Chapter 1
Inside an unfamiliar room, I stood in front of a mirror, completely stunned.
“W-What is all this?”
Before I could even admire the dazzling beauty and tall, slender figure, overwhelming fear gripped me first.
The “me” reflected in the mirror was not me at all. Sure, I had drunk quite a bit before falling asleep—but could I really wake up in a strange room, with a completely different appearance?
“Ha…”
I collapsed to the floor. What on earth had I done last night?
First, don’t panic. I should calmly retrace everything.
It started with a single text message.
‘Rumi is in the emergency room.’
I rubbed my eyes and checked my phone again. I hadn’t misread it. The sender was Rumi’s parents.
I quickly took half a day off work. As Rumi’s only remaining real-life friend, I had to go to the hospital immediately.
When I arrived, Rumi’s parents grabbed me and burst into tears.
“Jin-ah!”
I couldn’t say anything in front of them.
Rumi suffered from severe depression. That was why he started working as a freelancer instead of getting a regular job.
If he had at least earned good money, it might have been better—but unfortunately, beginner freelancers earn close to nothing, and Rumi was no exception. His depression only got worse.
A few of us, including me, tried our best to spend time with him. But like most young people busy with their own lives, we couldn’t take proper care of him. Even though our group chat was his only connection to the world, it eventually fell silent.
Rumi became deeply hurt. Then he cut off every relationship that had disappointed him. Somehow, I managed to avoid being blocked because I occasionally kept in touch with his parents.
And so, I became the only friend who could still see him in real life.
“What on earth happened… no matter how much we try to wake him, he won’t get up.”
With sunken faces, Rumi’s parents explained everything.
Rumi hadn’t come out of his room for a full day. Worried, his mother knocked—and found him unconscious. No matter how much they tried, he wouldn’t wake up, so they called an ambulance and rushed him to the ER.
He hadn’t taken any poison. After examination, the hospital concluded that he had simply fallen into a deep sleep.
Rumi’s mother said with a dark expression,
“We’re not going to discharge him until he wakes up.”
His father let out a deep sigh beside her.
“It would be so nice if our Rumi could just be like Jin.”
“Oh, stop saying things like that!”
“Alright, alright. I’m just frustrated.”
“…Haa.”
Because of their troubled grown daughter, the parents’ worry only deepened.
I told them to contact me when Rumi woke up, then left the hospital, my body feeling drained.
A deep sense of guilt weighed on me.
I thought I had done my best to comfort my friend’s loneliness and depression. But when I thought about it again, a sharp question stabbed at me—
Had I really done my best?
“……”
Trying to shake off the gloom, I stopped by a convenience store, bought a lot of beer, and went home. I had recently moved into a small studio apartment near work to live on my own.
Fizz.
The sound of carbonation bursting felt strangely refreshing—unlike my heart. I gulped down a can of beer. Only after nearly emptying it in one breath did I finally lower it.
“Haa…”
I shouldn’t drink like this, but at some point, it had become a habit.
“……”
My mood sank again.
The helplessness of not being able to help a friend drowning in despair, the guilt of not being able to give him a reason to keep living—it all tangled together chaotically.
I picked up my phone and mindlessly tapped the screen. First, I opened my private chat with Rumi. Scrolling through, I found messages where we had discussed a web novel.
“The Reversal Story of a Count’s Daughter.”
It was nothing special—a typical cliché-filled romance fantasy.
In truth, what had somewhat eased Rumi’s chronic depression were those countless web novels. I read the same ones too, just to keep conversations going with him.
Honestly, I was more of a realist than a dreamer. I wasn’t particularly interested in fantasy novels, but as I kept reading, they became surprisingly enjoyable. Before I knew it, I had become familiar with all the usual tropes.
“Well, thanks to Rumi, I got a new hobby at least.”
I spoke out loud on purpose, trying to shake off my gloom. I lived alone—no one would hear anyway.
I enjoyed most of the stories, but I treated them as just that—stories. Once I finished one, I moved on without lingering attachment.
But Rumi was different. He immersed himself so deeply that it was as if he were one of the characters. Sometimes, if he didn’t like the ending, he would leave comments that were practically hate posts.
He often said:
‘I want to get transported into a novel too.’
And every time, I replied:
‘Thank goodness that’s impossible in real life.’
‘Stories are only fun because they’re stories, Durumi.’
Think about it. How terrible would it be to be thrown into a novel? Most romance fantasy worlds lacked human rights, equality, and even basic hygiene.
As I kept drinking and scrolling, I checked an old personal email account I barely used anymore.
At that moment—
“…Huh?”
I straightened up without realizing it. My heart began to pound.
There was a familiar sender.
Rumi.
<Jin, I’m going to gather my last bit of courage. This will be my final attempt. If I succeed, I can leave this miserable world and start a new life somewhere that truly suits me. Since you’re still my friend, I’ll tell you. This is the method I found to transmigrate into a novel.>
Rumi had even kindly included what looked like a spell—something he had apparently tested himself.
“Ha… Durumi…!”
I held my forehead. I was too dumbfounded to even laugh.
“Durumi… did you really want to go into a novel that badly?”
The alcohol hit me hard, and anger surged all at once.
“Idiot! If this worked, everyone would be transmigrating already!”
Was this why he wouldn’t wake up? Because of something so ridiculous? His parents were crying their eyes out!
Fueled by alcohol, a strange stubbornness took over.
I scribbled the talisman from the email onto a convenience store receipt. Then I crumpled it into a mug, found a lighter, and set it on fire.
I poured beer over the blackened ashes and stirred it roughly with my finger.
I hesitated for a moment at the sight—but alcohol and anger pushed me past it.
Then I gulped it down.
“Haa…”
I must have lost my mind. Even kids wouldn’t do something this stupid.
Anyway, I crawled into bed, still fuming. Lying on my side, I pulled the blanket over myself as dizziness washed over me.
“Durumi, you idiot… you stupid fool…”
Muttering insults, I soon drifted off to sleep.
“…And that’s how this mess happened.”
I couldn’t believe it—but it was reality.
I looked into the mirror again. A completely unfamiliar person stared back. Bright blonde hair. Teal eyes.
Who are you?
I instinctively pinched my cheek hard. The reflection did the same.
And it hurt.
“Ugh…”
I lowered my hand, trembling in confusion, and looked around.
An unfamiliar room. An unfamiliar body.
What happened overnight? The only strange thing I did was drink that ash-mixed beer…
Desperately, I searched for clues. A neatly organized desk caught my eye. On top of it was something like a golden identification tag.
“Mu…zel?”
Before I could even question how I could read this unfamiliar script, the name struck me as odd.
Below it were shocking words:
‘Aide to the Crown Prince.’
Muzel. Crown Prince. Aide.
“…No way!”
A realization hit me like lightning, and a curse slipped out.
This—did I really transmigrate into a web novel?
Into The Reversal Story of a Count’s Daughter—the very one Rumi and I read?
But there was something even more absurd than that.
“Muzel… wasn’t originally a male character?”
My hands hurriedly checked my chest and lower body.
This body was unmistakably female.
“…Damn…”
I felt like collapsing and crying.
Was it because I performed the ritual carelessly while drunk? Because I rushed it without sincerity? Or—
Was that ridiculous spell actually real?
And of all people to become—
I ended up as Muzel, the second male lead?!
My soul is female, my body is female—yet I’ve become a male supporting character!
