The clash of swords shattered the stillness of the Academy's long-abandoned dueling grounds, as Lady Elira Valthorne stood at the side of the dueling grounds platform, her delicate frame trembling.
She looked like a wilting flower, her dark curls disheveled, her lips bitten raw from pleading. Yet her black eyes burned only for him.
Duke Aldren Silverheart, the ruthless warlord, stood at the throne, his face an unreadable mask of cold authority.
The man who had once threatened to burn entire cities for defying him, Now was facing the second son of the silverheart family, his own brother.
SLAM
A dull slum echoed as his opponent body hit the ground.
"Please stop this nonsense." elira was yelling from the side, but Malric didn't give her a look.
Instead he was more focusing in lucien at his feet, a man of power and pride, now he lay broken on the ground—bloodied, breath shallow, the weight of what lost heavier than the wounds that bled his body.
Malric had already sentenced him to death.
He had stood in the way of fate.
This man had orchestrated wars, assassinations, and betrayals.
Elira rushed to them, "My Lord," she began, voice trembling with emotion, "I beg you, You do not have to kill you'r brother."
Malric stopped forward "No, He has done nothing but stand in the way of our love, of the peace I seek to bring to this nation."
"Maybe we should hear if he get somthing to say." she said in a low voice, not about her own words.
The Grand Duke barely spared her a glance. "I have no interest in his lies."
But Lucien let out a low, bitter laugh. "Lies?" His lips curled, his voice hoarse. "Tell me, Grand Duke, do I lie when I say you used me?" His eyes burned as he turned to Elira. "And you, foolish girl—do you truly believe this man loves you?"
Elira flinched. "He does love me," she swallowed. "And I love him, a-and he cares about the ones he loves."
The dueling grounds fell silent.
Then, Lucien laughed again with blood coming out of his mouth, a hollow, aching sound. "Then tell me, Elira, where was this care when I was at his side? When we fought together, when I trusted him with my life? Where was his care when he cast me aside the moment you appeared?"
Elira paled, but she held firm. "That's not true. You... you were trying to stop us from being together. You were cruel. You—"
"I was in the way of your love?" Lucien's voice turned razor-sharp, his shackles clinking as he shifted. "You speak as if fate itself wrote me in your way.
"Tell me, Elira—did fate also tell him that I didn't want you two to be together?"
Then he turned his face to Malric. "You know I never had any intention of harming anyone, but still… your jealousy… I am your brother… Y-You're a sick man."
Elira opened her mouth, but no words came.
The Grand Duke finally sighed. "Enough." He gestured lazily to the guards. and healed his sword, covered in a white flame.
Lucien did not talk again. He did not beg for mercy.
He stayed silent.
As the sword slowly entered his heart, He closed his eyes and accepted his fate.
Elira buried her face in Malric's chest, tears gathering in her lashes. "You could've spared him. You could've—"
But she didn't finish.
Because somewhere deep inside her chest, past the pain and the fear and the chaos…
Was relief.
Small. Quiet. But there.
And as Elira was sobbing in relief, she did not notice the way his lips curled—how, for the briefest moment, he almost looked... bored.
###
"Motherf*cker! How did anyone like this?!"
The man threw the book straight into the trashcan.
Another ending. Another disaster. He thought this one was the jackpot, but no, it was a hotpot.
And not the delicious kind.
No, this was the kind where his heart was being boiled alive in a bubbling broth of regret and secondhand embarrassment.
"Why is everyone so fucking dumb?!" he yelled at the heavens, as if the gods of romance would descend and explain. "Why does no one have emotional intelligence?!"
He read this book series—he remembered hearing his high school crush talking about it once—and for some reason he kept on reading till he finished the eight books, the full series.
Once he started reading, he could not stop. He felt like something inside of him needed this.
"Well, that was a lot of time wasted on this stupid novel."
What is this novel about, you ask?
Well, ever read about a heroine whose only personality trait was being a doormat? What?
Or one who caught Stockholm Syndrome and decided, "Maybe my kidnapper is kinda hot?"
Or, brace yourself, one so indecisive she spent five entire books choosing between two men?
Then all of that is in Heir to My Heart.
A steamy and smutty historical fantasy novel series set in the regency era of noble families, about some romantic relationships.
Founded by the main heroine, Elira Valthorne, she attempted gathering a squad of refined ladies in the Academy—much like the noble version of a girlband anime.
But instead of cute friendship arcs and synchronized dance numbers, they somehow ended up knee-deep in political conspiracies, deadly secrets, and scandalous romance.
It was not easy, of course.
Recruiting seven other women into her literary empire took effort, but in the end, the Society was formed.
Together, these eight women would navigate courtly intrigue, whispered betrayals, and the kind of romantic entanglements that could either save them... or get them hurt.
Each of the eight books is told from a different member's perspective, because one point of view simply wasn't enough for all the chaos they had to endure.
As a man reading this women's romance novel, he had a weird experience. Kind of like a guilty pleasure that didn't feel so good, but somehow he kept reading this book—filled with swoon-worthy love stories, passionate confessions, and charming women that he actually rooted for.
As an adult? He realized the men were morons. The women were fools. And the romance? An absolute dumpster fire.
"Ugh," he groaned, scratching his forehead. "No wonder that girl from high school was always around aggressive boys."
The man was on a reading binge—his latest coping mechanism. He mindlessly flipped through the books in his collection, hoping for distraction, but instead, he only found frustration.
In his current life, he wasn't particularly searching for love, but he was desperately craving something else—anything but these dumb romances. Everyone treated romance like a cure-all, a miracle drug, and it was beyond infuriating.
Boom!
"Hum—!"
A low and steady haze , pulsing through the walls of his room. The lights flickered. Shadows stretched across the floor, moving when nothing else did.
"W-Wh… What the hell…"
Then the window glass cracked.
Silver light bled from the fractures, swirling into the air like dust. Before he could step back, something pulled at him—like the world folding inward.
"My head…" He groaned, feeling like his brain was tearing apart.
The floor vanished. Silence swallowed everything.
A freefall. A moment of weightlessness. And then, nothing.
As he drifted into unconsciousness, memories flooded his mind.
His childhood in a broken home. His embarrassingly naïve teenage years. And the one thing that ever made sense—his job as a manager in some random company, mediating other people's stupidity.
"Why are they always waiting... like someone else is going to fix everything for them?"
"Why do they need someone else to tell them they're doing okay?"
"Why does everyone chase things that never really matter... and call it purpose?"
"Why do they twist themselves into whatever the world wants, then wonder why they feel wrong?"
"Why can't they see they were never broken in the first place?"
He was hearing some whispers in his ears while fading away.
...
...
"Lucien! What ar—!"
SMACK!
He blinked. His hand stung.
Wait... had he just slapped someone?
The world around him finally came into focus. A massive yard full of Noble-born people frozen in shock. Plates of untouched food. And all eyes locked at him, their silk cloaks still in the wind. Wide eyes and parted lips.
"Where am I?"
A horrified gasp snapped his attention to the girl in front of him. A red mark bloomed on the girl's cheek. Then he noticed her: a twilight beauty with long dark hair with hints of starlight when it moved, straight bangs, and eyes like the night sky. She had fallen to the ground.
She's... really pretty... He was captivated but confused.
"A-Are you alright?" he stammered, reaching out instinctively—
Only for his hand to be pushed away.
"Don't you dare touch her!" a sharp voice commanded.
A man stepped between them, his light gray hair and piercing red eyes burning with fury.
While our guy was seeing all of this, something in his head clicked.
A girl who shines with low self-esteem.
Elira.
An overprotective man.
Malric.
His breath hitched. He knew these names. He knew this scene.
He looked at his hands. A pair of two skinny hands, almost like… they were… girl's hands…
"Oh no… please no…" He hoped what was in his mind was not true.
He moved his hand as quickly as possible, looking for it.
"Thank god…" he sighed in relief, confirming that he was still on the same team. "Good… I'm a man… but wait—"
Whipping his head around, taking in the lavish décor, the crowd of well-dressed men and women, the sheer familiarity of it all.
'No. No way.'
The idea flared in his head the moment the truth struck him.
'Did I just... transmigrate into the novel?!'