ILJV 00 | prologue

Prologue

One day, I woke up and found myself in someone else’s body.

I won’t bother explaining in detail how absurdly confused I was — no one would care to hear my long-winded lament anyway.

To put it simply, I had become Ivria Oberon.

Ivria Oberon.

A dime-a-dozen villainess from the novel Lady Catherine.
In other words, a person who existed only within the pages of a book — a fictional character.
As if becoming someone else wasn’t ridiculous enough, that someone turned out to be a two-dimensional person on paper.

At that point, I had to wonder: What the hell is going on with my life?

The novel Lady Catherine was a typical romance story about Catherine, the only daughter of a poor but warmhearted baron’s family, who captivated the hearts of the most eligible men in the kingdom with her bright and cheerful nature.

There was Cassian, the crown prince who would one day become king.
Riden, the first prince, cast aside from the throne despite his birthright.
El, the commander of the Royal Knights and the best swordsman on the continent.
Mason, a commoner who rose to become the kingdom’s chancellor through his genius intellect.
And Luke, the head of the information guild, a man who’d crawled his way up from the gutters.

Catherine basked in the love of these five men, gracefully managing her grand “fish tank” of admirers, and — as all typical romance novels go — eventually married the crown prince, becoming queen.
The other four men, in true gentlemanly fashion, quietly stepped aside, blessing her happiness from afar.

Ah, what a beautiful world, isn’t it?
A world built entirely for the happiness of its heroine, Lady Catherine.

And within that world, Ivria Oberon was the duke’s daughter — the crown prince’s fiancée who, consumed by jealousy, tormented Catherine in every possible way.

It began with petty mischief: spreading nasty rumors behind her back, spilling wine on her at balls, laughing at her in public.
But as Catherine rose to prominence in the kingdom, Ivria’s cruelty escalated — until she finally plotted to kill her.

Of course, the plan failed spectacularly.
The head of the information guild, who had eyes and ears everywhere, happened to be one of Catherine’s loyal fish.

And really, how flawless could a sheltered duke’s daughter’s murder plot possibly be?

It wasn’t even surprising. Villains’ plans are always doomed to fall apart halfway through — that’s practically their defining trait.

As expected, Ivria’s clumsy scheme was exposed before she could do much damage.

The fallout, however, was immense.
Minor acts of bullying could be swept under the rug thanks to her father’s influence, but an attempted murder was another matter entirely — especially when the intended victim was the kingdom’s beloved sweetheart, Catherine.

With all five of Catherine’s men uniting against her, even the powerful Duke Oberon couldn’t protect his daughter.
As a result, Ivria was stripped of her engagement to the crown prince and permanently exiled from high society.

Until then, she had lived a radiant life as the duke’s precious daughter and the crown prince’s betrothed.

She probably thought that dazzling life would last forever.

But then came her unforeseen downfall.
Naturally, she couldn’t accept it.

After a long period of despair and wandering, Ivria took her own life.
That was the end of the villainess Ivria Oberon.

However…

Why should I follow the same script?

I’m not the same Ivria.
Well, technically I am her now — but I’m not the one who committed all those terrible deeds.

If someone had actually died, maybe I’d feel guilty for inheriting her body.
But Catherine was perfectly fine, and the world still revolved around her as always.
So why should I burden myself with guilt and try to “make things right”?
Whatever I do, Catherine will still get her happy ending.

It was set in stone from the beginning: Catherine was the heroine, the chosen one who’d always be loved.
The real Ivria didn’t understand that — and that’s why she perished so miserably.

But I knew better.
Let them call me a villain — who cares?

Ivria was the daughter of a duke.
She could live out her days lounging in luxury without lifting a finger.
What more could anyone possibly want from life?
Just because I didn’t have the affection of those paper-cutout men didn’t mean my life was unhappy.

So I came to a simple conclusion:
Since things turned out this way, I might as well stop caring what anyone thinks and just live however I want.

“I’m disappointed, Lady Ivria. I thought you were a sensible and considerate woman. To think you would commit such a dreadful act as murder…”

Honestly, what did I care about these fish from Catherine’s tank flapping their mouths at me?

“As a member of a noble ducal house — and as the future crown princess — do you believe such behavior can be tolerated?”

Catherine wasn’t dead, so my charge wasn’t murder — it was attempted murder.

“It’s not murder. It’s attempted murder.”

I sighed, too tired to care, and corrected the fish’s accusation.

This makes it the fifth one, huh?

First came the First Prince, then the Knight Commander, then the genius scholar, then the information guild leader…

Each fish had come to me one after another, spewing curses and lectures in turn.
And now, the final boss had appeared — the male lead himself, Crown Prince Cassian.

The last fish of the bunch. Once I deal with him, that’s it.

“Regardless, you attempted to take a life—”

“Yes, I know. I regret that I ever did such a thing.”

I cut off the blabbering fish with a bright, breezy smile.

“As a sign of reflection, I’ll refrain from attending any more social events and live quietly. And of course, you must want to break off our engagement, right? That’s fine by me too. Are we done here?”

Cassian, who’d been scolding me nonstop, fell completely silent.
Apparently, the words he’d expected to hear from Ivria’s mouth weren’t those.

“Why? Isn’t this exactly what you came for? I’m giving you what you want — let’s end it. Let’s annul the engagement.”

There was no reason to drag it out.
In the original story, Ivria clung to Cassian, crying and begging for forgiveness, but I had no desire to reenact that pitiful scene.

From now on, Ivria Oberon is done being the pathetic villainess who hits rock bottom.

And I had no intention of becoming one of those “reformed villainess” types either — the kind who runs around trying to fix everything she didn’t even do.
My goal was simple: accept everything and make a cool, graceful exit.

“Well then. You’ve said your piece, haven’t you? So please, move aside. Don’t block my way anymore.”

But the fish standing before me didn’t budge an inch.
At this rate, the sun would rise before he moved.

“Fine. I’ll go, then. After all, the road doesn’t only go forward.”

I shrugged my shoulders and turned away.
The open view ahead felt refreshingly clear.