Haerim Yoo had exactly three things she believed in: Sleep. Snacks. And that side characters deserved better.
Not just better endings — actual lives.
Because in every novel she read, the side character was always the one who had potential, personality, and pain management issues.
The kind of person who could've changed the story if the author hadn't been too busy writing about the glittery main leads.
And if there was one side character who deserved the world, it was Elara Ventis — the silver-haired knight from Crown of Glassfire.
Elara smiled once in seventy-eight chapters.
She died protecting a kingdom that couldn't even spell her name right in the epilogue.
Her sword was legendary, her loyalty unmatched, and her social life nonexistent. Haerim loved her. Maybe a little too much.
Her bedroom shelves were lined with fanart. Her phone wallpaper was Elara mid-battle, hair whipping like a tragic shampoo commercial.
Her group chat bio? #JusticeForElara
If Elara had been real, Haerim would've followed her into battle.
If she could've met her, she would've hugged her and said, "You deserve so much better."
If she could've saved her—
Well.
The universe heard that part a little too clearly.
Haerim's last clear memory of her world was her laptop screen flickering at 3:47 a.m. She'd been rereading Elara's death scene (again) while eating convenience store ramen (again) and mumbling, "If it were me, I'd just quit the plot."
Then the light flickered, her vision tilted, and—She woke up to a cracked stone ceiling.
Not her cheap apartment ceiling.
Not her charging phone with 1% battery. Just… medieval gloom and regret.
The first thing she noticed was pain. The second was that she wasn't in her pajamas.
No, she was in full armor — silver, heavy, and aggressively dramatic.
"Okay…" she croaked, clutching her head.
"Either I've been kidnapped by a renaissance fair, or reincarnation is real." She sat up slowly, ignoring how her joints creaked like an old door.
The room looked straight out of a fantasy film — banners, swords, a fireplace that looked like it hadn't been cleaned since dragons were a thing.
And then she saw it: a metal basin filled with water.
She stumbled toward it, peered in — and froze.
Silver hair.
Golden eyes.
A faint scar across the jaw.
That resting 'I've seen too much and still said thank you' face.
"...No way." Her reflection blinked back at her. Calm. Elegant. Tragic.
Haerim's jaw dropped.
"OH. MY. GOSH."
She leaned closer. "No, no, no, no, no—this isn't real. I can't be her. I wanted to save her, not be her!" Her reflection, annoyingly beautiful, said nothing.
Haerim threw her hands up. "Universe, this is not what I meant! I wanted to fix the plot, not get drafted into it!"
She took a shaky breath and clutched the edge of the basin. "Okay. Breathe, Haerim. You've trained for this. You've read fanfics. You've written fanfics. You own the special-edition merch. You got this."
Her reflection blinked serenely. Haerim squinted. "You're so much prettier in person, though. Wait—my jawline could cut steel."
She gasped softly. "I'm hot."
Then reality punched her. "I'm hot… and I die in chapter seventy-nine." A knock came at the door.
"Lady Elara?" a timid voice called. "You're awake? Should I call for the captain?"
Haerim blinked. "Captain who?"
The maid peeked in, wide-eyed. "The Captain of the Silver Order, my lady! You were unconscious for two days after the ambush—"
"Oh. Right. Yes. Ambush. Classic knight stuff. Very serious. Don't call anyone. I'm just… bonding with my existential dread."
The maid smiled nervously. "O-of course, my lady."
The moment she left, Haerim collapsed back onto the bed.
"Okay," she muttered, staring at the ceiling.
"You can do this. You're Elara Ventis, silver knight extraordinaire. You've dreamed of meeting her for years. You literally named your cat after her." Then she noticed the sword propped against the wall.
"Nevermind. I can't do this." She eyed it like it might spontaneously attack her. "Why is it so long? Who needs a sword that big? What are you compensating for, Elara?"
By the time she worked up the courage to leave the room, the courtyard was alive with clashing swords and shouting knights.
Steel flashed. Dust rose. Everyone looked like they'd eaten pure discipline for breakfast.
Haerim took one step forward and immediately tripped over a spear.
Face. Meet. Dirt.
"My lady!" a young knight gasped, rushing to help. Haerim groaned into the ground.
"I'm fine! Totally fine! Just… practicing my stealth crawling technique."
The knight blinked. "…As expected of Lady Elara. Ever diligent."
Haerim gave him a shaky thumbs-up. "Yup. Diligent. Definitely not confused and in severe back pain." She limped her way to the mess hall by noon, where rows of serious knights sat in silence, eating soup like it was part of their training.
She plopped down, grabbed a piece of bread, and muttered to herself, "If I die again, I'm haunting the author."
The knight beside her paused mid-bite. "…Pardon?"
"Bread's great," she said quickly, stuffing it into her mouth. "Very… wheaty."
He nodded, deciding not to engage further. Smart man.
That night, Haerim sat by the window, staring out at the starlit kingdom.
It was breathtaking. The same world Elara had died protecting — and now, somehow, hers to live in.
Her heart ached.
Elara had always been strong, even when the world misunderstood her. Kind, even when it wasn't returned.
And now… Haerim was inside her story.
Not as a reader.
As her.
"I didn't want this," she whispered softly. "I just wanted to save you."She clenched her fists. "But if this is how it is… then fine. You didn't get your happy ending before, Elara. So I'll make sure you do this time."
A pause.
"...After breakfast."
She flopped face-first into the pillow, armor clanking, hair an absolute mess.
Somewhere in the heavens, the universe sighed, rolled its cosmic eyes, and started rearranging fate.
🕊️ End of Prologue — "Congratulations, You've Been Promoted to Tragic Knight!"