Chapter 8: The Weight of a New Name

“That’s the plan. I’ll tell Vant when he arrives today.”

This was no situation to simply brush off. Haeseung had read the novel from start to finish, yet his knowledge was confined strictly to its contents.

He knew nothing of the internal affairs of Lyden Defensio’s family, nor did he know anyone within it.

The character Heinzel Defensio, whom Haeseung had transmigrated into, was never even mentioned in the novel. The Duchess was only briefly described in a few lines as having existed.

The Duke himself was already deceased, with Lyden having assumed the dukedom.

This implied that the current timeline was long before the novel’s beginning, rendering Haeseung’s knowledge of the story utterly useless at this moment.

In such a predicament, feigning amnesia after a sudden illness would prove more advantageous. Never in any transmigration novel had he seen an excuse as convenient as memory loss.

While his original world might boast of a nominal equality where power dynamics still prevailed, it was a democratic society governed by law. The actions of Jeong Haeseung, a man from such a world, and Heinzel Defensio, a noble in a status-driven society, would undoubtedly differ in every conceivable way.

No matter how hard he tried, he wouldn’t be able to perfectly deceive others.

‘Indeed, I must become an amnesiac.’ Firmly resolving this, Haeseung demanded an answer from Rosie.

“What about the answer to my question?”

“It’s been almost a year since His Grace collapsed. The doctors couldn’t determine the cause, and even after calling a priest, there was no improvement. Contrary to expectations that he would soon recover, he hasn’t regained consciousness, so Young Master Lyden is now managing the ducal affairs as acting Duke.”

It was difficult to pinpoint exactly when the novel’s timeline began.

He remembered the names from frequent readings, but memorizing the specific Imperial calendar year felt like a waste of precious brain space. While it would have been convenient if the novel’s start was a special date, it regrettably began with the frail female protagonist, ‘Bell,’ dying and a Korean workaholic office worker, hit by a dump truck, transmigrating into Bell’s body and reviving.

When the female protagonist first met Lyden, he was already the Duke of Defensio. Prior to that, no details concerning the Defensio Ducal House were ever mentioned.

This meant the Duke would pass away before the novel’s beginning, but the exact timing remained unknown.

The Duke’s eldest son and daughter-in-law had died long ago, leaving behind their only child, the Duke’s sole grandson. In the novel, the second son, Lyden, became the next Duke, and the Duke’s grandson—Lyden’s nephew—was designated as the successor after Lyden.

Essentially, the Duke’s grandson served as a backup, a convenient spare for Lyden, who, unable to forget the female protagonist, chose to remain voluntarily celibate for life.

Haeseung clicked his tongue at his sister’s utterly useless thoughtfulness.

‘With such consideration, she should have just gotten the Duke married instead. Why doesn’t she understand that a fate of lifelong celibacy is more agonizing for a man than the family line ending? My sister is an idiot.’

Swallowing his tears inwardly, Haeseung silently cursed his cruel sister.

“I’m an adopted child, right? Did the Duchess perhaps have a child with the Duke?”

“Yes, Young Master Roquel. He is eight years old.”

“The Duke also has a grandson, doesn’t he? How old is the grandson?”

“…He’s nine.”

‘Oh, Duke. Unlike your soon-to-be celibate son, you certainly put in effort until the very end.’

Haeseung calculated the age difference between the youngest son and the grandson, forcing a wry smile. An eight-year-old son, even younger than his nine-year-old grandson—it seemed the Duke had been excessively diligent.

“So, the eldest son and his wife are dead, and…”

“Young Master, you remember that?”

Rosie asked, seemingly delighted, praising him. Her joy was so palpable it almost made Haeseung embarrassed. He couldn’t bring himself to say he knew it because it was in the novel.

“Uh, yeah, I just remember that particular bit.”

“That’s wonderful! If you keep recalling old memories like this, perhaps your memory will fully return.”

“…I’ll try.”

He couldn’t outright deny it. He had said he would *try*, not that it was *possible*, so it wasn’t a lie, Haeseung rationalized to himself.

“Anyway, the eldest son and his wife are dead, the second son is Lyden, the third is adopted Heinzel, and the youngest is Roquel, born to the Duchess. And the only grandson is the eldest son’s child. Right?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Rosie, perhaps gaining hope from his single memory, answered with renewed enthusiasm. It made Haeseung feel even more apologetic. The very person who should have been hopeful was instead burdened by misfortune, distrusting the world and viewing the situation pessimistically.

“The Duchess’s personality was no joke. So, the Duchess and Lyden probably don’t get along?”

Rosie, who had been eager to answer everything, flinched, then offered an awkward smile. Without her needing to speak, Haeseung could infer the situation and let out a snort.

‘The grown-up son of the former wife and the son of the current wife, who’s just barely learning to act like a person. It seems like an unwinnable succession battle, but the problem is that the former wife is dead while the latter is alive. The Duke, who should be mediating this, is on his deathbed, collapsed and unconscious. So, the psychological warfare between the former wife’s son and the current wife over the next ducal title must be intense.’

“Ah, why was I unconscious for five days? Was I injured somewhere?”

“No, rather than collapsing, you simply didn’t wake up. The day before, you went to bed as usual.”

“So, I lay down to sleep as usual, but the next day I didn’t wake up and remained unconscious?”

“Yes, Young Master.”

“Not injured, not sick either?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Perhaps I died—”

“No! Why would you say such a terrifying thing? You just weren’t able to wake up, that’s all.”

Before Haeseung could finish his question, Rosie gasped in alarm, waving her hands. It wasn’t the reaction of someone caught hiding something, but rather genuine shock at hearing something truly horrifying.

The female protagonist, ‘Bell,’ had been dead, and the modern-day heroine also died after being hit by a dump truck before transmigrating into the novel. Haeseung, however, had simply fallen asleep, intending to take a nap, and in the interim, had transmigrated into Heinzel, who had fallen into a coma for an unknown reason.

Haeseung tried to find commonalities or differences between himself and the novel’s female protagonist, but he ultimately concluded that it was difficult to think logically when book transmigration itself was an absurd situation.

Transmigrating into a book without rhyme or reason? Regardless of intelligence, it was a phenomenon that defied all logic. Haeseung simply gave up on trying to deduce anything.

“I’m done eating.”

“Shall I clear the table, then?”

“Yes.”

He put down his fork and rinsed his mouth with water. As Rosie neatly stacked the empty plates onto a tray, she called out, “Young Master.”

“Hmm?”

“Shall I bring you some tea? How about a snack? The chef is apparently developing new desserts these days. Shall I ask him?”

“…I just finished eating.”

“Even so. I thought a sweet cookie with tea might lift your spirits.”

‘What kind of snack after I just ate until I was stuffed?’ Haeseung waved his hand, declining, and Rosie’s expression turned glum. Realizing she was likely trying to cheer him up after his bad mood earlier, Haeseung thanked her for her consideration.

“Then, just bring me a cup of tea in a couple of hours. I’m too full right now.”

“Yes, I will.”

“Rosie, you should go rest too. You seem to be by my side constantly.”

“But that is my job.”

Rosie smiled brightly, lifting the tray full of dishes. Without any apparent effort, she effortlessly carried the tray and left the room. Watching her retreating back, Haeseung moved from the table to sit on the bed.

‘Let’s think positively. Optimistically. At least I’ve grasped the situation.’

No matter what unfolded, the fact remained that he had to live as Heinzel Defensio, not Jeong Haeseung. Denying the current situation, cursing the world, or throwing a tantrum wouldn’t change the fact that he had become Heinzel Defensio.

Until he could return to his original world and body, he had to live as Heinzel Defensio, not Jeong Haeseung.

“Heinzel Defensio.”

Murmuring the name he would now live by, Haeseung clenched his fist tightly. It was a silent vow, a determination to find a way back, to return to being Jeong Haeseung, no matter what.

****

Whenever I see romance novels, everyone transmigrates into a beauty.

Each time he looked in the mirror, a sigh escaped him.

‘This is blatant gender discrimination. All the female protagonists transmigrate into beauties, but as a man, I’m stuck with this kind of shell. Could it be… because I’m not the protagonist? Is that why they just haphazardly transmigrated me? Was it not gender discrimination, but protagonist versus extra discrimination?’

‘If they were going to transmigrate me so carelessly, they could have at least preserved my original handsome face. Jeong Haeseung was never called ugly; in fact, he grew up only hearing compliments about his good looks.’

‘In school, girls who didn’t know he was gay confessed to him often, and even guys liked him, albeit as a friend. He didn’t have bulging muscles, but his moderately firm body accentuated his 178-centimeter height, giving him a good physique.’

‘I couldn’t even make use of my good looks and body, and I transmigrated into this miserable state? Does this even make sense? Where’s the transmigration perk? In an era where even a local karaoke bar gets complaints if it doesn’t offer service, how can they be so irresponsible after transmigrating me at will?’

Jeong Haeseung—no, Heinzel—had to let out a sigh every time he saw himself in the mirror. He wanted to curse, but there was no specific target. He vowed that if he ever found out who was responsible, he would unleash a torrent of insults.

Thanks to a period of eating and sleeping, he had put on a little weight, improving his appearance from when he first transmigrated, but he still had a long way to go. He yearned to gain muscle quickly, but his conscience ached at being so greedy when his body had only just begun to look human again.

Moreover, the age of nineteen doubled his sorrow. He had been so happy, thinking he would be twenty, an adult, in just one day—no, half a day—but now he was nineteen again. Although people here celebrated adulthood at eighteen, it still felt different.

‘Twenty. What a perfect number.’

Rosie’s words that it would be another half-year before the year changed made Heinzel quietly punch his pillow. Then, he punched it again. He hit it repeatedly. He was so frustrated that he wanted to punch something, but he couldn’t do anything else.

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