As soon as we stepped off the ship, my eyes caught the elegant silhouette of the Palace of Westminster rising proudly in the distance.
If someone asked you to name the most famous parliament building in the world, it would be near the very top.
It had once been a royal palace, but now it functioned entirely as the seat of Parliament—a place steeped in history.
It looked subtly different from what I'd seen in my previous life, and a guide's explanation from long ago surfaced in my mind.
Right—there had been a major fire in the nineteenth century, and it had been rebuilt.
So did that mean the building I was seeing now was the original Palace of Westminster, before it burned?
Just thinking that made my chest swell.
If memory served, the south side housed the Lords, and the north the Commons.
And immediately to the west stood Westminster Abbey, famous as the royal church.
But what struck me most was what wasn't there.
The space where London's iconic landmark—the clock tower people casually called "Big Ben"—should have been…
was empty.
The reason was simple.
That clock tower had been designed during the reconstruction after the palace burned.
Staring at that missing piece, I finally felt it—viscerally.
I wasn't imagining it.
I was breathing in the middle of the British Empire in the 1830s.
James seemed pleased that my gaze was fixed there.
"Young master is interested in that building, as expected. I told you on the way, did I not? Unlike the nations of Asia, the British Empire elects representatives by vote. Those without noble titles—chosen by election—lead politics in the House of Commons.
And those who hold noble titles gather in the House of Lords to deliberate on matters of state. They can reject laws made by the Commons, so their authority is even greater. The place where both Houses sit is the Palace of Westminster. Even now, there is likely debate underway inside."
"Wow. It's completely different from Joseon. The British Empire really is incredible! The greatest advanced nation in the world!"
Most of that was common knowledge to me—but here, I had to react like a barbarian tasting civilization for the first time.
British nobles would be proud of these institutions. They'd want to hear admiration.
James's response, though, was oddly subdued.
"Well… yes. It is objectively an advanced nation. You will likely learn much here."
Huh. Less patriotic than I expected?
Either way, the thought made my heart bounce.
Was I really going to go inside Westminster?
Even in my previous life, I'd never been able to set foot where the real decisions were made.
And my father—supposedly an earl—should be a member of the House of Lords.
In the modern era, the Lords would lose power and become largely symbolic.
But this was the early-to-mid nineteenth century.
Their influence was fading, yes—but it was still alive. Still heavy.
In the modern world people would say, Who are these bloodline parasites to veto laws made by elected representatives?
Back then, it was the opposite.
The Lords' veto—and even demands to revise legislation—was treated as a natural right.
In certain legal matters, they even served as a final court of appeal.
A man with that kind of authority was my father.
So my life was finally—
…then why was the carriage running away from Westminster?
This wasn't imagination.
I peeked outside.
The carriage was indeed charging in the opposite direction.
I wondered if it was a mistake, but James didn't look confused.
Earlier he'd said debate was "likely underway" inside—maybe that was only true for the Commons?
If the Houses had different schedules and different roles, they wouldn't necessarily meet the same day anyway.
Unable to think of another explanation, I leaned back and waited quietly until we arrived.
I was ten—still too young even for proper schooling.
Time was abundant.
All I had to do was acclimate to nineteenth-century England, build the board, and secure my inheritance.
A Joseon slave waking up as a member of Britain's nobility—
To make a drama like that happen, first things first:
"James," I asked, "shouldn't I be the one to greet Father with my own words?"
"Of course. You practiced so hard. The earl will be very pleased."
Yes.
Before anything else, I had to turn "Father" into my strongest ally.
Across all eras and cultures, parents tended to adore their own children.
And if that child was brilliant enough to show off—
There was no need for further explanation.
"Hello, Father. It's my first time meeting you."
"Ohoho—! You can speak English!" the man boomed, eyes shining. "James, he greeted me in our language!"
"The young master insisted he wanted to greet you himself," James said smoothly. "His learning is extraordinary. He can already understand simple sentences to a degree."
"This is remarkable." The earl laughed like he couldn't contain himself. "Raised in some corner of East Asia, he wouldn't even have heard our language—yet his comprehension is already this good? He must be a genius. And he looks just like me too—handsome as can be! Ha! James, you've worked hard. I should have met you at the docks myself, but my schedule was packed until just now."
No matter how I looked at it, unless age had violently transformed him into a completely different human being, my face didn't seem to resemble his…
But strangely, if you put us side by side, there was still a certain "father and son" feeling.
The mystery of genetics, perhaps.
The earl kept turning my face this way and that, hugging me once, twice, overwhelmed with emotion.
I could guess his feelings.
He was well past middle age, closer to "old" than "middle-aged," and he was seeing his son for the first time.
Of course he'd be sentimental.
"My child," he said, voice thick, "I am your father. If I had known you were alive, I would have sent for you long ago. I have nothing to offer but apology."
"Thank you, Father," I replied. "I'm so happy you brought me here."
As precisely as possible, with slightly awkward stiffness—enough to show I'd practiced.
I bowed like a bright, earnest child.
The earl's already softened face melted into a grin.
"Yes, yes. From now on, you needn't worry about anything. Ah—my mind is a mess. James, did you tell our son my name?"
"You said you would tell him yourself and ordered me never to speak it," James replied.
"Right—right. My son, this father is Arthur Gore, Earl of Arran. And from now on, you are my son—Killian Gore. If anyone says nonsense to you, ignore it. You are my only blood."
"Yes! I'll study hard and become a fine son worthy of your kindness!"
So that was why James hadn't told me what name I'd be using.
Killian Gore.
From Yoon Seon-woo, to Yoo Seok…
to a third identity.
And compared to the first two—both lives as an orphan, trapped at the bottom—
this one was overwhelmingly superior.
It almost felt too smooth.
But maybe… after all those years of rotten luck, it was finally my turn.
A person can't be unlucky forever.
If you never get to taste being born with gold in your mouth even once, what's the point of living?
"Now then," Arthur said warmly, "you must be tired from the journey. Rest well today. Take the rest of the week to recover. We'll begin serious study next week."
"Thank you. But I'm far behind because I never received proper education," I said, careful and childlike. "I want to learn as soon as possible—so I can grow into a noble as wonderful as you."
Arthur's face brightened even more.
"How admirable. You want to become a noble like me?"
"Yes. James told me the nobles of this country work for the nation in that wonderful palace called Westminster. I want to grow up and work there too—to help the people of this country."
"…Westminster," the earl repeated. "The House of Lords."
The moment I mentioned it, the smile on his face twisted into something faintly bitter.
Had I sounded like I was craving power?
I'd tried to keep it pure and childish.
Yet both James and Arthur were reacting strangely.
"Um… James. You didn't tell him, did you?"
"He has only just arrived from Joseon," James said smoothly. "He doesn't know the political system. I thought explaining complicated relationships now would only confuse him, so I planned to do it slowly later."
"That's true, but…" Arthur hesitated, scratching his head. "How do I explain this…"
So it wasn't just my imagination.
Was Arthur… not a member of the Lords?
But how could that be?
If he was an earl—weren't peers automatically granted seats in the Lords in this era?
Arthur looked at my patiently waiting face, then finally spoke.
"My son is correct that nobles deliberate in Westminster. But… I may be a noble, yet I am not an English peer. I am an Irish peer, and so I cannot sit in the House of Lords."
"Irish…?"
"Yes." Arthur sighed, then tried to simplify. "Britain is a union of four nations: England, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland. Scotland and Ireland entered the union later, and due to… various circumstances, only certain representatives among their nobles are permitted to enter Westminster."
"I… don't understand everything," I said carefully. "But I think I understand the rough idea."
"Our family is still among the reputable houses of Ireland," Arthur added quickly, perhaps sensing my disappointment. "By the time you inherit, you may even be chosen as a representative. There are twenty-eight Irish peers who may sit—when one dies, the Irish nobles choose a new one. It's complicated. But you'll understand later."
So there it was.
I'd thought my life was going too smoothly.
Of course there was a hook.
This wasn't a gold spoon.
It was… a gold-plated spoon.
But honestly, there was no one to blame but me.
I'd heard "nobility" and immediately assumed English peerage, without thinking.
Scotland or Ireland had always been possible.
My optimism—this damned habit—still hadn't died.
I'd been so happy to escape being a slave in Joseon that my brain had turned into a flower field.
Still, Ireland…
Not being a Lord was fine.
The family seemed wealthy enough, and an Irish peer was still a peer. I had no real complaint.
A seat could be earned later—through election to the Commons, or through gaining an English title and entering the Lords properly.
If anything, knowing there was still room to climb lit a spark in me.
But—
"United Kingdom" sounded pretty, yet early nineteenth-century Ireland was undeniably a victim of discrimination within the empire.
After Joseon, now Ireland.
It seemed I truly was born under the sign of the underdog.
And oddly, that realization made me calmer.
"Yes, Father," I said with a bright smile. "I don't know everything yet, but I'll study hard and become a worthy representative of Ireland. I'll make a country where Irish people can live happily."
Arthur burst into laughter.
"What? Ha! Who did my son inherit such lovely words from? Ah—he is my son, so it must be me."
Maybe in this era, being an Irish peer and a half-blood from Joseon was a chain, not an advantage.
But whining about hardship was a third-rate habit.
A first-rate man smiled—and used the chain to smash rivals' skulls as he climbed.
And thankfully…
I had at least two absolute advantages no one in this era could match.
So perhaps "underdog" was the wrong word after all.
Even with the cursed combination of bastard birth and mixed blood—
In a society where capitalism was just beginning to awaken,
I was not someone who could ever remain weak.