Look, I wasn’t aiming high. Wake up in a romance novel? Fine. Get stuck in the body of a pitiful side character? Unlucky, but manageable. All I wanted was peace—a quiet life with three meals a day, no scheming nobles, and definitely no getting tangled in the main plot. So explain to me why mysterious strangers keep knowing my name, why long-forgotten secrets are crawling out of the woodwork, and why everyone suddenly thinks I matter. I didn’t ask for power. I didn’t ask for romance. But it turns out the story’s not following the script anymore. And neither am I.