IBYDH 1

Chapter: 1

“I became an ugly princess”

I knew, at least in theory, that no one ever knows when death will come—but I still believed it was something far removed from me.

I was barely in my early twenties.
I had far more days ahead of me than behind me.

But death did not care about age.

One day—no different from any other—I was suddenly struck by a splitting headache and went to the hospital. That was when I was told I had less than a year left to live.

The disease had worsened beyond hope. There was no treatment.

Having been handed my death sentence, I wasted away without even the strength to hope, crying and raging that I didn’t want to die—

And then…

I died.

I still remember it.

The moment my breathing stopped.

The moment my heart ceased beating, and the sound of my family surrounding me, sobbing as they called my name.

I definitely died.
And yet—I didn’t.

To be precise, an ordinary woman in her twenties from the Republic of Korea died.

And I opened my eyes in a new body.

Silvia Atlante.

The third daughter of the prestigious House of Atlante—yet a duchess constantly compared to her family, pointed at as someone unworthy of the Atlante name.

A woman who longed for love her entire life, never received it even once, and ultimately drank poison in order to die.

I became—

Silvia Atlante.

It feels like I had a very long dream.

I’m awake, yet my mind is still foggy and my body unbearably heavy.

I must have been asleep for a long time—my entire body tingles, and even moving a finger takes effort.

Still, it doesn’t feel all that strange. My last memory before falling asleep was writhing in agony, pain so severe I thought I would die.

I was sure I had died… but it seems I survived.

Is that fortunate?
Or is it unfortunate—to be forced to endure another agonizing day?

With those thoughts, I try to sit up—

And then I notice something strange.

My hand.

“No… is it my eyes that are strange?”

My hand is pale, as if it has never seen proper sunlight—thin and shriveled like a dried branch.

Not the soft, jiggly arm and plump fingers I was used to.

And now that I look again, the clothes I’m wearing are strange too.

Instead of a hospital gown, I’m dressed in an expensive-looking dress adorned with lace, frills, and jewels.

A bad feeling creeping up on me, I glance around.

The bed is enormous—as if several hospital beds from a six-person ward had been pushed together. Every item decorating the room looks outrageously expensive.

The ceiling is high, with a chandelier hanging from it, and the blue wallpaper is patterned with ornate gold designs. The room looks like the interior of a castle where European nobles from old films might live.

Why am I here?

“Is this some kind of hidden-camera prank…? No, obviously not.”

There was only one possible explanation for a situation this unreal.

“I must be dreaming.”

But why this kind of dream?

“Did I secretly want to become a noble or something?”

As I’m startled by a desire I never knew I had, someone speaks to me.

“Miss, are you all right?”

“Miss…?”

It’s an unfamiliar form of address. I’ve never once been called “miss” in my life. Not even my brother’s wife—my sister-in-law—called me that. I had asked her to use my name instead.

“So who’s calling me ‘miss’?”

“Miss…?”

It was a woman. She looked young, though it was hard to tell her exact age.

Since she was speaking a language I could understand, I naturally assumed she was Korean—but the woman standing before me was clearly not.

“She’s a foreigner… I don’t know from where, but still.”

I have no idea why a foreign teenage girl with pale skin, a sharp nose, and deep-set double eyelids is calling me “miss.”

And that’s not all.

The clothes she’s wearing are unmistakably a maid’s uniform—a black dress with a frilly white apron.

And most striking of all, peeking out between her wavy chestnut hair, is a white headband.

“Is this some kind of cosplay?”

“Miss, would you like some water?”

At her worried question, I nod reflexively. The maid pours water from a pitcher into a cup and hands it to me.

“Here you are.”

“Thank you.”

I accept it politely with both hands.

But then her expression changes—like she’s just heard something she wasn’t supposed to hear.

“…What did I just say?”
I’m pretty sure I only thanked her normally.

I replay my words in my head, wondering if I’d done something wrong, but nothing stands out.

“She looks like she’s seen a ghost… now I feel unsettled.”

Avoiding her wide-eyed stare, I drink the lukewarm water.

As the moisture soothes my dry throat, my chaotic thoughts slowly settle.

Okay.

They say even if you enter a tiger’s den, you’ll survive as long as you keep your wits about you.

I don’t know what situation I’m in, who this woman is, or why I’m here—but first, calm down.

Let’s return the cup—

“Huh?”

“Wait.”

As I extend the cup to hand it back, I pull it back toward myself instead.

Bringing it so close my nose nearly touches it, I see my reflection growing clearer on the silver surface.

A round face partially hidden by messy brown hair.

Facial features so buried in flesh they’re hard to distinguish.

“…This isn’t my face.”

The instant I realize that, a horrifying headache crashes down on me.

“Ugh!”

“Miss!”

The woman shouts something beside me, but I can’t hear a single word.

My mind is already overwhelmed—flooded with an enormous amount of information.

They’re memories.

Someone else’s memories.

The memories of a woman, from birth to death.

The woman who once owned the body I now inhabit—

Silvia Atlante.

Silvia Atlante.

As a child, she was an ordinary noble lady.

Had she been born into another family, she likely would have grown up uneventfully and without trouble.

The problem was that she was the eldest daughter of the Duke of Atlante.

And who was the Duke of Atlante?

A founding contributor to the Empire, the head of one of the most prestigious ducal houses—one that had retained wealth, honor, and power for generations.

Even amid political turmoil, he displayed remarkable competence. He was brilliant—and just as intelligent as he was handsome. Even now, in middle age, countless women still blushed at the sight of him.

The day he announced his marriage, innumerable women who loved him in secret wept.

Yet none of them could bring themselves to criticize the new duchess as unworthy of him.

Though she was the youngest daughter of a border count with little influence in the capital, the duchess was so beautiful and kind-hearted she was called an angel.

Even those who envied her found themselves liking her once they spoke with her. She was that charming.

With such a couple married, no one could say one was too good for the other.

Instead, people anticipated—

“How perfect will the children born of those two be?”

If they inherited their parents’ blood, they would surely be dazzlingly beautiful, intelligent, talented in swordsmanship, and possess gentle hearts.

And to an extent, they were right.

Three of the duke and duchess’s four children grew up to be flawless boys and girls—perfect embodiments of that expectation.

But there was one exception.

One child—utterly ordinary, with nothing exceptional about her.

That child was Silvia Atlante.

Unlike her brothers, who were strikingly handsome even as infants, Silvia was plain-looking, and she disappointed people.

She couldn’t form proper sentences until she was two.

That wasn’t particularly late—but her eldest brother had spoken at ten months old, an exceptional case that made comparison inevitable.

When her younger sister was born, the comparisons only intensified.

Her sister, Eiryn, was everything Silvia was not—a girl who perfectly embodied the Atlante name.

Adorably beautiful, naturally considerate, and intelligent enough to grasp ten things from being taught one.

People adored Eiryn.

They beamed no matter what she did and fell over themselves to praise her.

And the more they praised Eiryn, the more they ignored her older sister.

When Silvia and Eiryn stood together, no one paid Silvia any attention.

“Pretty,” “kind,” “lovely”—every compliment belonged to Eiryn.

The only thing people ever said about Silvia was—

“Lady Silvia is like an ugly duckling. Truly… she doesn’t suit the House of Atlante.”

Behind her back, they called her the “ugly duchess.”

Though whispered in secret, there is no such thing as a secret that lasts forever.

Silvia learned that people called her “the ugly duchess.”

As she endured these things, her self-esteem shrank in inverse proportion to her growing height.

She soothed her emptiness and gloom with food. Sweet, greasy foods made her feel better.

And so, once she passed the age of ten, she gained another nickname.

“The fat duchess.”

Her body was twice the size of her sister Eiryn’s.

As she grew, Silvia’s body grew larger and larger, until she reached adulthood.

From a face buried in flesh, it was impossible to find the characteristic beauty of the Atlante bloodline.

Instead of beauty, her face was filled with greed.

Gluttony—and jealousy.

Having grown up constantly compared to her family, she was tightly bound by an inferiority complex, one that grew larger as she did—perhaps even faster than her expanding body.

Whenever she saw someone prettier, thinner, kinder, or more capable than herself, she tried to humiliate them.

Her reputation became dreadful.

People avoided her. No one cherished her.

Even her family turned away.

On the day of Eiryn’s engagement to the Crown Prince, Silvia slapped her sister.

Everyone in attendance gasped in shock.

To strike the woman destined to become Crown Princess!

Though Eiryn was her sister, she was also the Crown Prince’s fiancée—the future Crown Princess.

Striking her was the same as striking the Crown Prince himself, an act that could be seen as an insult to the imperial family.

And to commit such a grave crime—on the very day of the engagement—

Silvia was dragged away by knights and thrown into prison on the spot.

Inside the cold cell, Silvia raged wildly.

“How dare you imprison a Lady of House Atlante! Aren’t you afraid of the consequences? Release me at once!”

Silvia had something she believed in.

Though she was unloved, little better than a discarded child, she was still a duchess of House Atlante.

Her father, the Duke of Atlante, was cold and emotionless, never having shown her even a shred of affection.

Yet no matter how many scandals she caused, he had never punished her severely.

So Silvia thought—

“This time, too, he’ll probably just confine me to the estate for a few months.”

The duke despised Silvia for constantly causing trouble, but she was still a member of House Atlante, and he had never cast her out completely.

However—contrary to her expectations—

The duke issued an order utterly unlike any he had given before.