The first thing I noticed after opening my eyes was the ceiling.
White. Excessively white. Hospital-level white.
The second thing I noticed was the smell of disinfectant, sharp enough to stab my sinuses. The third thing was the fact that I could not remember how I got here.
…That was bad.
Very bad.
I lay there for a few seconds, staring upward, my brain buffering like a cheap phone on low battery. My last memory flickered in and out. Late night. Phone glowing in the dark. A web novel open on the screen. Comments arguing. Me scrolling. Me thinking, just one more chapter.
Then nothing.
"Oh no," I muttered.
The sound startled me. It came out softer than expected, unfamiliar. My voice sounded… younger.
I pushed myself up, heart racing, and froze when I caught sight of my hands.
Slender fingers. Smooth skin. No scars from childhood clumsiness. No faint ink stain on my right thumb from that pen I always used. I flexed them slowly, dread crawling up my spine.
This wasn't my body.
My breathing turned shallow. I scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the IV stand beside it, and staggered toward the mirror mounted on the wall.
The girl staring back at me was beautiful.
That should have been comforting. It wasn't.
She had large, clear eyes and soft features, the kind that looked gentle even when startled. Long dark hair framed her pale face, and her lips were slightly parted, as if she, too, was trying to understand what was happening.
"I…" My reflection copied me perfectly. "Who am I?"
The answer hit me before I finished the question.
This face.
I knew this face.
My stomach dropped.
"No. No no no. Absolutely not."
I recognized her the same way one recognizes a background extra who appears in five episodes and then dies tragically offscreen.
She was a side character.
A disposable one.
Specifically, she was a minor character from a modern urban romance web novel I had binge-read just two nights ago. The kind of novel where rich families fought silently, love was cold and intense, and side characters existed solely to highlight the main cast's brilliance.
And her role?
To suffer quietly.
To be misunderstood.
To get emotionally crushed by her own family.
To fade out of the story without anyone truly caring.
My knees weakened.
"You've got to be kidding me," I whispered.
I backed away from the mirror like it might attack me and collapsed onto the edge of the bed, clutching my head.
Okay. Think. Panic later.
If this followed the standard transmigration rules, then one of two things had happened. Either I had possessed her body after her death, or I had somehow merged with her consciousness.
Either way, this meant one thing.
I was inside the novel.
Not as the female lead.
Not even as the villainess.
But as her.
The side character whose name readers barely remembered.
My chest tightened. I searched my mind desperately, and fragments of memories surfaced. A large house. Cold hallways. A father who barely spoke. Siblings who looked at her like she was invisible at best, a nuisance at worst.
An antagonistic family.
I swallowed.
"Okay," I murmured. "Okay. It's fine. I can work with this."
I stood up, steadier now. If I knew the plot, I could avoid the landmines. Stay out of the main storyline. Keep my head down. Live quietly until the novel's ending and then… whatever happened after that.
Yes. That was the plan.
I nodded to myself, feeling slightly better.
Then the door opened.
I flinched so hard I nearly jumped out of my skin.
A middle-aged man stepped in, dressed neatly in a suit that screamed money and authority. His posture was straight, his expression unreadable.
The moment I saw him, the last piece clicked into place.
My father.
Or rather, her father.
The head of the family.
The man who, in the novel, rarely looked at this daughter and never listened to her explanations.
My throat went dry.
He paused when he saw me standing, his eyes scanning my face with something unreadable flickering beneath the surface.
"You're awake," he said.
His voice was calm. Too calm.
I nodded instinctively, my mind racing.
Say something normal. Say something respectful. Don't mess this up.
"Yes," I replied carefully. "I'm fine."
Silence stretched between us. His gaze lingered, sharp and assessing, like he was looking at something he didn't quite understand.
I shifted under the weight of it.
Why is he staring like that? In the novel, he barely acknowledged her existence. Did I already mess something up?
The thought made my stomach churn.
My father's brow furrowed.
"…You're fine?" he repeated.
I froze.
What?
I replayed my last words in my head. I hadn't said anything strange. Had I?
Before I could respond, he stepped closer.
"You were unconscious for two days," he said slowly. "And yet the first thing you think is that you don't matter."
My blood ran cold.
I stared at him.
"I didn't..."
He cut himself off abruptly, turning away as if annoyed. His jaw tightened, a muscle in his cheek twitching.
"You should rest," he said. "The doctor will come later."
And then, just before leaving, he added, quietly enough that I almost missed it, "You don't need to belittle yourself."
The door closed behind him.
I stood there, completely stunned.
"…What just happened?"
My heart hammered in my chest.
That was not how that conversation was supposed to go. In the original novel, this man barely spared her a glance, let alone spoke to her like that.
I pressed a hand to my forehead.
Okay. Maybe I'm remembering it wrong. Or maybe he's in a rare good mood.
Yes. That had to be it.
There was absolutely no other explanation.
I exhaled slowly, trying to calm myself.
I didn't notice the faint ripple in the air around me.
Nor did I notice, in the hallway outside, the man standing still, his expression unreadable, replaying a voice in his mind.
Why is he staring like that? In the novel, he barely acknowledged her existence.
His steps faltered.
"…Novel?" he murmured.
Inside the room, blissfully unaware, I lay back down on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Great. I survived transmigration, I thought tiredly. Now all I have to do is survive the plot.
I had no idea that my thoughts had already betrayed me.
And this was only the beginning.