Miss, It’s Just a Cold

Chapter 1: Home (1)

I’m someone who always walks on my own two feet.

No money like what you all desire, no attendants to serve me, living a simple life in a small room.

There’s no destined meeting at a grand ball waiting for me, nor anyone to chat with at a glamorous social gathering.

I don’t put on makeup at night, wear perfume, or wander the streets in short skirts to catch the eye of a charming man.

No one in this household wanted me to live that kind of life.

All that remains in this penniless noble family is its lineage.

And that lineage is a commodity—a rather expensive one.

It’s more valuable to commoners than to other nobles.

After all, it’s only natural to sell to those who’ll pay the highest price.

Not that being the product feels particularly good for me.

Emily became a product for a simple reason: She wasn’t smart or beautiful like the others.

Overwhelmed by frustration, I stood up.

The air in the room, with its closed windows, felt stale.

I fiddled with the firmly shut window, but it only rattled slightly, locked tight.

The sun is shining so brightly, and I can see the cool breeze rustling the trees outside—

But I can’t feel it.

I’m just trapped here.

If I threw a chair at the glass, I could probably break it.

I could open the window and escape.

But then what?

What could I even do if I left this house?

The only thing I’d have left to sell is my body.

When the time is right, they’ll sell me off to a sufficiently wealthy man under the guise of marriage.

There won’t be any need for love or talk of romance.

The man is just buying a lifelong mistress for a hefty sum.

Or maybe a trophy.

A stoic, moderately pretty woman of noble blood—effective enough for sexual release.

Suggest working in a factory? Don’t bother.

Someone like me, with this kind of beauty, would just get bullied by other female workers and end up as the factory owner’s mistress.

And yet, the idea of selling my body disgusted me.

For one thing, I was still a man.

Maybe you’d laugh and ask what kind of nonsense that is after years of living as a girl, but regardless, I wanted to stay true to my role as a reader of this novel, not as Emily.

Sometimes it felt like Emily was merging with me, creeping in and blending with who I was.

As if I might disappear entirely.

This isn’t my world.

Even that sensation has started to fade.

In the end, there was nothing I could do.

I tried to empty my thoughts.

Living without hope makes life harder.

I had to firmly believe I was living a happier life than the beggars on the streets.

After all, happiness grows much larger when you look at someone else’s misfortune.

Beyond the fence outside the window lies happiness.

I wanted to believe that and remain confined here.

Inside, there’s only me, too insignificant to even call unfortunate.

That’s just the truth.

Emily. It’s a name I gave myself without much thought, yet I liked it.

It sounded nice.

Emily wasn’t born into a great noble family but one of decent standing, the second daughter.

When she was born, everyone adored her.

They already had a son, so a cute daughter was just what they wanted.

Unfortunately, Emily wasn’t as endearing as her name might suggest.

Instead, she was mature and calm beyond her years.

As time passed, the couple had more children.

Children who were cute and deserving of their attention and love.

A quiet, plain child who didn’t match their beauty or charm was bound to be an afterthought.

A failed creation, you might say.

I am invisible.

Not literally, but that’s how everyone treats me.

Of course, I’m visible when needed.

Sometimes, people even come looking for me.

Though I doubt they think of me as a person.

After two more boys were born, this harmonious household gained a sweet youngest daughter.

Much cuter, prettier, and cleverer than me.

When she toddled over and grabbed my hand, I thought to myself, This is happiness.

The blessing of a new life, loved by everyone, was inherently beautiful.

Just looking at her filled me with a sense of warmth.

And despair.

I realized I could never be that to anyone.

But those sentiments don’t matter much.

After her birth, Emily became something of an ugly duckling.

Maybe she always was, but things certainly worsened.

Still, even a misfit like me could serve a purpose.

Being a noble is far more stressful than it seems, especially for one with little wealth.

Constantly attending social gatherings, comparing yourself, confirming your inadequacies—it’s endless.

And for a nine-year-old misfit who didn’t dress up prettily, I made a convenient outlet for stress.

Small, warm, capable of expressing pain, and obedient.

Most nobles would pay commoners handsomely to take their frustrations out on them, but this household had no money for that.

Thus, they simply chose the most suitable child as a substitute.

Of course, they didn’t reveal their true intentions outright.

Such openness would be unbefitting of a noble, vulgar even.

Everything was framed as love, as discipline meant to guide for the better.

They were stricter than most families, but surely a deficient child required stricter discipline, didn’t they?

Grabbing her hair and slapping her face, locking the crying child in a closet, or beating her until she couldn’t walk—these were all to keep her from going astray.

After all, being born into such a good family was entirely thanks to them, wasn’t it? She ought to accept it all.

That’s probably how they saw it.

One day, Emily, after fainting from a slap and being locked in a closet, prayed earnestly to God.

She begged to be replaced, saying she didn’t want to be here anymore.

And the one who came to take her place was me.

Emily was, in fact, a minor character.

The kind who falls in unrequited love with the boy next door, gets rejected, and tries to harm the beautiful heroine—a flat, one-dimensional figure.

She was just a tool, someone who gets stopped mid-slap and then disappears from the story entirely.

Whether this world inspired the novel or the novel became this world, I don’t know.

What matters is that I’m now living in it.

“Ahchoo.”

I let out a light sneeze, my throat burning slightly.

When I looked at my hand, which I had used to cover my mouth, I saw blood.

It looked unusually thin for blood.

Using the handkerchief in my pocket, I wiped my mouth and cleaned my hands.

It’s just a cold.

I’ll recover soon enough.

It’s not like this is the first time.

Probably because I slept without a blanket last night.

As I was lost in these thoughts, I heard someone walking down the hallway.

The distinct creak of wooden floorboards echoed closer.

Soon, the door opened.

There was no knock.

My room was a place anyone could enter without permission.

This room and the way I’m treated are the same.

Anyone can come in, and they don’t need to ask permission to make requests.

Daniel, my younger brother, walked in. Upon noticing the handkerchief in my hand, his eyebrows twitched slightly.

Then he spoke.

“Emily, you’re bleeding.”

It wasn’t a tone of concern, just a plain statement of fact.

It probably wasn’t far from how I felt about it either.

“It’s just a nosebleed. I’m tired, that’s all.”

“As I thought. What were you up late doing this time? This is why Mother had to put locks on the windows.”

If I had been the eldest son—or anyone else, really—I might have punched him right then and there for saying such absurd things.

But people are creatures of learning.

When I was younger, I did punch Daniel for saying something like that, and Mother dragged me by my hair, beat me senseless, and locked me in the closet until I passed out.

I didn’t see sunlight again until the next day.

“…So, why are you here?”

“The little one wants to see you. Come downstairs.”

“Why me?”

“I don’t know. She just likes you the best. There’s cake in the kitchen. Bring it and eat together or something.”

“I’m too tired to go. You saw my nosebleed.”

At that, my brother snorted and replied, “Still, Ellie wants to see you. Just chat with her for a bit and leave.”

If she wants to see me, why can’t she come here herself? I thought bitterly.

But in this household, it was always expected that I go.

I wanted to say, “Why should I?”

But that would just send him running to Mother, complaining that I wasn’t following orders.

With a sigh, I shoved Daniel, this obnoxious little brother of mine, aside and started walking.

To see our beloved youngest sibling.