The silence in the opulent chamber stretched, thick with Jihoon's dawning horror. The woman in the crimson hanbok, presumably his new "mother," watched him with a mixture of suspicion and impatience. A cold sweat pricked his skin despite the lavish warmth of the room. Transmigrated. Into that book. As the character destined for a swift, unfortunate end. The beep-beep-beep of the medical instruments that had been his constant companion for months still echoed in his mind, a phantom reminder of the cancer that had been slowly, relentlessly consuming him. He'd been given weeks, maybe a couple of months at best. And now this. He mentally slapped himself. All that ranting about brain rot, and now he was living it. Literally. Not just living it, but living it with a ticking clock he'd thought he was running out of, only to find it reset in a different, equally precarious world.
"Are you feeling alright, Jihoon?" the woman finally prompted, a slight edge to her voice. "You seem… distant."
Jihoon forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Just a bit overwhelmed, Mother. A lot to prepare for, you know." He hoped his voice didn't betray the sheer panic churning in his gut, a panic now compounded by the fresh realization that his real-world diagnosis hadn't magically vanished. Mother? General Taeyoung? Marriage arrangement? It was all falling into place with terrifying clarity. He was the other Jihoon, the General's fiancé, the one who mysteriously died early on to pave the way for the main character's drama. And if his original body was gone, then was his illness simply gone too? Or had it followed him here? He felt a sudden, crushing fatigue, a familiar leaden weight in his limbs that sent a fresh wave of dread through him.
"Indeed," she replied, her gaze softening slightly. "It's a big step. But you secured the General, and that is what matters. Now, come. There's no time to waste. We need to select your garments, and then I'll send for the attendants to prepare you." She gestured towards a massive, intricately carved wardrobe across the room.
Jihoon slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed, testing his balance. His body felt… different. Lighter, perhaps, without the constant ache and nausea that had plagued him. But the fatigue, that was real. His gaze briefly caught his reflection in a polished silver mirror on the wall. A young man stared back, unfamiliar yet undeniably him – or at least, the him of this world. The face was finer, more delicate than he remembered, a stark contrast to his usual tired, modern-day appearance. He pinched his arm. It stung. This wasn't a dream.
"Right," he mumbled, following her to the wardrobe. His mind, however, was racing. He had to figure out a plan. The original Jihoon died, that much he knew. But how? The book glossed over it, treating it as a mere plot device. Was it murder? An accident? He needed details, and fast, if he wanted to avoid the same fate. And what about the actual main character? The illegitimate prince? Was he even in Kingdom X yet? He suddenly felt a desperate urge to get out of this house, away from this "mother" who seemed to view him as nothing more than a strategic pawn.
As his new "mother" began pulling out robes of silk and brocade, chattering about appropriate colors and fabrics for a future general's wife, Jihoon's eyes darted around the room. He needed information. He needed to understand the timeline, the players, and most importantly, how to derail his own impending doom, especially if his terminal illness had hitched a ride to this fantasy world.
"Mother," he interjected, trying to sound casual, "when exactly did I... uh... express interest in General Taeyoung?" He needed to gauge how deeply entangled he already was.
She paused, a folded garment in her hands, and gave him a quizzical look. "Why, a few months ago, dear. You were quite insistent, if I recall. Said he was the only one who truly understood your… scholarly pursuits." She chuckled lightly. "A peculiar reason, but effective, nonetheless."
Scholarly pursuits? Jihoon stifled a groan. The original Jihoon must have been some kind of quiet, studious type. This was going to be harder than he thought. He barely knew what 'scholarly pursuits' even meant in this time and place, let alone how to pretend to have them.
"Ah, yes. Of course," he managed, pasting on another weak smile. He had to play along for now. Survival instinct kicked in. First, avoid dying. Second, figure out how to get back home, if that was even possible, though the thought of his old, failing body made him wince. Third, maybe, just maybe, prevent the more egregious parts of the novel from happening. He still hadn't figured out why his old body was gone, and if that meant his diagnosis was gone too, or if this new body had simply inherited the clock. The uncertainty was a cold knot in his stomach.
The "Mother" was nothing if not efficient. Within an hour, Jihoon found himself dressed in surprisingly comfortable, if elaborate, robes, his hair styled by nimble hands he hadn't known what to do with. A carriage, far grander than any he'd seen outside of historical dramas, waited at the gates. It was lined with plush cushions and felt surprisingly smooth as it moved, despite the unpaved roads. He gazed out the window, taking in the bustling streets of what he presumed was the capital city of Kingdom X. People dressed in various forms of traditional attire went about their day, vendors hawked their wares, and the scent of unfamiliar spices hung in the air. It was all so vividly real, so utterly unlike a hospital room or the pages of a novel.
The journey was relatively short, perhaps an hour or so, taking them away from the heart of the city and into a more secluded, expansive district. As the carriage slowed, Jihoon saw it: a towering, fortified wall, much like those surrounding ancient castles in movies, giving way to a massive wooden gate. Above it, a banner with a stylized wolf's head emblem fluttered in the breeze. General Taeyoung's mansion. This wasn't just a house; it was practically a fortress. The gates swung open, revealing a sprawling compound. Buildings of dark wood and stone, meticulously maintained gardens, and training grounds where a few soldiers, armed with wooden staves, practiced drills. The air here felt different – disciplined, austere, yet undeniably powerful.
A stern-faced older woman, dressed in plain but elegant clothes, met them at the entrance. "Welcome, Sir Jihoon," she said, her voice crisp and formal. "I am Madam Ahn, the General's head housekeeper. We have prepared your chambers." His "mother" exchanged brief pleasantries, then, with a curt nod to Jihoon, announced, "I shall take my leave now. Madam Ahn will see to your needs. Remember your purpose here, Jihoon." And with that, she departed, leaving him truly alone in this new, terrifying reality.
Madam Ahn led him through a labyrinth of corridors, past silent, respectful servants, to a wing that felt both grand and a little isolated. His room was spacious, with large windows overlooking a peaceful courtyard. A low, intricately carved table, plush cushions, and a large, comfortable-looking bed filled the space. It was far from the sterile white of his hospital room, but the same sense of confinement, of being trapped, settled over him. He felt the familiar weight behind his eyes, the subtle tremor in his hands. It seemed the terminal illness had indeed made the jump with him, a cruel cosmic joke. His time was still limited, just in a more elaborate, potentially deadly, setting.
"The General is currently away on military exercises," Madam Ahn explained, her voice devoid of warmth. "He is expected back within the next few days. Until then, you are free to explore the main grounds and the library. Your meals will be brought to you. If you require anything, please inform one of the maids." She gave him a curt bow and then left, the door closing with a soft thud that echoed the finality of his new situation.
Jihoon walked to the window, staring out at the orderly gardens. He was here. In the lion's den. He hadn't met the "God of Death" General yet, but his presence was palpable in every stone of this mansion. He was the fiancé who would be discarded, then die. The thought sent a chill down his spine. He put a hand to his chest, feeling for his heartbeat. It was strong, steady. For now. But the tiredness, the faint aches he'd dismissed earlier, they were still there, like a faint, insidious whisper. His terminal illness wasn't gone; it had just changed scenery. He hadn't escaped death, only traded one form for another.
He closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath. This wasn't just about escaping a fictional death. This was about escaping his death, the one that had been waiting for him in the real world, and the one that now loomed here, compounded by the murderous plot of the original story. He had to gather information. He had to understand the political landscape, the General himself, and most importantly, how this "other Jihoon" met his demise. There had to be a way out. He refused to be a plot device, a convenient casualty. He would rewrite his own ending, even if it meant turning this "Tale of Two Kingdoms" into something entirely different. He would survive. He had to. His remaining time, however much that was, now had a new, desperate purpose.