Chapter 0
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 0
Chapter Title: Where Am I? (1)
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Life throws all sorts of things at you.
From the stuff you can wrap your head around to the utterly baffling.
—But this? This is a bit much, isn't it?
The man, Il-yeong, opened his eyes.
He gulped involuntarily as he took in surroundings completely unlike anything before his eyes had shut.
If he hadn't been in such a daze, he might've screamed.
What more needed saying?
He slowly turned his head.
A solemn temple nestled in the woods, thick with a heavy atmosphere.
And that was just the start. The faces of the countless people gathered there made him grimace without thinking.
'...Where the hell am I?'
The architecture was Eastern, strikingly similar to hanbok in style.
But the wide sleeves, intricate knots, and overall alien look evoked authentic Japanese traditional garb.
Not to mention they were all dyed black or dark tones.
Of course he was confused.
And no wonder. He was standing in what screamed funeral vibes at a temple.
Yet just seconds ago, he'd been lying in bed.
Calm down.
Calm down, Baek Il-yeong.
'I lay down in bed. Fell asleep.'
At first, he thought it was a dream.
But no amount of wishful thinking could deny his pounding heart, screaming that everything he saw was real.
The not-so-high walls.
The gentle breeze rustling over them.
The murmurs, breaths, body heat, and faint scents tickling his nose from the crowd.
Even the slightly stiff feel of geta sandals underfoot...
Every sense shouted it.
Everything you're seeing is real.
So Il-yeong had no choice but to accept it.
But people often overlook one thing. Acknowledging a fact and fully embracing it are worlds apart.
Who, after closing their eyes normally—no accident, nothing—wakes up somewhere alien and just scratches their head like, 'Oh, isekai, got it'?
If they did, they'd be either a hardcore psycho or completely detached from reality.
Unfortunately, Il-yeong was neither.
So he couldn't hide his bewilderment, drawing odd looks from those around him fidgeting in confusion.
That was when it hit.
As his bewilderment peaked, snippets of conversation from the crowd started filtering into his ears.
"Phew, when's the young lady getting here? It's almost over..."
"Right? Why did the late former lord pick the eldest when..."
"Watch your mouth."
"What, did I say something wrong? The second one's clearly got more talent..."
Listening intently, the picture emerged.
Incompetent eldest vs. brilliant second.
Former lord insists on the eldest despite retainers' pleas. Incoming family feud...
'Cliché as they come.'
Not just history—sucked dry in novels too.
A history and fiction buff, he couldn't help a hollow smile at the hoary yet classic trope.
But then.
—Boom!
A sudden crash yanked everyone's gaze—including Il-yeong's—backward.
A woman burst through the temple's main gate like she meant to smash it, filling his dark eyes.
"...Nobu—no, my lord."
The middle-aged beauty at the head table's lips trembled at the sight.
She didn't hide her displeasure, addressing the woman who'd kicked the door open.
"You're late. Very late."
Her brow furrowed.
She chose her words carefully, adding,
"...And your attire is a mess."
Her voice carried subtle, tangled emotions.
Il-yeong caught a long, hard-to-fathom conflict in that tone she could scarcely put into words.
Then—a rustle. He turned.
Her face filled his view, leaving him momentarily stunned.
'Wh-what kind of face...'
Jet-black hair cut short and glossy.
A faint cherry blossom scent wafted from her pale nape, her curled lips a vivid red.
But what snagged Il-yeong was the uneasy flicker in her golden eyes.
His gaze drifted to her outfit—the source of the rustle. It had to.
Even for a modern guy like him, it was blatantly improper.
A black robe emblazoned with a red dragon hung not from her shoulders but her elbows.
Exposing snowy shoulders and ample breasts haphazardly wrapped in bandages, with flesh peeking out just enough to stir any man's heart.
Not to mention the two Japanese swords at her rope belt and matchlock rifle slung over her shoulder—utterly clashing with the solemn funeral.
Yet, absurdly.
Il-yeong's first thought was simply: beautiful.
His heart raced.
He'd had girlfriends, but something about her drew him in inexplicably.
That was when.
She'd already brushed past Il-yeong, reaching the woman, and smirked.
—Human life spans fifty years.
—
But her words weren't the answer.
Step—she advanced. Il-yeong's eyes trembled.
'Wait, this poem...?'
Her clear voice cracked huskily.
The sake scent of peach orchids from her lips gently enveloped the temple.
—Compared to heaven's river, 'tis a fleeting dream.
— .
He knew it.
Slightly off from what he recalled, but definitely familiar. Problem was, he couldn't place it. Until then.
—Who, born once, escapes death? Who, who...
— .
'Wait.'
A name flashed by.
But he shook his head.
Staring blankly at the woman, he muttered in disbelief.
'N-no way. Couldn't be. Impossible.'
Solemn Japanese-style funeral.
Familiar retainer chatter.
And her—eerily like someone from his memory.
Yeah, like her.
If she were a man, he'd have clocked it instantly.
She resembled a figure from Japan's Warring States era, the Sengoku period, too perfectly.
"Mother."
Her steps reached the temple's heart.
There lay a shrouded corpse, neatly arranged.
She gazed at the middle-aged beauty beside it, flashing pearly whites in a grin.
"Humans all die eventually. Me, you, someday. So."
She picked up the incense bowl.
A pinch fell—plop—onto the rice grains.
"What do you think you're—!"
Foreseeing disaster? Or just knowing her unpredictable nature?
No sooner had the words left the woman's mouth,
"Does it even matter?"
She flung the incense bowl's contents unhesitatingly over her father's corpse.
Too sudden for the nearby monks or retainers to stop.
"Ah..."
Il-yeong gasped unwittingly.
Only then did he realize the era—and stared blankly.
—Crash!
Clay met floor and shattered. The furious woman's voice tore through the temple.
"Nobunaga!!"
Finally—her name.
Il-yeong forgot the stares, thrilled and shocked.
A passage from a book he'd read resurfaced.
「In the Warring States era, Sengoku period, Oda clan heir Oda Nobunaga arrived late to his father Oda Nobuhide's funeral and scattered incense over the body. Tenbun 20 (1551).」
—Oda Nobunaga ( )
A figure polarizing from madman of his time to free-spirited hero.
Yet one of Japan's Three Heroes.
A personal favorite of Il-yeong's—even pitied his Honnoji end.
Yeah, but.
But still.
'Why the hell is she a woman?'
Only then did Il-yeong intuit.
He'd landed in an absurd world.