WWOT 02

chapter 02

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”

It wasn’t Min Yuae anymore—it was Minuet.

For a few days, she decided to just lie in bed to assess the situation. Even without making up excuses, anyone who saw her fragile, almost breakable wrists thought it was only natural for her to rest.

When was the last time she had slept this much? She used to go into the office even on weekends while preparing for the brand launch.

For nearly two months, Minuet lay in bed, repeating the same line like a parrot: I don’t remember. But it worked well enough. The doctor backed her up, saying that simply opening her eyes was already a miracle, and that her memory loss could be temporary.

And it was true—she couldn’t actually remember anything at all.

Sitting up in bed and gazing absentmindedly out the window, Minuet ran her fingers through her long platinum-blond hair. Humans are said to be creatures of adaptation, and indeed, it didn’t take long for her to get used to the overly wide bed and the down blanket that seemed stuffed with the feathers of every goose in the province.

Still, she could never quite adjust to the unfamiliar blond hair. Every time her gaze caught her own locks, she startled.

She thought it was just a dream for the first week, then heaven for the next.

Only after fumbling around like that did she realize the truth: she had entered someone else’s body. And from now on, she had to live as that person.

Not as Min Yuae, who had lived a little over thirty years, but as Minuet Levine, the daughter of a count.

For a while, she agonized over the situation with the same intensity she once put into handling a tough work project. But in the end, with her signature optimism, she decided to treat it as a vacation.

“I don’t know. Whatever happens, happens.”

Now living as Minuet, Yuae popped a grape into her mouth. The sweet flesh filled her mouth, and with it, all her complicated thoughts seemed to vanish.

Pretty clothes, delicious food—that was a vacation.

Dream or holiday, what did it matter?
As long as she could sleep in.

“Count Levine’s family is one of the five oldest and most prestigious in the Empire. And your father, Count Levine…”

Rena, with her dark hair, felt sorry for her lady who had lost her memory. So every morning and evening, while brushing her hair, she told her stories that might help bring those memories back.

From official family history to the private affairs of household staff—Rena covered it all.

She even explained that Minuet detested any tampering with traditional recipes.

‘There’s a depth of flavor passed down by our ancestors. Anyone who dares play with food like that deserves divine punishment.’

She liked knitting and hated mint chocolate.

Extremely old-fashioned, valuing ladylike decorum above all else—
That was Minuet Levine, the true owner of the body she now inhabited.

“Rena, how are you so good with hair?”

Since her near-death episode, the lady sometimes spoke strangely, sometimes used formal speech. She had seemed mentally unstable, but now she appeared to be settling back into place.

Watching her, Rena’s eyes often reddened, but she found comfort knowing that it was better than the bleak smiles the bedridden Minuet used to give.

Yes. Those broken memories—I’ll help her find them. For now, I’ll just be grateful she’s healthy.

Rena bit her lower lip firmly, vowing to take proper care of Minuet, whom she had tended like a sister—or even a daughter.

“And then, the second daughter, Lady Liliane…”

As Rena’s steady voice filled the room, Minuet turned her gaze to the mirror. She could hardly believe the radiant glow of her face belonged to someone who had supposedly been bedridden since childhood.

Recalling her own dull, rough skin from all-nighters in front of a computer, she concluded: Sleep really is the best medicine—better than dermatology.

Watching her lady admire her own skin, Rena felt proud.

The years spent guarding her bedside, tending her porcelain skin and glossy hair, finally felt worth it.

“Rumor of your recovery has already spread across the Empire. Soon, the most eligible heirs of noble families will be restless with anticipation.”

Once, Rena had only prayed for her lady’s cheeks to regain color. Now, selfishly, she dreamed of her wedding march. Her apron ruffles swayed lightly, as if echoing her imagination of fitting Minuet into a wedding gown.

“Your Highness, the Crown Prince. It’s time to rise.”

When Aegon pulled back the curtains, sunlight poured over the emerald velvet bed. The maids watching from afar shivered, still unable to get used to such behavior.

Such impudence in the morning was nothing short of insolence.

And only Aegon Berkshire, the prince’s closest friend, dared to be insolent before the Crown Prince.

Witnessing the interaction between two men so finely crafted by God Himself was a blessing, but each time Aegon acted out, the maids’ hearts clenched with fear.

Luckily, Onyx’s patience, honed by years of royal training, was usually quite strong.

“Crazy bastard.”

Well—usually.

Onyx spat a curse as he sat up. Squinting at the sunlight outside the window, he gestured toward a maid. Her heart pounded as she carried over the breakfast tray, caught between fear and infatuation—an everyday torment, courtesy of the Crown Prince.

“Today’s paper was especially entertaining. I rushed to bring it myself.”

“More nonsense, I suppose.”

“Well, whether it’s nonsense or not…”

Aegon snatched the morning paper off the tray.

“See for yourself, Your Highness.”

Onyx reached for it, his thick black hair swaying handsomely. Dark as obsidian, it recalled the black panther—the symbol of the royal Tromaline line.

“Ah, so you are curious.”

Aegon plopped a steaming cup of green tea into his palm instead.

“You’re especially cheeky today, Lord Berkshire.”

“Would I dare, to His Highness the Crown Prince?”

As Aegon grinned, the maids quickly retreated.

Onyx, still sluggish from last night’s wine-soaked negotiations, rose with a slow breath.

“At least yesterday’s meeting saw some results.”

“How can you trust those sly old men?”

Aegon hummed in agreement, then finally handed over the paper.

Spring Winds of Romance Blow Through the Tromaline Royal Family

Onyx skimmed the front-page article, where his supposed love story filled the space beneath the royal crest.

It began bluntly—with a proposal sent to a certain count’s household.

Flipping quickly through the first page, Onyx tossed it back onto the tray.

Imagine—learning of his own proposal through a newspaper.

“How creative. I guess scandals got boring. Now it’s marriage? They should’ve written a novel instead—at least then the paper wouldn’t be wasted. Pathetic.”

And this was only part one of a “special feature”?

He almost respected the journalists for their nerve. What drivel would they churn out tomorrow?

“How thrilling, isn’t it, Your Highness?”

“You find this kind of garbage thrilling?”

“Why not? This time it’s not some sordid scandal, but the royal wedding everyone’s been longing for.”

Royal wedding? Mine?

He had laughed off rumors pairing him with noble ladies whose names he barely remembered.

And thanks to the law forbidding publication of royal portraits, baseless gossip sold like wildfire.

He had tolerated it, thinking: If burning myself fuels the newspapers and entertains society, so be it.

But a royal marriage? That crossed the line.

“Nonsense.”

“But Breven Times isn’t some cheap tabloid. Surely there must be—”

“What possible truth is there in a marriage I don’t even know about?”

Onyx smirked as he bit into an apple.

“No charm, no weight. Breven disappoints me.”

“Don’t dismiss it so quickly—read it properly!”

Aegon chased after him, waving the paper.

“Are you following me into the bath? If you insist, I’ll give them a real scandal to print over your marriage story.”

The heavy bathroom door slammed. Aegon’s muttering of pervert quickly turned into laughter.

‘She’s recovering at a miraculous pace.’

So the doctor said with every visit. But thanks to the countess’s overprotectiveness, Minuet wasn’t allowed out of her room until two months had passed.

“Careful, careful. Watch your step.”

Countess Levine supported Minuet like a toddler learning to walk.

The Levine family was among the wealthiest in the Empire. Minuet had heard it plenty from Rena, but the sight before her far surpassed imagination.

She felt oddly relieved to be supported. Even if her legs were stronger than people thought, the dazzling décor—something she had only ever seen in textbooks—might have made her collapse.

How much did all this cost…?

As Min Yuae-turned-Minuet descended the stairs, her eyes went wide.

The chandelier stretching from the second floor to the first. The ornate wallpapers in vivid colors and patterns.

Wallpaper so luxurious she’d never dare swipe a company card for it. Even at a million won per roll—one roll, two rolls, three rolls…

Her mind swam with zeroes.

And in this era, it must be handmade. My god.

While she nearly fainted tallying the silver-threaded wallpaper, Countess Levine anxiously checked her forehead. Perhaps it had been too soon to leave her room.

Still dazed, Minuet sat in the drawing room, staring at the dazzling array of pastries and teas before her.

Pretty things just keep coming.

Walls and ceilings she couldn’t take her eyes off. She could sit here for days without boredom—until a voice cut in:

“Mother, I told you I won’t join teatime anymore. I’ll get fat.”

A beautiful woman with perfectly styled blond curls plopped down beside Minuet with a pout.

Caught mid-bite, Minuet’s mouth fell open again. Not just the room, but the people were all stunning. Was this heaven after all?

“Liliane, it’s a rare teatime with your sister,” the countess gently chided.

Liliane?

Minuet glanced at the woman who vaguely resembled her, recalling the younger sister Rena had mentioned.

“Oh… fine.”

At last, Liliane turned to look at Minuet.

“So… are you… doing okay?”

“Uh… I…”

“Are you still sick? If you’re unwell, you should be lying down. Why did you come down?”

Suddenly in the spotlight, Minuet faltered. But Liliane didn’t wait for her answer.

With a flick of her pink-feathered fan, she wrinkled her nose, as if to ward off illness.

Just then, a maid’s voice announced a visitor, breaking the chilly air.

“My lady, Mr. Robert has arrived. Shall I show him in?”