Chapter 1 - Chapter 1

Translator: Nox

Chapter 1Chapter 1

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Realizing a previous existence rarely happens to anyone.

That strange awakening struck during an utterly routine moment, right in the middle of a junior treasury clerk’s daily ride to work.

Dozing inside a crowded coach bound for the Imperial Palace, awareness crashed over her.

She had reborn inside the pages of a novel.

Once her former identity sharpened into focus, a vast sweep of memories from two decades on Earth unfolded across her thoughts.

Right on cue, as though scripted by fate, the full scope of this story’s realm crystallized in her mind—every twist, every detail laid bare.

The revelation barely registered emotionally.

A battle-mad ruler smitten by a radiant female lead through some arranged bond? Such tales only thrilled elite circles.

Her Earth days held no deep ties—no kin, no intimates. Those extra years simply amounted to an unexpected archive of experiences.

One odd overlap stood out: her name echoed across both existences.

Kwon Lina back then, Carolina now.

Perhaps Lina clung to her essence somehow.

A smaller parallel existed too—drifting into minor bureaucratic roles each time.

She hoped this round avoided an early grave from exhaustion under a deranged superior.

The memory flood closed on a glimpse of some municipal workspace. She offered a quick silent plea.

Her current supervisor already fit that mad-boss mold perfectly.

Longevity topped her sole desire.

This incarnation called for quiet stability, a steady climb to secure retirement.

Yet the realm’s warlord sovereign, scarred by near a decade of conquests that chilled the lands, neared victorious homecoming.

Every bureau buzzed with tension, bracing for the temperamental overlord’s instant demand for updates.

Extra duties mounted from the frenzy. Was this the curse unfolding?

Death by burnout loomed as she reached the Treasury Department without noticing the journey’s end.

She managed a weak wave to the driver before shuffling indoors.

Her notorious manager’s bark hit her instantly upon entry.

Glancing at the clock, she replied with cool detachment.

Typically, he griped about her supposed tardiness despite her early arrival, or droned on about his novice days showing up hours ahead.

Today, though, something else set him off.

Donovan reveled in his nominal noble status as a lesser baron.

Government ranks outranked such honors officially, freeing underlings from noble formalities.

Not that he sought parental terms.

She tacked on a reluctant “Sir.”

His features eased a touch then.

“I don’t rule like a total despot,” he claimed.

Despots often opened that way, it seemed.

“Palace rules might favor rank over bloodline, but the divide between folk and elites remains sharp, right?”

He eyed her expectantly for backing.

Strictly speaking, she counted among the common ranks herself.

Her sire mirrored Donovan’s station, but inheritance skipped her generation.

Noble roots lent a faint edge over pure plebeians, true.

Timing ruled against debating it, so she murmured vaguely.

Half-appeased by her tepid nod, he pressed on.

“How did Rachel leapfrog me? Her, a nobody!”

His extra ire made sense now.

The advancement news had dropped.

Rachel ran the adjacent office and clashed hard with Donovan.

Rachel climbed through raw skill; Donovan rode nepotism.

He might have sensed her quiet approval of the court’s even-handed choice. Or her silence on bashing Rachel irked him.

Regaining poise briefly, Donovan flushed crimson and bellowed.

“That face! You back her rise?”

“Never. I’d never see it that way.”

Office peace demanded such dodges. She schooled her features blank and refuted him.

“You lie! Common blood makes you her ally. Bah. Noble upbringing should have sharpened your loyalty.”

After unloading on her, he bolted as colleagues trickled in.

As he stormed off fuming, Connie edged closer warily.

“What’s eating him?”

“Lost out on the bump-up.”

The reincarnation shock barely fazed her, but this fresh bout of nonsense sapped her energy.

She gave Connie a curt recap, then dove into tasks at her station.

Connie seemed poised to probe further but held back. Her rotten start wrecked concentration. Simple chores fumbled badly.

Focus, she urged inwardly. Endure till quitting, then freedom. The pep talk fell flat.

“Insane! These figures botch everything!” Donovan pounced on her submission’s flaw, roaring like he’d stalked it.

An abacus hurtled her way.

She had verified extra carefully, yet a tiny slip evaded notice.

“Raw estate levies form the core for imperial submissions—do you grasp that?”

Merely one digit astray in math. A enchanted tool snagged errors at sign-off anyway.

Irrelevant. His bad humor let him spot it first.

Ownership forced her to absorb the outburst, more fit than feedback.

Back at her spot, Connie passed a slip, darting anxious peeks at Donovan.

Half condemned him in departmental shorthand. The rest pitched tavern relief post-shift.

She thumbed approval with an okay sign.

Prospect of chilled ale eased the slog.

Work bells finally tolled release.

She shoved leftovers to Monday and escaped.

Outside Treasury halls, relief washed heavy burdens away.

Monday loomed later. She whispered that resolve en route to a discreet palace-edge grove, their covert rendezvous to dodge crowds.

Ten minutes ticked by sans Connie.

Early arrival, probably.

Twenty now, unease crept in.

Set to retrace steps, a figure emerged afar.

“Heather? Ages. You holding up?”

Connie’s village pal, known lightly to her.

Heather beamed.

“Fine here. Connie sent this.”

A wadded memo came her way.

It read rushed: Urgent snag traps me overtime. Drinks deferred.

“Connie draws the short straw on Friday,” she sighed.

“Yep,” Heather confirmed. “She neared exit, but Donovan nabbed her. Ripped some nitpick, ordered rewrite on the spot.”

“Classic,” she grumbled. Connie followed her in his crosshairs.

“She sends deep regrets,” Heather relayed, then departed.

Solo now—what next?

Homeward usually, plans dashed. But tension screamed for release. That brew tempted fiercely.

Flying solo it was.

Their spot hugged palace grounds, secure.

Summer dusk invited strolling.

Rikel Street drew her unhurried. Victory stalls crammed the start, hawkers belting deals.

Shouts pulled most eyes, but hers fixed on a shy flower peddler lass.

The child faltered, shy to solicit.

Vase refresh due anyway. She neared the stand. Joy sparked on the girl’s face.

She grinned, claiming a freesias bunch.

“These bloom odd this season,” she noted, stroking a bloom softly.

The girl, deft despite nerves, packed it while murmuring, “North capital district. Their spring lingers. Final batch now.”

Bashful grin with handover.

Freesia sweetness evoked ripe summer as a hooded stranger hasted up.

“Freesias left?”

“Last went to her,” the girl regretted, eyes pleading her way.

He tracked the look to her.

Jawline teased before; now his full visage dominated her sight.