I sometimes felt powerless, seeing my life threatened by decisions I thought I had pondered deeply.
Yet, I found myself inside the world of a novel I had read out of boredom before going to sleep—an experience that both astonished and terrified me.
The streets were paved with black stones, worn by time until cracks spread everywhere, making the carriages dragged across them and the horses galloping over them stumble.
Or the people, filling the markets, their voices echoing and clashing, resonating through every corner.
I did not understand what I was in.
But I began to walk where I did not know. I wanted to ask—about what, I could not tell—why I was so lost mentally.
Perhaps it wasn't entirely fear of a world I had read about, yet I did not know my role in it. Would I return to where I once was when all this was over?
A shop window appeared before me, and I leaned in to examine my own reflection.
Damn it.
I screamed aloud.
Why am I the main character—and not a noble one, but the servant whose mere existence completes the story?
I would die if I followed the course of the tale. But what day was it now?
I shouted at a woman passing by, causing her to recoil in fear. Regaining my composure, I asked a young man who walked past with his father:
"It is the fifth of December, sir," he said.
I am Kim Junho, accused of killing the Duke of the North, who was hosted by the Emperor.
A whole month still lay ahead of me until that day.
I will change your fate, Junho.
Where should I start now?
I felt a strange happiness—perhaps because I still had some hope of survival, of returning. I moved toward one of the guards standing nearby, speaking in a respectful tone to ensure I would not die in the first five minutes.
"Sir, do you know why I came here?"
He looked at me with bewilderment, question marks practically written across his face. The guard had never imagined someone would address him with such respect.
Before this, Junho had treated them with indifference, hardly caring, now that he was a servant of the noble Anbela at the palace.
You had been sent, along with the other servants, to gather the ingredients for tonight's dinner, held in honor of the imperial heir's victorious return from war.
---
That night, Junho was on the edge of losing his mind, haunted by the way the events had been written in the book.
Today, he would endure the relentless harassment of the Emperor's servants, all because he had once been a noble, stripped of his title when his family refused to marry his sister to the Emperor.
She had never wanted to marry an old, withered man. She could not bear the politics that awaited her. She loved the simple world she had known—living with her family in love, sharing understanding with friends and her lover.
Why would she sacrifice all of that for a throne?
But the Emperor had already decided their fate, decreeing the execution of the entire family for defying him.
Junho had tried to save them by offering an alternative—stripping them of their noble titles instead of death. His idea was rejected. Only the prince, pleading with him as a friend, spared them, though Junho was forced to serve the prince and endure humiliation.
After some thought, the prince ordered the family removed from the castle entirely, their titles revoked, leaving Junho behind as a servant to bear his scorn.
Thinking about your life is exhausting enough, Junho.
How could I read all this injustice and still move forward?
He wandered into the market, now overrun by the servants. Pulling out a handful of coins, he bought what little he could.
Fatigue crept in, unfamiliar and heavy. He wondered how far he could push himself.
Five hours later, he collapsed onto the cold kitchen tiles. Those with him were no better off, carrying supplies along the way, their backs bent and broken.
Leaning against the wall, eyes shut, he tried to steal a few minutes of rest. But the castle walls offered no comfort—sleep seemed impossible.
A presence loomed before him, blocking the dim light that seeped through the cracks, piercing his closed eyes.
I'm too afraid to open them.
But I must.
.
.