Chapter 1
Woke Up in a Tragedy Novel (1)
People, unexpectedly, tend to find joy in others’ misfortune.
They say the most entertaining things to watch in the world are fires and fights. That saying didn’t come out of nowhere.
And it’s the same when reading novels.
Especially if it’s a “Yandere Tragedy” novel.
Young, sexy, handsome men playing dangerously obsessive games.
Seeing the female lead suffer might make you frown… but even that can be part of the appeal in these kinds of stories.
As someone who enjoys reading novels, I wasn’t picky about genres, so I naturally accepted tragedy novels too.
After years of being swept away by wave after wave of web novels, it was inevitable that I would eventually read “What Remains in the Palm That Crushed the Flower,” the so-called pinnacle of tragedy novels.
My first impression of reading this novel—nicknamed “FlowerPalm”—was:
“Is the female lead getting ground into dust or what?”
Even after reading countless dark and twisted tragedy novels, this one left me speechless. The obsessive behavior in it hit differently.
I expected it to be intense since it was rated 19+, but this was more like 29+. Truly extreme.
Gaslighting, violence, confinement, and every other form of abuse—battered from all directions, the female lead never once found happiness, even to the bitter end.
To spoil the ending: she’s tormented between four male leads, and ultimately dies. And it wasn’t even a peaceful death.
The word “END” at the conclusion of the novel looked unusually cruel.
I always believed even the darkest tragedy novels would end on a somewhat happy note… but this?
There wasn’t even a hint of an “H” in “happy ending.” Not even a dot.
And as if that ending wasn’t enough, the side story took it further and desecrated her corpse.
That’s when I thought—no matter how good-looking he is, avoiding psychos is the answer.
Here’s a question.
[If you became the female lead in this tragedy novel, how would you feel? Answer in under 10 characters.]
My answer: “Screwed.”
When I first opened my eyes in this new world, I was lying in a pristine white room—the very one described in the novel—on a huge bed.
Surrounded by unfamiliar people dressed as maids, I gawked in shock, glancing around in a daze.
The exotic scenery, like something out of a period film, made me blurt out:
“Did my mom win the lottery?”
Because, really, how else could I explain this?
But then I remembered—my mom didn’t like this sort of Western opulence. She always dreamed of retiring peacefully in a quiet cabin in the mountains.
And in that moment, I saw my reflection in a large mirror and was struck with certainty.
“Oh no. This is a reincarnation! This is a reincarnation novel! I’m screwed!”
In the mirror was a face I’d never seen before—no, a level of beauty I’d never encountered in my life.
Hair like a piece of the night sky sprinkled with stardust. Emerald green eyes that sparkled like gemstones.
She was so stunning, even women known as national beauties would bow their heads.
It was her. The female lead of FlowerPalm, Odelia Snifter.
NOOOO!!! I’m done for. Totally doomed.
Of all lives to get reincarnated into, why hers?!
I remembered the final scenes of the novel—vividly. Her twisted, broken end. Her body, dismembered…
For simply finishing a novel, this was too harsh a punishment.
If I had died in a car crash and just happened to get reborn into the book I read the night before—fine. But this?
“What a crap life…”
They say even rolling in dung is better than dying, but at this point, death looked pretty sweet.
“Milady, why are you crying?”
And then the dam burst. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed.
The comforting voices of the maids didn’t reach me. Their words were useless in the face of this overwhelming doom.
I heard faint murmurs asking if I was okay, trying to console me, but I kept my head down. Crying wouldn’t change anything—and that just made it worse.
“Milady, please stop crying—”
“…Who?”
A new voice interrupted. Deep, firm—nothing like the soft voices of the maids.
Too unfamiliar to ignore, I glanced up—and was immediately greeted by a pair of vivid violet eyes.
He held my cheek gently and spoke in a sweet voice.
“Did you sleep well?”
But I recognized him instantly. Those deep violet eyes and ocean-blue hair.
A towering body and a brilliant mind—this was Vaizen Snifter, the adopted son of the Snifter Marquis and Odelia’s brother in name only.
They shared no blood, but had been raised together since childhood.
“My lovely Odelia…”
Vaizen murmured tenderly, lifting his head.
“Why is my Odelia crying?”
Just the sound of his voice gave me chills. I could already picture the expression on his face. A cold, terrifying calm.
“Who dared to touch what’s mine—”
“Brother!”
I cut him off, alarmed. The veins on his hand were bulging like he was about to kill someone.
In the novel, Odelia never once called him “brother.” She used formal terms—”elder brother” or just “Vaizen.”
Actually, even “elder brother” stopped early on. Later, she just called him “you” or “that guy.”
Still, my sudden use of the word “brother” seemed to move him. His expression brightened, and he took my hand in both of his.
He pressed his lips to my fingertips and hugged me to his chest. I let him, because—
If I rejected him now, who knew how many maids he might kill in a fit of rage?
I didn’t even know those maids personally, but I couldn’t just say, “Sure, go ahead and kill them.”
I might be inside a novel, but killing was still a line I couldn’t stomach.
“Odelia…”
Satisfied, he murmured my name with a calmer voice.
“Odelia, why were you crying?”
“I… I had a bad dream. The maids didn’t do anything weird. Really…”
Trying to match Odelia’s usual polite tone, I used formal speech awkwardly. Vaizen frowned, clearly displeased.
What now? Why are you upset again?
Frozen stiff, I stared at him. He reached out and gently touched my chin.
Every hair on my body stood on end.
That single touch was seductive—and sickening.
Like a predator sinking its teeth into its prey.
“I told you.”
My throat tightened at his voice. I swallowed hard. Vaizen smiled faintly.
“I told you—I want you to treat me comfortably.”
…ARE YOU A PSYCHOPATH? How the hell was I supposed to know that?!
Sure, I should know it—this is your world—but when did you ever give me a chance to speak casually? You radiated killer intent like a man about to snap necks!
Annoyed, I looked up at him.
Being the tallest of the official male leads, Vaizen towered over me. My defiance probably looked more cute than threatening.
Why is someone so tall and handsome so morally bankrupt?
“Then, brother—don’t hurt the maids!”
“…Them?”
He used the word “them” as if referring to objects. Typical of a tragedy male lead.
It hadn’t even been long since we met, but I already felt like applauding his villainy.
I knew he had a rotten personality, but this exceeded expectations.
Still—I couldn’t back down. I put my hands on my hips and braced myself.
“The maids!”
“…Them.”
“MA! IDS! No, wait. Maid-sisters!”
“Huh?”
“Say it! Repeat after me!”
“Ma… maid-sisters?”
“Yes!”
I snapped my fingers like he got the right answer. His face contorted—not out of anger, but sheer disbelief.
To add to his confusion, I patted his head.
He blinked, stunned.
Turning away from him, I looked at the maids. Their faces were filled with a mix of fear and confusion. Some had red, tear-streaked cheeks.
Just because I cried, they almost lost their lives. I felt a pang of guilt. These were kind women who helped me bathe, dress, and comb my hair every morning.
Just then, my stomach growled loudly. Considering I had just woken up in this world, I was bound to be hungry.
“When’s breakfast?”
“It… it’s ready in the dining hall.”
A maid who had been frozen in shock finally spoke.
Wow, food ready right away? Since moving out, I usually skipped breakfast or grabbed sandwiches. But now that I was a noble lady, this part was nice.
Just as I was about to follow the maid out, Vaizen grabbed my arm.
“What?”
“You’re not sick, are you?”
“No? Why, do I look weird?”
He didn’t reply. His silence said it all.
“Then let go. I’m hungry.”
“…You’re acting strange.”
“I think you’re acting strange too, so just let go.”
“Odel—”
“Ugh, fine! If you want to talk, walk and talk. Or wait until after breakfast!”
I was unusually irritable—probably hunger. A hangry Korean woman is not to be trifled with, especially before breakfast.
“Ask your questions while you follow me. Or wait until I’m done eating.”
Vaizen clammed up and released my arm. I had expected him to yank it harder, like a typical yandere, but he didn’t. And then…
“If I follow… will you answer my questions?”
He looked up at me with trembling eyes. Somehow, he seemed almost… cute?
“Of course. Let’s go eat. Give me your hand.”
He reminded me of a big, obedient dog. I held out my hand. Vaizen blinked in confusion.
He slowly placed his large hand over mine, uncertain.
“…You really are like a dog, brother.”
“You’re the weird one. Are you sure you’re not sick—”
“I’m fine. Mentally and physically.”
Vaizen rubbed his forehead in resignation.
As we walked down the hallway hand in hand, Odelia’s memories surfaced.
Her father’s face came to mind—perfect, like a painting. Not much was described in the novel, but from her memories, he was a kind, loving father. Even the public praised him.
“By the way, where’s Father? Has he eaten?”
Oh, right. What point in the novel is this? I hope it’s still early, before the others show up.
I glanced at Vaizen, guessing this must be the early stage—before he went full dark mode.
“…Odelia.”
“Huh?”
Vaizen stopped walking and gave me a twisted smile.
Not unfamiliar. It was the same warped expression he wore when he first entered the room.
“Father died. Over a month ago.”
