IBVFL 01

Chapter 01

“This doesn’t feel right.”

Yeah. No matter how I think about it, this just isn’t right.

I propped my chin up and tapped the table with my short fingers. Tok tok.

The old man sitting across from me gave a small chuckle.

“What doesn’t?”

“For days now, cakes have been piling up like a mountain.”

I made a big circle in the air with my hands to show just how much.

The old man’s wrinkled eyes curved into a smile, as if even that gesture was cute.

“Pfft.” I puffed up my cheeks and grumbled.

For nearly two weeks now, a cake had been delivered to my shop every single day.

And not just any cake — handmade by Cream Uncle, the most famous pastry chef in the capital and my absolute favorite!

“Who’s doing such an adorable thing like this?!”

I even checked with a silver spoon to make sure there wasn’t poison in it — thankfully, it was perfectly fine.

So then, why? Who?

Why on earth was someone sending me cake?

Every. Single. Day.

“So huggably cute!”

Cream Uncle’s cakes were so popular that even nobles waited over a month to get one.

And yet I was getting them daily. It felt like a dream come true.

Could it be a secret admirer?

But no one came to mind. Everyone I knew was too busy looking out for themselves.

“Ugh.” I sighed softly.

“It’s your good fortune,” the old man said.

“But I haven’t done anything good,” I replied.

Let’s see…

A month ago, I bought a property. That part went fine.

We’ll skip the details for now.

Anyway, after buying the house, what had I done?

Made deals with the guildmaster to sell potions, whined about not wanting to work, took walks with Grandpa, and ate cake diligently.

Hmm. Yeah, definitely born to be unemployed.

My lips pressed together. That was a little too much self-awareness for one day.

Then Grandpa said suddenly, “You did do a good deed.”

“Huh?”

Before I could ask what he meant, he continued.

“You took in this old man.”

“Hey, that was a fair trade! And you’re super strong!”

I wasn’t exaggerating. Grandpa was well over average height, with a body still solid from his days as a swordsman.

If not for his gray hair, you’d easily think he was a middle-aged man — a young one, even.

And he’s powerful, too.

He kept our home safe. The one bright light in this rough place called Proud.

Sure, he was old, but with his skills, he could easily make more money as a mercenary.

“Grandpa, are you sure you don’t want to try mercenary work? I bet you get offers.”

“Bah. Why would I waste time with those lowly brutes at my age?” he scoffed, clearly disgusted by the idea.

“Hmm…” I hummed. A shame, really.

There must be a “Mercenary King” in this world too, right? Grandpa could totally be that guy if he tried.

“What ridiculous thing are you imagining now?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“N-nothing ridiculous!” I flinched, tail metaphorically tucked.

He clicked his tongue and pushed his plate toward me — a slice of Cream Uncle’s cake sliding closer.

“You’re not eating, Grandpa?”

“I’m full, you rascal.”

Was he really? Normally he could clear five plates without breaking a sweat, but this time he turned away.

I seized my chance and yanked the plate toward me.

Score!

The strawberry on the fork looked especially cute. I popped it in my mouth, smiling in bliss.

Grandpa shook his head at me.
“Tasty?”

“Yes!”

“Good. Eat lots.”

Of course! I nodded enthusiastically, answering his words with my soul.

Since I’d gotten younger again, even my taste buds had changed. I used to hate sweets, but now…

They’re so good!

And that’s what matters, right?

Life is all about good food.

A second chance at life — this time, I’d live it savoring cake every day.

Running a little shop, chatting with Grandpa, selling potions, saving up money…
When I become an adult, I’ll finally—

—leave this shady underworld behind!

How perfect is that?

I raised my fork high, eyes gleaming with resolve, and stabbed the cake dramatically.

Please, please let things stay like this…

BANG!

“Your Excellency!”

So much for that wish.

“Lord Cazliden! Are you here?!”

“……”

My fork clattered to the floor.

The front door burst open with another BANG!

Thud, thud, thud! Heavy boots echoed through the shop.

And then, between burly knights, a blue-haired boy appeared.

He frowned deeply. “What a mess.”

“……”

One second. Two. …Three.

Finally, I found my voice.

“What the—”

Why did it suddenly feel like—

“—I’m totally screwed…?”

* * *

Cause of death: car accident.

That’s how I died in my previous life.

Cliché, right? I thought so too, but hey — I really did get hit by a truck.

I rolled across a crosswalk, heard sirens blaring, and then… darkness.

When I opened my eyes again—

“Amelia Frang!”

—I was a character named Amelia Frang, from an 19+ dark fantasy romance novel I’d dropped halfway through, “At the Eastern Edge.”

One tiny problem:

In the novel, Amelia wasn’t some random background character.

She was the villain’s first love.
A confirmed death flag.
Fated to die young — at twenty.

“Damn it.”

In the original story, Amelia is assassinated on the very day the villain confesses his love to her.

Who killed her? I had no idea.

“I dropped the book before that.”

Should’ve finished it when I had the chance.

“No—should’ve read something healing and fluffy instead.”

Now look where that got me.
From healing and hope to killing and despair.

I swallowed a sob.

It’s been six months since I transmigrated.
But the moment I arrived, my family fell into ruin.
A carriage accident wiped out every relative I had.
No family, no support — I was raised by distant acquaintances.

I’d planned to quietly stay with them until adulthood, but—

“They tried to sell me off.”

To a man at least twenty years older.

“Unbelievable.”

I still shudder just thinking about it. I’d nearly ended before I’d even begun.

“Good thing I ran away.”

I might’ve died right then otherwise.

Thanks to that quick escape, I was alive — barely.

“Phew.”

I stood in front of an old, shabby building, resting one leg and clutching a huge travel bag.

I swallowed dryly.

“Right. Whatever happens, people can live anywhere.”

No way was I dying according to the script. Absolutely not.

“Who even wants to die?”

In my previous life, I’d been overworked, underpaid, and sleep-deprived every single day.

“I’ve still got plenty of life left. No one can tell me to die.”

Sure, I was a fallen noble now — but life’s long. I could start over.

I was only fifteen, but so what? As long as I could prove my noble title, I could buy a house at any age.

And I wasn’t broke, either.

“Thank God I hid that money.”

Before my family’s downfall, I’d secretly stashed away some of our assets — best decision of my life.

Plus, Amelia had been a mage in the novel. Not much was detailed, but she was said to be fairly skilled.

That should be enough to protect myself, right?

“As long as I stay away from the temple.”

In the story, Amelia joins the temple after her family’s fall —
and that’s where she first meets the villain.

But I avoided that fate.

Instead, to avoid poverty, I used my hidden money to buy a house.

“The main story hasn’t even started yet.”

No temple, no villain — no problem.
I could live peacefully from here on out.

The place I bought? Honestly, pretty great.

Close to the marketplace — check.
Two stories high — check.
Only 50 gold coins — total bargain!

“Such a deal!”

Why so cheap?

“Well… because it was an auction.”

Yeah. That was the problem.

I really should’ve studied real estate before all this.
In my past life, I’d been too broke paying off my parents’ loans to ever dream of owning property.

I only knew about auctions from YouTube videos.

Worried people might scam a young girl, I even had the coachman bid for me.

“Damn it!”

I glared between the deed and the address plate.

My teeth ground together.

Proud Angelo 666-666

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!”

The house I thought I’d bought was in Prous.
But the address said Proud.

I double-checked the contract — but nope. The letters hadn’t magically changed.

“Crap.”

I’d simply misread it myself.

No one to blame but… me.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

My neck tingled in frustration.

In the novel, there was only one Proud.

“Haa…”

The deed crumpled in my hands.

I kicked the dirt in frustration — thud thud!
A nearby man hesitated before approaching.

“S-something wrong, miss?”

“Ugh!”

Normally, in Proud, the underworld district, you never trust anyone.
Never approach first.
Or you might end up dead.

But this was just too much.

“Ugh— I got scammed!”

That day, I was the victim of a real estate scam.

More precisely — an auction scam.

And one more little detail.

“AAAHHH!”

This neighborhood, Proud Street—

was the underworld.

Damn it.