Oh No, I Possessed a Male Character! (13 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 2

I opened the wardrobe in utter despair. Perfectly tailored men’s clothing hung neatly inside.

“Ruined….”

Was I really going to have to cross-dress as a man?

I slumped down right in front of the wardrobe and tried to piece together everything that had happened to me so far.

First, the character I had transmigrated into was Muzel—a supporting character in the original novel who formed a love triangle with the male lead and the female lead.

But as far as I remembered, nowhere in the novel was Muzel ever described as a woman in disguise. Clearly, he had been a man throughout the story—a genuine heterosexual.

Which brought me back to my question: If Muzel was a man, why was I currently in a woman’s body?

“Could it be because my soul is originally female?”

It was a shaky conclusion, but it was the only explanation I could think of right now.

Anyway, crying here wouldn’t solve anything. If Rumi had transmigrated like me, I absolutely had to find her and get us both out of this mess.

I needed to get outside first. I stood back in front of the wardrobe and searched for something to change into. I took off my nightgown, slipped my legs into trousers, and hastily threw on a loose men’s poet shirt.

“Oh, my chest….”

No matter how baggy and wide the shirt was, men and women were fundamentally different in shape. If I went out like this, I’d instantly be found out as a woman.

I quickly took off the shirt again and urgently began rummaging around the room for something to tightly bind my chest.

But of course, there wouldn’t be anything like that in the room of a character who had originally been male. Reluctantly, I decided to cut up the bedsheet and use that instead.

“Ugh, what a hassle, tch.”

Grumbling nonstop, I somehow managed to flatten my chest. Once I put the shirt back on and fastened all the buttons of the vest, I looked passably like a somewhat androgynous young man.

I kept breaking into nervous laughter. In the original novel, Muzel was described as strikingly pretty—so much so that people might mistake him for a woman at first glance.

But why on earth was Muzel actually a woman?!

They really should’ve paid more attention when casting this transmigration spell. I never realized drunk transmigration could be this dangerous. But regretting it now was utterly pointless.

[This is the timeline separator]

“Counselor, did you sleep well last night?”

“Lady Muzel, I hope you have a pleasant day.”

As soon as I stepped outside, people I passed greeted me. Each time, I gave curt nods in response, trying my best to imitate Muzel’s demeanor from the novel.

At this point, it’s worth briefly outlining who Muzel was as a character.

Muzel appeared alongside the male lead, Klaus, early in the novel.

As a secondary male lead, he possessed dazzling looks, a calm and collected personality, and an exceptionally sharp intellect—rivalling Klaus himself.

He had gained quite a few fans due to his deeply devoted, unwavering affection for the female lead, Evangeline.

Right before the main story began, Klaus had appointed Muzel as his new personal counselor.

When a low-ranking country noble was suddenly promoted to serve directly under the Crown Prince, the capital’s nobility regarded Muzel with a mixture of envy and curiosity.

Had Muzel seemed even slightly weak, he would’ve faced harsh hazing or exclusion.

But he possessed a divine weapon bestowed by the heavens—his breathtaking beauty, which made everyone, regardless of age or gender, want to strike up a conversation with him at least once.

“Huh… I guess that works out in my favor, at least.”

Muttering to myself, I walked down the corridor of the Crown Prince’s palace. True to my role as personal counselor to the male lead—the Crown Prince Klaus—my quarters were located inside the Crown Prince’s residence.

Though I personally believed in the golden rule that workplace and home should always be separate, poor secondary male lead Muzel lived right under his boss’s nose, ready to rush over at a moment’s notice.

But from the perspective of Eojin—the transmigrator now inhabiting Muzel—there was a far more urgent matter than heading straight to the Crown Prince’s office.

“Where on earth is Rumi?”

First, I needed to find out who Rumi had transmigrated into. To do that, I had to understand where exactly the current plot of this novel stood.

“Sigh….”

Frustration welled up, and a sigh escaped me involuntarily. I had no idea where to even begin.

Just then, someone else greeted me.

“Oh! Counselor Muzel! Are you on your way to see His Highness the Crown Prince?”

“Yes, yes.”

I replied reflexively and blankly stared after the palace attendant as he hurried past me.

“Hoo….”

I took another deep breath, trying to calm myself.

Alright. If I didn’t know what to do next, I’d just follow Muzel’s established daily routine for now. Maybe along the way, I’d stumble upon a clue.

I couldn’t afford to flounder around clumsily, struggling to adapt. I needed to mobilize all my knowledge of this romance-novel world and act as naturally as possible—just like one of the locals.

I took one long, deep breath and strode forward with determination.

When I reached the largest door in the Crown Prince’s palace, I paused to catch my breath. A royal guard glanced at my face and smoothly stepped aside.

“Lord Muzel. Please, come in.”

I deliberately gave only a silent nod in response. It might seem a bit arrogant, but I didn’t dare speak—afraid my voice might tremble.

Fortunately, according to the novel’s setting, Muzel wasn’t particularly warm or friendly toward others. Thus, my silence raised no suspicion, and I passed through without issue.

After turning down a slightly curved corridor, I finally saw the room’s master. Before our eyes could meet, I quickly lowered my head.

“Your Highness the Crown Prince. It’s Muzel.”

“Ah, you’re here.”

I slowly raised my head—and finally came face-to-face with the stunningly handsome male lead of this romance novel.

“…!”

I held my breath. He was even more breathtakingly handsome than I’d imagined!

Crown Prince Klaus sat on a sofa with one leg elegantly crossed, holding a teacup—like a figure straight out of a painting.

He had jet-black hair of exquisite quality and mysterious violet eyes so captivating you couldn’t look away.

His straight nose and sharp jawline resembled a masterpiece carved by a master craftsman.

And his proportions—his slender, long legs and the elegant fingers holding his teacup—surpassed even those of a professional model.

“What are you staring at? You’ve gone completely blank all of a sudden.”

“A—my apologies, Your Highness.”

I hastily bowed my head again. Oops. I must’ve been lost in admiration.

I heard Klaus let out a soft chuckle.

“You’re strange too. Did everyone suddenly agree to start making uncharacteristic mistakes?”

“Huh?”

I blinked in confusion, and Klaus clicked his tongue.

“Yesterday, Princess Elfride made a most uncharacteristic blunder at the ball.”

“!”

My eyes shot wide open.

Princess Elfride was a minor character in this novel—the typical villainess who envied and resented the female lead, Lady Evangeline.

Klaus took a sip of tea before continuing.

“She randomly spilled wine all over my clothes. The usually so composed princess looked pitifully flustered—never seen her that rattled before.”

“…!”

A chill ran down my spine.

Spilling a drink on the male lead’s clothes was originally the female lead’s iconic meet-cute moment—the grand beginning of their destined romance. And now, that critical event had been snatched away by a villainess side character.

“Hah….”

A sigh slipped out before I could stop it.

Damn it, Rumi… surely you didn’t go and transmigrate into the villainess, following that cliché trope of transmigration novels?

Klaus also let out an exasperated chuckle.

“Anyway, since the princess seemed so utterly dispirited, I’ve arranged a little tea time with her today to lift her spirits.”

“I see….”

Well, well, Durumi. You’ve really gone all-in on rewriting the original plot, haven’t you?

[This is the timeline separator]

My desk was located just outside the Crown Prince’s main office—in what was essentially the antechamber.

I sat facing directly toward the entrance, so I was always the first to greet any visitors.

Between the antechamber and the office itself, there was no door—only a partial wall that separated the two spaces.

The best part of this arrangement was that the male lead’s gaze never fell on me.

“Phew….”

I idly twirled my pen, barely glancing at the towering stack of documents on my desk.

In transmigration-into-a-villainess stories, there were generally two patterns: either the transmigrator tried to steal the male lead from the female lead, or she went completely low-profile to avoid her doomed fate.

Judging by Klaus’s words, my friend Rumi seemed to have chosen the former—using her knowledge of the original plot to hijack the female lead’s destined encounter with the male lead.

I recalled Rumi’s final email: “My last act of courage—the ultimate challenge.” She’d written about starting a new life in a world perfectly suited to her.

“Is this it?”

From my perspective—someone who always treated novels as pure fiction—I simply couldn’t comprehend it. The more I thought about it, the more I sighed.

Did she really believe this novel was her perfect world? Was rewriting the original story through transmigration truly the new life she’d wanted?

You fool, Durumi. You don’t even realize how heartbroken the people you left behind must be. Rumi always said she hated the world—but never seemed to care about the family and friends within it.

Rumi hadn’t always been such a gloomy person. But over time, her world had grown painfully narrow.

As her self-esteem slowly crumbled, she increasingly took even well-meaning advice and concern as personal attacks.

Eventually, she became someone who wrapped herself in thorns and listened only to the voice inside her own head.

At first, her friends—including me—struggled to adjust to this version of Rumi.

When we worried after she spent entire days locked in her room and gently suggested she try some exercise—

[Are you saying I’m fat and unpleasant to look at?]

Or when, knowing she barely had any income, we tried offering her a part-time job—

[Just be honest—do you see me as a lazy moocher who does nothing but eat?]

Responses like these were all too common.

Of course, it was shocking at first. But over time, I gradually came to understand the symptoms of depression.

Honestly, Rumi’s reactions hurt more times than I could count. Yet I never turned away from her—because I believed her sharp defensiveness never came from malice.

She was just hurting—and deep down, she was actually quite a decent person.

That’s why I never gave up on Rumi.