Chapter 1
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 001
Chapter Title: Grete, Oh Grete
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Grete, oh Grete. Unfortunate woman born as the sibling of Gregor.
A blond man pleaded fervently in his mind.
His disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes.
And his flushed face, as if poisoned by alcohol, made it clear he was thoroughly drunk.
The man shook his head, insisting such a thing could never happen, should never happen, and slammed his forehead onto the desk.
Thud.
The head that should have hurt felt nothing thanks to the booze.
He gazed at the floor with empty, listless eyes, letting out a sigh.
Why have you accepted this trial? Your own sibling turned into a filthy thing overnight, crawling on the ground, twitching its antennae like a cockroach—how could you accept such a trial?
The blond man—no, I—couldn’t imagine spilling my thoughts on this wretched situation without drowning myself in liquor first.
Grete, the beloved younger sister of Gregor Samsa, who turned into a cockroach in Franz Kafka’s *The Metamorphosis*.
Ironically, I could fully understand her feelings right now.
Because all the maids staring at me with worried eyes—every single one—looked like cockroaches.
* * *
Ruuuush...
Heavy rain poured down in this untimely rainy season. Gloomy storm clouds rolled in, and a sudden gust flipped pedestrians’ umbrellas inside out.
Creak. The servant who stepped out of the carriage opened an umbrella.
Behind him, a woman in a mature black-based coat slipped under the umbrella he held.
“I’ll escort you.”
As if to say *go ahead*, the woman didn’t reply.
Whenever wind and rain seeped under the umbrella, the servant gripped it tighter, but that did little to block the relentless drops.
What unpleasant rain.
It wasn’t refreshing at all—just sticky and oppressive.
The woman seemed to feel the same, her face hardening in irritation.
She wiped raindrops from her cheek and trudged through the puddles.
Her short bob haircut was neat and unadorned, without any of the usual accessories one might expect.
It gave her an oddly colorless impression.
“Miss, you’re walking too fast.”
The servant struggled to keep up, panting.
But the woman strode on without a care.
Only when the mansion’s steps came into view did she finally stop, taking in the sight before her.
In other words, she’d been so worked up until then that she hadn’t even noticed the gloomy estate.
The old servant belatedly caught up, umbrella in hand.
He took in the same scene and let out a deep, weary sigh.
“Miss, perhaps you should reconsider. Even so, the Young Lord...”
“No. Gilbert, that conversation’s over. I have every reason to see him—more than enough.”
The woman in her prime was dead set on meeting someone. If anyone else heard, they might imagine a bittersweet romance tale, but contrary to expectation, cold fury simmered in her eyes.
The maids guarding the front gate gasped at the sudden visitor.
“Um, the Young Lord said not to let anyone in...”
“Shut up and open it. I dragged myself here in this weather because of that bastard.”
Her growl made the maids fidget, then turn to one person in unison.
A mature-looking maid.
She closed her eyes and exhaled softly.
Then, without a word, she turned and walked away.
The woman gave a curt nod to the implicit concession and headed toward the room where the mansion’s master waited.
The estate inside was deathly still.
Candles that should have lit every corner were extinguished, relying only on minimal lighting—and even that failed to illuminate the full hallway, forcing people to carry lanterns.
Silence.
An eerie atmosphere crept in through the hush.
The woman, hating it, drew a sharp breath.
“Come out, you idiot!”
Her shout echoed deafeningly.
The maids yelped at her outburst.
“Miss?”
“Do you have any idea how much I’ve suffered because of you? You...!!”
She unleashed a torrent of curses, panting with rage.
The terrified servants tried to restrain her, but only for a moment.
An awkward silence answered from behind the door she pounded on. Unable to hold back, the woman kicked it down.
Bam!
The intricately carved door crashed to the floor with its hinges.
Nails scattered pitifully across the ground, and at their end stood the man she’d longed to see.
He looked somewhat displeased, perhaps because the precious quiet he cherished had been shattered.
Yet there he sat in his desk chair, tilting a glass of liquor—a perfect picture of a wreck.
“Hey, you trash.”
“Shut up. My head’s ringing—be quiet.”
“Be quiet? You little—! No. You... ha...”
She looked ready to punch him just once and call it a day, sucking in ragged breaths.
“Charlotte, you’ve gotten bold while I wasn’t looking. Breaking into my estate without permission. You must be confident you can handle the fallout to act so recklessly...”
“Fallout? *Fallout*? You? Handling *fallout*? With *me*?”
Charlotte, as she was called, glared in disbelief.
“So you’re confident enough to handle fallout that you blow off all your duties? The next heir, huh!?”
“Don’t talk to me. I feel like puking.”
Charlotte gaped at the man, who seemed oblivious to what he’d done wrong.
It erupted into a massive sigh.
“Ha, for real.”
“I’m possessed by demons. My sister can’t offer comfort and instead acts this shameless—how’s that supposed to work? Put your hand on your conscience...”
“Demons my ass. With your personality, I knew you’d screw up eventually. I really did.”
Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut, asking if that even made sense.
“Saying you hate people so much you can’t even talk to them—what kind of nonsense is that?”
“Exactly what I said. Disgusting.”
Charlotte eyed the man’s messed-up blond hair.
Platinum blond with blue eyes.
A sculpted masterpiece of masculine beauty.
His sapphire-like deep, profound gaze once sparkled with spirit, but now it was as dim and murky as this estate.
His name was Aiden, second son of the Pisvolt Ducal Family—full name, Toskantana Aiden Pisvolt.
With the eldest son deceased, he was now first in line for succession.
Direct lineage of the empire’s sole grand duchy-holding ducal house, a top-tier noble, and next in line as family head.
And a rapier genius.
But all that was in the past.
Aiden had holed up for over half a year now.
Now, people just threw suspicions and wild rumors his way.
The genius with unyielding ego and ironclad convictions—prickly but noble—was gone.
What remained was a wastrel drowning in booze day after day. Seeing her brother like this, Charlotte shook her head.
“Really... over something so trivial...”
She might understand if he’d been cursed or hit a severe slump, but what plagued Aiden was nothing of the sort...
*Human disgust.*
People looked like cockroaches to him.
*People.*
Charlotte sucked in a short breath, incredulous at the absurdity.
She’d spent her life overshadowed by genius, desperate for just one victory—and it happened like this?
The fall of a genius?
If he’d hit the limit of his talent, stalled against an insurmountable wall, that’d be one thing.
Then she could claw her way past him with grueling effort.
That thrill was Charlotte’s ultimate goal, her life’s mission.
But it turned out so pathetic, so accidental.
Over something this stupid.
Charlotte glanced at him with fleeting pity and sighed.
When someone falls this far, even a sharp jab feels blocked by sympathy.
“Ha... So I look repulsive to you too?”
She tossed it out as comfort.
Surely her one and only brother wouldn’t see his sole blood kin as something so horrific.
She imagined him denying it, leading to a heartwarming scene of overcoming it together, family bonds and all...
*No way he’d see his only sister like that, right?*
Aiden’s lips moved.
“You know it well. Get that face out of here. Makes me nauseous.”
He gestured for her to leave, retching as if drunk.
Faith was made to be betrayed...
At those words, Charlotte froze.
The servants behind her probably did too.
Everyone in the vast chamber fell silent.
A moment of heavy quiet.
Veins bulged on Charlotte’s forehead.
“Hey!!! You bastard!!”
Unable to hold back, Charlotte finally socked Aiden in the jaw.
“Miss, stop!”
“The Young Lord!? What about the Young Lord’s condition...!”
“Miss Charlotte, belly breathing, belly breathing!”
“Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo.”
Huuuuuh.
Only after a massive inhale and exhale, venting all the air from her lungs, did Charlotte calm down.
Her impulsive nature remained, but compared to wanting to grab him by the collar today, it was progress.
Rubbing her throbbing temples, she ground out the words.
“Father—the family head—decided you need drastic medicine. You’re going to the Imperial University, aka Ri Sete Academy, as a visiting professor.”
She swept her hand across her forehead, unable to endure just pressing her temples.
“Teach some kids there and fix that prickly personality while you’re at it.”
She shot a long sigh at Aiden, whose jaw still hung slack.
She wasn’t sure if he was listening or passed out, but one thing was clear: she had to make him act human somehow.
*This is the shock therapy for that.*
Haa...
Even in this pathetic state, he was the empire’s third superhuman by birthright.
One of the masters recognized by the elder council of the nationwide Sword Seal order.
A talent that couldn’t be squandered like this.
Charlotte looked exhausted, as if years had aged her since stepping into the estate.
“...Pull yourself together.”
With that, she turned away, giving her worry-filled brother one last look.
In the spot Charlotte left, the blond man silently mulled over the name Aiden. Then he covered his face with his hand and squeezed his eyes shut.
*Aiden, huh.*
The resident maids surrounded me to check my condition.
They were concerned for my well-being, but when I showed no sign of getting up and just half-lay there, they looked visibly flustered.
One woman calmed the fidgeting maids, stepped out of the group, and looked down at me.
The maid at the center of the incident.
Mid-thirties, by my estimate.
But I couldn’t describe her appearance accurately—they all looked like cockroaches.
Liseff, the next head maid, broke her silence with a quiet sigh.
“Young Lord Aiden, are you alright?”
“I’m fine.”
“Then, as soon as dinner is prepared...”
“No. I’ll rest like this.”
“...I’ll escort you to the dressing room.”
She kept pressing.
Irritated, I turned to meet her eyes.
“Liseff, withdraw.”
At my warning tone, Liseff swallowed a groan and bowed.
“As you command. Since the Young Lord says he’s tired, we’ll leave you be.”
“Understood. Then, good night.”
The maids withdrew, extinguishing the room’s lights as they went.
The door was wrecked, hinges and all, from Charlotte’s kick—no fixing it now. I didn’t want to crash in a guest room either, so I’d have to sleep with it wide open.
I mulled over the name Aiden once more and closed my eyes.
“I’m not Aiden.”
Still lying down, I stretched my hand toward the ceiling.
But it was as futile as grasping stars from the night sky. I kneaded the air a few times before letting it flop down.
I wasn’t Aiden. Naturally, my name wasn’t Aiden either.
*I’m Kim Sung-ha.*
The developer who created this game, the director who met his end from overwork right before launch...
And the unlucky bastard who possessed Aiden of all characters—the one dubbed “rice-flavored.”
Closing my eyes again, I slowly recalled how this happened.