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Chapter Text

Jimin's eyelids fluttered open to a world shrouded in darkness. A chill ran down his spine as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. Confusion fogged his mind,

What’s going on?

A dull ache throbbed in his temples, his senses slowly returning to him. Memories flooded back in fragmented pieces, a puzzle waiting to be pieced together.

There was the sound of screeching tires, the blinding flash of headlights, and then... darkness.
Panic surged within him as he remembered the fatal accident that should have spelled the end of his existence. Yet here he was, inexplicably alive, though he couldn't shake the feeling that something was different.

His breaths came in ragged gasps, tinged with panic, as pain reverberated through every inch of his body, turning even the simplest movements into challenges.

Struggling to sit up, Jimin's hand brushed against an unfamiliar, rich fabric beneath him, its texture reminiscent of smooth satin. Puzzled, he looked up, furrowing his brows in confusion.
"What the?" he muttered to himself, his voice felt foreign and unrecognizable.
The room stretched out before him, vast and grandiose. The furniture, though aged, exuded an air of regal elegance. It was as if he had been transported to the chambers of a nobleman from a bygone era in the Southern lands.
Panic gripped him once again, sending him bolting out of the bed, his feet stumbling clumsily as he made his way to the mirror at the other end of the room. As he drew closer to the mirror, he felt a wave of dizziness wash over him, threatening to send him reeling once more.
His reflection stared back at him, but it was not the familiar face he expected to see.

This is not him.

This person, this figure gazing back at him from the mirror, was not him. The features were similar, yet distinctly foreign, like a distorted reflection of someone else entirely.

His fingers grazed his cheek, tracing a path of disbelief along the cool surface of the mirror. There, captivating blue eyes stared back at him, their intensity creating a magnetic pull between the reflection and his own sense of self. As he absorbed the entirety of the mirrored image, a breathtaking vision unfolded—a face that effortlessly claimed the mantle of attractiveness, its features perfectly chiseled and framed by a cascade of healthy, golden blonde hair.

Unable to resist the magnetic allure of his own reflection, he guided his hand down to his left ear, where a subtle weight tugged at his senses. With a trembling breath, the realization washed over him—a solitary, significant earring adorned his earlobe, a delicate accent that underscored the undeniable charisma radiating from every aspect of his being.

It couldn’t be possible.

The sound of footsteps drew nearer, followed by a gentle knock on the door. Jimin held his breath, tension coiling in his chest. As the door creaked open, he watched with bated breath as a man stepped into the room, his eyes scanning the empty bed before sweeping across the room until they landed on Jimin's figure.
"Oh, young Master, you have finally awoken," the man exclaimed, his voice tinged with relief.

A sense of disbelief washed over him, mingling with the growing unease in the pit of his stomach. This was beyond anything he could have imagined.
"Perhaps we should get Your Grace back into bed," the man suggested, his tone respectful yet urgent. "I will send for a maid to inform your father of your regained consciousness." With a gentle hand, he guided Jimin back toward the bed, his movements smooth and practiced.

Jimin rubbed his temples, the mention of a new character sending a jolt of confusion through him. "My father?" he questioned, his voice tinged with uncertainty, still hoarse.
"Yes, Count Park instructed us to notify him," the man replied with a respectful bow. "It has been half a week since Your Grace fainted. I'll be right back," he added before turning to leave the room.
As the door closed behind the man, Jimin's mind whirled with realization. Park Jimin. The name echoed in his thoughts, confirming his earlier suspicion. This was the person he was currently inhabiting.

Fuck, how had he ended up in the body of a character from a novel? And more importantly, what is he supposed to do now?!

shit, no, let’s think about this.

In the world of the novel "The Rightful Heir," the story revolves around the central character, a former slave named Jeon Jeongguk.
He remembers vividly that Park Jimin serves as a stark contrast to Jeongguk, often embodying traits of deceit, cruelty, and ambition. His character acts as a foil to the protagonist, sparking conflict and tension throughout the narrative.
As the son of the Count, Jimin enjoys wealth and comfort, seemingly destined for a life of ease. However, a single issue disrupts his peace, leading him to release a weary sigh of frustration.

According to the plot, Park Jimin is destined to meet his end at the hands of Jeongguk and his little playground group, possibly around the midpoint of the novel, if not earlier.

He falls back into bed, his gaze drifting upwards to the intricately adorned ceiling.
Throughout the novel, Jimin has committed a series of nefarious deeds that have earned him the disdain of both the characters and the readers. Let’s list some of his reprehensible actions include;

Exploitation of Power: Jimin abuses his status as the son of the duke to manipulate and control others for his own gain, showing a complete disregard for the well-being of those beneath him.
Cruelty: His exhibits a cruel streak, reveling in the suffering of those he perceives as weaker or beneath him. He takes pleasure in inflicting emotional and physical pain on others, demonstrating a lack of empathy and compassion.
Ambition at Any Cost: Jimin's insatiable ambition knows no bounds, driving him to commit heinous acts without remorse or hesitation. He is willing to betray and undermine even those closest to him in his relentless pursuit of power and wealth.

"What a scumbag," Jimin murmurs to himself, still adjusting to the unfamiliar tone of his voice. "He’s truly a despicable role," he says, recalling how Jimin was portrayed by the readers. Every time the Count’s son was mentioned in a chapter, the comment section overflowed with disdain. Jimin was crafted to be the object of contempt, his every action eliciting animosity from the audience.

His thoughts are abruptly interrupted as the door to his room swings open once more, startling him out of his reverie. Unaware of any approaching footsteps, he is taken aback by the sudden entrance of a maid, bearing a tray with tea and soup. Following closely behind her is the butler from earlier, who informs Jimin that the doctor will be arriving shortly to check on him. "I'm improving, it's not necessary," he retorts curtly, shutting down any opportunity for argument and dismissing any further comments with a wave of his hand.
"You," he points rather rudely at the maid standing next to the small drawer by his bed, where she had just placed the tablet with his food. She flinches, caught off guard by the young master's abrupt call-out. "What's today's date?" he demands.
"Uh...?" she stammers, momentarily dumbfounded, prompting Jimin to raise one brow in impatience. Despite feeling a twinge of discomfort at his own rudeness, he knows that Park Jimin is nothing but scum, always has been. He can't simply change his behavior on a whim. They would question it.

"It's the 3rd of May, 1813, young lord," the butler quickly interjects, his voice smooth and controlled, likely intended to cover up the maid's earlier fumbling. Jimin acknowledges the information with a curt nod, his expression betraying a hint of impatience.
"Leave. I want to be left alone," Jimin commands, his tone brooking no argument. The butler appears to still have something to say but ultimately complies wordlessly, his lips pressed together in a tight line as he exits the room, followed closely by the flustered maid.
Finally, alone, Jimin lets out a sigh of relief, sinking back into the softness of his bed. With the intruders gone, he can once again retreat into the solitude of his thoughts.
The 3rd of May, 1813, about two weeks before Jeongguk sets a foot on Park territory.

This is going to be a problem.
First, he needs a plan how to survive this shitshow

______________

"The butler informed me of your improving health. Is that true?" inquired the imposing Count Park.
"Yes, Father," Jimin replied with a measured politeness, nonchalantly dabbing at his mouth with a napkin, purposefully averting his attention from the luxurious fabric it was made of. The fancy napkin was just another reminder of how different things are now compared to how they used to be.

"I've regained most of my strength. There doesn't seem to be a reason for me to remain confined to bed any longer," Jimin continued, a subtle assertion of his desire to reclaim control over his own narrative.

"I see," Count Park mumbled, coughing awkwardly into his hand. The room was filled with an air of tension, heightened by the surreptitious glances directed Jimin's way. His brother, sister, and stepmother all wore expressions of wariness, their eyes following him with an intensity that left Jimin perplexed.

Had he unintentionally done something to arouse suspicion?

As the weighty atmosphere lingered, Dae, Jimin's younger sister, attempted to shift the focus. "Brother, is the wine to your liking?" she innocently inquired, maybe attempting to break the uneasy silence.

"Ow! Why did you kick me?" Dae whispered indignantly to her brother Minjun, who sat beside her. "Be quiet, don't ask that," he responded in a hushed tone, casting a side-eye towards Jimin, revealing an undercurrent of tension and intrigue within the family dynamic.

Jimin's eyes lingered on the wine glass before him, recalling the tremble in the maid's hands as she poured. Ah, how could he forget? The original Jimin was an alcoholic.

A slave to alcohol, perpetually spiraling into chaos at the mere touch of a drink. He would incessantly gripe about the staff's incompetence, demanding nothing but the finest wines, making everyone around him feel uneasy.

Reflecting on it, Jimin considered whether alcohol had been the reason for Jeongguk's initial dislike in the original novel. A spark of recollection lit up his eyes as he remembered the memory. Their first meeting took place at the annual Kim's ball, a lavish affair held each mid-April. Jeongguk, having sought aid at the Kim's estate, naturally found himself invited. It was his first encounter with such a large group of nobles all at once. Among them Jimin, from which he already heard countless rumors.

He remembers reading about the original Jimin trash-talking and arrogance, especially towards people in the slums. At some point, Jeongguk must've caught wind of his disrespectful comments, leading to a confrontation. Rather than easing tensions, Jimin persisted in belittling Jeongguk, resulting in him needing an ice pack for his jaw after a direct meeting with Jeongguk's fist.

He sighs, contemplating the foolishness of the body's previous owner. But never mind, those past events haven't unfolded yet, and they won't. Jimin can't risk ending up on Jeongguk's bad side. He's determined to change the plot to stay alive.

"The wine is fine," he finally replied, snapping back to the present after zoning out for a few minutes. His stepmother shot him a skeptical look but let it pass. "Actually, Father, I wanted to ask you for a favor." Jimin decided to broach the subject, setting down his cutlery and folding his hands on the desk together. He gazed directly at the duke, preparing for the upcoming conversation.

"What is it?"

"I need money."

The room fell silent under the weight of the eldest son's directness. Count Park cleared his throat. "And how much would that be?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on his son. Jimin, somewhat taken aback that he didn't shut down the conversation right then and there, responded, "Fifty thousand," the words leaving his lips without a hint of emotion.

"Fifty thousand?"

"Yes."

"And you need this for..?"

"Cat food."

The Duke nodded slowly, repeating Jimin's words under his breath as if uncertain he heard correctly. "I shall instruct Namjoon to transfer the funds to you after dinner," he declared. Jimin smiled, pleasantly surprised by the ease of the conversation's resolution. "Thank you, Father," he expressed gratitude, rising from his seat. "Then I shall take my leave and rest in my room," he announced, exiting the room without another word. Unseen by Jimin as he left, his stepmother's wine glass fell, shattering in multiple pieces on the ground, his younger siblings exchanged startled glances.

"Has older brother hit his head in the morning?"

"He must have, did you see him smiling?"

____________

"Forgive me for my rudeness, young master, but, uh, since when have you been interested in cats?"

"Since now," Jimin replied nonchalantly, attempting to appear unfazed by Namjoon's reaction to his purchase of cat food.
"Right," the butler responded, trailing off.

"What do you know about Black-tails?" Jimin suddenly asked.

"Pardon?" Namjoon responded, slightly puzzled.

"The cats, Black-Tails. I brought you along because Father mentioned you're quite knowledgeable about animals." Jimin stated, though in reality, he had brought Namjoon along for an entirely different purpose.

Namjoon gazes at him with bewilderment but opts not to question it. "Oh, so The Black-Tails, a feisty and almost arrogant feline race, are characterized by their glossy, obsidian coats with a luminescent sheen ranging from moonlit hues. With slender, agile bodies and eyes that reflect intelligence and mischief, these cats exude an air of regality. Renowned for their sharp intellect, exceptional agility, and acrobatic skills, Black Tails are natural problem solvers and hunters. Despite their independent nature, they form tight-knit social structures, with a hierarchy based on skill and cunning. Fiercely loyal to those within their inner circle, encountering an unfamiliar Black Tail can be a challenging experience due to their quick reflexes and territorial defense. Legend has it that the luminescence in their fur is a manifestation of their mystical connection to the moon, adding to their mysterious and captivating presence."
Namjoon launches into a rant, but Jimin has already tuned him out. The butler, better known in the original novel as Kim Namjoon, is an intelligent and loyal asset, eventually finding a place in Jeongguk's playground group. Referred to as "the Brain" of the group, Namjoon is a strategist with extensive knowledge about nearly everything in their world.

"A lot of people have been hunting them, waiting to make glorious fashion accessories out of their fur coats. This is why they are not as common anymore as they once used to be," Namjoon elaborates.

"I see," Jimin hums.

"Are you a cat person?" Jimin asks Namjoon casually, trying to engage in casual conversation.
"Me?" Namjoon appears somewhat surprised. "Well, I do have a soft spot for them," he confesses, a faint smile appearing. "Although, I must admit, I might have a soft spot for most animals," he chuckles, a hint of embarrassment coloring his expression as his hand instinctively goes up to his neck.

They strolled back to the Park Estate, and Jimin emitted another thoughtful hum. "That's good to know," he remarked, aware that Namjoon would soon be taking care of something Jimin intended to introduce into the house. The main reason for bringing Namjoon along on his errands was twofold: first, he could serve as a witness to Jimin's cat food purchase when reporting back to his father, and second, it provided an opportunity for them to acquaint themselves with each other.

Jimin had no intention of handing Namjoon over to Jeongguk. What kind of fool would he be to do that? Even if Jeongguk does not kill him soon, someone else might. Jimin had more than one enemy, with Jeongguk only being the most recent and deadliest. Therefore, he needed someone who was unswervingly loyal to him.

As they approached the estate walls, Jimin suddenly veered to the right, paying little heed to Namjoon calling after him. "Shouldn't it be around here somewhere?" Jimin pondered.

"Young master, shouldn't we be returning—" Namjoon started, but Jimin hushed him with a hand motion. It might be further back, he thought, striding purposefully in that direction, with Namjoon following him warily. "Young ma—" "Here it is," Jimin cut him off once more.

He extracts the key item from his errands today, setting the food down against the wall. Then, he bolts a bit further away, pulling Namjoon along with him. Jimin crouches down into the mud between a few bushes, bringing the butler down with him. Seeing that Namjoon seems like he's about to speak again, Jimin places a hand over his lips. "Just look," Jimin urges the slightly spooked man, gesturing in the direction he had just nodded.

At first, nothing occurs, but after a few moments, a small black ball of fur becomes discernible. Jimin grins. "Is that?" Namjoon gasps, his eyes widening. The little creature cautiously approaches the food, surveying its surroundings for any potential threats before indulging in the delicious meal, devouring it as if it hasn't eaten in days.

"Young master, how did you know?" the butler inquires, his eyes filled with wonder and amazement while his gaze was looked at the Black Tail. "Coincidence," Jimin replies with a casual tone. He doesn't elaborate, but the uncontainable grin on his face speaks volumes.

________

"The Rightful Heir" is a clichéd novel, immersing readers in the world of the Jeon Kingdom and introducing our main character, Jeon Jeongguk. At the tender age of six, Jeongguk endures capture, the stripping of his title, and an unfortunate sale to a slave trader, where he's subjected to mistreatment. Betrayed by those he once considered family, his cruel fate inevitably shapes him into a character just as ruthless. The opening chapter unfolds with him standing amidst a bloodbath, marking the commencement of his tale of revenge and hatred.

Jeongguk shattered multiple times throughout the story, both in its progression and before. Nevertheless, he consistently rebuilt himself each time.

Over the years, he religiously followed every novel update of "The Rightful Heir," hoping to embody the qualities of his hero. As a teenager, Jimin idolized Jeongguk, acknowledging his strength and willpower.

Jeon Jeongguk stood as an honorable man, a hero to some, maintaining a pure heart despite the numerous hardships he endured. His commitment to saving others while struggling to save himself painted a picture of resilience. However, as Jimin matured, he began viewing this portrayal as unrealistic and foolish. Perhaps it was this perception that led to his growing frustration with his once-beloved character.

Jimin gazed down at the feline curled around his ankle, purring contentedly and rubbing its entire self against him. It had been precisely two weeks since he woke up in this unfamiliar world. Tonight, under the cover of darkness, marked the moment when Jeongguk would step into the Park territory. Jimin had meticulously prepared for this night, he had done everything for this to turn out like his will. If his efforts didn't yield the desired results, he contemplated a drastic decision – one that might just involve hanging himself.

He emitted a small scoff. No, most likely, he wouldn't. After all, he considered himself a coward. That's why he was doing all this in the first place.

His hand gently glided over the fur of the Black-Tail, promptly dubbed Raon by Namjoon. The tiny creature had grown surprisingly fond of Jimin in a short span. Perhaps it was the premium cat food he had splurged on. Of course, it didn't drain fifty thousand from his pocket; he had other expenses to cover. Having some cash on hand was also essential if tonight's plan unfolded successfully.

"I'll be back tonight. I'll feed you fat if you don't scare away our injured guest," Jimin grinned mischievously. Raon meowed, as if understanding and prepared to play his part. Unable to resist, Jimin reached down to pet the feline's ear. After tonight, he decided, he would bring the cat in. With a deep breath, he rose and walked back into the estate.

_________

The night air was unusually chilly for the current month. A lone figure fought his way through the harsh, icy air, each step fueled by the desperate drive to survive. The biting wind stung his exposed wounds, ignored for far too long, making every breath a painful reminder of his battered state. Shadows and hidden corners became his allies as he navigated the night, the cloak of darkness concealing his weary presence. The labyrinthine alleys, adorned with trees and bushes, guided him until he stood before the towering walls of the grand estate.

His body, marked by untreated injuries, betrayed the toll of his journey. The stranger's breaths were labored, each step a testament to the agony he endured. With faltering legs, he approached the majestic walls, a beacon of both hope and exhaustion. Desperation etched across his face, he leaned against the sturdy barrier for support. However, his strength gave way, and he crumpled to the ground. As he sat there, the stranger could only hope for respite, if only for a fleeting moment.

His senses, clouded by the relentless pain, rendered him oblivious to another figure lurking in the shadows. Suddenly, the rustling of bushes reached his ears, accompanied by a soft "Meow" from his right side. Exhausted, he turned his gaze, locking eyes with a pair of golden orbs that seemed to shimmer in the darkness. A cough escaped him as he stared, stupefied by the creature sitting just a few feet away.

Driven by instinct, the stranger reached out his arm, extending a tentative invitation for the majestic feline to acquaint itself with his scent, a silent plea to convey his harmless intentions. Yet, as his hand extended, the cat retreated, leaving him to watch in disappointment as it bounded away. The stranger let his arm fall, resigned, only to witness the cat abruptly halt. It meowed once more, but this time, its attention was directed toward a dark silhouette in the distance.

Adrenaline surged through his veins once more, causing his chest to rise and fall at an accelerated pace. The thought of another fight sent a wave of terror coursing through him, especially given his current weakened state.

He observed in silence as the mysterious figure crouched down, tenderly petting the feline before retrieving something from the depths of his jacket. It turned out to be food, and he attentively watched as the stranger fed the cat.

"It is a cold night." a silvery voice sliced through the biting air, prompting the stranger to momentarily hold his breath. Following the words, an eerie silence settled in, accentuated only by the haunting whistle of the cold wind. The other figure remained fixed on the feline, After a beat, he spoke again, "Do you have someplace to go?"

The stranger studied the figure in the shadows, trying to see more details. The figure broke the silence, "Aren't you going to answer?" The stranger replied with a hoarse voice, "I don't." His voice was deep and pained, a testament to his parched throat. Suddenly, the figure shifted, straightening up and finally directing his gaze toward the stranger. If breathing wasn't already a challenge, it might have become one now.

Before him stood a young man of remarkable handsomeness, his refined features exuding an undeniable allure. A robust jawline hinted at masculinity, complemented by the gentle curve of his nose that contributed to an overall symmetrical aesthetic. Elegance emanated from his facial structure, shaping a strikingly handsome appearance. Yet, it was his eyes that truly captivated—a mesmerizing pair of deep blue orbs, akin to sapphires, possessed a magnetic quality, effortlessly pulling others into their enchanting depths. An exquisite diamond earring adorned his ear, catching the moonlight and reflecting its brilliance.

"Allow me," the young man spoke once more. "I'll tend to your wounds." He crouched down directly in front of him, mere centimeters away, maintaining unbroken eye contact, and the stranger could feel the warmth of the man's breath on his face. Faced with the harsh reality, the stranger found himself unable to move due to his severe injuries, uncertain if he'd survive the chilly night. Defeated, he released a pained breath, his eyes wincing in agony as he attempted a futile smile. "I'm Jeongguk," he said, allowing the other person to touch him.

A small smile graced the lips of the stranger upon hearing those words. Extending his hand to touch Jeongguk's arms, his grasp felt sturdy and emanated warmth. His blue eyes sparkled, almost as if he held knowledge that Jeongguk was yet unaware of. "I'm Jimin."

The sound of his name echoed through the chilly night.

Chapter Text

Jimin had everything mapped out, and things played out just as he had scripted.

As he approached the main house of the park estate, Jimin supported Jeongguk and keenly observed the man's diminishing strength. Taking advantage of the guard shift change, the eldest son of the count moved casually through the estate grounds. Jimin had methodically determined the times when guards would be absent from the entrance, carefully calculating the available window. Just as he set foot on the luxurious carpet at the entrance, a guard turned the corner, promptly recognizing Jimin. "Young Master!" The guard's surprised and hurried voice echoed, bolting towards the Count's son.

"I can't say much. His consciousness is fading," he uttered, his voice laden with concern and urgency, preemptively ensuring the guard wouldn't pry further. "Call for Namjoon and a doctor," he instructed sharply.

The guard stood frozen, shock etched across his face at the unexpected turn of events. "Go!" he urged, seemingly snapping the guard out of his daze. With newfound urgency, the guard bolted in the direction commanded by Jimin, leaving him alone with a fainted Jeongguk. The latter had finally succumbed to unconsciousness, slumped in the blond man's arms. His tall frame and muscular build made him feel weighty, akin to a bundle of bricks. Despite the current vulnerability in his unconscious state, Jeongguk's body exuded an undeniable presence, the hard lines of his musculature feeling substantial, almost sculpted.

Supporting himself with Jeongguk draped over his shoulder was a challenging feat for Jimin. Soon after, two additional guards and Namjoon rushed to his aid. As they took the unconscious man from him, Jimin's hand instinctively found its way to his aching shoulder. He massaged it, eyes fixed on Jeongguk being carried away into a nearby bedroom. Namjoon, who had promptly joined him, observed the scene alongside Jimin.

Namjoon then turned his gaze to Jimin, clearly eager to unravel the mystery of the unfamiliar man and his unexpected presence outside. The butler, ever transparent in his expressions, couldn't conceal his curiosity. Jimin, glancing up at the considerably taller Namjoon, offered an explanation.

"I forgot to feed Raon this afternoon," Jimin confessed, attempting to justify the situation. "I've been sort of domesticating him, you know? He wouldn't look for food himself, especially on a cold night like this, not after I've been consistently feeding him."

He lied through his teeth, spinning a tale. "So, I thought I'd take him in. But when I arrived, I saw this man, and I—" Jimin cut himself off, releasing a defeated sigh. "Namjoon, I couldn't just leave him back there."

Park Jimin was no saint, that much was common knowledge. Yet, the way he narrated the situation was an attempt to shed a more favorable light on his character. His actions seemed to scream, "I may not be a model citizen, but I couldn't just watch a man die in front of me! I'm not as awful as everyone assumes." Even though the old Jimin wouldn't have cared the slightest. Because the original Jimin was exactly that, awful.

Softness flickered in the butler's eyes, understanding evident. "Young master, you don't need to justify your actions," Namjoon reassured, offering a comforting gesture as if to convey understanding and support.

The young man nods, even though he knows he needs to do exactly that. Creating a ruckus in the middle of the night would undoubtedly draw his father's attention soon. As Namjoon held a close position as one of his father's trusted aides, it seemed inevitable that inquiries about the matter would be directed to the butler. So Jimin was taking advantage of Namjoon's softness and understanding, using it as a means to escape the consequences of his highly unlikely, unconventional behavior.

Jimin winced, his hand gripping his shoulder as he hunched slightly, conveying discomfort through his stance. "I will retire to my bedroom now. Please update me on our guest's condition in the early morning," he stated before turning away and striding off. "Of course," the butler responded; Jimin didn't need to turn around to sense the bow of deference. Halting abruptly at the end of the hallway, causing the butler to pause as well. "And make sure Raon is well taken care of too," he added.

"Pardon?" the butler asked, clearly confused, when a sudden "Meow" emerged from behind him, making him jump slightly. A small, black-haired ball of fur, apparently present the entire time without anyone noticing, looked up at the butler. Its eyes shone with something akin to expectation. Namjoon sighed, "Alright, come here. I'll make you a bed," he said as he gently picked up the young feline.

________

The following morning unfolded precisely as Jimin had expected. His father, just before calling him to the office, must have consulted with the butler about the unusual circumstances. Though the signs of his uncharacteristic actions were apparent, Namjoon, who had been vouching for the young master, skillfully diverted the conversation. Despite the quick resolution, Jimin detected a subtle warning in his father's voice.

Glancing over his teacup, Jimin observed Raon playing with the threads of the expensive carpet. The feline had quickly found comfort in the Park estate, this realization made Jimin scoff as he watched the cat bury its talons in every fabric that looked like it cost millions.

He had spent a considerable amount of time with the cat while waiting. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait for all too long. On the third day of patiently waiting, he received the message that his guest had regained consciousness.

Swiftly dismissing the maid who relayed the news, Jimin assured her he'd handle the matter after he finished his tea. He craved some space to think, acknowledging that the real challenge awaited him – a conversation with Jeon Jeongguk.

Unlike their previous encounter, Jeongguk wouldn't be on the verge of passing out, and Jimin wouldn't be the only help around. He anticipated a more guarded and challenging interaction. Jimin understood it wouldn't be as easy to manipulate him as it was with Namjoon or his father.

As the main protagonist in the original storyline, Jeon Jeongguk showcased enough intelligence to escape the clutches of slavery. His cunning and resourcefulness were evident, making him a formidable individual. Acknowledging Jeongguk's inherent danger, Jimin was not one to treat the matter lightly.

He gently set down his teacup before rising swiftly from his seat, feeling the subtle onset of sweat on his palms. Jimin couldn't deny his nerves; the uncertainty of Jeongguk's reaction to his forthcoming revelation unsettled him. The prospect of losing control over the situation irked Jimin more than anything. Jimin's nerves fluttered like restless birds within him, a palpable tension tightening his muscles as he approached the closed door to the guest bedroom. Each step felt heavier than the last, his heart drumming a frantic rhythm in his chest. Sweat dampened his palms despite his efforts to steady himself, a tangible manifestation of his mounting apprehension. Closing his eyes briefly, he drew in a shaky breath, trying to quell the anxious thoughts swirling in his mind before facing the daunting conversation that lay ahead.

"You've got this," he murmured quietly, but with unwavering conviction. he spoke to himself, each word a declaration of self assurance. Jimin knew he was a good lair after all. Behind his façade of innocence lay a mind sharp as a blade, adept at crafting elaborate narratives that shielded his true intentions from prying eyes.

With a confident push, he eased the door open and strode into the room, his gaze gracefully finding the figure seated at the rather petite table. Caught in the act of bowing to the maid who served his tea, Jeongguk's eyes met Jimin's with a fluid motion.

As he stood there, for the first time since that night Jimin had found him, he took a moment to truly observe Jeongguk. There was a noticeable improvement in his complexion.

Though it pained Jimin to admit, he couldn't ignore Jeongguk's undeniable handsomeness, much like the descriptions penned in the novel. With chiseled features and an aura of natural charm, Jeongguk possessed an attraction that was difficult to ignore.

What a handsome young man with captivating allure, commanded attention effortlessly as he sat at the table. His features were finely sculpted, with a strong jawline and piercing dark eyes that held a hint of mischief beneath their depth. Dark hair framed his face with an effortless charm, and his demeanor exuded confidence and grace in equal measure. As he interacted with the maid pouring his tea, there was an undeniable magnetism to his presence, drawing one's gaze with an irresistible pull.

With confident strides, Jimin approached the table where the other was already seated. He moved through the room with his head held high, exuding assurance with every step. Taking a seat opposite his guest, he watched as the maid excused herself, leaving the two men alone.

Lifting his teacup, he glanced at it momentarily before bringing it to his lips. However, just before taking a sip, he hesitated, sensing the scrutiny of the other's gaze following his every move.

"You appear well rested," he remarked while taking a sip of his tea.

"Which is all thanks to you, young Master," Jeongguk replied, bowing his head lightly as his dark eyes gleamed at Jimin. It seemed he had already learned from the staff who Jimin was.

Good.

Jeongguk cradled his teacup in his hands, savoring a sip before speaking once more. It was evident that he enjoyed the taste of the tea.

"I'm well aware that such hospitality shouldn't be taken for granted," Jimin acknowledged the statement with a thoughtful hum. "Yet, I'm afraid the funds I currently possess may not fully match the extent of your generosity. Nevertheless, I'm hopeful you will still accept what I can offer."

"It isn't."

"Pardon?"

Jimin fixed his gaze on the other man, his eyes cool and indifferent," Your money, it won't be enough," he clarified, his tone matching the icy demeanor of his stare.

He had contemplated for a bit about what kind of role he wanted to be in Jeongguk's story—whether as a friend, a colleague, or perhaps even a sidekick.

"Neither your money nor your attire holds any value to me," he declares firmly, gesturing around the lavish room adorned with golden decor and magnificent walls.

Jimin didn't seek friendship with the man; instead, he desired to have the other indebted to him. The prospect of having such a dangerous figure owe him a debt was far more valuable than a mere position within Jeongguk's group. In a group brimming with exceptional individuals, Jimin would be out of place. He knew he wouldn't survive a day on the battlefield for the throne among them.

Even if he were to outlast Jeongguk, Jimin couldn't guarantee his safety. He yearned for a comfortable existence, free from the constant threat of poison or loss of status. However, perhaps there was potential to forge a relationship based on mutual benefit, ensuring the Park Family's elevated status. Once Jeongguk assumed power, he would likely purge the corrupt nobles, stripping them of their wealth and status. The Park family's history wasn't pristine, and Jimin knew that their rise to prominence, their ascent to power hadn't been devoid of questionable tactics.

If he had to brand the hero of the story as 'worthless' for now to safeguard his future peace, Jimin would not hesitate to do so. While it might come off as arrogant to belittle the crown prince in such a manner, in the current moment, Jeongguk stood inferior to Jimin.

Jeongguk's gaze mirrored the same icy coldness as Jimin's, clearly displeased by Jimin's rhetoric. "I possess nothing beyond my name and the scant amount of money," he stated plainly, cutting through the facade. "So why bother saving someone you knew couldn't repay you?" he challenged, his voice tinged with skepticism. Finally asking the important questions.

"Perhaps I saw something worth saving in you beyond mere material wealth."

Jeongguk scoffs, clearly unmoved by the statement.

"It's quite simple, really," Jimin retorts, his tone cool. "I couldn't allow a man to meet his demise before me, not when his survival could serve my own interests." He holds Jeongguk's gaze steadily, unapologetic in his selfish motives. "After all, one never knows when a debt may prove advantageous in the future."

"You're mistaken, young master," Jeongguk asserts firmly. "I'm not a high lord who can grant you favors, neither now nor in the future. I'm just a commoner."

Jimin raises a bemused eyebrow. "Are you?" he asks, observing the shift in Jeongguk's demeanor as the words leave his lips. "A commoner, I mean?"

The room's atmosphere grew into something undescribable, devoid of warmth or familiarity. Jimin's throat tightened, a sudden dryness setting in, under the weight of those adamant eyes fixed upon him.

"A commoner, displaying tea etiquette almost superior to that of my younger siblings," Jimin remarks, his tone laced with a hint of amusement. "I'm certain that even without the multiple course meal I provided, you would have chosen every utensil with precision." He pauses, gesturing towards Jeongguk's sword leaning against the wall. "And your sword, such exquisite black shade—it almost resembles Valyric iron." Valyric iron, one of the oldest and most esteemed materials for crafting weapons, is a rare and highly valuable commodity.

Jeongguk's journey hadn't begun when he crossed paths with Jimin; it had commenced long before their encounter. The items in Jeongguk's possession weren't truly worthless; rather, Jimin simply couldn't find any use for them, particularly the sword. It was a weapon crafted by Jeongguk himself, having earned the materials through assisting Duke Jung.

"I don't know who you are," Jimin asserts confidently, his tone unwavering. "And frankly, I couldn't care less. What matters to me is what you can offer in return, to settle the debt, of course."

Jeongguk's expression remains unreadable as he meets Jimin's gaze with equal intensity, a silent acknowledgment of the terms being laid out between them. After a moment of tense silence, he finally speaks.

"So what now?"

"I assume you were heading towards the market," Jimin remarks casually, noticing Jeongguk's suspicious gaze. Sensing the need for clarification, he swiftly adds, "It's a common destination for travelers passing by the Park Estate. One of our staff members will be running errands there shortly. I can arrange for you to accompany him in the carriage."

"Very well."

______________

Jieun was nothing special. A boy forgotten before his name could settle in memory. In the classroom, his presence had been as fleeting as the chalk dust brushed from the board—overshadowed by classmates who dazzled effortlessly. He lingered at the edges of group photos, always out of focus, always unseen.

Daily life held no excitement for Jieun, so he sought solace elsewhere—in his fantasies and, more often, the vast expanse of the internet. Throughout his teenage years, he prided himself on being a loyal supporter of web novels, long before they rose to mainstream popularity.

But even the most loyal supporters grow up. Over time, the once-enchanting clichés of web novels began to lose their charm, becoming tiresome, even irritating, with their increasingly unrealistic characters and predictable plots. Perhaps it was Jieun's own discontent with his life that fueled this slow, bitter disdain. The escapism he once cherished now felt hollow, a constant reminder of the gulf between fiction and reality.

But how could he stop reading something he had already committed years to? Despite the clichés piling on top of clichés, Jieun couldn’t bring himself to quit. It had become a habit, a quiet refuge. Even as the stories grew more predictable and the characters more hollow, he lingered, unable to sever the connection he’d forged over the years.

________

Jimin closed the book with a sharp thud, the sound echoing through the quiet room. The maid, who had been carefully arranging the other books on the shelves, flinched at the sudden noise, her hands pausing mid-air. Without a word, Jimin placed the book on the table before him, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. He then crossed his arms and legs, leaning back in his chair as his gaze drifted, unfocused, towards the window.

The moment Jeongguk left the mansion, Jimin knew he would have to spring into action once again. The clock ticked toward 2 PM., and soon, the hero would step out of the estate, not to return for a long while. Jimin didn't see the need to bid him farewell. It was unnecessary, a gesture for others, not for him. Instead, he left the task to the butler, who would see Jeongguk off in his place.

Since Jeongguk was currently indebted to him, Jimin knew he wouldn’t be discarded so easily. The main character, for all his strength and arrogance, had a natural sense of generosity—he wouldn’t bite the hand that had fed him, at least not yet. Jimin could count on that. His position, precarious as it might seem, was more secure than it appeared.

The birds outside chirped loudly, their peaceful sounds drowned out by the creak of the door opening. The library was soon interrupted by none other than Namjoon, who stepped inside with his usual composed manner.

"I've seen our guest off and given him the small box, as you instructed, young master," Namjoon reported, his tone steady.

Jimin hummed in acknowledgment, not looking up from his seat. The faintest hint of approval passed through him.

The head butler, ever observant, couldn’t quite shake his curiosity about what was inside the small box he had handed to Jeongguk. After a moment, he gave a subtle nod to the maid in the room, instructing her with a few tasks to keep her occupied.

Then, with a polite yet lingering gaze, he turned to Jimin. "Is there anything else you would like me to prepare, young master?" he asked, his voice carrying the weight of duty and a quiet curiosity.

"My father’s acquaintance, what was his name again?"

"Pardon?"

"The man who always wears red garments."

Namjoon paused for a moment, his brows furrowing slightly as he searched for the answer. "Lord Baek," he replied after a beat. "He is always seen in that crimson attire. Quite distinctive, I must say."

"The taste of fashion varies nowadays," Jimin mused aloud, his eyes glinting as they turned to Namjoon.

"Say, how many maids or staff members in general do we have here in the mansion that Lord Baek recommended to us?"

"I believe there are three maids and two attendants from Lord Baek’s recommendation, young master," Namjoon replied evenly, his voice steady. "They’ve been working here for some time now, ensuring the day-to-day runs smoothly."

Jimin’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile, his thoughts veiled behind those striking blue eyes. "Interesting," he murmured, before leaning back in his chair. "It seems he’s quite involved in our operations."

Jimin then moves up swiftly, his steps light but determined as he passed Namjoon. The butler’s voice called after him, a mix of curiosity and concern. “Are you going for an outing, young master?”

Jimin’s pace didn’t falter as he responded, his tone sharp but laced with an almost casual air. “What are my duties today? I’ve got to get on my father’s good side.”

"I’ll prepare a list for you, young master."

__________

The carriage rattled softly as the scenery outside shifted, the quaint, old fashioned homes giving way to sleek, chrome coated buildings. The deeper they traveled into the city, the more modern and bustling the surroundings became. Jeongguk sat stiffly, his hands wrapped around the small box he’d been given. He hadn’t opened it yet. He couldn’t bring himself to unveil its contents while sharing the space with one of the Park family’s staff.

The maid sitting across from him had attempted to strike up a conversation several times during the ride. Each attempt had been met with little more than polite nods and brief answers from Jeongguk. Eventually, her efforts dwindled into silence, though her occasional glances suggested she was still curious about him.

Jeongguk preferred the quiet. The hum of the carriage and the faint sounds of the city growing nearer were enough to keep him occupied. His thoughts wandered, settling on the weight of the box again.

He tightened his grip on it, his gaze flicking to the cityscape beyond the window. Whatever lay inside, he’d find out soon enough.

"Seems like we’ll arrive soon at the marketplace," the maid ventured again, her voice polite but hesitant. "Is that your destination as well?"

Jeongguk didn’t look up, his eyes fixed on everything but her.

"No."

There was a pause, but it didn’t last long. "Oh," the maid continued, her tone a little flustered now, as if second-guessing her persistence. "If you don’t mind me asking… where are you heading to?"

Jeongguk finally glanced up, his expression unreadable. "The Kims Estate."

Chapter Text

Imposter syndrome.

It’s a quiet, relentless voice in the back of the mind that whispers: You're a fraud.
Your own success is a mistake, a fluke, a lie waiting to unravel. Every compliment feels like pity. Every accomplishment feels borrowed.

Jieun was just that, a liar. (or so he thinks) 

He wasn’t as relentless with schoolwork as his cousins, nor as gifted in art as his former friend. He couldn’t even climb past “average” in video games, no matter how hard he tried. But he could be smart about it, just enough to look like he was keeping up. Just enough to blend in with the ones who actually had talent.

"Jimin!" 

Jimin blinked, the sharp tone of his father’s voice slicing through the fog of his thoughts. His head jerked up, startled, as his name echoed in the study. He hadn’t even noticed when the conversation turned to him. 

"Jimin, did you hear what I just said?" His father’s voice was laced with both concern and frustration, his brow furrowed as he looked at his son, who was caught off guard, his expression a mix of confusion and distance.

Jimin blinked, his mind scrambling to catch up. He straightened up, clearing his throat, trying to push away the fog that still clouded his thoughts. "I sincerely apologize, Father. I must’ve spaced out for a moment," he said, his tone smooth but betraying a hint of unease as he collected himself. He gave a composed smile, hoping to mask the discomfort that still lingered beneath the surface.

It was his stepmother who broke the silence, her voice smooth and deliberate. "Your father mentioned the Annular Kim’s ball," she said, her delicate fingers lifting the wine glass to her lips with an elegance that seemed almost rehearsed. "Since they've postponed it this year for private reasons, we thought it would be a good opportunity for you to attend and meet your cousins."

Her gaze lingered on him, her eyes assessing, as if she were weighing his reaction. Jimin could feel the weight of her words settle on his shoulders, the expectation clear in her tone. She must’ve always had a way of presenting everything as an opportunity, a chance for the black sheep of the family to prove something. 

"Private reasons, isn't it clear? It must have been because of Kim Haeun, since her engagement broke off," his father added carelessly, as if the matter were nothing more than an afterthought.

His stepmother continued, her voice smoother but laced with a quiet tension. "We wanted to send your brother first. Though he’s young, he’s already well-versed in social standards and the latest topics. However, considering your recent..." Her brows furrowed slightly, as if she were carefully choosing the right words, "...improvement, we’ve decided to send you after all."
Jimin could sense the thinly veiled criticism, though it was wrapped in polite phrasing. "Improvement." It was her way of acknowledging that he hadn’t quite been the most polished in the past. 

Jimin had been expecting this conversation, though he wasn’t sure when it would come. Over the past few weeks, he had worked tirelessly to present himself in the best light possible for Count Park. He immersed himself in the mountains of paperwork he was supposed to handle as the count’s eldest son, trying his hardest to live up to the expectations placed upon him. The original Jimin, of course, had never cared about such things, had never bothered with these petty matters of family status or responsibility.

He fought to keep his grin in check, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. This was the moment he had been waiting for. In the original story, it was his younger brother who was invited to the event. But that didn’t stop the count’s eldest son—Jimin—from sneaking into the venue uninvited, ready to stir up trouble.

It was also the first time Jimin was supposed to meet the hero of the story. The encounter ended with him walking away with an ugly bruise, a mark of his hasty decision to meddle in things that didn’t concern him.

"I feel disheartened to take my brother's spot, but I won’t decline the opportunity to see my dear cousins again," Jimin said lightly, his voice laced with feigned gratitude. His words hung in the air, drawing a brief glance from his stepmother, her eyes narrowing slightly. Count Park cleared his throat, a signal that the matter was nearing its end.
"Very well, then it’s settled," he said, his tone final, as if dismissing any further need for discussion. "I shall tell the attendants to prepare everything for your departure next week."
With that, the conversation came to a quiet close, the air around the dinner table shifting back into its usual, distant calm. 
Jimin doesn’t remain seated for a moment longer. 

With the excuse of needing to speak with the attendants, Jimin rose from the table, his movements calm. He made his way down the hallway, the soft rustling of his clothing the only sound in the otherwise quiet hallways. He found one of the attendants, a young boy who had worked in the household for a few months, and began discussing the details of his wardrobe for the upcoming event. Jimin was particular about his appearance— or at least for this specific event. There were changes he wanted, modifications that would make him stand out in a way that suited his current self.
As he was absorbed in the conversation, the sharp click of high heels echoed down the hallway, growing louder with each step. He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he watched the figure approach. 

"What a quiet evening," his stepmother speaks, her tone even as she watches him.

Jimin gestures with a quick flick of his hand, signaling for the boy to leave. He the turns his full attention to the woman before him, a casual, confident smile spreading across his face. "Indeed, it is."

Park Harin is the embodiment of elegance. Her dark green gown hugs her figure with a sophistication that complements her piercing, poisonous green eyes and rich brown hair. Every movement she makes is deliberate, her actions laced with effortless grace and discipline.

Count Park remarried five years after Jimin's mother passed away. In the original story, there was little to no mention of the relationship between Jimin and his stepmother. They existed in separate spheres, their paths rarely crossing, leaving their dynamic a blank canvas. This lack of reference made Jimin uneasy now. Without any prior knowledge to rely on, crafting his façade in her presence felt like stepping onto unfamiliar ground. For all his practiced composure, this interaction left a subtle edge of tension in the air.

"Well, I—"

"I was against it."

Jimin raised an eyebrow at her interruption but said nothing, allowing her to continue.

"I was against sending you," she repeated, her tone deliberate, measured.

"What changed?" 

She stepped closer, the sharp click of her heels echoing in the empty hallway. When she stopped, her green eyes bore into his, unflinching.
"I’m unsure what has gotten into you, or what game you think you’re playing," she said, her voice firm, leaving no room for rebuttal. "But I cannot ignore your father’s opinion, nor your recent... actions." The pause in her sentence was slight, but Jimin caught it, her hesitation to fully acknowledge his efforts was telling.

"Understood," Jimin said smoothly, though his mind was already at work.

"I expect ultimate manners from you when you leave for the ball," she continued, her tone carrying the authority of someone who didn’t accept failure. "Your cousins will handle most of the talking. They’ve been instructed to look after you."
Jimin let a small smile tug at the corner of his lips. "How kind of them," he said lightly, folding his arms. 

"Everything you wear must be of the highest quality," she stated firmly, "You are representing House Park, after all."
She glanced down the hallway briefly before continuing. "I’ll ensure the maids and attendants are informed of your requirements. And another thing," her gaze sharpened as it returned to him, "I want you to take the head butler with you. He’s well-acquainted with balls of this nature and familiar with the Kim family’s traditions. He will serve as your guide."

Jimin tilted his head slightly. Having Namjoon by his side during the trip wasn’t exactly what Jimin had in mind, but it wasn’t a bad thing either.

She walked slowly past him. Jimin remained rooted in place, his posture trying to display that he was relaxed.

He watched her go, her dark green gown flowing elegantly with each measured step. For a moment, he thought that was the end of it, that she had said all she intended to say.

But then, she paused.

Turning her head slightly, she glanced over her shoulder. Her piercing green eyes found him again, and for a fleeting second, they lingered.
She watches how the soft glow of the candlelight caught in her stepson’s blonde hair, giving it an almost golden hue. His eyes seemed like a clear blue ocean, endless and untamed. The color was so striking and crystalline, much like the ocean on a cold winter’s day.

"You resemble your mother," was all she said, before turning on her heel, her heels drawing a loud sound with each step as she took.

Jimin watched her go, his expression unreadable. Once her figure disappeared around the corner, he allowed himself a quiet sigh.

"Why is it here?" Jimin asked, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he stared at the black furball perched on the edge of one of his suitcases which looked more than unbothered by all the commotion around it. Jimins tone was sharp, bordering on disbelief.

Namjoon, ever unbothered, adjusted his gloves and replied smoothly, "Well, it’s obvious, young master. You cannot possibly leave your pet here alone." His expression turned grave, as though the mere thought was too painful to bear. "Especially since I’ll be accompanying you. It would be a tragedy if Raon were to... succumb to longing for his owner." Jimin arched a brow, unimpressed. "Succumb? Yearning? Are you serious?"

Namjoon sighed dramatically, clutching his chest as if his heart might break. "Completely serious. Imagine, young master, the poor creature meowing endlessly, staring at the door,
waiting for your return. I couldn’t let it suffer."

"Right. Because this cat looks like it’s on the verge of heartbreak."

Namjoon shrugged with an air of exaggerated innocence. "Better safe than sorry, my lord."
Jimin pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose, sighing as if the weight of the
world rested solely on his shoulders.
"Fine."

Around them, the air buzzed with activity as attendants moved swiftly, hoisting an array of suitcases onto the carriage. The sheer number was daunting—polished leather cases stacked high, their golden clasps catching the sunlight. Each piece held the most expensive items and attires, meticulously packed per his stepmother’s precise instructions. Jimin turned his attention to his younger siblings, Dae and Minji, who stood a few paces away from the carriage.

Count Park, ever the busy man, had already given Jimin his parting words earlier that
morning, a curt exchange more focused on expectations than sentiment. As for his
stepmother, Jimin hadn’t anticipated her presence. Their conversation the previous week, laced with subtle threats and high expectations, had been her version of a goodbye.
That left only Dae and Minji, who, unlike the others, had no real excuse not to make an
appearance.

Jimin stepped closer to them, his gaze shifting between the two. Minjun, tall for his age and with the same sharp features as their father, stood with his arms folded, looking slightly bored. Dae, the youngest, clutched a small book to her chest, her eyes darting nervously to her older brother’s face. "Well," Jimin began, his voice light but carrying an edge of mockery, "I suppose I should thank the two of you for gracing me with your presence. How touching."

Dae flushed, averting her gaze, while Minjun rolled his eyes. "Don’t flatter yourself," the boy muttered. "Father insisted we come."
"Of course he did," Jimin replied smoothly, his lips curling into a faint, amused smile. "Still, it’s nice to know I’m worth at least a fraction of your precious time."
Dae hesitated, then stepped forward, holding out the book she’d been clutching. "I thought you might want this," she murmured, barely meeting his eyes.
Jimin raised an eyebrow, accepting the book. It was an old volume, its spine worn but well cared for.

"It’s... nothing special," she said quickly, stepping back. His current self had no deep connection to his half-siblings In truth their relationship felt the original Jimin’s feelings toward Dae and Minjun—just fleeting mentions that painted a picture of indifference. As far as he remembered, the original Jimin had viewed them as
little more than extensions of the Count’s legacy, two perfect examples of what he himself could never be.
Now, standing before them, Jimin wasn’t entirely sure how to face them. They weren’t to blame for the tension between him and the rest of the family.

"What do you guys want?" Jimin asked, his tone sharp yet laced with an undercurrent of mild disinterest. He handed the book he was holding to an attendant, barely sparing them a glance as he ordered, "Take this to the carriage."
He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, his gaze drifting lazily back to his siblings. "Since I’ll be close to the market," he continued, the unspoken offer hanging in the air, "I can bring back some gifts."

Jimin noticed the faint sparkle in Dae's eyes as his younger sister spoke up first, her tone
unusually earnest. "Well, I read a lot and write daily," Dae began, her voice steady but carrying a hint of hope. "Perhaps you could bring me one of those new pens? The ones everyone’s talking about in the market, they’re supposed to be easier to hold."

"And you?" Jimin prompted, addressing his brother. "Surely you have something in mind."Minjun, the middle sibling who had been originally chosen to attend the ball in the novel, hesitated. His lips pressed together briefly before he finally spoke, almost reluctant. "A machete," he said, the word tumbling out as though he’d debated it with himself. "I wanted to see the new hunting tools... the ones they’ve been showcasing in the market."

Jimin’s brow arched, the faintest trace of amusement flickering across his face.
"Very well."

With that, he turned back toward the carriage, signaling to Namjoon that it was time to leave. The attendants finished loading the final suitcase, and Raon leapt gracefully into the carriage, claiming his spot by the window. Jimin cast one last glance at his siblings. Dae offered a tentative wave, while Minjun simply
stared, his expression unreadable.

As Jimin approached the carriage, his sharp eyes immediately caught sight of Namjoon
inside, carefully placing a small red velvet pillow onto one of the seats. Its purpose was obvious, Raon's personal throne for the journey.

"Anything else you’d like to sneak into my carriage, Namjoon? A chandelier, perhaps?"
Jimin drawled, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Namjoon grinned. "Only the finest for the young lord. Shall I have them bring the grand piano?"

Jimin fixed Namjoon with an unimpressed stare. It seems the butler has grown comfortable around him. "Let’s get this over with," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, as the carriage began to roll forward.

Jimin leaned against the carriage window, his sharp eyes scanning the bustling streets of the city center. The once familiar landscape had transformed since his last visit, the cobblestone roads now lined with elegant storefronts, their glass windows reflecting the golden glow of the afternoon sun. Crowds of finely dressed individuals moved with purpose, their chatter blending with the sounds of clattering hooves and vendors calling out their wares.

The carriage slowed as they approached his cousin’s residence—a grand townhouse perched on the corner of the city’s most prestigious avenue. Its exterior was a statement of wealth and status, with pristine white walls, wrought iron balconies, and towering windows draped with luxurious curtains. Jimin could already imagine his cousin's smug grin as they boasted about their enviable location.
The footman opened the door, and Jimin stepped out, his polished boots clicking against the stone pavement. He adjusted his coat, smoothing out invisible creases, and glanced at Namjoon, who was busy directing the attendants unloading the luggage.

The grand entrance loomed before him, its dark wooden doors adorned with intricate carvings. A butler, dressed impeccably in black, opened the door with a slight bow, his expression neutral but his eyes sharp as they assessed Jimin. "I welcome the young lord. Lord Hyun has been expecting you," the butler said, his tone professional.
Jimin offered a nod and stepped inside, the cool air of the townhouse greeting him as he took in his surroundings. The interior was just as grand as he’d expected—marble floors gleamed under the light of an ornate chandelier, and gilded mirrors lined the walls, reflecting the opulence of the space. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, a subtle but deliberate touch of luxury.

"Where is he?" Jimin asked, his tone carrying an edge of impatience.
"In the drawing room, my lord," the butler replied, gesturing toward a set of double doors to the left.

Jimin didn’t wait for further instructions. He strode toward the drawing room, pushing open the doors to reveal his cousin lounging on a velvet chaise.

"Jimin!" Hyun exclaimed, rising to his feet with open arms. "Look at you, gracing us with your presence. I almost didn’t believe it when your Father told me you’d be staying here."

"Hyun. It’s been a while," he said, his voice lacking the warmth Hyun seemed to expect.

"Too long, cousin. I was beginning to think you had forgotten about us city folk."
Hyun gestured toward the plush seating. "Come, sit. We have much to catch up on. Since you’ll be attending the ball with me my and my sisters this weekend."

Hyun's discomfort was evident in the way he carefully considered his words, as if trying to balance between civility and whatever unspoken reservations he harbored.
“My sisters and I will handle most of the conversation,” Hyun finally said, his tone deliberately light. “Greeting the Kims, entertaining other nobles, talking about all the dull matters you couldn’t care less about.” He waved a hand dismissively before meeting Jimin’s gaze. “So you don’t have to worry.”

It was obvious that they didn’t trust Jimin to engage with the other nobles. Or rather, they didn’t want to deal with the consequences if he did.
The past owner of this body clearly hadn’t built a respectable reputation when it came to social gatherings, especially when alcohol was involved.

"Ah, how considerate of you."

Suddenly the doors opened again, and a young maid entered, her steps hesitant as she approached Hyun. She curtsied deeply, her eyes downcast. "Lord Hyun, the rooms have been prepared for Lord Jimin and his attendant."
"Excellent," Hyun said, waving a dismissive hand. "Jimin, you’ll find your accommodations more than adequate, I assure you. Take some time to settle in.

Jimin rose from his seat, nodding briefly before leaving the room. Namjoon was waiting for him just outside, his expression as composed as ever.
"Your room is on the second floor, my lord," Namjoon said, falling into step beside him. "Shall I have Raon brought up?"
Jimin sighed,"Yes, Namjoon. By all means, let the furball make himself comfortable."
Namjoon smiled faintly. "Very good, my lord."

Social gatherings and events seemed to be one of the most enjoyable aspects of noble life. The elegance of dancing, the art of small talk with close relatives, distant friends, and acquaintances alike—it must have been a kind of ritualistic pleasure. These were the places where one’s status could shine brightest, where connections were made not only out of mutual interest but as strategic maneuvers to secure futures, marriages, trade deals, and, most importantly, to identify who might be a threat to their wealth and influence.

To the untrained eye, these grand balls and soirées were simply an excuse to dress up, to indulge in luxury. But to those who knew how to play the game, each word spoken, each glance exchanged, and every smile offered carried weight. Each interaction was a carefully calculated step in a waltz, each participant moving not just in rhythm with the music, but to a melody known only to the truly adept. The wolves of society, cloaked in velvet and silk, circled with sharp eyes and sharper intentions, ever-watchful for any sign of weakness or opportunity.

The dance floor may be full of grace and light, beneath the surface there were claws ready to strike at any who faltered. 

And tonight, he was expected to move with them.

Jimin’s cousins had kept a watchful eye on him ever since he arrived at their house. They were a bit too keen, almost as though they were waiting for him to slip up, to show signs of the same reckless, self-destructive behavior that had defined the original Jimin. No matter how hard he tried to maintain his arrogant façade, he couldn’t quite embody the trashy, unrefined persona of the former heir. It just wasn’t in his blood. The natural charm, the deliberate poise of his new self, couldn’t quite align with the rude impulsiveness expected of him.

Also, his cousins had made sure to distance him from anything that might trigger the original Jimin’s worst tendencies at today’s night namely, alcohol. Bora, the second eldest, had given him a pointed warning the moment they arrived at the Kim's venue. Her voice had been firm, and her gaze unyielding as she emphasized how important it was for him to avoid even the faintest trace of liquor for the night. “You don’t need to make a fool of yourself again,” she had said, though there was a coldness in her eyes that hinted at something more.

Other than the overbearing treatment from his family, the evening had started out uneventfully. It was calm— well—except for the occasional whisper and the occasional stares from the other nobles. Their judgmental gazes lingered on him just a bit too long. They all must have the same question of what the hell he was doing here.

Jimin felt the weight of those stares, but he kept his expression neutral. He was no stranger to being the center of attention since he came into this world, though, this time, he had a very different game to play.

Jimin, who had been half listening his cousins while nursing a glass of water, couldn't help but also catch snippets of gossip about one of the empire’s most influential families from other nobles around them.

"They say the Kims are on the edge of disaster," one woman murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she leaned in close to her companion. "They’ve lost a few key allies in the last few months. And now, with Haeun's scandal—"
"She’ll come crawling back," the other woman interrupted, but there was something uncertain in her voice. "A broken heart or not, the Kims know how to keep themselves afloat. They’ll pull through. But the damage is done. The old alliances won’t be the same."

"Let’s turn our attention to something more pleasant, shall we?" Daehye said abruptly, pulling Jimin's focus back to them.

They continued to move through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with various nobles they seemed familiar with, their smiles as practiced as their introductions. The nobles, of course, couldn’t hide the obvious disdain in their eyes whenever they glanced at Jimin, though they did their best to mask it with forced politeness.

Jimin, on his part, hadn’t said much since their arrival, keeping to his promise to his cousins that they could handle the socializing while he stood in the background. He found no need to contribute, choosing instead to observe the interactions unfolding around him. 

“Perhaps I should strike up a conversation with Kim Seokjin about the recent success in the markets,” Bora said thoughtfully.
Jimin had to bite back a scoff. Pointless chatter, he thought. 

“Ah, speak of the devil,” someone murmured.

Jimin lifted his gaze, watching as the Kims entered, a familiar figure trailing just behind them.

“Ah, who’s that?”
“What a handsome lord,” someone murmured flushed and just loud enough for the Count’s son to hear.

As Jimin caught the whisper, his eyes were already fixed on the figure. The contrast was striking. While the Kims wore soft shades of beige, Jeongguk—now looking every bit like a nobleman—was dressed head to toe in black.

He does look mysterious, Jimin thought, watching the dark fabric catch the light.

With a single smile from Kim Seokjin the spell was broken. The room stirred, people drifting forward like moths to a lantern, eager to greet the esteemed family, introduce themselves, and, inevitably, inquire about the enigmatic lord at their side.

His cousins were among the first. They shot Jimin a look, serious, pointed. A silent warning: Don’t do anything foolish.

He glanced disinterestedly around the room as the crowd thinned near him, the air finally easier to breathe. For a fleeting moment, the evening seemed peaceful.

“I was surprised to learn Count Park truly sent his eldest son to the event.”

So much for peace.

“The pleasure is mine, young Lord Baek,” turning with a polite nod. “I see you’re also attending without your father.”

“Indeed, you’ve seen correctly.”
Lord Baek arched a brow with the kind of arrogance that dripped from old blood and wealth, clearly impressed or perhaps faintly amused that Jimin had recognized him so quickly. 

The truth was less flattering. 
Before the banquet, Jimin had asked Namjoon to skim through the guest list not all of it, of course, just the names that mattered. The ones House Park couldn’t afford to ignore. Lord Baek had been near the top.

“Well,” he added, lips curving into a smirk, “I suppose I should be flattered the Count’s son knows me by face. I hadn’t realized House Park still kept up with relevant names.”

“It’s part of the role,” Jimin replied smoothly, tilting his head.

“And here I thought you were only here to practice your posture.” Another voice suddenly appears and joins the conversation.

Jimin’s smile didn’t falter, but something in his gaze sharpened. The night had barely begun and some nobles are already ganging up on him. 

“Say, young Lord Park, I don’t see you enjoying the wine. Is it not to your taste?” Baek asked, voice silk smooth but edged with mischief.
Before Jimin could answer, another voice chimed in with a snicker.

“Oh hush, haven’t you heard? The young lord has a bit of a history with alcoholic beverages.”
A few nearby laughed quiet, stifled, the kind meant to sting more because they weren’t outright cruel.

"I heard even one glass turns him into a poet… or a problem.”

Baek leaned in slightly, now more confined with his friends on his side, his grin widening. “Tragic, really. To be born into a house of such stature, only to fall victim to a bit of glass and poor self control.”

Before Jimin could muster up a response, another voice interrupted.

“Is there a problem here?”

Jeongguk stood behind him, his expression unreadable, his presence enough to make the conversation halt in an instant.

Baek, momentarily taken aback, quickly masked his surprise and studied the newcomer. He must have recognized Jeongguk from his arrival with the Kims.

“Nothing at all,” Baek said, forcing a smile, though the tension in his voice was clear. “Just a bit of harmless banter.”

“How unpleasant,” Jeongguk replied flatly.

The group, once eager to make their mockery of the Count’s son, shifted awkwardly. The attempt at embarrassing Jimin had been swiftly extinguished, and with nothing left to gain, they made a hasty retreat, leaving Jimin and Jeongguk standing together.

"I feel like a damsel in distress. What an interesting experience.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Jimin grinned up at him, his head tilting slightly to meet Jeongguk's eyes, since the other was a head taller. “Then shall we take a walk? I won’t be foolish enough to believe you sought me out just for pleasure.”

Jeongguk stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. It was as if he was weighing his words, considering how best to respond. Finally, after a brief pause, he gave a single, measured nod.

“Very well.”