Chapter Text
Aira blinked awake to a marbled ceiling, one that was certainly not his room’s. He never had a canopy bed, although he would admit he wouldn’t mind a nice white one to match with his wallpaper. He laid spread eagle on the mattress which was much larger than the twin-sized one he was used to.
“What a realistic dream”, he thought. Aira reached up to rub at his eyes, attributing his lingering fatigue to events from yesterday. Grimacing at the thought, he reflected upon the failure of his life. He wished he was his usual overdramatic self but seeing his aspirations slip through his fingers just like that was heartbreaking.
Clutching his resume in his arms like a shield, Aira tapped his feet in anticipation. The tension in the room emanating from the other candidates could be cut with a knife. Aira dared not to look around, seeing the others would only make his nerves even worse; not to mention, no one looked like they were in a conversational mood.
Upon the squeak of a door, everyone looked up simultaneously. The judges trudged into the room without greeting. With a thrust of his clipboard, the man leading the menacing entourage gestured towards three seated boys situated at his forefront.
“You, you and you, come with me. The rest are dismissed, thank you for your interest and participation and please head home,” the judge didn’t spare the rest of the room a single glance as his colleagues headed towards the selected candidates.
Aira’s stomach dropped.
That was it? Years of training regiments, meal plans, choreographed dances, all of that amounted to nothing? He could feel a sting in his eye threatening to burst forth at any moment. His nails imprinted crescents into his thigh as he initiated a staring contest with the floor.
This idol audition was the last of which his parents allowed his participation. After sacrificing his entire adolescence in his attempts at debuting, Aira’s family grew less content with his failure and more convinced that all of his zeal was just a waste of money. Aira had explained the intricacies of the industry, how many idols –especially those who don’t have the support of a large company– struggled to get off the ground but they refused to indulge in his ramblings. This was the final boon he was given. Never would Aira see a sea of waving penlights or stand on stage to the cheers of a thousand in this lifetime.
He could hear the dissatisfied whispers of the other participants.
‘I did everything perfectly, down to every turn, there’s no way…’
Totally rigged, what a waste of my time….”
Suddenly, a chair squeaked against the ceramic tiles, “What d’ya mean ‘head home?’, y’all just came in ‘ere, picked those guys and expect us ta just leave? Ya said there were more than three positions available!”
“Haven’t you read the fine print? The committee’s decisions are final,” the man huffed, sifting through the notes on his clipboard, “We worked with what we got and this was the result.”
Sounds of protest ripped through the ranks of the seated.
Aira looked up to see the dissatisfied applicant –another boy around his age– roll his eyes and cross his arms. “Yeah, quite a coincidence that they’re all from the same dance studio. How much did they line your wallet for ya to spill that lie?”
A woman stepped out from behind the judge, “Are you accusing us of dishonest behaviour? We don’t mind taking this to the courtroom.”
The room held its breath as the two opponents glared at each other from opposite ends. After what felt like a millenia, the boy sighed.
“I give, I give,” the accuser raised his hands in surrender, “Not like babblin’s gonna get me anywhere,” he walked across the room, head held high and left after a particularly hard brush against the judge’s shoulder.
With his departure, many other contestants followed suit, grumbling complaints under their breath. Aira followed the trickle of the crowd, a cacophony of emotions jumbled inside of him. The mass of disgruntled hopefuls dissipated at the entrance of the office building.
As if on autopilot, Aira’s feet took him the way he came. Still holding back his tears, he trudged onward until he felt a drop of water hit the tip of his nose. He didn’t bother to check the weather report that morning, being occupied by what he thought were more important concerns. A downpour surged out of what seemed like nowhere as if giving Aira permission to let his tears fall. Passerbys wouldn’t be able to differentiate the droplets on his face anyway since he didn’t bring an umbrella.
Unprepared. Unsuccessful. Unconsolable.
As he crossed the road that gleamed a bloody red under the traffic light, he felt a vibration in his pocket. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, the blonde hung onto the sliver of hope that it was a call for him to turn back to the office behind him.
[The latest chapter of ‘The Lady of Noble Light’ has been updated! Check it out!]
Aira thought he turned off notifications for his reading app, guess he didn’t after all, he repocketed the phone. It was foolish of him to cling to such thoughts anyway. He dreaded returning home, knowing that the thought of figuring out his future was what awaited him back at his parent’s apartment.
“WATCH OUT!”
Aira flinched at the sound of an ear-piercing screech. Was the scream addressed to him? He looked up to find the source of the voice only to see a truck hurtle towards him out of the streaks of rain.
Too fast. He couldn’t dodge.
Bracing himself for impact, Aira heard the clatter of his phone against the road before everything went black.
Recalling the events the day prior, Aira’s eyes started to fill with tears once again. He rubbed at them as an attempted distraction. Crying wasn’t going to do him any good. He just had to accept the fact that he wasn’t destined for the stage like the idols he admired after all. “This is literally soooo not rabui at all,” he muttered.
The intricately carved door to his right squeaked open, interrupting his musings. A maid with a tray filled with various pastries and a cup of tea approached the side of his bed. She gasped at the sight of Aira’s tear-filled eyes, lowering the tray to a bedside table.
“My lord, are you alright? Would you like a handkerchief or some herbal tea? Or perhaps I should call upon the Head Maid,” she placed a hand on his shoulder.
Aira could almost feel the warmth radiating from her palm if he concentrated hard enough –weird– he must’ve been quite sleep-deprived to be able to fall into such a deep slumber. Although he attempted to remember the rest of his trip home, no thought resurfaced in his mind. He brushed it off as a lapse in his memory from the jarring events of that day.
“No, it’s nothing,” Aira mustered up a forced smile for the servant kneeling at his bedside. “Just the feeling of having my years of work amount to no fruition, that’s all. If only I didn’t mess up that turn… or were my expressions too exaggerated? Urgh, I was stupid to think I stood a chance anyway,” he grimaced internally. He was a single intrusive thought away from bawling his eyes out at the poor woman.
“Well, if you need me, I will be in the servant’s quarters,” she sighed, “Your father would be worried if you were to be ill of health or mind.”
She threw Aira one last glance before brushing off her skirt, getting off the floor and heading out. Aira made sure her footsteps grew lighter and lighter before he flopped back into his bedsheets. He glanced at the array of pastries on his bedside table, scooting closer as the scent of freshly baked goods reeled him in. He picked up a pan au chocolat and wolfed it down. “Uwaah, at least I don’t need to follow those damned meal plans anymore. Oh chocolate, how I’ve missed you so~.”
Midway through devouring the croissant, Aira winced in pain. He bit his own tongue. Wait, why did it hurt? The sensation raced through his mouth as if his nerves were awake, contrary to what he initially thought was a dream… that couldn’t be possible. Aira cast a look around the room, the decorations seemed far more detailed than what his brain could possibly conjure up while sleeping, he could feel the pan au chocolat settling in his stomach and he felt the silk blanket against his body.
He leaped to his feet and scrambled off the bed only to crumple to the floor. It was way taller than anticipated. Aira may not have been particularly impressive when it came to his height but he made it into his school’s basketball team, that had to count for something –probably. The blonde looked back at the bed, it was nearly the height of his shoulder. He stumbled to his feet and dashed for a smaller conjoining door adjacent to the entrance at the other end of the room.
Barely reaching the doorknob, he pushed it open. Aira’s breath caught in his throat. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors; a tub large enough to easily fit two people stood gleaming in its marble glory and a vanity –reachable via a stepping stool– inlaid with gold. The bathroom was totally overkill.
Despite itching to explore what products lay within the vanity’s drawers, Aira glided to the expansive mirror, catching his reflection. Noticeably, he had more pressing issues than becoming vertically challenged overnight. As if flipping through his childhood photos, Aira’s cheeks held more baby fat than what he remembered from his recollection, his acne was all but nonexistent and his hands consisted of small stubby fingers rather than his long thin ones. All the signs pointed to him becoming de-aged rather than having his height plainly disappear due to unfound medical practices.
He thought back to the room that looked like the set of a period drama, the worrying state of his shrunken body and his vague recollections of what happened before “falling asleep”. Aira would’ve attempted to drown himself in the ostentatiously-sized bathtub if it weren’t for the fact that there were probably teams of servants stationed around the mansion ready to race to his rescue. “I could’ve been reborn as a celebrity or the son of a CEO but nooo, it had to be a historical webcomic or novel. Who decided to put ‘making Aira Shiratori suffer’ on their bucket list? I want out!” he silently wailed.
It wasn’t as if he hated royal settings, Aira loved to coo at pretty dresses and admire the elaborate designs of the backdrops. He also read a fair amount of isekai so after somewhat accepting his irreversible position as a transmigrator, Aira knew he was either destined to avoid a horrid death at the hands of the main cast or live out his life as a mob character far away from the action. He wished it was the latter but no background character would realistically live in such luxury –especially considering his luck. He was starting to regret ditching his social studies class to scroll through dance practice videos in the library, maybe then he wouldn’t be so concerned about surviving all the court intrigue that was surely coming for his reputation, his wealth and likely his neck.
Aira paused. The chances were low but there was also a slight possibility of him possessing some type of magic, hopefully overpowered enough to guarantee his survival if he were to end up in some kind of scuffle. He tried clenching his fists, concentrating on whatever energy-core-magic-something-something that may be extracted out of his puny body. No luck. The secondhand embarrassment was enough to stop the blonde from trying again.
“I’m probably some poor side character then, worst comes to worst I’ll perform a wotagei to scare off the enemy,” Aira scoffed at the thought. “If only I could figure out which webcomic I ended up in. They all kind of look the same after all.”
Returning to his bedroom, Aira decided on the most logical course of action his mind could conjure up at that moment. If he sifted through his belongings, maybe he could find hints about the previous owner of his body, although he doubted there was much depth to be uncovered in a 6-year-old child. It wasn’t like asking the servants or the owner of the mansion –assumedly the prior occupant’s father– was an option. Doing so would likely rouse suspicions of possession or foul play and Aira would not like to experience this world’s equivalent of an exorcism thank you very much.
Using the full strength of both his arms, Aira pushed open a closet situated next to the bathroom entrance. The walk-in closet greeted him with a range of outfits, from casual tunics to ornate formalwear, not to mention accessories in every possible colour on the visible light spectrum. He didn’t even realise the jewels of those shades existed until now.
The fact that all of that was dedicated to a single toddler… some of these looked like they were never even worn before. Aira reached out to touch the soft threaded strands of a nearby robe; he had no clue about the quality of fabrics but it certainly felt like something that would have the “1000 thread count” tag attached to it. The blonde dug around the closet for any definitive clues, articles of clothing that may be especially recognizable, and pointers related to the mansion that had become his new residence overnight.
Nothing.
There were only waves upon waves of outfits that –whilst luxurious in appearance– didn’t look very comfortable to wear.
If only he could look up the type of clothing and narrow down the time period for his setting., Aira fumbled around his nightwear’s pockets. He paused. The lack of a smartphone, and access to any type of social network, dawned on him. Aira let out a mournful whine, “I can’t do this anymore. Send me back, send me back, SEND ME BACK!”
Many transmigration stories seem to gloss over the fact that their hapless MCs were now without access to their dearly beloved internet. Aira, in all his chronically online tendencies, grew even more aggrieved at his current situation.
He needed some fresh air, now.
Aira stomped to the balcony and flung it open. A gust of wind blew back his bangs as he hugged the railings with his scrawny arms. An expanse of greenery surrounded the mansion. A small flower garden flourished to the left of the well-kept lawn as if speckled on an artist’s canvas. The hedges that bordered the mansion’s gardens were cut to a precise 90-degree angle with a small outdoor dining area situated beneath the shade of a tree. However, the garden’s most eye-catching feature was the artificial lake planted right in the middle of its grounds. A bevy of white swans as pale as fresh snow glided across, Aira could hear their distant squawks as their feathers ripped the water’s surface.
It was a sight of botanical and faunal awe, one that Aira could hardly take his eyes off of. He visited a fair amount of parks while in his old world but something about the blend of masterful gardening with nature’s illustrious beauty momentarily halted his pessimistic train of thought.
Suddenly, he heard the distant call of a man’s voice from the lower floor, “Young Lord! Your package has arrived!”
Shocked out of his stupor, Aira shouted over the railings, “Alright, one second!”
He dashed for the exit and swept his gaze over the outside of his bedroom. The hallway, with its floor covered by a lengthy beige rug, stretched out in front of him. Its marble walls glistened with barely a speck of dust. As Aira made his way to the staircase that lay at the edge of the corridor, he looked up at the rather unique decor that lined the walls. The interior designer must’ve been fond of swans. There were statues of them, paintings, figurines and even tapestries. Despite the rather bizarre furnishings, Aira was in no place to judge, recalling his shelves of CDs and merchandise. Questionable decor aside, the sheer extravagance of the mansion was making Aira cast doubt upon the theory of being reborn as a mere side character. The swan theming was also vaguely familiar but like a question on a tricky test, the answer was just out of reach.
After descending the arched staircase, Aira quickened his pace to the front double doors. His shorter legs would need some getting used to. A male servant stood in attendance at the front door, dutifully opening them for him. Saying a word of thanks, Aira looked up at the messenger.
“Here you go Young Lord, your package,” he handed Aira a box, it was small in size but its contents were heavier than expected.
Aira shifted the package to a secure hold at the side of his body, “Thank you, sir.”
The messenger had a noticeably large trolley filled to the brim with even more packages, his face was coated in a thin layer of sweat. Aira felt a pang of sympathy for the man, “It must’ve been very tiring for you. Would you like something to drink before you go?” He might as well start getting into some people’s good books, not knowing what grievances the previous owner of his body accumulated prior to his transmigration meant playing safe when it came to human relations.
The messenger quirked his brow while the servant at the door coughed into the crook of his elbow.
“That was very generous of you, my lord, but I would like to humbly decline,” he blinked down at Aira, “Although I greatly appreciate your concern. Do send the Duke my regards, however.”
He and the servant at the door shared a look that lasted barely a second before he gave Aira a tip of his hat and set off to his next delivery.
After his figure disappeared behind a neat row of hedges, Aira felt a tap on his shoulder.
“My lord, please excuse my impertinence but… did you have proper bed rest? Perhaps you feel ill? If the Young Lord wishes to rest for a while longer I would gladly deliver a message to–”
Aira’s brows furrowed, “What? No! I’m perfectly fine.” It seemed like the previous “Young Lord” was certainly quite a character. “Keeping up the charade was going to be a challenge,” he thought, “I flunked my acting class pretty badly….”
The servant bowed, “I deeply apologise for overstepping.”
“No no, it’s fine,” Aira felt like he should be the one apologising for possessing the poor servant’s rightful lord.
He limped back upstairs, package in one hand and stretching for the handrail with the other. The blonde stumbled midway up the staircase only to find his fall negated by a strong hand. The servant helped him up with his arm before scooping up his mail. Aira resigned to plod along behind him. The few minutes of reprise allowed him another once-over of his surroundings. Back when he used to trade photocards, the employees at his local post office could name him on sight. The previous Young Lord must’ve been an equally avid spender. Aira scoffed at the unexpected similarity. But that wouldn’t explain why the messenger was also acquainted with the Duke. He kneaded the blonde tips of his hair between his fingers.
“Ask me to name the blood type of any idol and I would gladly give you their entire medical history. Ask me to investigate clues to ensure my own survival in some webcomic and I would rather resign to my doomed fate.”
Arriving back at his room, the servant placed the package on his nightstand and took away the tray of stale breakfast. Aira nodded his head in thanks as the man exited his room before feeling around the inside of his drawer for a box opener. There was no harm in hoping for an additional clue from the mysterious delivery, it was probably more clothes to add to the closet that was bursting at the seams.
Upon cutting open the box and looking inside, Aira’s breath hitched.
The Lady of Noble Light was a webcomic famed for being “that one historical webcomic”. It had every cliche a story of its genre would have: A beautiful and kind female lead who charmed whichever character crossed her path; a backdrop of court intrigue most readers glossed over; and a basic four-element power system in addition to two “super rare” elements of light and darkness.
The main character’s affections were sought after by two handsome bachelors, one of which clearly had a greater advantage over the other upon comparison. The “male lead” position was held firmly in the hands of Hiiro Amagi, the fiery and forthright Second Prince. He fell for the MC’s tenderness, captivating looks and her healing light magic. He was destined to be on the winning side of the love triangle ever since his viral debut lit not only his enemies on fire but also the reader forums in a passionate blaze. Hiiro’s scenes with the female lead completely overshadowed much of the political chaos that went on in the background to a few fans’ dismay.
Aira used one of his thirst edits as a flashlight at 3 am before, embarrassingly enough.
The role of second male lead belonged staunchly to Aira Shiratori, the Duke of the South. A spoiled yet endearing noble who grew on readers as his enemies-to-lovers dynamic with the female lead brought both tension and comic relief to the plot but it was painfully obvious that his pursuit of the main character’s affections was all for naught. Following his rejection by the female lead, Shiratori distanced himself from the main cast and was eventually killed in the final arc of the story, the Rebellion.
Aira groaned. The Rebellion was something alright.
It was the perfect backdrop to such a comic and boy did the author utilise it to its fullest potential –not that many readers cared. Hiiro needed a tragic backstory to accompany his tragically blue eyes and to do so, his history came to relevance within this pinnacle plot point. Born out of wedlock to a commoner mother and the King, he and his brother –the usurper-to-be, Rinne– suffered injustice after injustice at the hands of the King’s legitimate children for as long as he could remember. It finally culminated in a bloody insurrection jointly led by Rinne and the male lead himself, resulting in Aira’s death at his rival’s hands and the female lead’s heart being claimed by Hiiro.
The discussion forums fell into chaos upon the second male lead’s death. Although second male leads getting the short end of the stick when it came to endings were commonplace, many readers thought killing him off was too much. To those who were on Team Aira, it was like doomsday had come early. Theorists believed the author concocted the arc solely to eliminate Hiiro’s competition, most of his fans were just upset their favourite didn’t survive to witness a happy ending.
Despite vehemently being on Team Hiiro, Aira sympathised with the fallen noble who bore the same name as him.
Now, he was especially sympathetic since he was destined to share the same fate as the poor fellow.
The ornate dagger lay innocently in the box, glistening in the early morning light as if eager to sink itself under his skin several decades early. How could he not recognize it? It was the subject of many promotional arts, the preferred signature weapon of the original Aira Shiratori and was responsible for his untimely assassination. The object may very well lead to his second, possibly permanent, departure from the world of the living but at least now Aira had a plan. Well, it was the semblance of a plan at least.
Aira took a deep breath. He closed the box and stashed it in an unseen corner of his closet. Out of sight, out of mind. Being transmigrated before the events of the story had its perks and Aira needed to use the headstart as efficiently as possible.
“In my last life, I wasted my days away chasing an uncatchable dream. This time, I’ll live the most lovely life that my previous self couldn't even dream of~!”