"Urrghgggrh. I feel like shit…"
Seojin groaned, waking up.
Opening his eyes, the first thing that greeted him was a 'finely' built wooden ceiling. It was his room's plasterboard that was polished and carved with fancy patterns (a crescent moon).
His bed was the same too; a 'finely' crafted narra frame with an absurdly soft futon and mattress that would easily cost more than a million won.
"Was it a dream…? Fudge. If so, what an unpleasant one."
Step, step.
Still groggy, Seojin stood up and walked toward the desk, shirtless.
Despite his lazy and undisciplined habit and routine, his body was annoyingly perfect! The sort people called unfairly blessed by genetics… though it was still on the frail side.
Sitting down, he reached for his mouse out of instinct.
He had always not bothered unplugging it so it should've been turned on by now.
But—
"Huh? What, what?! Why won't it turn on?"
Blinking his eyes repeatedly, he froze.
The 'mouse' he was holding was now a small glass bottle filled with dark ink, its cork slightly loose. His fingers were now wet and stained black.
The 'keyboard' before him was now a parchment.
Stacks of old books, a quill pen, and scattered parchment paper covered the wooden surface that definitely was his desk.
"…What the fudge?"
This was his room— or looked 'exactly the same' like his room. The only difference was that this one seemed to travel back in the time where modern technologies didn't yet exist.
Looking around, there wasn't a single lightbulb in sight, only a chandelier of candles hanging from the ceiling. Wooden swords were neatly lined along the wall, and above them hung a faded banner embroidered with a broken crown and a sword.
Knock, knock!
Seojin glanced at the door.
"...Come in."
His voice sounded the same as always; that's how he deduced this had to be a dream.
Maybe those two days of living without eating had finally caught up to him, and now his starving mind was weaving something that felt a little too real.
"Good morning, Young Lord Seven. Breakfast is ready."
A woman with short brown hair entered the room, wearing an all-white clothes.
After placing the breakfast on the table, she pulled the curtains open and morning sunlight poured in, highlighting her sparkling green eyes that could be mistaken for the highest qualities of emeralds.
Seojin could do nothing but stare at her.
Of course, it wasn't one of those 'love at first sight' situations nor was it because he was a creep that liked to stare at girls.
"...Iria?"
The problem was, the woman looked exactly like the illustration of a character from that trashy novel he had read and mocked.
"Yes? Is something the matter, Young Lord?"
"...No."
"Then, please pardon me— ah! Your hand!"
Seojin glanced down at his right hand, the skin stained deep with ink; he had almost forgotten about it as he was distracted by Iria's presence.
"It's nothing. Don't—"
"My sincerest apologies, Young Lord. I should have noticed it sooner. Please, remain still as I shall clean it at once."
Iria hurried to fetch a cloth from the side table, dipping it into a small basin of water.
She knelt slightly beside him, taking his ink-stained hand with delicate fingers. The cool cloth brushed against his skin, gentle yet thorough.
Seojin said nothing.
He simply watched the way her lashes lowered in concentration, the soft glint of light in her short brown hair, and the faint scent of soap that seemed to follow her every motion.
Under the sunlight streaming through the open curtains, Iria's eyes caught the light again.
'It was unfortunate that she had been given such a fate. What a cruel twist for someone so gentle…'
By now, he was certain of one thing: this was indeed the world of the novel he had followed and despised for seven years.
Judging by the banner hanging on the wall, he was most likely a child of a noble family and the one renowned for its swordsmanship: Hart.
"Hey, Iria."
"Yes, Young Lord?"
"This might sound strange, but... could you tell me today's date? The year included."
After carefully tending to his hand, Iria wiped the remaining ink from the desk and stood upright.
"It is Nocturne 4th, Year 756, Young Lord."
'Nocturne…?'
The name of the month alone was enough to confirm it.
Again, he had thought this had to be a dream… but this feels too real to be a dream. From the sensation of the ink and the touch of a woman!
'Then, is this… transmigration…?'
Iria remained standing before him, her hands neatly folded in front of her, awaiting further instruction.
Seojin smiled.
"That's all I wanted to ask. You can go now."
"As you wish, Young Lord."
Iria bowed and quietly closed the door behind her.
His stomach growled. Two days without food had finally caught up to him. The aroma of the breakfast Iria had prepared was too tempting to ignore, so he took it gladly.
"Transmigration, eh?"
He muttered between bites, glancing toward the window.
"Considering the number of novels I've read, that seems like the most plausible answer."
After finishing the last bite, Seojin leaned back with a quiet sigh. The warmth of the meal settled in his stomach, easing the dull ache of hunger.
He pushed the chair back and made his way to the adjoining washroom.
He turned the faucet, letting the water run through his fingers before splashing it onto his face. The coldness of it made him flinch, supporting his suspicion that this was indeed real and not a dream.
Slowly, he raised his head and stared at the mirror half-expecting a stranger but the face that looked back was still his.
The shape of his jaw, the faint curve of his nose, and even the small mole beneath his left eye were all the same.
Only the colors had changed.
His once-black hair had turned a muted ash brown, slightly longer. His dark brown eyes as Seojin now glinted with a shade of grey and blue like storm clouds caught in still water.
"Seven Hart…"
He lifted a hand to his reflection and the boy in the mirror did the same.
"We do look a bit alike, don't we?"