Trapped In My Own Novel

Transmigration

The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of an old electric fan and the steady clack of keys filling the silence of Hi Joon's cramped apartment. She sat hunched over her laptop, her tired eyes scanning the words she had just typed.

For weeks, she had forced herself into this routine: wake up, make coffee, and sit behind her secondhand desk until words spilled out, no matter how hollow they felt. Writing was supposed to be her dream. Once, she had believed it was her destiny. But now… now it felt like she was clawing at a door that would never open

Her laptop chimed. A new email.

Her breath caught, and her tired eyes sharpened with sudden light. She hurried to click it open, heart pounding as if this single message could change everything.

“Thank you for your submission. Unfortunately, we regret to inform you…”

Her pulse stumbled. She blinked rapidly, trying to read it again, to find some mistake in the lines— the rest dissolved into a blur. She had read those lines too many times before.

Another rejection.

Her lips parted in disbelief, but no sound came out. Slowly, she slumped back in her chair, staring blankly at the ceiling. She had imagined this moment so many times—the acceptance email, the thrill of knowing her story would finally have a home. Instead, she got the same hollow phrases she had memorized over the years, polite words masking another slammed door.

A bitter laugh slipped past her lips. “Why am I not surprised?” she whispered. Her voice cracked, raw and small in the silence of her room. “Of course,” she whispered to herself. “Of course it’s another rejection. Why would anyone care about the stories I made? About me?”

Her gaze fell on the stack of paper drafts piled on the edge of her desk. Ink smudges, highlighted lines, pages rewritten until the words lost meaning. This story had consumed her: nights spent sleepless, eyes swollen from crying, heart bleeding into every character.

The heroine who suffered endlessly.

The cruel Sea God who never loved.

The consorts who schemed like snakes in a gilded cage.

It was a cruel story—too cruel. And perhaps, she thought with sudden bitterness, that was why no one wanted it.

“No one cares about this world,” she muttered, dragging her hands through her hair. “No one cares about me.”

Her throat tightened. She slammed her laptop shut, a little too forcefully, and the sudden movement knocked over the glass of juice she had forgotten on the side. Golden liquid spilled across the keyboard, “Ah! No, no—!” Ysabel scrambled forward, panic replacing grief. She snatched up the cup, but the juice had already seeped into the cracks. The screen flickered violently, a hiss escaping as sparks spat into the air. A Jolt..

Then pain struck.

A violent jolt surged up her arm, racing through her body in waves of fire. She screamed—or tried to—but her voice was stolen, trapped in her throat. Her muscles seized, her chest tightened, and the room spun.

The last thing she saw was the blinding white light bursting from the screen, swallowing her whole.

And just before the darkness swallowed her, she thought she heard it—the distant roar of waves,and voices calling her name from the deep.

A throbbing pain split Hi-Joon's head in two. She groaned softly, her tongue dry and heavy, as if she had swallowed sand.

Then, the first thing she noticed was the silence.

It wasn’t the familiar hum of her apartment fan or the faint buzz of her old laptop. This silence was heavier, thicker, as if the air itself pressed against her ears.

Her eyes fluttered open.

A ceiling of shimmering mother-of-pearl stared back at her, glimmering faintly in the soft glow of lamps that looked suspiciously like glowing jellyfish suspended from threads. Curtains of silk embroidered with fish scales swayed gently, though no breeze stirred them. The bed beneath her was impossibly soft, draped in sheets finer than anything she had ever touched, cool against her skin like water flowing over stone.

A chill ran through her. She sat up, heart racing, and stared at her hands. Pale, delicate fingers, slimmer than her own, adorned with golden bangles that clinked lightly when she moved.

Her breath caught.

“These… aren’t my hands.”

She pressed trembling palms against her face. Even her skin felt different—smooth, perfumed, unreal.

Her gaze darted around the chamber. Coral walls polished until they gleamed. Furniture carved from seashells and ivory. Beyond a wide balcony, she caught sight of something that made her blood run cold: schools of silver fish darting past the glass, the endless sweep of an underwater world pressing in from all sides.

Her throat tightened. “Where… where am I?”

The door slammed open. Hi Joon flinched, clutching the sheets around her. A young maid rushed inside, skirts fluttering, her face pale and strained.

“Consort Ysabel!” the girl cried, dropping to her knees.

Hi Joon blinked at her, her mind spinning. “Con—what? No, you’re mistaken. My name is—” She stopped herself, words catching in her throat. What was she supposed to say?

The maid lifted her head, eyes widening in confusion at Ysabel’s strange tone. “My lady…? Are you unwell? Did you… suddenly forget who you are?”

“My goodness! This isn't making sense at all…! And who the f**k are you?” Hi Joon tries not to yell at the chubby maid, staring back at her.

“Who… the… f**k are you? What does that mean? My lady… are you really unwell?” Mariam stood up, attempting to get closer to her.

Hi Joon stepped backwards and shook her head quickly, clutching her temples. “I—I don’t understand. What is this place? Why am I—” She broke off, her voice trembling. “Why does everything look like… like something out of a story?”

The maid’s lips parted, stunned by her mistress’s strange words. A flicker of fear crossed her face, as though she wondered if Ysabel had lost her mind.

My lady,” she whispered, her voice wavering, “please, you must gather yourself. This is no time for riddles. Haven’t you heard?”Hi Joon froze. “Heard…" what?”

The maid lowered her gaze, her hands clutching her skirt so tightly her knuckles turned white. “The Consort Mabella —she has been poisoned. And…” Her voice broke as she glanced up again, eyes full of terror. “The evidence points to you.”

Hi Joon’s blood turned to ice.