIR. I AM NOT SURE. I AM HAVING A FULL-BLOWN IDENTITY CRISIS.

But Ha-Yoon just forced a tight, shaky smile and gave the doctor a dead-eyed thumbs-up.

"Totally. 100%. Never been better."

The doctor looked like he was mentally debating whether he should call for extra medical help.

And then—

BANG.

The door slammed open with the force of an earthquake.

Ha-Yoon jerked so violently she nearly had a heart attack.

And then—

In stormed a woman.

No. Not just any woman.

A dramatic, extravagant, dressed-to-the-nines noblewoman with the strongest I pretend to like you, but I secretly want you dead energy Ha-Yoon had ever seen.

And worst of all?

She was crying.

No.

Not crying.

She was acting like she was crying.

Oscar-worthy, soap-opera-level, "I just won a Grammy and I’m so emotional" kind of fake crying.

"MY SON!" she wailed, throwing herself forward like a tragic heroine. "You're finally awake!"

Before Ha-Yoon could react, she was already wrapped in an iron grip, suffocated in an embrace that felt way too forced for comfort.

"MY PRECIOUS BOY!" the woman sobbed, burying her face into Ha-Yoon’s shoulder. "I THOUGHT I’D LOST YOU FOREVER!"

Ha-Yoon’s entire body locked up.

Something about this… felt wrong.

Her instincts were screaming.

And then—

She glanced around the room.

The doctor? Looking visibly confused.

The servants? Uncomfortable as hell.

Even the air in the room felt like it was holding its breath.

And suddenly—

It clicked.

Oh.

OH.

This lady was full of shit.

Instantly, Ha-Yoon’s gut went from mild caution to FULL RED ALERT.

She didn’t even hesitate.

She shoved the woman off, just enough to create some distance.

The woman stiffened.

And then—

For just a split second—

She smirked.

A tiny, fleeting, snake-like smirk.

Barely there. Almost unnoticeable.

But Ha-Yoon saw it.

And then—just as quickly—the noblewoman cranked the dramatics back up to 100.

"HAE-WON, IT’S ME!" she sobbed. "YOUR MOTHER!"

Ha-Yoon’s eye twitched.

Yeah.

Yeah, no.

This woman was a Disney villain in disguise.

"Who… are you?" she asked, voice flat. The doctor sighed, rubbing his temples.

 "Well… actually, I believe the accident may have caused him to lose some of his memories," he explained. "It’s possible that certain personal details—like recognizing family—may take some time to return."

The Step-Mother-From-Hell gasped. And then— She collapsed dramatically onto the floor. Ha-Yoon stared. Unamused. Completely done.

Her gaze turned to the servants standing off to the side.

"Who," she asked, her voice sharp, deliberate, filled with suspicion, "is my most trusted servant?"

Because if she was going to survive this medieval drama—

She needed an ally.

And she needed one fast.

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