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Three weeks ago.
“Ah, I’m so drained.”
Yeon-hee sighed deeply as she pressed her fingertips to her throbbing temples. Staring at the free serialization page where her story sat untouched, she could only muster a heavy sigh.
She had been posting three times a week for nearly eighty chapters, yet the only comments that ever appeared were a single hateful remark and an advertisement disguised as encouragement.
“How is it possible that the view count is still zero?”
The shock of seeing her barely two-digit readership finally drop to a single digit was almost unbearable.
Her resolve not to be swayed by immediate reactions and simply write steadily now felt hollow.
Yet, despite hitting this seemingly insurmountable wall, Yeon-hee couldn’t bring herself to abandon her novel.
How could she quit? Writing made her so happy.
Every time she scribbled down a plot or typed on her keyboard, her heart raced with excitement.
The act of transforming the stories in her mind into words wasn’t something forced upon her—it was the dream she’d cherished since childhood, one she had finally dared to pursue.
Clicking on the title marked with a “NEW” tag, she watched as the view count ticked up from 0 to 1.
Thinking it might increase to 2 if clicked again, she pressed the title once more—but nothing changed, even after refreshing the page.
Perhaps her loyal reader who always gave stars hadn’t returned from work yet; it was the weekend, after all.
How many meaningless clicks had she made before giving up? The view count stubbornly remained at 1.
With a deep sigh, Yeon-hee turned off her laptop.
What could she possibly do about this sinking feeling?
Deciding to distract herself with some shopping, she unlocked her phone—only to see a notification icon blinking on the top bar.
It was an unread email.
Without much thought, she tapped the notification and finally read the subject line. Her eyes widened in disbelief.
What? A publication offer?
________________________________________
[Regarding Your Publication Offer]
Hello, Author Heeya.
We are reaching out to propose publishing your serialized novel, “The Common Girl Who Became Empress.”
We would like to discuss the details in person. If you’re interested, please meet us at K Café on the 6th at 3 PM.
Best regards,
Editor, Locktea Books
________________________________________
Was this really what people called being “contacted”? She carefully reread the brief message.
Someone wanted to publish her novel, which barely had any readers?
Was this some new scam? Doubtful, but when she rubbed her eyes and checked again, the title mentioned in the email was unmistakably hers.
But didn’t contracts usually happen over exchanged emails before meeting face-to-face? And shouldn’t she have heard from publishers before now?
As her thoughts spiraled, her eyes landed on the date and time in the email.
The 6th, 3 PM. That’s today… She needed to think things through quickly…
[Today, 2:32 PM]
Glancing at the clock on her phone, Yeon-hee let out a short, startled cry.
There were less than thirty minutes left until the meeting time.
Had she ever felt this panicked in her twenty-four years of life? Without a moment to spare, she grabbed her coat from the back of her chair.
Thankfully, K Café wasn’t far from her apartment.
Though she had never disclosed her location, there was no time to question how they knew where to meet.
Even if it was a scam, she desperately wanted to believe it.
Publishing a book under her name—a dream she had held onto for over twenty years—was finally within reach.
Frantically grabbing her wallet, bag, and hat, she stepped outside, her heart pounding wildly.
Could this really be a legitimate contract offer? What if no one bought her book?
Ding.
Pushing open the café door marked with a “PUSH” sign, warm air brushed against her cheeks.
Unlike the biting cold outside, the interior of the café was cozy and inviting.
2:58 PM.
At least she wasn’t late. But how was she supposed to find the publisher among all these people?
Her hesitant gaze swept across the patrons chatting and sipping coffee.
Yet, it didn’t take long for her attention to lock onto one figure.
Someone was staring intently at her.
Dark hair neatly combed, bright black eyes gleaming.
Yeon-hee cautiously approached the man, his appearance strikingly ordinary—like someone she might have passed countless times throughout her school years. As if he’d been waiting, he extended a hand with a smile.
“Hello, you must be Author Heeya?”
“Yes, thank you for reaching out.”
Despite appearing no older than his early thirties, the editor exuded a calming presence.
His voice and mannerisms felt familiar, as though they had known each other for longer than just a minute.
After exchanging polite, formulaic compliments about her work, he pulled out a document.
“We’ve prepared the contract ahead of time. Take a look, and if everything seems fine, please sign at the bottom.”
“Wow, that’s fast… Do you usually handle contracts this quickly?”
“I fell in love with your work. I was worried another publisher might contact you first. Please review each clause carefully.”
It was a story she thought no one cared about—no comments, no interactions.
So why did hearing him call himself a fan make her heart race?
Despite her daily reminders not to trust people easily, she couldn’t help but feel elated, as if floating.
Skimming through the contract absentmindedly, Yeon-hee suddenly asked:
“Oh, I have a main job, so my updates might slow down. Is that okay?”
“Of course. We can wait however long it takes.”
He smiled warmly, his demeanor friendly and sincere.
Having earned money as a national fencing champion, royalties weren’t crucial for her. What mattered most was seeing her name on a published book.
After signing, the editor graciously thanked her and rose from his seat.
It had been so simple, yet she had been so nervous.
Promising to contact her soon, he disappeared, leaving her exhaling deeply.
“Things are going too smoothly… It’ll be fine, right?”
Like a mirage, the man—and the contract—vanished.
Yeon-hee headed home, her heart still fluttering inexplicably.
All that remained was telling her father.
But her father, as expected, was not an easy man. Within an hour, the fuse of discord was lit.
As trophies crashed to the floor, Yeon-hee’s dreams and hopes shattered alongside them.
This had all happened less than a month ago.
________________________________________
Recalling the bitter memory, I slowly sat up and leaned against the headboard.
If I were to live the rest of my life as Ophelia, what would happen to Yeon-hee in Korea?
Perhaps Ophelia’s soul had taken over my original body?
“By occupying Ophelia’s body, her soul must have been lost…”
Nothing was clear, and the uncertainty frustrated me. How comforting it would be if someone could simply tell me the truth.
Just then, a soft tap, tap sounded against the transparent window.
Recognizing the familiar ball of fluff, I chuckled lightly and opened the window.
With a lazy gust of wind, Pompoo floated in and naturally nestled into my arms.
“Pompoo, when did you get here? Did you have fun?”
“Pom, pom! Poooom, hug!”
“I may not fully understand, but judging by your expression, it seems you had a great time.”
If you’re happy, I’m happy too. I hugged Pompoo tightly, burying my face in his soft fur.
It felt like brushing my cheek with an impossibly soft brush.
No matter how much he rolled around outside, Pompoo always smelled fresh and clean.
Suddenly, purring like a cat while rubbing against me, Pompoo let out a small sound as if remembering something.
“Pom!”
“Hmm? Do you have something to show me?”
“Pom, pom. Pyaaaah!”
With an adorable pyaaah, Pompoo puffed up his white fur, resembling a hedgehog bristling its spines.
A burst of light momentarily blinded me, and then—a single ice flower dropped into my palm.
Stunned, I stared at the delicate bloom.
“What is this, Pompoo? Did you make this?”
“Pom, pom!”
Resembling a crystal sculpture, the ice flower shimmered transparently.
Though clearly made of ice, strangely, the rose-shaped flower wasn’t cold. Instead, it radiated warmth close to body temperature.
Warm ice? How fascinating.
Pompoo pranced around me proudly, clearly pleased with himself.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful. Was this just a random gift?”
“Poom, pom.”
“I’m worried it might melt in the sunlight… I should put it somewhere shaded.”
Smiling, I placed the ice flower in an empty vase. The warmth emanating from it filled a corner of my heart with a fuzzy glow.
Gently stroking Pompoo’s head, I gazed out the window once more.
Each passing day brought unimaginable surprises, but living as Ophelia wasn’t entirely bad, either.
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