IRFVA 01

Chapter : 1

What is the role of an inn in a novel?

A meeting place with a dark guild?
Or perhaps a coincidental setting where the protagonist encounters a fateful opportunity?

A device to show the era and circumstances in the early part of the story?

All wrong.

Crash—!

The clear sound of something shattering rang throughout the room like a bell.

“You bastard, are you making fun of me?!”

“Hah, that’s rich coming from a member of a dying guild!”

“Ahahaha, kill him! I bet money on that guy!”

I really wished it had been a bell.

Unfortunately, what had just shattered was my tea set—the one I had barely managed to buy last week after saving up money.

Crack! Smash!

Next came the beautiful harmony of skulls cracking open.

Just yesterday, I had painstakingly scrubbed this old building clean because I’d decided it was time for a thorough cleaning.

And now all my effort was going to waste before my eyes.

In novels, taverns and inns exist for one reason only:

To be destroyed.

Whether it’s fantasy or martial arts fiction, people burst in out of nowhere and wreck the place every single day, regardless of who was already inside.

An “inn” is simply an inevitable backdrop for dramatic scenes like this.

“Die! Just die already!”

Bang! Crash!

“You brat sure talks a lot!”

Ignoring the noise around me, I continued thinking.

Whether it was a fantasy novel, a martial arts novel, or even a modern romance, places where people drank were destined to be smashed apart for dramatic effect.

Just like the fruit stand in an action movie that collapses because the protagonist shoved someone into it.

The owner can scream, “My apples—!!” all they want, but the protagonist will simply speed away in a cool car.

What happens to the fruit seller afterward, or who compensates for the ruined apples, isn’t important to the story.

In a martial arts novel, the tavern is where someone meets the murderer of their parents.

In a fantasy novel, it’s where the forces of darkness secretly gather.

While I was drowning in such futile thoughts, the groan of the man who had just been struck snapped me back to reality.

I stood amidst the collapsing furniture, the shattering glass, the screams, and the violence.

Crack.

The sound of my grinding teeth blended naturally with the breaking dishes.

I was furious.

Because this was my inn.

“You damn bastards—!!!!!”

Gripping a frying pan in one hand, I charged into the middle of the fighting men.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my silver hair flying behind me.

I rushed forward at full speed and smashed the frying pan into one man’s head.

Claaang— … …

A remarkably clear and beautiful sound echoed out.

His head must be completely empty.

As I briefly entertained that thought, I heard the hurried sound of the door opening.

Turning my head, I saw a man with long black hair standing there, holding the door while staring at me.

“Eileen, calm down.”

“Calm down… haah, calm… no, but those bastards started it first!”

Clang—!

A second ringing sound echoed.

I had smacked the guy beside me across the face with the frying pan.

There was no way these bastards would die from something like this. That much was certain.

“Eileen! Your wrist is going to break!”

“Let go! Let go! I’m killing every last one of them today! Hey! Do you think I’m a joke?!”

The sight of the man desperately trying to restrain me was quite beautiful, but I continued swinging the frying pan wildly.

My anger couldn’t be cooled by something like this.

Again, these bastards wouldn’t die.

Because this place was inside a novel.

And the deaths of extras didn’t matter.

I had transmigrated into a romance fantasy novel.

“I became the villainess of a romance fantasy.”

A sentence identical to the title of some novel flashed through my mind.

When I opened my eyes, an unfamiliar luxurious ceiling filled my vision.

Ah, an unfamiliar ceiling—

I wanted to make that joke, but unfortunately, I wasn’t in the state of mind for it.

Like many other novel protagonists, the moment I saw my reflection in the window, I screamed.

Because reflected there was a silver-haired, golden-eyed woman with no trace left of my original brown hair.

I used to complain that my ordinary hair and eyes were too common, but this wasn’t what I wanted.

“Uwaaaah—!”

Afterward, the maid (probably), the knights (probably), and the nanny (probably) who rushed in upon hearing my scream started talking all at once, and I learned many things.

Young Lady, before your engagement to His Highness the Crown Prince… an assassin… the only Duke Nox family in the Empire… please forgive us…

Thanks to those extras who explained everything as if reciting introductions, I quickly grasped my situation.

I had transmigrated.

No matter how much I wanted to deny it, I had transmigrated.

And not only that—I had become the villainous supporting character, “Eileen.”

<The Empress Has Arrived>

The emotionless cool-water-ice blond Crown Prince Hosheus falls in love with the soft and gentle Saintess Rosella.

And Eileen, the somewhat lacking fiancée of the Crown Prince, interferes with their love.

Eventually, her evil deeds are exposed, and she is executed.

That Eileen.

“Damn it!”

“My lady?!”

I heard the nanny (probably) gasp in shock, but that wasn’t important.

Eileen was destined to die soon.

But I was a South Korean romance fantasy novel fan.

I knew exactly what a transmigrator was supposed to do in situations like this.

I had three plans!

“Father! I’m so sorry for everything and I love you!”

“Leave. Who let this thing into my office?”

I tried turning the mastermind father into a doting dad.

Failed.

“Your Highness the Crown Prince! Please break off our engagement!”

“Young lady, know your place.”

I tried moving the heart of the emotionless Crown Prince.

Failed.

“Saintess, if we became friends…”

“……”

“The Saintess fainted!”

“What did the Duke’s daughter do this time?!”

I tried becoming the heroine’s one and only friend.

Failed.

.

.

.

“Goddammit!”

In novels, other transmigrators accomplished everything effortlessly, so why wasn’t anything working for me?

Was I trying to do too much in too short a time?

Still, by this point, shouldn’t there at least have been something like:

‘…That woman isn’t usually like this. Interesting.’

In one corner of the endlessly luxurious and glittering room, I furiously punched my pillow while venting my frustration.

At this rate, my execution was guaranteed.

I wanted to live.

Then suddenly, a thought crossed my mind.

“…Then I just shouldn’t bully her?”

In the first place, “Eileen” had been punished because she became consumed by jealousy and started tormenting the Saintess.

At this point in the story, she had only committed minor acts of harassment.

So what if I simply did nothing from now on?

What if I committed no crime worthy of death?

As proof of that, what if I never even left the house?

Even if the engagement were broken off, I wouldn’t end up on the execution platform.

The announcement of the Saintess and Crown Prince’s marriage was supposed to happen around the season when flowers bloomed, so I only had to survive inside my room for about three months at most!

After that, I could just live quietly in some corner of the duchy.

And so, I endured.

I made all sorts of excuses and never stepped outside.

Like someone terminally ill, I spent my days lying in bed, letting time pass.

And then…

“Criminal Eileen, listen well!”

Why?

Seriously, why?

I really had stayed locked in my room and done absolutely nothing no matter what insults I received, but when flower season arrived, knights stormed into my room and dragged me all the way to the imperial palace.

“I didn’t do anything!”

Ah, damn it.

Panicking, I ended up blurting out the most suspicious line imaginable.

A lavish building decorated entirely in gold and blue.

Nobles dressed in extravagant clothing.

And at the center, basking in brilliant light, stood the Crown Prince and the Saintess themselves.

Only I, dragged in wearing a simple dress, felt completely out of place.

This was the imperial court.

“Eileen Fontetia Nox. Did you not know that kidnapping and attempted murder of the Saintess are grave crimes? You witch!”

“Wait, are you seriously saying I tried to kill the Saintess?”

I was dumbfounded.

Of course I was.

I hadn’t even left the house, and besides—I wasn’t even the real Eileen!

I couldn’t say that part out loud, but there was obvious proof that I had done nothing.

I seriously never took a single step outside the house—I just lay in bed counting the cracks on my bedroom ceiling!

Two hundred and eighteen of them, you bastards!