Prologue: I Want Kimchi
“I want kimchi.”
Any Korean would feel those two words in their bones. They would understand them, empathize with them, and nod in solemn agreement.
Picture this.
A young man of Korea, born into the sacred duty every son of the nation must fulfill, grinding through a year and a half on a salary that barely scraped half the minimum wage. Hard labor. Oppression and control every hour of every day of every year. Cut off from society on a lonely island of men, rubbing shoulders and sweat with other sour-tempered males for eighteen months—two years, back in the old days—just to survive it.
He had been crushed under the absurdities of senior enlisted, the deadweight of useless juniors, and the sheer irresponsibility of officers. He had fallen, rolled, and suffered every misery imaginable. It was hell. And yet… it had been bearable.
Because he had scraped together every last won from the PX, poured it into the military savings account that was the only thing he could take with him, and painted a bright future in his head.
Youth.
Once this grinding hell ended, he was going to enjoy his youth. He would finish his sentence on that sea-less island, take the money he had hoarded, and finally live.
First order of business: a clean new passport. Then he would dig through the internet for the cheapest tickets he could find. Britain? France? Germany? Japan? Anywhere would do.
With a wallet finally fat enough, he would book the flight—not first class, maybe, but at least an economy seat—and the moment a pretty flight attendant handed him his in-flight meal, he would realize it.
Ah. I’m actually going overseas.
Paris. Tokyo. London. It didn’t matter. He would leave the stubby, forest-choked peninsula of Korea behind, step into a completely different culture, see the sights, and stuff his tongue—ruined by years of mess-hall slop—with food so good it would short-circuit his taste buds.
After three blissful days of pure joy, he would wake in a sunlit hotel room on a soft queen-size bed, throw on some clothes, head down to the lounge, and order a cup of coffee. Bitter, nutty, bright with acidity. He would take a sip… and mutter to himself:
“Still… I kind of want kimchi.”
Yes. That was how it was supposed to go.
Born a Korean man, he was meant to taste his first overseas trip right after discharge, fill the opening page of his youth with that memory, and years later, with wrinkled hands, chuckle fondly and say, “Ah, that happened once…”
At the very least. The absolute bare minimum.
“...Pardon? What did you just say, my lady?”
Those were not words that should ever leave the mouth of a noble young lady dressed like she had stepped out of a fairy tale.
“Huh? It was just talking to myself! Ah—no! Talking to myself! I was just talking to myself!”
The woman who had been sighing heavily only a moment ago flailed in panic at the maid’s question as the girl tried to tidy her sleep-mussed hair. She flipped wildly between formal speech and casual speech while waving her hands.
“Yes, my lady. Understood.”
“...Right. No—yeah.”
I really can’t get used to this…
The maid bowed her head again and returned to her work. The woman watched her through the mirror, let out another long sigh, then shifted her gaze from the maid’s reflection to her own face.
First came the long black hair, glossy as if polished with oil. The front pieces had been given a soft wave and liberally coated with fragrant oil until they felt like the finest silk. Below that sat sharp, upward-slanting eyes and lashes long enough to look alluring—yet the overall effect was fierce, almost vicious. And behind the slowly blinking lids burned ruby-red eyes that looked ready to catch fire.
A textbook villainess design.
Even she, staring at her own reflection, thought she looked beautiful… and terrifying.
Snag—
“Ow?!”
A few strands of hair caught unluckily in the comb’s teeth and yanked. Her face crumpled.
“Hic! I-I’m so sorry, my lady!!”
The maid’s face drained of color in an instant. She dropped the comb, slammed her forehead to the floor, and began begging for forgiveness while trembling so hard her entire body vibrated like a phone left on silent mode.
“...It’s fine. Get up.”
“...Pardon?”
“I said it’s fine. It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
It had just been ordinary hair-brushing. She had planned to brush it off with a casual “My hair’s just tangled today,” but the maid’s terror forced her to place a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder and give it a soft pat.
“Uh… uhhh…”
The maid, still face-down with her eyes squeezed shut, cracked them open. The terror etched in her pupils flipped to pure panic and confusion. She stared blankly, mouth working soundlessly, as if the world itself had stopped making sense.
“A-anyway. I’m going to eat, so clean this up yourself and… go back, okay? Got it?”
“Y-yes…”
“Good!”
Even when she forgave the mistake with surprising gentleness, all she got back was more panic. She understood the reaction, though. She had no choice but to understand it.
What the hell is even happening right now? I finally finished my service and thought I was free…!
Clack—clack—
“Hm…? Eek?! Ah, my lady! G-good morning!”
“G-good morning!”
She left the still-panicking maid on the floor, strode out of the room, and walked the corridor. Every maid who had been cleaning the house spotted her, flinched as if struck by lightning, and snapped into perfect ninety-degree bows.
“Uh, yeah. Hi.”
She no longer wanted any more trouble, so she merely dipped her chin and walked faster. It might have looked like she was snubbing the polite greetings of the servants, but if she answered each one kindly, the entire staff would probably have a collective seizure.
“Ah. You have arrived, my lady.”
She reached the central staircase and the great doors beyond. A man standing guard there inclined his head with natural, elegant grace the moment he saw her.
The elderly butler with a monocle over one eye was one of the few servants who did not seem terrified of her.
His name was…
What was it again? ‘That one’ used to babble about it all the time… I can’t remember.
“...Is everyone already in the dining room?”
“Yes. The Count, the Countess, and the young master are already present.”
“Got it.”
The old butler smiled gently as he answered.
“Please, enter.”
“Haa…”
He reached for the handle in her place and began to open the door. She drew a deep breath and faced forward.
“Lady Rosaria is entering.”
Rosaria.
That was her name.
Rosaria Evergarden.
A name so bizarre even Britain, which still kept its kings and queens, would never have used it. Yet the old butler holding the door spoke it as naturally as if he had said it dozens—hundreds—of times before.
Rosaria stepped slowly through the open door into the dining hall.
The first thing that struck her was the absurdly high ceiling. It felt as though this single room occupied two entire floors; her gaze rose of its own accord. The chandelier hanging from that height was made of crystal-clear glass set with glowing stones, each piece of glass surrounding the stones meticulously carved.
She looked up at it for a moment, then lowered her eyes. A long dining table stretched before her. The oak legs had been carved with delicate birds in flight, and the tablecloth covering it was woven with countless layers of lace and gold thread. And even though this was supposedly breakfast, an entire roasted beast that looked suspiciously like a turkey sat in the center of the table.
Only four people, including herself, were supposed to be eating here. The amount was ridiculous.
“....”
Rosaria stared at the ostentatious table for a second, held her breath, and walked steadily to her seat.
Whew… I made it here on my own two feet today.
She gave herself a quiet mental pat on the back for the successful journey. On the very first day she had arrived, she had tripped over the long dress and fallen flat on her face. After that she had been forced to keep the trailing gowns, but at least she had managed to switch to low-heeled shoes. Only now was she finally getting used to walking.
She sat down and was still quietly proud of herself when a deep male voice reached her ears.
“...You’re here.”
“Ah… yes… Father…”
She turned toward the source of the low, rumbling voice.
Black hair the color of melted black pearls was swept back, the same shade as the long black locks that fell over her own shoulders. Thick, manly eyebrows and glowing red eyes beneath them made it obvious that this man shared thick blood with her.
He wore a formal uniform without a single wrinkle, every button pure gold.
Count Darian Evergarden.
Master of this house, and—according to the setting—Rosaria’s father.
He regarded her with an expressionless, blunt stare. She dipped her head, then carefully lifted her gaze again to take in the others seated at the table.
A woman sat across from her, though closer to the man who had just spoken. The word “elegant” suited her perfectly. Her hands rested quietly on her knees, eyes closed. Her hair was even longer than Rosaria’s, but instead of black it was pure white, as if someone had melted a cloud and poured it over her head, soft waves cascading down. One look was enough to know she was no ordinary woman.
Her dress matched the hair—pure white lace, a generous hem, and a neckline cut just deep enough that the eye was drawn there against its will. At that place hung a necklace set with an emerald the size of a baby’s fist, dazzling enough to hurt.
Freyja Evergarden.
Like Darian, she was the mother who had given birth to the original owner of this body, the Countess of the house.
Yet even after several days of these meals, Rosaria had never once seen her eyes open. The woman kept them closed so tightly one wondered if she could even see, and still she looked as beautiful as a living saint. Rosaria, who had seen plenty of people with half-lidded eyes, simply accepted it and moved on.
“Huu…”
Beside Freyja sat a young man who looked restless, fingers tapping lightly against each other on the tabletop as if giving himself tiny rounds of applause.
Felix Evergarden.
If the eldest daughter Rosaria took after their father Darian, the eldest son took after their mother Freyja. Bright white hair was slicked back to reveal a narrow forehead. Where Darian looked hard and rigid, Felix’s features were soft—yet from another angle they looked sly, fox-like. Whether it was because he inherited his mother’s half-lidded eyes or not, he gave off the exact vibe of a character who pretends to be the protagonist’s ally at the start of any story… only to stab them in the back later.
No. Not “like.”
That was literally his role.
“Ahem. Then… let’s start the meal.”
Once he confirmed the whole family was present, Darian picked up his fork and knife and began cutting the meat on his plate. The rest of them followed in silence.
Ugh… I can’t breathe…!
The meal had begun, yet no one spoke a single word. They simply ate in dead silence. Rosaria wanted to escape the room that very second.
It had been three days since she had possessed this damned female body.
The moment she first woke and checked the mirror, she—no, he—had nearly lost his mind. Because staring back at him with a shocked expression was Rosaria Evergarden, the extra villainess who appeared in the romance-fantasy novel he had once read: Starlight of Dawn.
Starlight of Dawn.
It had been a web-novel-turned-book his little sister had mailed him when he was still a lowly private. He wasn’t the type who usually enjoyed romance fantasy, but this particular story leaned harder into the fantasy side than the romance, so it had been decent enough. His magic-obsessed little sister had recommended it for a reason.
He had read it in scraps of free time during duty or when there was nothing else to do—
There was definitely an accident that day… How the hell did I end up inside this book?
Discharge day.
The whole family had driven all the way to the base to celebrate the eldest son’s release. They had piled into the car, noisy and laughing, heading home—
There’s no way the “hit by a truck and isekai’d” meme actually happened, right?
A dump truck had crossed the center line, slammed into them, and the next thing he knew he was inside this novel.
Even so—why a woman’s body? Why the body of a villainess who was about to die? There were plenty of male characters, even the protagonist himself. Why her?
House Evergarden.
They had first appeared early on as the noble siblings who bullied the protagonist upon his arrival at the academy.
Honestly I don’t remember the early parts that well… but I know they die. I should’ve paid more attention!
They had shown up right at the start of chapter two, served as a brief “protagonist gets justice” punching bag with almost no screen time, and then vanished. He couldn’t even remember how exactly they had been ruined.
Anyway… for now I just need to adapt…
He decided to set the headache aside and focus on surviving this world first.
“....”
“....”
“....”
“....”
Ah, nobody’s saying a single word…!
In three full days he had not managed a single real conversation with the people closest to him. What little speech existed was purely obligatory, like Darian’s earlier greeting. Actual family conversation simply did not exist.
And Rosaria couldn’t exactly start one herself—she didn’t know their settings well enough to pick a safe topic. The only silver lining was that the rest of the family also never spoke during meals. For someone who would have been completely lost if anyone suddenly threw a question at her, this suffocating silence was almost preferable.
All she wanted was to finish the meal as fast as possible and retreat to her room.
And this food… damn…
As she cut into the meat with a sigh, her expression grew steadily more corpse-like.
The meals of the past three days had been… edible. The meat and vegetables were fresh, the bread soft, the soup savory. The only real complaint was the lack of seasoning—too bland for a modern palate—but still edible.
But.
It’s so fucking greasy I want to die…
Greasy. Extremely greasy.
Before possessing Rosaria she had been a purebred Korean raised on rice and soup. Suddenly being forced to eat bland Western-style meals three times a day made her tongue rebel.
Especially—
Kimchi. Please, just some kimchi…!
She wanted kimchi so badly it hurt. The crunch of napa cabbage, the sour tang, the sharp spicy kick that followed—if she had even a little of that, this greasy meal would have been manageable. But this was a romance-fantasy world that mashed together every Western medieval trope imaginable.
There was not a single scrap of kimchi for a fucking Korean to welcome with open arms.
So Rosaria sat there hungry yet suffering through every bite. Awkward family. Bland, greasy food.
In moments like this, a person inevitably thinks—
“If only there was some kimchi…”
And then.
“...What?”
“Just now… what did you say?”
“Kimchi… kimchi?!”
The family members who had been silently working their utensils all snapped their heads toward her at once, staring as if they could bore holes through her skull.
Wait… did I actually say that out loud instead of just thinking it?
“Ah, no…! It’s nothing! Just talking to myself. Yes! Talking to myself!”
Suddenly the center of attention for a mindless mutter, Rosaria waved her hands frantically and tried to backpedal—
“C-could it be… you’re Korean…?”
“...Huh?”
“Wait a second—don’t tell me… it’s not just me… all of you too?”
“What?! You’re all Korean?!”
She had expected scolding for the strange remark. Instead, the mouths that had kept silent for days dropped open, and impossible words came pouring out.
Don’t tell me I’m not the only one who transmigrated?!
The same thought seemed to hit every member of House Evergarden at once. They blinked at one another, then slowly raised their fingers to point.
And so, because of one thoughtless mutter from Rosaria, House Evergarden would, from that day forward, begin to shake for many different reasons.