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Translator: penny
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Was This a Romance Fantasy?
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Methods for tumbling into a novel were already well-known.
Getting hit by a truck, leaving nasty comments on a story with a dragging plot, or faithfully reading an unread webnovel to the end all by yourself.
Do any of those, and you'd run into omens like meeting a goddess, getting a spiteful reply from the author, or a message declaring you could save the world. That's how you end up falling into another realm.
Which was why I'd been convinced my situation wasn't your standard novel transmigration.
None of it had applied to me.
I'd never even heard whispers of demons or demon lords.
Around age four, I'd tried murmuring the modern soul's magic incantation—"Status Window"—alone in an empty storage room. Nothing happened.
So yeah, I'd reached that conclusion through perfectly logical reasoning.
Right up until after my coming-of-age ceremony, when I finally laid eyes on my fiancée—the one I'd only heard about in passing.
Frozen stiff as I stared at her from a distance, my childhood friend and personal attendant Rita snapped me out of it.
"Young Master? Leonardo Young Master!"
"...What's the matter?"
"Your face looks awful. Does this engagement displease you?"
"Displease me?"
No, not at all.
I shook my head on reflex.
My fiancée was a vision of pure radiance.
Golden hair gleaming like spun sunlight, skin as flawless as polished jade.
And those violet eyes, sparkling like priceless gems—they refused to let you look away.
Even her pensive expression got swept up in her aura, a beauty so overwhelming it bordered on violence.
One sigh from her lips, and you'd have a masterpiece painting on your hands...
'Something like that, if memory serves.'
That was the novel's description of my fiancée, as I recalled.
The illustrations had done it justice, too—stunning, really.
I rarely touched romance fantasies, but her cover art had hooked me so hard I devoured the whole thing. It hit every one of my tastes dead-on.
But seeing her in the flesh? The artwork didn't even come close.
Not a matter of the illustrator's skill—it was a beauty no canvas could capture.
And that's when it hit me.
That's Laura Clarins, the heroine from the romance fantasy I'd read.
Which meant—
I'd transmigrated into a novel.
As the heroine's fiancé, no less.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
I contemplated my predicament while gazing at the novel's heroine standing before me in the flesh.
'Fiancé to a romance fantasy heroine... Yeah, that's no hero spot.'
In my fuzzy memories from my past life, it was never a good role.
Given how romance fantasy heroines tangled with a parade of guys, they almost never tied the knot with one right from the jump.
Sure, some stories bucked that trend—but not this one.
'Pretty sure the title had "villainess" in it.'
Too long ago; details were hazy.
But a title like that? I could guess the gist.
She charms a bunch of talented hunks and ruins everyone who ever wronged her.
Or maybe topples all the jerks who were about to bully her, drawing those high-spec guys in the process.
Either way, landing as the fiancé in a setup like that?
Bad news. Real bad.
Especially since I couldn't recall a single thing about this "fiancé" character. That amped up the dread tenfold.
'No hits at all? Then two possibilities worth chewing on.'
He gets name-dropped once and vanishes.
Or he plays his villain part early on and gets axed.
The first? Perfect. But I couldn't rule out the second.
Nah—in a villainess romance fantasy, the second was way more likely.
And the solution that popped into my head was the most straightforward one.
'Just call off the engagement, and boom—problem solved.'
What topples a villainous fiancé? The engagement itself!
Scrap it!
I seriously mulled over faking a mental breakdown to bail, but shook it off quick.
'Nah, that won't fly.'
Pull that stunt, and I'd lose more than the engagement—my spot as the grand duke's third son would crumble too.
I'd go from pampered noble scion to broke beggar overnight, scraping by with my life on the line every day.
You might think they wouldn't disown me over something like that—but my second dad? He'd do it in a heartbeat.
My father in this world, the Duke of Dominica, went by Iron-Blooded Duke.
His moniker said it all: a stone-cold noble who barely cracked a smile, let alone showed real emotion.
Not the heir, just the third son? If I cracked up, he'd brand me "useless" and boot me without a second thought.
Actually, scratch that—he probably wouldn't bother with words.
My room would just... disappear.
And the butler who'd bowed and scraped calling me "Young Master" would politely inform me it was time to hit the road.
So, a clean annulment that kept me safe?
'...None. Can't think of a single one.'
Zip.
This engagement was the duke's iron will.
A family affair where the bride and groom's feelings didn't factor in.
In other words, it'd march forward come hell or high water.
Till death did us part.
Or until that never-gonna-happen wedding finally went off.
Realizing that cranked my anxiety into overdrive.
'Damn, no wonder the family vibe's so damn frigid.'
Unnaturally icy father.
Kin with zero warmth or tact.
Other nobles stiffening up at the mere mention of our name.
If House Dominica was the villain squad, it all clicked.
I'd chalked it up to an info guild family prizing dignity before—but nah, those were red flags for the doom barreling my way.
I steadied my ragged breathing and shifted gears.
'Bad end's not locked in yet.'
I didn't know the plot cold.
Villain fiancé doom? Just speculation from novels I'd read before.
All I had was a vague spoiler: heroine doesn't end up with her fiancé.
No clue on the road to the finale or what happened to him along the way.
That's where I pinned my hopes.
'Might be able to tweak an extra's fate.'
Not like I'd prepped for this—
But I'd kept a low profile.
Third son was too middling for family spotlights abroad,
and fresh off my ceremony, I hadn't debuted in high society proper.
Just a few times dragged to inter-house mixers, chatting briefly with other young heirs.
Strip away the Dominica name, and I was nobody worth gossiping about.
So, no instant bad blood with Laura at first sight.
No bad blood? Could build some rapport, maybe.
'Unless she's got beef with House Dominica—'
She'd just shown up to meet her fiancé; no deep grudges likely.
Any bad rumors from our rep? I could smooth those over if I played it smart.
Then? Just wait it out.
For the guys fate-dealt to end up with Laura.
The romance fantasy male leads, that is.
'Biggest hitch: no idea who they are...'
Sadly, total blank.
Plot amnesia aside, male characters never grabbed me.
I'd ID'd them by archetype even back then: the powerhouse type, the moneybags, the power player.
Still, not sweating it much.
'They'll stand out if I watch.'
Male leads, right?
Impossible to miss.
Especially some handsome hotshot obsessing over Laura to a creepy degree—dead giveaway.
With my thoughts squared away, I turned to Rita, still eyeing me with worry.
"Rita."
"Yes, Young Master."
"Nothing off about me, right?"
She blinked in faint surprise, then smiled softly.
"The perfect picture, worthy of the Dominica name."
"...Good."
Damn. Way to amp the nerves.
A look suiting our frosty house—am I that guy?
Thought my vibe leaned kinder, even if family chill stiffened my speech.
But fretting wouldn't help.
I'd already kept Laura waiting long enough.
I smoothed my clothes, rehearsed my lines in my head, and approached her table.
My hard-won calm? Useless.
I drew near; her eyes met mine,
and that gaze hit me like a brick. Froze solid.
Standing there like an idiot, staring—she greeted me slowly.
"Pleased to meet you, Lord Leonardo. I'm Laura Clarins."
Her voice stole my breath.
Up close, her beauty was on another level.
Couldn't help thinking:
'Whoa, she's lethally gorgeous.'
This wasn't natural beauty.
An alien allure invading a mundane world.
Locking eyes with her—framed in that halo glow—I felt every polished pleasantry shatter.
What I finally stammered out? Lame as hell, even by my standards.
"Eyes like jewels."
Ah, shit. Busted.
How do you respond to a greeting with "eyes like jewels"?
"..."
Laura didn't reply.
Just looked away, visibly underwhelmed.
I broke into a cold sweat inside.
First impression? Masterfully botched.
How the hell do I salvage this?