Nora woke in the middle of overwhelming noise.
A kind of crying—laden with emotion, sharp enough to pierce straight into her skull—crashed over her in waves, relentless, without pause.
She wasn’t even fully awake yet, but her consciousness had already been dragged out by the sound, forced to face reality.
It was unbearably loud.
She frowned, her eyelids heavy as she pried them open just a sliver. Her vision was still blurred, only able to make out vague shapes and shifting light within the room.
The crying was right beside her.
Close enough to make her want to shove the person away.
Nora slowly opened her eyes, trying to understand what was going on.
The woman making all that noise—
The moment she saw Nora’s eyes open, she lurched forward as if a switch had been flipped, her voice trembling with disbelief.
“Rose?”
The moment that name fell—
Nora’s pupils contracted sharply.
Almost instinctively, her eyes flew wide open.
The next second, she sat up abruptly.
The movement was sudden and forceful, completely disregarding the condition of this body.
The bed creaked under the motion, the air in the room seeming to jolt with it.
The sudden reaction startled the other two people in the room.
One was the woman who had just been dabbing at nonexistent tears with a handkerchief—now frozen in place.
The other stood nearby, wearing a subtly complicated expression.
Carl.
No—
Tim.
Nora’s breathing hadn’t steadied yet.
She looked down at her hands.
Slowly, she lifted her fingers, as if confirming evidence that shouldn’t exist.
These were not her hands.
They were delicate. Pale. The nails neatly trimmed, clean. No calluses, no faint traces left behind by long-term use of any ability.
That carefully maintained softness—
That intact perfection—
Felt so unfamiliar that, for a moment, it seemed unreal.
A strand of hair slipped down from beside her ear.
Reddish-brown.
Not the blonde she was used to.
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvDUsn04M4u
Her throat tightened slightly as her gaze slowly shifted toward the woman in front of her.
The woman was dressed in opulence, adorned with exquisite accessories—every detail deliberate, even her emotions carried a kind of exaggerated theatricality.
Nora swallowed.
Her voice came out small, almost like she was testing some kind of setting—hesitant, uncertain.
“Mo… Mom?”
The moment she spoke, the woman lunged forward, wrapping both arms tightly around her, as if confirming something that had been impossibly lost and suddenly found again.
And then the crying erupted all over again.
Nora froze.
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbRIHlUgsg1
Her face was pressed straight into the woman’s chest—right against an overly elaborate brooch that jabbed into her without mercy.
She instinctively tried to pull back a little, but there was no space to escape.
The hardness of the metal, the sharp edges of the decoration—
It snapped her fully awake in an instant.
Her gaze was forced upward.
And then—
She met a pair of blue eyes.
Carl.
Or more precisely—
A man wearing Carl’s exterior, with Tim’s mind inside.
There was something in those eyes—
A kind of evaluation she couldn’t quite put into words.
Like observing an unexpected anomaly in a system.
In that instant, Nora’s brain completed the entire chain of reasoning.
She knew she was doomed.
Truly doomed.
Even being stuck in Jack’s body would have been better than this identity.
Right now—
She was Rose.
Nora closed her eyes for a moment, forcing herself to calm down.
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4KR38MX55b
She couldn’t switch bodies.
Unless the character died.
And Tim hadn’t set any kind of post-death revival.
Which meant—
If she died, she would revert back to a wandering spirit.
She began seriously considering something.
Would Tim have implemented resurrection mechanics into Titanic?
The kind where you die and then come back to life—like some dramatic revival system.
She stared at those blue eyes across from her.
…Probably not, right?
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvLHFhHYYum
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTBffMQWUaC
Nora suppressed the impulse—
Maybe dying right now would actually be easier.
The thought came too naturally, almost with a hint of rational analysis behind it.
But she forced it down anyway.
Dying now wouldn’t help.
It might even make things worse.
That, she knew very clearly.
She pulled her focus back to the present.
The “mother” in front of her—still generating noise without pause—had already evolved from simple sobbing into a long, drawn-out speech that was half accusation, half emotional manipulation.
Her tone shifted between sorrow and reproach, every sentence carrying a kind of unquestioned pressure.
“Rose, how could you treat Carl like this? He’s your fiancé—you’re already engaged!”
“Everything we’ve arranged for you is for your own good! How can you be so willful, so disobedient—”
“Do you have any idea what our situation is? What am I supposed to do if you act like this—”
The words came crashing down in layers.
On the surface, Nora remained quiet. Compliant.
But in reality, her mind was working at high speed, carefully selecting every angle of response, every nuance of tone.
She didn’t argue.
But neither did she submit to the point of losing herself.
Instead, she guided the conversation—just enough to make the other person feel understood.
Little by little, she redirected the emotional current outward.
It took a great deal of effort.
But in the end—
She finally managed to get the woman to leave the room.
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAOPlj37GSl
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡV6kPEnj7zT
The moment the door closed, the sound was cut off.
Nora felt like she had just surfaced from underwater, letting out a slow, steady breath.
Silence.
Finally—silence.
Her shoulders relaxed, just a fraction.
Then she turned her head.
Tim was standing there.
More precisely—
“Carl” was standing there, watching her with a gaze that was almost too calm, almost analytical, as if waiting to see what she would do next.
Nora looked at him.
A flood of thoughts surfaced in her mind all at once.
But the starting point of it all was actually very simple.
This man—
Had just deliberately provoked the female lead in a rude and calculated way, pushing her into emotional collapse.
Then, through that chain reaction, dragged Nora into this situation, inexplicably turning her into the female lead herself.
And as a bonus—
Assigned her an extra task: handling a high-difficulty family member.
Her workload had just increased.
Great.
The corner of her lips moved slightly.
So—acting, is it?
Then let’s do it.
She was a dream-eater.
Someone who had navigated countless dreams, seen all kinds of broken narratives, and even forced unstable scenarios back into order.
A situation like this—
She could still play with it.
Nora lifted her chin slightly.
Her entire presence shifted in an instant, like flipping a switch.
The earlier passivity and confusion were cleanly put away.
In their place—
A deliberate composure, edged with distance.
She looked at Tim.
She stepped into the game.
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKRzhrf6zOq
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFZsPetRoEB
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡULC2xIosEs
Nora lowered her chin slightly, allowing the line of her neck to lengthen naturally. Her chest lifted, her back straightened.
A perfectly measured smile appeared on her face.
Not overly warm.
Not distant.
Just enough to meet the standards of etiquette—just enough to make others feel at ease.
She was familiar with this.
Back in high school, one of her closest friends had been a member of the drama club.
That girl had devoted nearly all her time to the stage—acting, rehearsing choreography, memorizing lines—over and over again, as if she would never tire of it.
Nora had often entered her dreams, watching her rehearse again and again.
She loved those dreams.
Loved watching her improve.
Following those memories, Nora adjusted her posture piece by piece.
Her hands rested naturally in front of her, fingers relaxed but not loose.
Her feet together, her center of gravity steady.
Every detail felt as if it had been carved into her body—now awakened.
To play a high-society lady from The Great Gatsby, she had once been dragged into months of relentless training by that friend.
For upper-class women of the Edwardian era, every movement had its rules.
Hairstyles, clothing, hats, shoes—each matched to specific occasions and times of day.
From morning walks after breakfast, to afternoon tea, to dinner and evening balls—
They were expected to change outfits and accessories throughout the day, as if part of some finely tuned ritual.
Elegance was not innate.
It was something forced into existence through repetition.
The girls were raised inside invisible cages.
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPkfjqAxBE2
Those everyday rules—
Were chains, one by one.
Nora had already understood that during her training.
No wonder Rose wanted to escape.
The room fell quiet.
No crying.
No disturbances.
Within that silence, the girl who had just moments ago seemed unsettled and out of place—
Underwent a transformation.
Like a butterfly breaking free from its cocoon.
The “Rose” standing before Tim became unfamiliar in an instant.
That strange sense of misplaced familiarity vanished.
In its place—
Was someone who fit perfectly into this space.
As if she had always belonged in this first-class cabin, in this privileged room.
Her posture.
Her breathing.
Even the angle at which she stood—
All had been recalibrated.
As though she had changed into a new outfit right in front of him.
Adjusted her presence.
Put on a mask.
And then—
Fully merged into the role.
She lifted her gaze.
Those bright green eyes curved with a hint of a smile as they looked at him.
Tim did not look away.
She’s beautiful, he thought.
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDVg10IgjuV
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlddu13K79Z
Nora held a fan in her hand, her fingers naturally resting along its ribs.
She had already changed into her attire for the evening banquet.
Just moments ago, the entire room had been filled with maids—some fixing her hair, some adjusting the layers of her skirt, others checking the placement of her accessories. Their movements were swift and practiced, like a process that had been executed countless times before.
Layer upon layer of fabric had been added.
Her waist pulled tight.
Her skirt spread outward.
Her entire silhouette reshaped into the lines favored by that era’s standards of beauty.
Thank god for maids.
Nora came to that very honest conclusion in her mind.
These clothes were far too complicated.
Especially Rose’s outfits—they weren’t ordinary garments, but custom-made pieces tailored to the latest trends of high society. Every detail carried a kind of deliberate extravagance.
They were decoration—
And a symbol of status.
Once worn, a person almost became a display piece.
She adjusted her breathing, letting her body adapt to the layers of restraint, then turned and walked toward the door.
The moment she opened it—
She paused.
Someone was already waiting outside.
Tim.
He leaned against the back of the sofa, his posture appearing casual—but without a trace of looseness.
He had changed into a new suit.
Perfectly tailored.
Clean lines.
The tails fell naturally.
The fabric caught the light with a subdued sheen.
A silk pocket square rested at his chest.
His hair had been carefully styled—without a single strand out of place.
The overall impression—
Dangerously refined.
Nora narrowed her eyes slightly.
For a brief moment, she almost spoke.
She almost asked, in a tone that would be just polite enough—but sharp enough to sting—
Didn’t you say you didn’t have time?
The words hovered at the tip of her tongue.
But in the end, she didn’t say them.
She simply looked at him for a moment—
Then swallowed the remark.
Fine.
She’d consider it—
A concession for the outfit.
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOZ794iVPYu
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDjmKLb72f0
Tim’s gaze settled on his “fiancée.”
She had changed into a pale primrose-yellow gown.
It wasn’t a loud color, but under the light, it appeared especially soft—like it existed solely to enhance everything around it. The fabric flowed along the contours of her body, gathering into clean, elegant lines, fully accentuating the curves of her figure.
Her skin, against that tone, appeared even fairer—
Almost unreal.
Like ivory.
And those eyes.
Green.
Brighter than before.
Like polished gemstones, quietly catching the light in the stillness of the room.
Now—
Those emeralds were fixed on him.
Tim’s fingers moved slightly.
It was an instinctive motion. He almost reached up to run a hand through his hair, the way he usually did when thinking—adjusting his rhythm.
But the motion stopped halfway.
His hair had already been styled.
Set in place.
He couldn’t disturb it.
His hand hovered in the air for a brief moment—
Then lowered naturally.
He shifted his posture.
One arm lifted slightly, the motion unhurried, yet carrying the sense of something rehearsed—something expected.
Nora—
Or rather, Rose—
Did not hesitate.
She extended her hand.
Lace gloves covered it, soft fabric tracing over her fingers and the back of her hand, revealing only the faintest outline beneath.
Her hand slipped smoothly through his arm, hooking onto it with quiet ease—
As if she had done this countless times before.
The distance between them shortened.
But there was no excess contact.
Everything was—
Exactly right.
Under the watchful eyes of the servants, they turned.
And together—
They left the room.
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwKAzuFlJFy
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrz4n1TwCfS
The two of them walked down the corridor.
Tim deliberately slowed his pace to match the rhythm of the lady beside him. The sound of heels striking the floor became steady and unhurried, stretching the entire corridor along with it, as if even time itself had begun to lag behind.
They were walking a little slowly.
In the quiet, there was only the soft rustle of fabric and the measured echo of footsteps.
Then the lady at his side suddenly spoke.
“Mr. Hockley,” her voice was not loud, but clear, “do you believe in love?”
Tim’s gaze shifted slightly, sweeping over her with a hint of confusion.
The question came too abruptly.
Nora didn’t stop.
She continued, her tone steady, as if discussing something she had already thought through long ago.
“Most works out there—whether books, songs, poems, or scripts—half of them praise love, and the other half praise God.”
Her steps did not falter. One hand remained hooked firmly around his arm, while the other lightly lifted her skirt to keep the fabric from dragging.
“What do you think the reason is?”
Tim looked at her.
A very immediate thought surfaced in his mind.
This really felt like something straight out of a movie.
That kind of classic, overly literary heroine—
The type who throws philosophical questions at inappropriate moments, then waits for the world to respond on her terms.
He paused for a moment.
He wasn’t sure.
He didn’t have a habit of going to church, nor had he experienced what people called “love.”
To him, both were not experiences—
Only concepts.
So his answer carried a note of uncertainty.
“…Because they both stir strong emotions?”
The end of his sentence lifted slightly, as if he were checking whether he had grasped some shared point.
Nora didn’t turn to look at him immediately.
She simply continued walking.
Her steps steady.
Her movements unchanged—one hand still hooked around his arm, the other lifting her skirt, maintaining perfect etiquette.
Then she spoke.
“Wrong.”
Her tone was light.
But without concession.
She tilted her face slightly, her gaze still directed forward.
“Because—”
She paused for a moment.
“They’re both intangible.”
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTNJzDmsmdB
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDQc3CFgmDh
Tim, having been directly refuted, did not stop walking.
He turned his head slightly, looking at her, his tone carrying a rational kind of inquiry.
“So you don’t believe in love?”
Nora’s red lips parted slightly.
She didn’t look at him.
“I’ve never encountered it,” she said calmly. “So I’m not sure.”
Her tone carried no emotional fluctuation.
Like describing a phenomenon that had yet to be verified.
“Like ghosts,” she lifted her chin just a little, her gaze still fixed on the corridor ahead, “everyone says they exist—but I’ve never seen one.”
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7tA0ms9wUs
Her hand remained steadily hooked around his arm.
Her steps did not falter.
But her thoughts moved along an entirely different layer.
Everyone praised it.
Celebrated it.
It was the pathway of human reproduction.
The most frequently invoked force in literature.
The tide that drove narratives forward.
It could inspire devotion.
It could also bring death.
It brought sweetness.
And suffering.
What Nora saw most often in dreams—
Was exactly this.
All kinds of “love.”
Sweet ones.
Painful ones.
Unrequited ones.
Twisted ones.
Obsessive ones warped beyond recognition—
All of them counted.
But in dreams, the darker forms of love were always the most terrifying.
Because in dreams—
There were no restraints of reality.
Anything could happen.
Once, in a classmate’s dream, she had seen “herself.”
It was because that person liked her.
But it was not a gentle dream.
The scenes were chaotic.
The emotions out of control.
The logic distorted.
That version of her—
Was nothing more than the other person’s imagination.
Even now, she refused to recall it.
Tim, of course, had no awareness of these fragments passing through her mind.
He simply looked at her—
And came to a straightforward conclusion.
—She’s honest.
No embellishment.
No pretending to understand.
He continued.
“Then do you want to encounter it—or not?”
Nora tilted her head slightly.
This time, she looked at him.
Those green eyes carried the weight of a considered answer.
“Personally,” she paused for a moment, “I’d rather encounter a ghost.”
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡakxRxutCbw
Tim froze for a brief instant.
Then let out a quiet laugh.
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTo5Je8AE9l
As if some tightly wound logic had just loosened.
They had just reached the entrance to the banquet hall.
Footmen stood on either side. Seeing them approach, they moved in unison to open the doors.
The sound from inside poured out.
Voices.
Laughter.
Music.
The entire space suddenly became bright—
And alive with noise.
32Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡekv00GPnOQ
and then Add to home screen.