Chapter One: Transmigration
Where is this…? Why do I feel so small?
The thought surfaced slowly, like something struggling through thick water. Aven's consciousness felt heavy, sluggish—like she had been asleep for far too long.
"Calm down… Aven, calm down," she tried to tell herself.
But even that thought felt strange.
Her voice didn't come out.
No—worse.
She couldn't even move properly.
Panic flickered in her chest.
Her limbs felt tiny. Weak. Uncoordinated.
What… is going on?
She forced herself to think. To piece things together.
The last thing she remembered…
She had been walking home from work.
It had been late—later than usual. The streetlights had already come on, casting long orange reflections across the pavement. She remembered feeling tired but oddly excited. She had found a new novel online—one she hadn't planned to read, but the first few chapters had pulled her in completely.
She had been so immersed… so distracted…
Then—
A blinding light.
The screech of brakes.
A force that swallowed everything.
Aven's thoughts froze.
I got hit.
The realization struck hard.
If that was true…
Then—
Shouldn't I be dead?
Her heart—if this tiny body even had the same kind of heart—began to pound erratically.
So why…
Why am I here?
She tried to move again, but her arms only twitched uselessly in the air. Her fingers—so small, so soft—barely responded to her will.
And then it hit her.
This body…
It wasn't hers.
It couldn't be.
Aven's breathing grew uneven as a terrifying thought crept into her mind.
Don't tell me…
Did I… transmigrate?
The idea sounded absurd.
Impossible.
And yet…
Hadn't she read countless stories just like this?
People dying and waking up in another world.
Reborn into novels.
Into games.
Into entirely different lives.
Her mind raced.
If that's true… then where am I?
And more importantly—
Who am I now?
She looked around—or at least tried to. Her vision was blurry, unfocused, as if her eyes hadn't fully learned how to work yet. Everything appeared oversized and distant, the world towering above her.
The ceiling.
A crib.
Soft fabrics surrounding her.
A baby's room.
The realization sank in slowly, heavily.
"I'm… a baby?"
The absurdity of it nearly made her laugh—if she had the ability to laugh properly.
But no sound came out.
Instead, a small, helpless whimper escaped her lips.
Her emotions, already fragile, began to crack.
There was no one else in the room.
No familiar voices.
No explanation.
Just silence.
And her.
Alone.
Aven's thoughts spiraled.
What am I supposed to do?
Before she could regain control, something inside her chest tightened painfully.
A deep, overwhelming sense of loss surged forward.
Her house.
She had just bought her first house.
After years of working, saving, struggling—
She had finally done it.
And now…
It was gone.
Everything was gone.
Her life.
Her future.
Her identity.
Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over before she could stop them. Her tiny body trembled as soft cries turned into full, desperate wailing.
It wasn't just fear.
It was grief.
Raw, suffocating grief.
"I don't even know where I am…" she thought, her cries growing louder. "I don't know what's happening…"
Her voice, reduced to the helpless cries of an infant, only made everything feel worse.
Just as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her completely—
Click.
The sound of a door opening echoed through the room.
Footsteps followed.
Slow.
Measured.
Getting closer.
Aven's cries hitched as she forced her blurry vision toward the source of the sound.
A figure entered.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
As he approached, his features gradually came into focus.
A man.
He looked to be in his late thirties.
And—
Aven's thoughts halted.
He's…
Stunning.
There was no other word for it.
His eyes were sharp—hunter-like, filled with intensity and quiet authority. Yet beneath that sharpness was a warmth, a golden glow in his amber irises that softened his gaze.
His black hair was sleek, neatly styled, framing a strong, square jawline that gave him a distinctly masculine presence.
His lips were naturally well-shaped, his expression calm but attentive.
For a moment—
Aven forgot everything.
Her fear.
Her grief.
Even her confusion.
All of it faded under the sheer impact of his appearance.
The man stepped closer, looking down at her with a faint smile.
Then, gently, he lifted her from the crib.
His movements were careful—practiced.
Familiar.
"What made my little princess so aggrieved?" he asked softly, his voice low and soothing.
Aven froze.
Little… princess?
He adjusted her in his arms with ease, as if he had done it countless times before.
"Are you hungry?" he continued gently. "Mommy is bringing your milk. Bear with it for a little longer."
Mommy?
Before Aven could process that—
Click.
The door opened again.
Another set of footsteps entered the room.
This time, lighter.
Quicker.
A woman appeared.
She, too, looked to be in her mid thirties.
And just like the man—
She was breathtaking.
Her oval face was framed by a cascade of black, curly hair that seemed to move with a life of its own. Her deep blue eyes—rich and vivid—held a quiet intelligence, shimmering like hidden gems.
High cheekbones gave her face elegant structure, while her naturally full lips curved into a gentle, apologetic smile.
She looked like someone straight out of a painting.
"Is my baby hungry?" she said softly, her voice filled with warmth. "Mommy is sorry for letting you go hungry."
She moved closer, opening a milk bottle as she spoke.
The man carefully handed Aven over.
Aven barely had time to think before instinct took over.
The moment the bottle touched her lips—
She drank.
Warmth spread through her small body.
Comfort.
Safety.
The tension she had been holding slowly melted away.
Her eyelids grew heavy.
Her thoughts blurred.
"…maybe… I'll just rest for now…"
And with that—
Aven fell asleep.
⸻
Three Weeks Later
It had been three weeks since Aven woke up in this strange new world.
Three weeks since she realized—
She had truly transmigrated.
And not just anywhere.
Into the novel she had been reading before her death.
At first, she had doubted it.
But as days passed, fragments of memory began to align.
The setting.
The world structure.
The social hierarchy.
It was all too familiar.
And her identity?
That was the strangest part.
She had been reborn as the only daughter of the Silvertone family.
A name that…
Barely existed in the original novel.
She had four older brothers.
One of them—
Her twin.
And yet—
In the entire storyline, the Silvertone family was mentioned only once.
One single line.
A wealthy family that stayed out of the spotlight.
That was it.
No major role.
No dramatic involvement.
Just—
Filthy rich.
That was the only clear detail.
Aven had to admit—
It was a strange position to be in.
She wasn't the heroine.
Not a villainess.
Not even a side character.
She was—
Practically invisible.
Which, honestly…
Might not be a bad thing.
Because the novel itself?
It was a classic.
An old-school romance centered around four elite boys—an F4-style group—who ruled their prestigious school.
Among them was the male lead.
The heir to the powerful Alder family.
One of the four great families in the capital.
Their influence stretched across the nation.
Transport.
Trade.
Economy.
They controlled nearly half of it.
And the story?
Simple.
Predictable.
A rich, untouchable boy.
A poor, stubborn girl.
She refused to bow to him.
That alone caught his interest.
What started as curiosity turned into obsession.
And eventually—
Love.
Aven remembered it clearly.
Every cliché.
Every dramatic scene.
Every over-the-top moment.
"…and now I'm in that world," she thought, staring blankly at the ceiling of her crib.
A long silence followed.
Then—
"Well… at least I'm rich this time."
Aven mentally sighed after that thought.
If there was one silver lining to her situation, it was exactly that.
She wasn't struggling.
She wasn't reborn into some tragic backstory or doomed villainess role—at least, not that she knew of.
Instead, she had landed in a family that could only be described with one phrase:
Obscenely wealthy.
And yet…
That same fact made her uneasy.
Because in the novel, families like hers didn't just exist quietly for no reason.
If the Silvertone family had only been mentioned once, it meant one of two things:
They were irrelevant.
Or—
They were intentionally kept in the background.
Aven frowned—or at least tried to. Her tiny face didn't quite cooperate.
"I need more information," she thought.
Unfortunately, being a baby made that… difficult.
Very difficult.