The night sky burned red.
Explosions painted the horizon like falling stars—if stars screamed and shattered the ground.
Park Chae Min crouched behind a broken wall, rifle clutched tightly in his trembling hands. The barrel was hot, his gloves sticky with blood that wasn't all his.
He glanced around.
Twenty comrades had marched in with him this morning.
Now, only four remained.
"Captain! They're surrounding us!"
Someone's voice cracked through the static-filled comms before a bullet silenced it forever.
Chae Min gritted his teeth. "Tch… damn it."
The metallic taste of gunpowder coated his tongue. His chest burned with exhaustion, his ears ringing from the endless bombardment.
No backup. No escape. No miracle.
He peeked over the wall—hundreds of enemy soldiers advancing through the smoke. Their rifles glinted under the flaming sky.
He let out a humorless laugh. "Figures. This is how it ends."
If only there were superpowers. All these trash would be groveling with their faces in the mud.
For a brief second, he stopped shooting. His gaze drifted to the tattered novel poking out of his vest pocket, edges charred by heat and dirt.
[By the Blessings of Luna] — his favorite fantasy novel.
He'd always promised himself he'd finish it after this mission.
"Kinda cliché," he muttered under his breath, watching the bomb fall from the sky, "but I guess I won't regret a damn thing."
Then—
BOOM.
Flames swallowed the world.
The last thing Park Chae Min felt was heat crawling up his skin and the faint smell of burnt ink.
And then… nothing.
*****
Cold.
So damn cold.
Wait a second. I died while burning—shouldn't I feel heat? Why the hell am I freezing!?
I gasped—water rushed into my lungs.
Am I… drowning?
How the fuck!?
I flailed, kicking upward through icy liquid until my head broke the surface.
Cough! Cough!
The first thing I saw wasn't the battlefield.
It was white marble walls, gilded mirrors, and a crystal chandelier above me. The tub I was in could fit three people.
"What the hell…?"
My voice came out soft. Too soft.
Is this even my voice?
I looked at my hands—slender, pale, unscarred. Not the hands of a soldier.
Too pretty for a man.
"Where—no, who—am I?"
Knock. Knock.
"Who is it?"
I flinched and asked.
"It's me, Argos, Master Yurio. Your bathrobe has been arranged. Shall I tell the maids to bring it inside?"
Inside?
Wait. I'm naked!?
"Wait—!"
The butler outside froze I think, startled by the sudden shout.
—-
'Did I piss off the young master again?'
—-
"Master Yurio, are you alright?"
The hell?! A butler? Maids? What is this, a medieval setup?
"Yes… yes, I'm fine. Don't come in."
The butler was suspicious but didn't dare disobey.
Here I was thinking I'd been kidnapped to an enemy base, but nooo… I've been dropped into some royal soap opera.
Then I caught my reflection in the mirror.
And froze.
In front of me stood a pretty lad.
Not Park Chae Min—the buff, tattooed soldier.
But a slim, pale man with delicate fingers that looked like they'd never held a gun.
I thought only sheltered young ladies had hands like these. What unfortunate luck is this?
The reflection had black hair with faint gray strands tied into a small ponytail, and pastel-colored eyes that shimmered like opals.
That face… that description… why does it sound so familiar?
Wait.
Argos? That name… sounds familiar too.
No.
No, no, no.
It can't be.
Fantasy worlds don't exist. Reincarnation? Possession? That's all novel crap!
Knock. Knock.
Another knock.
"Young Master Yurio, Lord Dravara wishes to have luncheon with you. If you could hurry—"
…Dravara?
Did he just say 'Yurio' and 'Dravara'?
Oh no.
I'm fucked.