Dylan de Beaumon, the adopted daughter of a Duke, recalls the memories of her past-life after hitting her head. Upon realizing she was a villainess character in a novel, she decides to use her intellectual giftedness to get a good career and run awa...
The wooden chest was finely decorated with golden accents, complimenting its neatly polished mahogany. Above the golden keyhole, glistening a bright red in the light, was the Faerchester crest: a symbol and emblem of the most prestigious academy's accomplishments and status.
The Duke traced the crest with a gentle finger, his touch lingering over the image of the academy's mascot. It was a snow-white owl—a symbol of enduring wisdom, regal silence, and fierce intelligence. The corners of his lips raised slightly as he observed it, feeling proud of his daughter's acceptance into the academy.
"Father," said Dylan. Her voice was as gentle as a soft spring breeze, practically overflowing with excitement.
"Dylan," the Duke responded without looking away from the chest, "something came for you."
By orders of the Duke, the servants and maids had gathered in the front foyer to witness the joyous occasion. Since receiving your Coat from Faerchester was considered a milestone, he wanted everyone who worked under him to witness his daughter's special moment.
Dylan's usual tranquil gaze had been washed over by a flurry of excitement. The manor's staff held their breaths in anticipation as the key clicked inside the chest and the lid popped open. Dylan hesitated, her hand floating midair.
"Dylan?" the Duke asked, noticing his daughter's hesitation. "Do you not want to open it right now?"
Dylan smiled wistfully, her eyes glistening with a longing look. "Ah, it's not that," she explained. "I'm just savouring this feeling."
'Attending the academy is the only way I'll escape this hell.'
She opened the lid slowly and peered inside the chest. A Faerchester Coat was a type of jacket resembling a men's suit jacket, but cut more casually. It was a three-button blazer with a chest pocket for a handkerchief on one side, and the Faerchester crest on the other.
Dylan's eyes wavered when they met the colour red instead of black. The Coat inside the chest was red—a colour that represented rage and war, but also love and passion. It was the colour of fire and blood, and the highest level of entry a student could be given.
"I, is this really happening?" Dylan asked with a distorted expression, gently lifting the Red Coat from the chest. "Was I really granted a Red Coat?"
None of this made sense to her. In the novel, Red Coats were rarely distributed to students. By receiving a Red Coat, you were recognized as one of the most influential and promising nobles in the country. Every student who ever wore a Red Coat graduated to be one of the country's most talented and successful individuals.
"Read the letter," the Duke said proudly, placing his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure it's no mistake."
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Dylan's eyes retraced the words again and again, but they never changed.
The sounds of the attendants celebrating and cheering filled the room like rising water. The maids and servants smiled and hugged one another, their cheers rising in the air.
"I really did it mom," she muttered to herself—her whispers barely audible beneath the celebratory shouts. "I hope you're watching me."
She felt the Duke's hand pat her head gently, his words spoken in an affectionate tone: "You did it, Ruenz, just like you always wanted to."
Dylan flinched slightly when she was called by her biological father's name. Her chest felt so tight, it hurt. Although she heard it so many times—it never got easier.
"You always wanted to get a Red Coat," he said with a low-chuckle only she could hear under the sounds of celebration. "You finally did it, buddy."
Dylan's heart contracted inside her chest. The Duke replaced one pain with another less painful, though more harmful, one. She could see it in his eyes—the longing and expectations he held for Marquis Ruenz. The Duke had passed them all onto her.
Every time she acted in a way that her biological father didn't, the Duke would slip out of lucidity and momentarily lose his grip on reality. He would ask her: "What's the matter, Ruenz? You're acting odd—that's not something you'd normally say."
As a result, Dylan's personality was both constructed and fabricated entirely by the Duke's expectations. Once she started acting like her biological father, it happened less and less.
'I need to get out of here. I can't accept affection directed towards a dead person.'
When she met the Duke, she began to feel as if the world and his expectations were crushing her slowly. His words, his gaze, his affection—it was all suffocating.
Dylan sneezed: "Achoo!"
'Crap, I knew I was going to get sick.'
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