Chapter 1
A Prince from a fictional world…a book character…crashes into the real world…nd fall in love with the reader who was obsessed with his story. But if he stays longer in the real world he will disappear slowly…because his existence is forbidden in real world…in ‘her’ world…
"To the girl who kept me alive in a world that was not mine.”
Jimin
Dawn arrived gently in Valeryn.
It did not crash over the mountains or blaze across the sky. It unfolded slowly, like a promise kept quietly, spilling pale gold across the tiled rooftops and white stone towers of the capital. The morning bells had not yet rung, and the city still breathed in its sleep — ovens warming, horses shifting in their stalls, river mist curling along the lower streets. At the highest balcony of the eastern palace stood Prince Jimin.
He had been awake long before the sun.
Sleep had never held him for long, not since childhood. He found more comfort in the hour before the kingdom stirred, when everything was suspended in that fragile stillness between night and day. It was the only time he felt he could look upon his world without interruption, without expectation.
Below him, the city of Valeryn lay peaceful and orderly. The markets would soon awaken, banners would rise, and the palace corridors would fill with voices seeking his attention. But for now, there was only the sound of wind passing through the cypress trees and the distant murmur of the river beyond the walls.
Jimin rested his hands lightly on the cool marble railing.
From here, he could see nearly everything — the merchant quarter with its patterned rooftops, the barracks along the western edge, the long stretch of farmland that fed the capital. Beyond that, rolling hills faded into forest and mountain. His kingdom. His responsibility.
One day, his crown.
He did not dread it.
He did not welcome it either.
He simply accepted it as something that had always existed in his future, like the sunrise or the turning of seasons.
A swallow darted past him, cutting through the mist with a sharp cry. He watched it disappear into the pale sky.
“You are awake early again, Your Highness.”
The voice came softly from behind him. Jimin turned, a faint smile touching his expression.
“Good morning, Corin.”
The older man stepped onto the balcony, robes gathered neatly at his wrists. Corin had served the royal family longer than Jimin had been alive — adviser, tutor, and something closer to family than any title allowed. His hair had gone entirely silver years ago, but his eyes remained sharp and kind.
“You will catch a chill standing out here every morning,” Corin said.
“I have yet to,” Jimin replied lightly. “And if I did, it would give the physicians something to do.”
Corin huffed a quiet laugh. “The council meets in less than an hour. They will expect you to rest.”
“I am rested.”
“You are awake,” Corin corrected gently. “There is a difference.”
Jimin said nothing. He turned his gaze back to the city For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was easy, familiar. Finally, Corin stepped beside him and followed his line of sight. “You watch them as though you are trying to memorize them.”
“Perhaps I am.”
“Why?”
Jimin considered the question. “Because it is peaceful now.”
Corin’s expression shifted, just slightly. “And you expect that to change?”
“It always does,” Jimin said quietly.
By the time the bells rang, the palace had awakened fully.
Servants moved swiftly through corridors lined with tall windows and tapestries that depicted victories from generations past. Guards in polished armor took their posts along the grand staircases. The scent of fresh bread drifted faintly from the kitchens below. Jimin walked through it all with calm familiarity. He greeted everyone who greeted him. Remembered names when he could. Paused for brief words when time allowed.
Some said he was too approachable for a prince. Too gentle. Too willing to listen. He did not see the harm in it. The council chamber lay at the heart of the palace — a circular room with high arched windows and a long table carved from dark oak. Maps covered the central wall, each marked with small, precise notes and colored pins.
By the time he entered, the council had already gathered. They rose at once.
“Your Highness.”
He inclined his head and took his seat at the head of the table. His father, the king, was away at the southern borders inspecting fortifications. Until his return, Jimin would preside over matters of state.
He did so without ceremony.
“Let us begin.”
Reports followed — harvest projections, trade routes, minor disputes between neighboring regions. Nothing urgent. Nothing alarming.
Yet even in the calm, there were small complications. A merchant convoy delayed by weather. A minor disagreement between two noble houses. Rumors of unrest along a distant border.
Jimin listened to each carefully. Asked questions. Offered solutions where he could. Deferred where he needed more information. He was not a ruler yet. But he was learning.
“You handle them well,” Corin murmured quietly when the meeting ended.
“I handle them,” Jimin replied. “Whether well remains to be seen.”
“You underestimate yourself.”
Jimin gave a faint smile. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I am simply aware of how much I do not know.”
The afternoon passed in a steady rhythm. Training in the courtyard. A brief meal. Letters answered in his study. By evening, the palace settled into a quieter pace once more. Servants dimmed lamps. The last of the sunlight faded behind the western towers.
Jimin returned to the balcony as he always did.
The city below shimmered with lanternlight now. Voices drifted upward faintly, softened by distance. It was peaceful again — the kind of peace that came only after a long day had resolved itself without catastrophe.
Everything was in order. Everything was exactly as it should be.
And yet…
He rested his forearms on the railing, staring out across the kingdom.
Lately, he had begun to feel something he could not name.
Not fear. Not danger. Not even restlessness.
Just… a quiet awareness.
As though somewhere, beyond the edges of his world, something watched with gentle attention. Not with malice. Not with intent to harm.
Simply watching.
He had never spoken of it. It sounded foolish even in his own mind. Still, the sensation lingered — faint, persistent, oddly comforting.
Tonight it was stronger.
He glanced over his shoulder once, half expecting to find someone there. No one stood in the shadows. No one called his name. The palace remained exactly as it had always been. Jimin exhaled slowly and returned his gaze to the town. “Strange,” he murmured to himself. For a fleeting moment, he had the unmistakable sense that his life was being read.
That somewhere, in a world he could not imagine, someone turned a page and lingered on his name a little longer than the rest. He shook the thought away. Tomorrow will be another ordinary day.
Peaceful. Ordered. Predictable.
He did not know that this was the last day his world would ever feel entirely his own.
