IDET 2

Even though she had barely slept, her skin was flawless and clear, and beneath her sharp, straight nose were healthy, rosy lips.

Looking at that reflection, I could understand why the Isabella in the novel had lived so recklessly.

With innate talent, she had graduated from the Academy at a young age and even earned the title of the youngest Great Mage.
Her tall stature and the crimson hair that rippled down to her waist made it possible to recognize her as Isabella from afar.

It was almost puzzling why the author had given her such overwhelming “specs,” only to end her story in a gruesome death.

Turning away from the mirror, I stuffed clothes into my travel bag and let out a deep sigh.

Because of all that, I had often found myself seeking out scenes where Isabella appeared rather than the heroine, Yuria.

The villainess Isabella stood in direct contrast to the passive heroine.
Her personality demanded superiority everywhere, and that extended to her relationships with the male leads as well.

Of course, because she was excessively honest about her desires, the comment sections were flooded with a crude nickname—“Sleeve-Brush Bed,” meaning she’d end up in bed with any man whose sleeve merely brushed hers.
But wasn’t that the charm of an R-19 novel anyway?

They’re just fictional characters—what does it matter?
That had been my thought only a few weeks ago.

I remembered the first day I opened my eyes in Isabella’s body.

I had been in a stable, straddling the body of a young, well-built coachman I had never seen before, my red hair hanging messily around me.

I had been so shocked that I grabbed my waistband and fled, pretending not to notice the coachman blushing furiously beneath me.

Afterward, fragments of Isabella’s memories surfaced, and I thought I was imitating her just fine…
that is, until I heard the manager’s nonsense.

I buried my face into the pile of clothes inside my suitcase.

The memory made me want to slam my head into a plate, but as someone who had already died absurdly once before, I didn’t have the courage for that either.

“For someone with such a miserable life, things were going way too smoothly.”

Unable to think of any solution, I lay sprawled out helplessly when the doorbell rang.

Ding-dong.

I instinctively froze and held my breath.

Then a familiar voice came from outside the door.

“Isabella, it’s me—Aljuro.”

“….”

Even after hearing him introduce himself, I refused to move.
After a moment of silence, he continued from the other side.

“I know you’re in there, Isabella.”

Go away. Please, just go away.

I kept repeating that in my head when he spoke again, his voice low but perfectly audible.

“Wasn’t the manager downstairs earlier? I wonder if he knows you were the one who broke the flower vase on the terrace.”

At that, I shot upright.

That bastard!

I rushed over and flung the door open.
Aljuro—who had sounded as if he were heading downstairs—stood right in front of the door with his arms crossed, smiling as though he had known I would open it.

“Good afternoon, Isabella.”

As if he didn’t notice my rotten expression, he strolled into the room. I quickly checked the hallway and shut the door behind him.

Aljuro casually poured himself tea and sat by the window table. I stared at him as if he were a leech.

He had been the first person I spoke to after transmigrating into this body. When I was still struggling to adapt, he was the first man to approach me with seemingly harmless goodwill.

He always introduced himself as a wandering bard, but to me he just looked like an idle freeloader who lived to eat and lounge around.
Though, admittedly, I wasn’t in much of a position to judge.

“So, what is it this time?”

At my question, Aljuro set down his teacup and answered,

“I heard rumors that you had quite a scene with the manager on the terrace a few days ago. I got worried and came by.”

“….”

He must have meant the day the manager suggested he’d accept something other than money.
The memory of that leering gaze made irritation rise again. I had tried to stay calm, but by the time I came to my senses, I had already slapped him.

I could still feel the sting of that slap in my palm.

When I didn’t respond, Aljuro continued, clearly amused.

“I’m probably the only one who knows that Isabella, unlike the rumors, has an innocent side.”

No matter how much I acted like a villainess, the more we talked, the more it apparently showed. Aljuro always spoke as if he knew something, and my face would stiffen every time. He seemed to enjoy that reaction.

He lifted his teacup again and added shamelessly,

“More importantly, this is the best room in Monteo Garden. The view is incredible. Tea just tastes more luxurious here, don’t you think?”

Sunlight streamed through the window, making his light brown hair glimmer softly.
With his gentle features, he looked undeniably refined—so long as he kept his mouth shut.

Looking at him like this… he kind of resembles someone…

I stared at him, struck by a strange sense of familiarity, until our eyes met. I quickly turned my gaze outside. He chuckled at my reaction.

Embarrassed, I cleared my throat and looked down at the street below. From this top-floor room, Midtown’s main road spread out in full view.

That was when I noticed a long procession of carriages entering the street. Behind a lavish carriage draped in ornate curtains trailed a starkly contrasting, shabby one.

A large black cloth covered the worn carriage, but it didn’t fully conceal what was inside.
Through the gaps, iron bars were visible—like a prison cage. When the carriage jolted, I caught a fleeting glimpse of someone inside.

A child.

“…A kid?”

The words slipped out before I realized it. Hearing me, Aljuro shifted his gaze toward the carriage and spoke indifferently.

“They’re probably items for auction.”

“Items? They’re people… and children.”

My face drained of color as I spoke, but he merely shrugged.

“They are people. Barbarians.”

At moments like this, I truly felt how different this world was.

The word barbarian instantly told me who the child in the carriage was—
an ethnic minority living beyond the Empire’s borders. Among them, the desert tribe Omber, known for their rare black hair, black eyes, and strong physiques, were treated like collectible curiosities among nobles.

They were dismissed as savages, yet it was always imperial merchants who stirred up their hidden communities and sold them into slavery.

The reason I knew this so well was because one of the sub-male leads was from the Omber tribe.
Though not a major issue at first, later in the novel the slave traders would be brutally punished because of him.

It was a distant matter for someone like me, who planned to leave soon—
but seeing it with my own eyes still left a bitter taste.

To clear my thoughts, I turned back to Aljuro.

“…If you’re done, you should go.”

He pouted.

“Why? You don’t look busy.”

He had hit the mark, but I kept a straight face.

“I’m extremely busy. So go.”

I tried to brush him off, but an unexpected comment popped out of his mouth.

“Why? Do you have someone to meet on the terrace or something?”

“….”

My body stiffened. I looked at him in surprise, but his expression remained calm. Still, I knew exactly what he was referring to—the rumors spreading through Midtown, rumors started by Isabella herself.

It was exactly the sort of thing she would do, but no matter how much I imitated her, her promiscuous relationships were beyond me.

I wanted to leave this place—the source of all those rumors—immediately.
But unbelievably, neither I nor the Great Mage Isabella had the five million gold needed to pay off the debt.

When I’d read the novel, I had assumed a Great Mage’s money would never run out.
In reality, she was a penniless beggar.

I rubbed my dry face and looked at Aljuro, who hadn’t blinked once.

“So you knew about the rumors and just pretended you didn’t?”

“I only believe what I see with my own eyes.”

He slid the teacup onto the table and stood. Despite his gentle appearance, his broad frame naturally drew my gaze upward. Realizing how close he was, I stepped back, and he continued,

“From what I’ve seen, those promiscuous rumors just don’t suit you, Isabella.”

…Of course they don’t. I’m not that Isabella.

Just then, the fact that the bedroom was right behind me suddenly made everything feel awkward. As I moved to push him away, a knock sounded at the door.

Knock, knock.

I used it as an excuse to walk toward the entrance and opened the door without checking.

Standing there was a face I had been avoiding for four days.

“You’re in, I see?”

It was the manager.
The cheek I had slapped was still swollen.

I glanced back, and Aljuro had already slipped out of sight inside the room. The manager gave a dry smile and spoke firmly,