assassin to duke
The rifle purred in Lio’s hands like a spoiled cat. Through the scope, his target was mid–phone call, probably bragging about his money or his mistress. Lio sighed. “You’re boring me already.”
One squeeze of the trigger, and the man dropped like a sack of potatoes. Clean. Efficient. Almost artistic.
Packing up, Lio muttered, “Another idiot down. At this rate, I should start a loyalty card program — ten kills, one free.”
Back in his apartment, he kicked the door shut with his boot, tossed the rifle case onto the table, and eyed the cracked mirror. His reflection stared back, unimpressed.
“Congratulations, Lio. You’re still single, still deadly, and still living in a room that looks like a prison cell. Truly thriving.”
He poured himself water, sniffed it suspiciously, then shrugged. “If someone poisoned this, at least it’d be more exciting than tonight’s job.”
The silence pressed in, broken only by the hum of the fridge. He flopped onto the bed, boots still on, staring at the ceiling.
“Assassin by day, tragic bachelor by night. If my life were a novel, readers would drop it after chapter one.”
He reached for the worn paperback on his nightstand — his favorite romance novel, the only splash of color in his grayscale existence. He flipped it open, smirking. “Ah yes, nobles, gowns, dramatic love triangles. At least someone’s life is interesting.”
Lio sprawled across his bed, rifle case shoved aside, paperback in hand. The title glared at him: The Misery of Beauty.
“Misery? Honey, if you’re that pretty and still miserable, you’re doing something wrong,” he muttered, flipping the page.
The female lead was introduced with endless descriptions: hair like spun gold, eyes like sapphires, skin like porcelain.
“Alright, we get it. She’s basically a jewelry store with legs. Can we move on?”
Then came her fiancé, the toxic duke. Obsessed with her, controlling, suffocating.
*“And she hates him. Shocking. Who could’ve guessed that being locked in a tower by Mr. ‘Gentleman Duke’ isn’t romantic? Honestly, if every woman in his territory admires him, maybe they should form a support group. Call it ‘We Love Our Captor Anonymous.’”
The heroine sighed, cried, and complained for three pages straight.
“Girl, you’re gorgeous, rich, and living in a castle. Meanwhile, I’m eating stale noodles in a one-room apartment. Cry me a river.”
Then the king appeared — noble, powerful, instantly smitten.
“Of course. Because the cure for a toxic fiancé is… an even more powerful man who can casually kill people. Romantic, right? Nothing says ‘true love’ like a public execution.”
When the king finally killed the duke, freeing the heroine, Lio snorted.
“So the happy ending is: trade one controlling man for another, but this one has a crown. Honestly, if I were her, I’d just marry myself. Less drama, fewer corpses.”
He tossed the book onto the nightstand, shaking his head. “Straight novels are wild. The female lead spends half the story crying, the duke spends half the story obsessing, and the king spends half the story plotting murder. And readers call this romance.”
Lio had fallen asleep mid–eye roll, the novel sprawled across his chest. One moment he was mocking the female lead’s endless crying, the next he was blinking awake in a bed that was definitely not his dingy apartment.
Velvet curtains. Chandeliers. A castle room straight out of The Misery of Beauty.
“Oh great. Either I’ve been kidnapped by interior decorators, or I’ve been transmigrated. Fine. Let’s see… am I the king? Please let me be the king. At least he gets the crown and the fanfare.”
He sat up, stretched, and noticed something odd: long, golden strands of hair spilling over his shoulders.
“Wait. Golden hair? Don’t tell me… I’m the female lead?!”
He grabbed a handful, groaning. “Fantastic. I kill people for a living, and now I’m supposed to cry prettily in ballrooms. Just what I needed.”
Still half-panicked, he stumbled toward the mirror. The reflection staring back wasn’t the king. It wasn’t the heroine either.
It was the duke. The toxic fiancé.
Lio froze, then burst out laughing. “Oh, this is rich. I’m the obsessive villain? The guy everyone hates but secretly admires? Perfect. Just perfect.”
He tugged at the golden hair again, scowling. “Seriously though, if a man has hair this long and beautiful, what kind of woman in medieval times would even take him seriously? No wonder the female lead hates him. He’s basically competing with her for conditioner.”
He leaned closer to the mirror, smirking. “Honestly, I think the duke was bisexual or something. Obsessed with the heroine, admired by every woman in his territory, but rocking hair that screams ‘I could steal your boyfriend too.’”
Lio flopped back onto the bed, laughing at the absurdity. “From assassin to golden-haired duke. If this is fate, it has a terrible sense of humor.”
A knock rattled the heavy oak door. “Sir, your breakfast is ready,” a maid’s voice called politely.
Lio blinked, still half in disbelief at the golden hair spilling across his pillow. He sat up, trying to remember how the duke behaved in the novel.
“Right… act noble. Act obsessed. Act like a man who thinks controlling women is romantic.” He cleared his throat dramatically. “First, I will take a bath. Where is the bathroom?”
The maid froze, blinking at him. His tone was so stiff and theatrical it sounded like he was auditioning for a bad play.
“Bath… sir?” she repeated, eyes darting nervously.
Lio arched a brow, tossing his golden hair like he was in a shampoo commercial. “Yes, bath. You know, water, soap, the thing civilized people do before breakfast. Or do dukes here just spritz perfume and call it a day?”
The maid hesitated, then whispered to herself, “Still hungover from last night…” She forced a smile and bowed. “Please follow me, sir.”
Lio smirked, striding after her with exaggerated grace. “Excellent. Lead the way. Let me see how medieval plumbing works. If it’s just a bucket, I’m suing the author.”
The maid bowed and left, leaving Lio alone in the bathroom. He stepped inside, froze, and then burst out laughing.
The place was enormous — marble floors, golden faucets, a tub so wide it looked like it could host a naval battle.
“This bathroom is bigger than my entire apartment,” he muttered, running a hand through his ridiculous golden hair. He walked around, inspecting the tub like it was a crime scene.
“Thank god I know swimming, or else I’d drown in this thing. Imagine the headlines: ‘Duke dies tragically in his own bathtub.’ Very noble. Very glamorous. Very stupid.”
He leaned over the edge, staring at the water. “Honestly, this isn’t a bath. This is a moat. If someone throws a rubber duck in here, I’ll need binoculars to find it.”
Lio stripped off his coat, still chuckling. “Assassin by trade, duke by accident, Olympic swimmer by necessity. If this is my new life, at least it comes with luxury drowning options.”
The dining hall was a battlefield of food. Platters of roasted meats, baskets of bread, towers of fruit, and more silverware than Lio had ever seen in his life. He sat down, eyes wide, practically vibrating with joy.
“Forget assassination. I’ve officially retired. This is my new career: professional eater,” he muttered, piling his plate like a starving soldier.
He was halfway through demolishing a mountain of eggs when the doors creaked open.
A trembling figure entered — the female lead Lady Seraphina. She looked terrified, her hands shaking as she dropped to her knees before him.
“Duke Alaric, please forgive me for my late arrival,” she stammered, voice quivering. “I know you cannot live without seeing me, but I was exhausted last night due to… a certain reason.”
Lio didn’t even look up. His entire focus was on the food. He stabbed a sausage with his fork, chewing thoughtfully.
“Mm. This jam is divine. Honestly, if I’d known dukes ate like this, I’d have retired years ago,” he muttered, ignoring her trembling voice.
Behind him, Seraphina’s hands shook as she brushed his hair. Tears welled in her eyes. She thought this was some new punishment — silent cruelty, ignoring her presence.
The servants exchanged whispers from the corner. “Poor Lady Seraphina… the duke is merciless.” “She’s so miserable, always crying…” “He must be punishing her again.”
Lio’s assassin instincts picked up every word, his ears sharp as ever. He nearly choked on his bread. “Punishing her? Lady, I’m punishing this roast chicken, not you.”
But Seraphina didn’t wait for clarification. With a sob, she fled the hall, skirts trailing behind her, disappearing into her chambers.
Lio blinked, chewing slowly. “Did she just… cry because I was eating? Incredible. In my world, people cry because I shoot them. Here, they cry because I chew too loudly.”
He leaned back, smirking. “If this is how the duke usually behaves, no wonder the king kills him later. Honestly, I’d kill him too — just for wasting perfectly good breakfast drama.”
