Pain.
That was the first thought. A dull ache radiated from her ribs, shoulder, and skull. It felt like she had been used as a piñata at a giant's birthday party. Sena Lee, a self-proclaimed genius and professional wallflower in her previous, ordinary life, groaned internally. *Note to self: falling off a horse? Zero stars. Would not recommend, especially when the 'fall' was aided by an overenthusiastic jerk with a crossbow.*
She forced her eyes open. The ceiling came into focus, showing ornate plasterwork of cherubs frolicking among vines. Tacky. This was definitely not her small apartment in Seoul, with its peeling wallpaper and the reassuring glow of her always charging tablet. The air held a faint smell of lavender polish and something stale, like old money mixed with ancient resentment.
"Finally decided to wake up, have you, Lady *Clumsy*?" A voice, sharp as broken glass, surged through the haze. A maid stood by the heavy velvet curtains, arms crossed, looking bored and contemptuous. She seemed about seventeen, with mousy brown hair escaping her cap and a constantly pinched mouth. "Took you long enough. Lord Cedric's 'joke' wasn't *that* funny, was it?"
*Ah. Cedric.* Sena's mind, still hazy, pieced together the situation with the precision of a high-speed computer starting up. Cedric Varein, the second son. Designated tormentor. The author of her current symphony of pain. His idea of a 'harmless prank' had been scaring her horse with a close crossbow shot while she tested out a new mare. That had ended with her meeting the ground at impressive speed. *Harmless. Right. Tell that to my spleen.*
"The physician said you have bruised ribs, a wrenched shoulder, and a spectacular bump on your head," the maid continued, dusting a non-existent speck off the bedside table. "He said you're lucky not to have broken your neck. Though some might argue that *luck* left this household long ago." She shot Sena a glance full of meaning.
*Okay, hostile environment check: complete.* Sena—no, she needed to consider herself *Aria* now, didn't she?—Aria Lynette Varein, the youngest daughter of Count Varein. Background character. Doomed to die young, unmentioned even by the Saintess's beloved brother. *Fantastic.* She kept her face completely still, the perfect porcelain mask she had mastered in her old life to avoid unwanted social interaction. Inside, her thoughts raced like hyperactive squirrels.
*Recap of previous Sena Lee life: Top of every class. Knew seven ways to optimize a supply chain before breakfast. Preferred algorithms to people because algorithms didn't whisper "stuck-up" behind your back while begging for homework help. Enjoyed webtoons, especially 'Chronicles of the Radiant Saintess,' for its power fantasy and surprisingly complex subplot about trade politics. Fell asleep reading Chapter 143. Woke up here. Conclusion: Transmigration. Into a character so minor, she barely qualifies as set dressing. Current status: Painfully bruised punching bag in a gilded cage. Mission Parameter One: Do. Not. Die.*
"Water," Aria rasped, her throat dry. The command came out flat and emotionless. Her poker face was her shield.
The maid, named 'Berta,' snorted but approached a pitcher on the dresser. She poured a glass deliberately slowly, the water splashing against the sides. "Here. Try not to spill it. Wouldn't want to trouble the *other* maids with more of your mess." She shoved the glass toward Aria.
Aria moved slowly, wincing as her ribs protested. She took the glass, her fingers brushing against Berta's. The maid jerked back as if burned. *Interesting. Contempt mixed with… fear? Or just disgust?* Aria took a small sip. The water was lukewarm. *Priority: Secure independent source of hydration. And maybe a taser.*
As Berta turned back to tweak the curtains, muttering about lazy nobles and wasted time, Aria scanned the room. It was large, even gaudy, yet impersonal. The furniture was heavy and dark, likely chosen by Stepmother Dearest, Lady Marguerite. The only personal items were faded: a chipped music box on a shelf, a dried flower pressed inside a book on the nightstand. No photos, no trinkets. This room belonged to someone who wasn't meant to stay. *Or wasn't wanted.*
*Family Roll Call,* her inner voice chirped, contrasting her blank facade. *Papa Count: Avoids eye contact because I resemble his tragically dead first wife, whom he apparently loved enough to replace immediately. Emotional range of a teaspoon dipped in guilt. Stepmom Marguerite: Former Baroness's daughter who clawed her way up. Primary source of malice in the siblings' ears. Probably plotted First Wife's downfall. Hates my presence. Eldest Brother, Lord Theron: Heir. Busy being important. Views us all as mildly irritating background noise. Eldest Sister, Lady Elara: Also busy forming alliances. Considers middle siblings vulgar. Middle Brother, Cedric the Crossbow Comedian: A glaring example of why primogeniture exists. Middle Sister, Lady Clarice: Cedric's accomplice. Specializes in sarcastic compliments and 'accidentally' ruining my belongings. And then there's me. The Unwanted Reminder. Currently feeling like roadkill.*
Berta clattered a tray onto the bedside table, pulling Aria from her thoughts. On it sat a bowl of a grayish, lumpy substance that smelled faintly of boiled sadness and old socks. A single slice of stale-looking brown bread accompanied it.
"Your lunch, *my lady*," Berta announced with a sickly sweet tone that soured instantly. "Cook's finest restorative gruel. Fit for an invalid. Or a clumsy girl who can't stay on a horse."
Aria stared at the slop. Then she slowly raised her gaze to meet Berta's eyes. She didn't glare. She didn't frown. She just stared, blank and unreadable. It was the look she used on lab partners who tried to slack off by riding on her work, and on salesmen pushing dubious warranties. It said, *I see you. I see your pathetic power play. And I am thoroughly unimpressed.*
Berta shifted uncomfortably under the intense gaze. "Well? Eat up. Don't want it getting cold." Her bravado wavered.
Aria didn't reach for the spoon. Instead, she pushed the tray slightly toward the edge of the table, closer to Berta. Her voice was calm, quiet, and colder than the water in the pitcher. "It looks remarkably nutritious, Berta. Such care must have gone into preparing it. Why don't you demonstrate its… *safety*? Take the first bite. Prove to me it's fit for eating." She tilted her head slightly. "Since you seem so concerned for my well-being."
Berta's eyes widened. Her mouth opened, then snapped shut. She stared at the gruel, then back at Aria's expressionless face. A flicker of true fear replaced contempt. "I… I couldn't possibly, my lady! It's… it's yours!"
"Indulge me." Aria's tone remained unchanged. "Consider it a… performance review. Of Cook's *finest*."
Panic crossed Berta's face. The gruel was notoriously awful, usually a punishment for kitchen staff who messed up. Eating it was humiliating, not nourishing. She swallowed hard, her earlier defiance crumbling. "I… I have duties! Lady Clarice expects me!" She nearly tripped over herself backing toward the door. "I'll… I'll come back later for the tray!" The door slammed shut behind her.
Silence fell, thick and sudden. Aria exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. *Okay. Point scored. Minor victory. Also confirmed: Gruel is weaponizable. Good to know.* A faint, grim smile appeared for a moment before her mask returned. She pushed the offensive tray further away. *Priority: Secure an edible food source. Independent of hostile kitchen staff.*
Alone, the weight of her situation bore down again. She was trapped in a beautiful but hostile world, stuck in a body destined for an early death. She needed leverage. She needed to escape. She needed… *something*. Her mind raced through possibilities—trade routes from the webtoon, basic chemistry for soap making, the layout of the capital's markets. *Merchant guild. The 'Golden Scale'. Surface: Import/export. Reality: Information broker central. Owned by…* Her thoughts halted. *Lucien Vale. Masked mystery man. Also, canonically, one of Saintess Vanessa's future romantic interests. Great. Just great. Avoidance strategy: Priority Alpha.*
She shifted gently on the pillows, her ribs protesting. The movement let a shaft of afternoon sunlight hit the foot of the bed, highlighting a faint scuff mark on the polished wooden floor. It sparked a flash—not Sena's memory, but Aria's. A younger Aria, maybe six or seven, in a worn dress, slipping into the stables. An older boy, around ten, huddled in an empty stall, his clothes torn, a bruise blossoming on his cheek. He looked terrified yet defiant. Young Aria didn't say a word. She simply set a slightly flattened honey cake wrapped in a clean handkerchief next to him and hurried away. *Huh. Random act of misplaced childhood kindness. Probably forgotten by everyone involved. Including the recipient. Pointless.*
**<< SYSTEM INITIALIZATION COMPLETE! >>**
**<< WELCOME, USER: ARIA LYNETTE VAREIN! >>**
**<< PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: SURVIVAL PROTOCOL ENGAGED! >>**
Aria didn't scream. Externally, she didn't even flinch. Internally, her heart pounded hard against her bruised chest. *What. The. Actual. F—*
Glowing blue text, crisp and somewhat transparent, floated in front of her eyes, overlaying the canopy of her bed. It resembled the most advanced augmented reality headset display, but it seemed to be directly connected to her vision.
**<< DIAGNOSTIC SCAN RUNNING… >>**
**<< PHYSICAL CONDITION: Moderate Contusions (Ribs, Shoulder), Mild Concussion, Chronic Malnutrition. RECOMMENDATION: Nourishment, Rest. >>**
**<< ENVIRONMENTAL ANALYSIS: Hostile Noble Household (Varein Estate), Kingdom of Valentia. Threat Level: Elevated. >>**
**<< USER COGNITIVE STATE: Heightened Alert. Emotional Suppression: Active. Processing… Processing… Compatibility: 98.7%. Excellent! >>**
*Compatibility? With what? What *is* this thing?* Aria's mind raced, even as her face remained a calm blank slate. *Is this the transmigration welcome package? Some kind of cheat? Or an especially vivid hallucination from the concussion?*
**<< QUERY DETECTED! >>**
**<< SYSTEM DESIGNATION: SURVIVAL OPTIMIZATION & KNOWLEDGE INTEGRATION NETWORK (S.O.K.I.N.)! >>**
**<< PURPOSE: TO ASSIST USER SURVIVAL AND SUCCESS THROUGH DATA MANAGEMENT, SKILL ACQUISITION, AND STRATEGIC PLANNING! >>**
**<< PRIMARY FUNCTIONS:**
**- STATUS MONITORING (USER/ENVIRONMENT)**
**- ACCESS TO KNOWLEDGE DATABASE (LIMITED BY USER AUTHORIZATION)**
**- TRACKING AND ACCELERATING SKILL DEVELOPMENT**
**- BASIC CRAFTING SIMULATION (MATERIALS-DEPENDENT)**
**- EMERGENCY ALERT SYSTEM (THREAT ASSESSMENT) >>**
*Okay. Okay. Breathe. This is… manageable. Potentially useful. Very, very strange.* Aria concentrated, trying to project her thoughts clearly. *S.O.K.I.N.? Seriously? Couldn't the name be less… ominous?*
**<< SYSTEM NAME IS OPTIMAL FOR FUNCTIONALITY! USER REQUEST FOR NAME CHANGE: DENIED! >>**
*Cheeky.* Aria nearly smiled. Almost. *Alright, SOKIN. Show me what you've got. Knowledge Database. Search: Basic Soap Production. Methods for extracting lye, fats, essential oils if available locally.*
**<< ACCESSING DATABASE… >>**
**<< USER AUTHORIZATION LEVEL: 1 (NOVICE) >>**
**<< ENTRY FOUND: 'Saponification: Basic Household Soap Production (Pre-Industrial Methods)'. DATA STREAMING… >>**A flood of information filled her mind: lists of plants for potash, methods for rendering animal fats, simple mold designs, and basic chemical reactions. It was textbook-perfect and instantly accessible. Gold. Absolute gold. The beginnings of a plan started to take shape, a way out of this gilded misery. She could start small. Source materials quietly. Find an outlet. The Golden Scale Guild… Lucien Vale. A necessary evil, perhaps. Avoid Vanessa. Build resources. Escape.
**<< WARNING: PROXIMITY ALERT! >>**
**<< MULTIPLE BIOSIGNATURES APPROACHING USER CHAMBER! >>**
**<< IDENTIFICATION PROBABILITY:**
**- LADY CLARICE VAREIN (98%)**
**- LORD CEDRIC VAREIN (95%)**
**- UNIDENTIFIED MALE, AURA SIGNATURE: 2nd STAR BEGINNER SWORDSMAN (80%) >>**
Cedric and Clarice. Aria's thoughts turned cold. Were they coming to gloat? Or escalate? And the aura signature… a guard? Probably just Cedric's usual follower. She dismissed the SOKIN display with a thought, the blue text disappearing. Her face returned to its default mask of calm, a wall against the coming storm. She arranged herself carefully against the pillows, pretending to feel weaker than she did. The cold, congealed gruel on the tray stood as a testament to her first small act of rebellion.
The door swung open without a knock. Clarice entered, exuding calculated elegance in pale pink silk, her golden curls perfectly arranged. Her smile could cut glass. "Aria! Dear sister! We heard you were finally awake. We were so worried." Her voice dripped with insincerity.
Cedric stomped in behind her, still dressed in riding leathers that smelled faintly of horse and arrogance. A smirk lingered on his lips. "Yeah, worried you'd really cracked your head open. Shame you didn't. Might have improved your conversation." He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Behind him, lurking in the shadows of the corridor, a young man in the Varein house guard uniform stood still. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with messy dark hair and sharp, watchful grey eyes set in a face of strong angles and quiet intensity. His hand rested lightly on the pommel of a standard short sword. His expression was carefully neutral, detached as if he were merely another piece of furniture. Aria glanced over him without lingering. Background character. Expendable muscle. Irrelevant.
"Cedric, darling, don't be cruel!" Clarice scolded, waving a hand. She glided closer to the bed, her eyes appraising Aria with no pretense. "Though honestly, Aria, you need to learn to take a joke. Poor Cedric feels terrible about your little fall. Don't you, Cedric?"
Cedric laughed. "Terrified I'd have to explain to Father why his least useful daughter became a permanent lawn ornament."
Aria remained silent, meeting Clarice's gaze steadily. Her eyes revealed nothing but mild curiosity, as if she were watching particularly noisy insects. Her lack of reaction seemed to unsettle Clarice more than tears or anger would have.
"Well," Clarice said, her smile tightening, "we just came to see how you were doing. And to remind you… the entrance exams for the Vermilion Royal Academy are in three months." Her tone turned gleeful. "Father expects all his children to uphold the Varein name. Even you. Fail, and…" She let the threat linger—expulsion, disgrace, being cast out entirely. "Such a pity you've been… indisposed. Magic lessons require dedication, you know. Not just falling off horses."
Cedric chuckled. "Maybe she can major in 'Ground Impact Studies.'"
Aria continued to watch them, silent and unblinking. The faint ticking of a clock filled the room. The unnamed guard in the corridor shifted his weight slightly, his grey eyes moving between the siblings and Aria's calm expression. His face remained blank, but there was an intensity in his stillness, a watchfulness that felt out of place for a simple household guard observing nobles argue. For a brief moment, Aria felt a prickle at the back of her neck, a sense of being judged far more deeply than Clarice's superficial cruelty intended.
Then it vanished. He was just a guard again. A shadow.
Clarice, unsettled by Aria's lack of response, sniffed. "Do try to recover quickly, Aria. We wouldn't want Father to be disappointed." She turned sharply. "Come, Cedric. Let's leave her to her… gruel." She swept out, her silk skirts whispering against the floor.
Cedric shot Aria one last mocking grin. "Try not to trip getting back into bed, Clumsy." He followed his sister, his heavy boots thudding on the wooden floor. The guard turned to follow silently, sweeping his gaze over the room one last time before he disappeared into the corridor, pulling the door shut softly.
Silence reclaimed the room, now deeper. Aria let out a slow, controlled breath. The phantom pain from her fall throbbed, but it was drowned out by the roaring in her mind. Vermilion Royal Academy. Three months. Magic exams. The path to survival and independence had a clear, daunting first hurdle. She couldn't rely on vague family obligations. Failure meant being thrown to the wolves.
Her gaze drifted to the window, where the late afternoon sun illuminated the manicured Varein gardens. Freedom lay beyond those walls. Power lay in magic, knowledge, and resources she didn't yet have. But she had her mind. She had the ghost of Sena Lee's genius. And she had… SOKIN.
She focused inward. **<< SOKIN. Academy Entrance Exam Requirements. Magic. Current Baseline Assessment: Aria Varein. >>**
**<< ACCESSING… >>**
**<< VERMILION ROYAL ACADEMY: ENTRANCE EXAM REQUIREMENTS >>**
**<< - THEORETICAL KNOWLEDGE: (HISTORY, THEORY, ETHICS) - GRADE: POOR >>**
**<< - PRACTICAL APTITUDE: MANA SENSITIVITY & BASIC MANIPULATION - GRADE: VERY POOR >>**
**<< - CURRENT CIRCLE ATTAINMENT: NONE DETECTED >>**
**<< USER ARIA VAREIN PREDICTED EXAM OUTCOME: FAILURE (99.8% PROBABILITY) >>**
**<< RECOMMENDATION: IMMEDIATE, INTENSIVE SKILL DEVELOPMENT COMMENCEMENT. SURVIVAL PROBABILITY POST-EXPULSION: 12.3% >>**
Nope. The thought was cold, hard steel. Not happening. Sena Lee didn't fail. Aria Varein wouldn't start now. She had three months. Three months to change from magical nullity to academy material. Three months to lay the groundwork for an escape plan. Three months to turn gruel into gold.
A faint, determined glint sparked in Aria's eyes, hidden beneath her practiced calm. She looked away from the sunlit gardens and back toward the cold, unwelcoming room. Her gaze fell on the congealed slop Berta had left behind. A symbol of her current state. A challenge.
Alright, Count Varein. Vermilion Academy. Saintess Vanessa. Bring it on. Her inner voice was a razor wrapped in velvet. Sena Lee didn't reach the top by playing nice. And Aria Varein? She was done being the punchline.
**<< USER DIRECTIVE ACKNOWLEDGED. >>**
**<< SURVIVAL PROTOCOL: PHASE ONE - 'ACADEMY GAMBIT' - COMMENCING. >>**
**<< PROPOSED FIRST ACTION: SECURE ALTERNATIVE SUSTENANCE & INITIATE BASIC MANA AWARENESS EXERCISES? (Y/N) >>**