Chapter 2
When Rebecca reached adulthood, Baron Vanessa fulfilled his final duty by finding her a husband.
The candidate was the former Viscount Felice, a man who operated a reasonably solid merchant guild in the capital. In this world, nobles engaging in commerce were somewhat looked down upon, but the issue wasn’t his status or his profession.
The former Viscount Felice was the living embodiment of every negative stereotype associated with merchants: he was vulgar and utterly devoid of refinement.
Unable to find a bride among the noble families of the capital and its outskirts, the Viscount had entered into a reluctant engagement with the dowry-less outcast of a provincial Barony. To him, Rebecca was nothing more than a trophy to be flaunted.
In an instant, she was repackaged from a penniless girl into the “beloved youngest daughter of a historic Baronial house.”
The former Viscount Felice harbored a deep-seated inferiority complex regarding his fallen status and his life as a “crass merchant.” His singular obsession was to amass enough wealth to purchase an estate, shutter the merchant guild, and live out his days as a proper aristocrat.
He would do anything to achieve that goal.
Under the guise of expanding his guild, he committed illegal acts like tax evasion. Even as marriage talks with Rebecca were underway, he was preparing a voyage for the spice trade with the Northern Continent—a venture with an abysmal success rate but the promise of hundredfold profits.
“Piecing together the remaining documents, it was clearly smuggling.”
He had bypassed the safe routes in favor of a sea zone known as the ‘Sailors’ Graveyard,’ where the waters were calm for only fifteen days out of the entire year.
The reason was simple: Viscount Felice had been blinded by a large estate that had recently come onto the market.
In this empire, the private sale of territory without imperial permission was a capital offense that could lead to the execution of one’s entire lineage. Such transactions were rare, permitted only under strictly limited conditions—such as when the heir had entered the priesthood or was a foreign national.
Fearing he would have to wait years for another such opportunity, the Viscount had made a reckless gamble.
“The estate was quite large, so even after pooling all his liquid assets and taking out massive loans, he was still short on funds.”
Viscount Felice had paid a staggering deposit for the land and then attempted that suicidal voyage to earn the remaining balance.
As for the result…
Well, the fact that I possessed this body on the day of the Viscount’s funeral should explain everything.
He was a husband on paper only; there had been no wedding ceremony and no actual married life. However, Rebecca Felice, terrified of a life without even the flimsy protection of a husband’s shadow, had fainted from grief at the funeral. That was when I took over.
‘Looking back, it’s a relief the Viscount was so rushed that he only submitted the marriage registration to the temple without a ceremony.’
At the time, waking up disoriented only to find I had to attend the funeral of a man whose face I didn’t even know was beyond belief.
I hadn’t even had a proper relationship in my past life, and now I was a widow!
The unfairness of it all was stinging. Brand new, unopened marriage certificate for sale.
By now, you’ve heard enough of Rebecca’s background. So, which character in the original novel, Your Majesty, Marry Me Instead of My Sister, did I become? The “Sister” or the “Me”?
You might have guessed from how mundane and pathetic Rebecca’s life was, but…
Neither.
Rebecca was an extra who appeared in exactly one line of the original novel. An extra so insignificant it was a miracle she even had a name.
Usually, to help a transmigrator adjust, a maid acting as a “Speedwagon” narrator appears the moment you open your eyes, saying things like, “Oh, My Lady, you’re awake!” and explaining the situation. Since I was just an extra, no such “Exposition Maid” appeared for me.
Thanks to a lukewarm “transmigrator’s buff,” I managed to play the part of Rebecca using the fragmented memories in my head. It took a full month after the funeral before I realized which novel I was actually in.
‘How did I find out? I read it in the newspaper.’
When you’re stuck in someone else’s body and trying not to look suspicious, the only way to learn general knowledge about the world is through the papers.
I threw myself into reading every publication in the Empire as if I’d developed a sudden obsession. From the daily broadsheets published by the Imperial Palace to the yellow journalism rags that would make a refined person blush—I read them all.
On the day I finally identified the novel, the front pages were dominated by the Imperial couple’s charity gala. For some reason, their names felt familiar.
The illustrations—a cold, handsome man with black hair tinged with blue and eyes like the deep sea, paired with a beauty who had rose-red hair and emerald eyes—also looked strangely recognizable.
Having found a clue, I began digging for information like an imperial stalker.
Fortunately, the Emperor and Empress were a rare case of a “love match” among royalty. Their romantic saga was incredibly popular with the public, so it was easy to find old newspapers and magazines detailing their courtship.
That was how I confirmed I was in the world of Your Majesty, Marry Me Instead of My Sister.
I’ve read hundreds of books, but luckily, I had reread this one several times because I liked the protagonist, Rosaline. I remembered the plot fairly well.
‘Right, the female lead almost dies due to her half-sister’s schemes but regresses in time thanks to the power of her mother’s keepsake pendant.’
The problem was the timing of my arrival. I had arrived years after the conclusion of Book 2—long after the “And they lived happily ever after” part.
If you’re going to be transmigrated, you’re supposed to find out the plot early so you can invent socialite trends or invest in items before their prices skyrocket. But for me, my knowledge of the “original work” was as useless as scrap paper.
Aside from inheriting Rebecca’s memories, I couldn’t expect a single drop of “Transmigrator Buff.”
The only consolation was that, having had a third-person perspective of the world, I knew a few rare secrets about key figures. I also knew that in this world, women could inherit titles if there were no male heirs or if they were exceptionally talented—and that remarriage was legal for everyone.
I became the “Viscountess Felice” simply because there were no male relatives or direct female bloodlines left to inherit the title after the former Viscount died. I, the legal wife, was the only one left.
Still, there was no escaping the fact that gender discrimination was harsher here than in modern times. The life of a widowed, low-ranking noblewoman was a road paved with hardship.
‘At this rate, life here is more grueling than my life back on Earth.’
Furthermore, the title wasn’t the only thing the former Viscount left behind.
The voyage he had staked the family fortune on—financed by high-interest private loans—had been a total disaster, leaving the merchant guild drowning in debt. Of course, the massive deposit for the estate had long since been forfeited.
Meanwhile, my memories of Rebecca’s life were like a tattered net. Forget paying off debts; I was struggling just to adapt to this world.
I was so miserable I actually fell ill, wishing I could go back to my days as a corporate slave working overtime on Earth. Though, everyone else assumed I had collapsed from the shock of seeing the guild’s debt.
‘Back then, I seriously considered grabbing whatever jewels were left and making a run for it.’
Initially, I stayed in bed out of the shock of being in this body, but later, I used the illness as an excuse to hide from debt collectors.
‘The maids weren’t on my side either. I had to sneak into the late Viscount’s office, steal the ledgers, and pore over the debts in the dead of night. It was enough to bring me to tears.’
However, after checking the financial state to see if I should flee, I discovered—to my relief—that the former Viscount had actually been quite wealthy.
‘The guild was a solid, mid-sized operation with a good foundation.’
The debt from the failed route and the lost deposit had shaken the finances, but it wasn’t enough to sink the whole ship.
‘Besides, leaving a guaranteed noble status to wander a world where I have no connections would be too much of a gamble.’
So, I decided to try and save the Felice Merchant Guild.
It wasn’t easy.
‘I was a business major before I transmigrated, and I was working at a small trading company, so I secretly thought running a guild would be a breeze.’
But once I actually became the head of the guild, I realized I wasn’t cut out for entrepreneurship.
‘Being a salaried employee is the best!’
However, they say the position makes the person. After about a year, my heart no longer plummeted every time the employees called out, “Guild Master!”
Admittedly, the only thing I remembered from my college major was that even Isaac Newton went broke investing in stocks—nothing actually useful for management. And all I gained from my career in trading was a high alcohol tolerance and the ability to smile while cursing someone out internally.
Still, I possessed information about a culture far more advanced than this one.
When I applied the marketing tactics and sales gimmicks I’d picked up in modern society, they worked wonders in this world where commerce was still in its infancy.
“Guild Master, is there a reason you set the price of the new product at exactly 99 silver?”
“It’s the ‘39,800 won’ tactic from the Korean Home Shopping Network. The miraculous strategy of staying just under the 100 mark.”
“Pardon? I didn’t quite catch that.”
“It’s nothing, Dannen. Just consider it a lesson in the psychological impact of a single silver coin.”
The ‘Random Box’ was especially lucrative.
“Guild Master! The guild that was supposed to buy our Ruga berries has gone bankrupt. Should we look for another buyer?”
“No, Ruga sales drop off sharply once the Harvest Festival passes. We don’t have time. Lucy, what’s our best-selling item lately?”
“That would be the various tea leaves, I believe.”
“Perfect. Put the Ruga and a random selection of tea leaves into opaque boxes and sell them. Call it the ‘Lucky Box.’ If we have any other dead stock in the warehouse, throw those in too. It’s time for a clearance sale.”
“But wouldn’t customers be upset if they get something they didn’t want?”
“Set the price low enough that people will buy it for fun. Just make sure the total value of the items inside is slightly higher than the cost of the Lucky Box itself. That way, even if they get something they don’t like, they won’t feel cheated.”
“Guild Master, the Lucky Boxes sold out in a week! But… what on earth are you doing now?”
