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Chapter 1
I used to be a hardcore fan of romantic fantasy web novels—the kind filled with satisfying “sugar-rush justice.”
In the exhausting reality of everyday life, the world of web novels I discovered was like a dream.
“Unnie, leave that trash guy and upgrade to a real one!”
Every time the heroine dumped a cheating, useless “starter boyfriend” and upgraded to a handsome, perfect man, my wallet would open without hesitation.
The heroines would throw away trash men, bankrupt them, get revenge on backstabbing friends, and increase their own wealth.
Crying over hardships? That wasn’t something a “satisfying revenge heroine” would do.
To me, living in a frustrating reality, those protagonists gave me vicarious satisfaction.
Every time I saw those trash men get neatly buried by the heroines of romance fantasy stories, I felt incredible relief.
And every time, I supported the authors with generous payments and comments.
“Author-nim, please give us more chapters!”
As I read more and more romantic fantasy novels, I sometimes even imagined myself getting reincarnated into one. I’d be the only daughter of a prestigious noble family, rich and powerful—but due to false rumors that I was a villainess, my fiancé would demand to break off the engagement.
“So that’s how it is? Fine. If you don’t like me, I don’t want this marriage either. But since you are the one breaking the engagement, I’ll require a huge compensation for my damaged reputation.”
Then I would coolly accept the breakup papers and attend a party to hunt down a new man, snap!
Everyone would stare at me—criticizing me while unable to take their eyes off my jewels. I’d enjoy their jealousy and dominate high society.
“The Black Rose of the House of Ines” or something like that. That kind of nickname would be perfect.
I’d secretly run a mercenary guild under a hidden identity, take on the protagonist’s requests, enjoy festivals, and even be ready to crash slave markets.
Not some extra who appears in one line and gets erased from the story.
Not an extra who dies a meaningless early death.
Not a pitiful extra who suffers endlessly!
“But seriously—of all things, I end up as the nameless wife who gets briefly married to the male lead and then assassinated? Are you kidding me? My life is literally on a timer. Refund!”
The day I died in an accident while fighting with my horrible step-siblings…
I opened my eyes—and I was in the world of a novel.
Well, fine. Readers of reincarnation stories are always ready for that anyway.
The problem was—
“Lady Anette!”
“…Huh? Me?”
The body I had possessed belonged to Anette Fosche, the neglected eldest daughter of the Marquis Fosche family. A nobody noble girl, the official-but-doomed wife of the male lead—an extra who is mentioned once for marrying him and then immediately dies.
That was me.
“Alright. Let’s reroll this reincarnation system.”
After quickly assessing my situation as a seasoned romance-fantasy reader, that was my conclusion.
If I was going down the romance-fantasy route anyway, I might as well abandon this body. There was no hope.
Honestly, the fact that I had even reincarnated at all was absurd. Since I was already dead, I should just spin the reincarnation roulette again and aim for something like “the youngest daughter of a tyrant emperor.”
I could totally do the “Daddy~” act too. If the tyrant emperor handed me gold bars, I’d happily act cute.
I admit it—I was a little insane at the time.
“Your courage at this moment determines your entire reincarnation life!”
“Lady Anette, what are you doing right now?!”
“Let go of me! I need to get into another story!”
“This girl has lost her mind!”
My attempt to smash my head against the wall and restart my life was unfortunately stopped.
The servants, who usually ignored Anette completely, were suddenly extremely alert at a moment like this.
In the end, I was tightly bound and locked in my room.
“No! If I had just started the story, I could’ve rerolled! I’m not Anette—I’m not!”
“Are you going to keep saying nonsense after eating expensive meals? Even if you don’t want the marriage, do you really have to act like this? Calm yourself down in there!”
And so my denial failed.
God, please! I’d even take being a villainess who got dumped. At least she has money and status!
But Anette had nothing. Not even time to live.
Locked in her room, starving for a full day, I thought bitterly.
God really was too cruel.
In my past life, I was a child from a remarried family. My mother passed away, and my father remarried immediately—like he had been waiting for it.
And this body, Anette, was the same.
Are you telling me I got assigned this role because my mother died and my father remarried too? Is that it? We’re the same?
That was the only connection I could find.
In my past life, I was just an ordinary girl. Anette, however, was a noble marquis’s daughter.
In my past life, I tolerated my stepmother pretending not to discriminate against me—but Anette didn’t even get that. Despite being a marquis’s daughter, her room was cold and worn down, and the servants ignored her.
“Not only that, but she’s already married to the male lead?”
The maid had said it earlier—was she acting out because she didn’t want to marry?
To me, it felt like a death sentence.
The male lead was meant for the heroine. If I touched him…
I’ll get assassinated and die like in the story!
This novel, The Saint Who Was Abandoned Goes to the Northern Duke, was the first romance fantasy I ever read.
As the title suggests, it was about a saint and a duke saving the world from the demon king.
Anette Fosche was nothing more than an insignificant extra who wasn’t even a villain.
The male lead, a capable lord who loved the North, accepted a political marriage from the wealthy southern Fosche family and married without love.
He then sent Anette to a separate palace and ignored her. She lived lonely and eventually died at the hands of an assassin who suddenly broke in.
When he heard of her death, the male lead simply said:
“What a pity.”
Then he moved on, met his true love—the heroine—and lived happily ever after.
As a reader, it was entertaining. But now that I saw it differently, Anette would probably come back as a ghost out of frustration.
If I had possessed Evangelin instead, I would’ve proudly claimed the cold Northern Duke Darius as mine.
Knowing future events would have made everything easy.
But Anette didn’t have that luxury—she was just an extra with a short lifespan.
Wait a second.
If I’m Anette, doesn’t that mean I DO know the future anyway?
Her problem wasn’t just ignorance. It was that she would be sent away immediately after marriage and killed before anything could change.
So what if I changed that route?
What if I used my knowledge of the original story to tell Darius about future events and prove I could be useful?
Then he wouldn’t send me away. And if I avoided being sent away, I wouldn’t meet the assassin.
If I stayed by Darius’s side, helped him, and quietly observed the heroine’s story… maybe I could live a second life different from the original?
Yes! Extras who help the protagonist have a much higher survival rate!
I clenched my fist and made my decision.
After my first-day meltdown, I quietly assessed the situation. If I had to live in Anette’s body, the longer I stayed imprisoned, the worse it was for me.
When I stopped screaming and calmed down, the servants finally untied me.
“Soon the Duke will arrive, so stop causing trouble and change your clothes!”
The harsh maid leading me was Anette’s nanny.
The first voice I heard when I woke up in this body was also hers.
As a seasoned romance-fantasy reader, I could estimate the statistics: when a heroine wakes up from unconsciousness, there is a 51% chance the first voice is a loyal maid, and 49% chance it’s someone who will exploit her.
Unfortunately, this nanny belonged to the latter category.
She wasn’t protecting Anette—she was the one tormenting her the most.
How do I know?
Rustle.
A leather-bound book flipped open.
In my hands was Anette’s diary. I had found dozens of volumes.
How does this girl have so much to say?
But then—
“After my stepmother scolded me, the nanny told me privately that I tend to sound unpleasant even when I say the same things as others, and I should avoid speaking in front of people…”
Wow. This household really breaks kids.
Page after page showed how Anette slowly lost her confidence and sense of self.
Thanks to it, I could understand exactly what kind of house this was… and what Anette had gone through.
Then I remembered the conversations that always happened in my own home.
“Why are you making that face while eating?”
“You should at least pretend to listen when adults speak.”
“That’s just how my face is. Pay for surgery if you don’t like it—otherwise don’t comment…”
Ah!
A faint laugh escaped me.
To be honest, I was used to this kind of situation.
The only difference was:
Anette couldn’t answer back—
but I always did, even if it meant raising my voice until my throat hurt.
