faeni

Death by Truck-kun? Too mainstream. I died choking on my own laughter during a late-night comedy rerun. Pathetic? Yes. Fitting for someone who gave up on life halfway through university and became a full-time couch potato? Also yes.

When I opened my eyes again, I wasn’t in the afterlife—or if I was, it had a suspicious amount of baby talk and clean diapers. I was reincarnated... as an infant. No powers. No memories of my new name. Just chubby cheeks and existential dread.

But the real horror? I slowly realized I was now living inside one of those cliché romance novels I absolutely despised. You know the type: cold-hearted king meets brave commoner girl, falls in love, political chaos ensues, blah blah gag me with a spoon. I read it. I hated it. And now? I think I’m in it.

And not as the heroine. Or the villain. Or even the funny sidekick. No—I'm just some background baby who probably gets held once, then vanishes from the plot forever.

With no grand destiny, no cheat skills, and no idea what chapter we’re on, I’ve decided to do the only thing I was ever good at—absolutely nothing. But fate has a funny way of dragging the lazy into the spotlight…

They think I’m innocent. I think this whole thing is a joke. Let's see who breaks first.

Reborn as a Background Baby in a Novel I Hate

Nine months were a blur of preparation and tension. The days lengthened, the gossip increased, and Charlotte's every step more deliberate.

The Queen, now well into her pregnancy, was kept sequestered, her health under constant watch. She had grown more massive, her steps slower, yet her determination unshakeable. Word of her pregnancy had galvanized the court, and the plotting factions. While some of them welcomed the prospect of having a new heir, others remained uncertain, particularly those who were used to having Princess Charlotte as the only successor to the throne.

Charlotte smiled constantly in the public eye, but there was a cutting quality to her beauty now. Her eyes gleamed with a tale different from that of calm which she wore.

Elias stayed at her side, a shadow presence always. He stood guard over her, never far from arm's reach, even if his eye was never really looking away from the activity of the court. His instinctive protectiveness only grew stronger by the week. He was well aware, as she was, that the unsteadiness of the Queen's pregnancy was the perfect time for enemies to strike, either by rumor or worse.

Mira, also, had been honed. Her training was merciless. She could now perform maneuvers so smoothly that she was a whirlwind of motion, her body perfected for offense and defense alike. Her silence, once enigmatic, now became a plus. Mira communicated in movements, in deed. And in those movements, she was resolute—she was a force to be bargained with, loyal only to Charlotte.

At the palace, life went on, but the undertone of expectation never wavered. Each passing day the Queen's pregnancy increased, the question remained: What would this new child do for the kingdom? Would it usher in peace, or would it ignite a new battle for the throne?

Then, one morning, the summons arrived.

Charlotte had been ready for the moment, but the sudden wave of urgency and exhilaration that possessed her caught her off guard. She remained tense beside the doorway to the royal chambers, Elias by her side, Mira a short distance back, her eyes intent.

Hours went by, punctuated by nervous waiting, and still the tension did not abate. It seemed as though the whole kingdom was standing silent, holding its breath.

At last, the cry of the newborn rang out through the hallways. The royal child had been born.

Charlotte's gaze locked with Elias's, her expression a flawless mask of serenity, though the racing in her heart was an entirely different story. This was the moment. The transition. The new era.

And yet, even as she stood frozen in place, her mind was already whirling, already rearranging the pieces for the future.

The King's joy was boundless, but Charlotte knew the truth—the kingdom's future was once again uncertain.

The Child