A faint glow from the enchanted lanterns cast soft shadows across the dormitory room of Chronos Academy. The scent of medicinal herbs lingered in the air, mingling with the crisp evening breeze that seeped through the slightly open window.
Eleanor Gwendolyn lay on her bed, her head heavily bandaged, her long ginger hair splayed across the pillow like threads of fire. Her breath was steady, though her body still ached from the fall. The sharp pain had dulled into a persistent throb, a constant reminder of her recklessness.
The girl who had always seemed strong, guarding her heart and refusing to let anyone breach her safe haven, had always appeared unshaken—even when she found herself alone in the world, convinced she would never succumb to vulnerability. Yet here she lay, injured and in pain, groaning in her restless sleep, while her concerned father, Marquis Gwendolyn, kept a watchful eye over her. A man renowned for his wisdom, calm demeanor, and unwavering resolve in any situation, now appeared deeply troubled as he took in the sight of his daughter's fragile state.
...
A knock at the door heralded the entrance of a tall, imposing figure. The Marquis's presence filled the small dormitory, his deep red eyes scanning the room with sharp intensity. His bright red hair, resembling a blaze of fire, was neatly combed, revealing a face that, despite its stress-lined sharpness, softened as his gaze landed on Eleanor.
He carried himself with an air of nobility that radiated pressure and confidence, yet there was an undeniable gentleness and subtle tremor in his movements as he approached the bed, as if in doubt, unable to believe that his precious daughter lay in such a state.
"Eleanor," he called gently, his voice slightly hoarse and rich with unspoken concern.
Eleanor stirred, her eyelids fluttering open to meet her father's gaze. For a moment, she simply stared, as if trying to reconcile the warmth of his presence with the reality of her situation.
Who...? Oh... His face is familiar... Eleanor's father... Marquis Gwendolyn, she thought, processing the affection in his eyes.
It was still strange—being called Eleanor, having a father who looked at her with such genuine love. In her past life, she had known no such warmth, no such bond. The emotions that accompanied this life were foreign yet undeniably comforting.
"Father…." Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper as if she had not spoken in days.
Marquis Gwendolyn exhaled quietly, his rigid shoulders easing slightly. He settled beside her bed, gently placing a hand on her forehead to check for fever.
"Ugh..."
Eleanor winced at the contact, the touch of his hand inadvertently brushing against her bandaged head. The pain made her groan softly, and the Marquis's expression shifted, revealing a deeper concern, though he masked it well, unwilling to burden her further in her fragile state.
"Tina's letter arrived this afternoon," he said, his voice firm yet gentle. "You scared your mother half to death, you know. She wanted to come, but the shock was too much for her. She's resting, waiting for us to return home."
Eleanor's lips parted slightly, the thought of someone being so distressed tightening her chest with guilt. "I… I didn't mean to worry her."
The Marquis shook his head, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. "I know, little ginger. But you must understand, to us, you are irreplaceable."
Eleanor swallowed, shifting slightly in bed. The warmth in his voice, the sheer care he exuded—it was overwhelming. She had spent over thirty years in another world, devoid of such familial affection.
In her previous world, her younger brother had been the only person she considered family after their parents died. As the eldest sister, she felt the weight of responsibility and, eventually, the isolation of adulthood—rarely interacting with him outside of obligatory family meals.
"I brought dinner," the Marquis said, breaking the silence. "Eat while it's warm."
Before she could protest, he lifted a spoonful of stew and held it to her lips.
Eleanor stiffened. Being fed at her age? Even if this body was young, her soul carried the weight of independence. Yet, looking into her father's calm eyes, seeing the way he masked his worries behind this simple act, she found herself unable to refuse.
With a quiet sigh, she opened her mouth and accepted the food.
The Marquis smiled slightly, as if relieved. "Good girl."
They ate in relative silence, exchanging light conversation. The Marquis inquired about her condition, the competence of the academy doctors, and the pain she felt. Eleanor reassured him as best she could, though she knew he remained unconvinced.
After a few more spoonfuls, he set the bowl aside and leaned back slightly, studying her with those piercing red eyes.
"What do you plan to do now?" he asked. "You've already completed your graduation exam. You were simply waiting for the announcement. And yet, instead of resting, you went galloping through the forest like a reckless child."
"..."
She felt a pang of frustration. The circumstances surrounding her fall were shrouded in ambiguity; she possessed no recollection of what had transpired before she took over Eleanor's body. The memories of the original Eleanor were hazy, likely due to the impact of her fall.
Why had she chosen to ride a horse so recklessly? In the original plot, Eleanor's health had been fine, and she had suffered no injuries upon returning from Chronos Academy. Now, however, she lay here, seriously injured, bandages adorning her head in a ridiculous fashion.
Is it because I possessed her body?
Eleanor swallowed and averted her gaze, unable to meet her father's earnest stare, feeling a wave of nervousness wash over her. "I just wanted to clear my mind."
The Marquis sighed, a sound heavy with disappointment. "And look where that got you."
She winced at the reprimand. "It was an accident."
"A preventable one." His tone was firm, though not unkind. After a pause, he reached out and took her hand in his, his calloused fingers warm against her own. "Eleanor, come home. Recover properly. We have the best physicians in the Empire—they will help you heal faster."
There was no command in his voice, only a heartfelt plea.
Eleanor hesitated.
Although she had not contemplated the future, still burdened by her severe head injury, she had intended to remain at the academy until the official graduation announcement, to savor her last days of freedom and mentally prepare herself for the noble life that awaited her as Eleanor Gwendolyn. Yet, seeing her father, witnessing the way he bore his worries for her sake, left her feeling uncertain.
Perhaps… going home wouldn't be so bad.
Eleanor remained silent, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as her father's words settled in her mind.
Going home early…
The notion was undeniably enticing. The Marquis' estate offered a comfort far superior to that of this academy dormitory, and with a head injury as severe as hers, proper rest was paramount. At home, she would have access to the best doctors, warm meals, and the solace of her own room. But that wasn't the real issue.
The real problem was the novel.
She had read it countless times, the story crafted by her younger brother with painstaking detail. The plot of [World For Her] was set to officially unfold at the start of summer. In the original timeline, Eleanor had returned home just one day before summer, perfectly aligning herself with the events of the story.
But now… it was still the middle of spring.
If she returned early, everything would change.
Her fingers gripped the blanket tightly as a sense of unease coiled in her stomach. Would her actions create an entirely new timeline? Would she find herself ensnared in something even worse? The unknown possibilities made her head throb as if punishing her for daring to think too deeply in her current condition.
Still, one thing was abundantly clear—she couldn't simply follow the original plot like a fool walking to her doom.
She had no intention of getting embroiled in the absurd Crown Princess Selection. The mere thought of it turned her stomach.
An outrageous tournament where single noblewomen in the Magnolia Empire competed to become the future Empress—a spectacle rife with unfairness, with the Emperor himself watching from his lofty perch, seeming to relish in the chaos unfolding below him.
And to make matters worse, the so-called Heroine—the Duke's daughter and Eleanor's childhood friend—was confirmed to be scheming to steal Eleanor's fiancé, all in a bid to avoid the Crown Princess Selection, should the original plot hold true.
Eleanor scoffed internally. She had zero interest in the man to begin with, but the humiliation of being cast aside like a mere side character, her only purpose to further the plot, was infuriating.
She needed to act.
Her sudden injury had already altered the timeline. She might as well use this to her advantage. If she returned home early, she could gather information directly—insights not found in the novel, details her brother had neglected to include. She could investigate, plan, and most importantly, dismantle the original plot before it had a chance to take root.
Yet, the thought of it all only intensified the throbbing in her temples.
Damn it, my dear brother, she cursed internally. You and your absurd plot… Why did I have to end up in your ridiculous, shitty novel?
Her brother had vanished mysteriously in the real world, leaving her with nothing but an unfinished manuscript. But now, with a sinking realization, she understood—he must have been dragged into this world as well.
That meant he was somewhere here.
And once she recovered, she was determined to find him.
Taking a slow breath, she turned her gaze to her father. The Marquis was watching her closely, his crimson eyes filled with restrained worry. He was waiting for her answer, giving her the space to decide.
She closed her eyes briefly before exhaling in resignation.
"… Fine," she murmured. "I'll go home."
The Marquis blinked, momentarily surprised, before his features softened in relief.
"That's a wise decision, Eleanor," he said, his voice warm. "You'll be safer at home."
Safer, huh?
If only he knew that his daughter was already concocting plans to shatter the very fate that awaited her.