The severe slap rattled Min-jun's jaw; the throbbing pain across his cheek was a brutal reminder of his new, terrifying reality. Still reeling from the sudden deluge of sordid memories from Prince Darian's mind—the petty jealousy, the arrogance, the relentless harassment of staff, and worst of all, the most recent catastrophic blunder.
He stood frozen. Emperor Roderic Valenhardt, his father in this life, did not wait for a reply. His voice, heavy with contempt, was barely contained.
"I ask again: Will you never stop disgracing me? The shame you heap upon the Highhelm name is a blight upon this Empire's shield! Harassing the maids was already too much, but now you tried to disgrace the Duke Ronald Blayland's daughter, Floraine Blayland!"
The pieces of Darian's memory flared in Min-jun's mind: his vision of a furious young woman, dark hair flying, and the agonizing sting of her well-placed slap—the memory of Darian getting his arrogant ass beaten because he tried to grope her in a crowded corridor. The humiliation was total.
"Duke Blayland is my friend, Darian! I have dealt with him personally. Had he demanded the full weight of the Imperial law, you would already be facing the block! It is only his long-standing friendship that stayed his hand from demanding immediate execution or worse exile for your crimes!"
Oh, you vile idiot, Min-jun thought, hurling the insult at the previous occupant of his body. You just guaranteed your own death scene on a non-canonical side plot!
Emperor Roderic, disappointment coating his features almost to hatred, raised a hand not to strike again, but to dismiss the argument itself.
"This is your last warning, Darian! You will offer a full apology to the Duke and his daughter. Everyone in this Empire wants you gone, exiled for the filth you are! There will be no more opportunities to disgrace the Valenhardt name."
Emperor paced once, his heavy boots sounding like hammers on the inlaid granite floor. he turned, his massive frame filling the doorway. His voice, which had been thunderous, fell to a dull, heartbroken finality.
"You have three days to prepare for your journey, Darian. Do not disappoint me for the last time."
He walked out, and the big, heavy door swung shut behind him with a soft thud, the lingering atmosphere thick with disappointment and guilt, leaving Min-jun—now Darian—alone.
Darian sighed, the sound barely audible in the large chamber.
"Fuck, that was a close call."
He rubbed his still stinging cheek.
He moved instinctively toward the polished metal basin in the corner of the room, examining his reflection. The original Darian Valenhardt was, predictably, stunning. He had the same bright blond hair as the King, but softer, and the blue eyes were a shade lighter, set in a face that was sharp, high-cheekboned, and classically beautiful—the kind of beautiful Min-jun had always mocked in the novel's illustrations.
"Well, he doesn't look so bad, Min-jun conceded, flexing his jaw. It's just his personality that was utterly irredeemable."
"What did this bastard do to get hated by everyone? Well, whatever. It's not like I ever cared about image and prestige. Since my bad luck put me into this trashy novel, now I have to enjoy the perks of being the reader and Lady Lyra! I will rewrite the novel as the stupidest character in the novel."