MPSLP 02

Chapter 2

Beware of the Author’s Curse

**[Thank you so much for loving Princess Asphodel until the very end!
Thanks to your support, I was able to safely bring this story to a close.

In truth, this novel began as an attempt to twist the usual framework of child-raising stories.
There are no fairy tales in reality where everyone smiles happily at the end.

Although Asphodel’s journey—and the journeys of the other characters—end here,
I hope their lives will remain in your hearts for a long, long time.

Once again, thank you for reading Princess Asphodel!]**

What kind of nonsense is this?

No—who on earth wants to experience harsh reality inside a novel?

Why do clichés even exist in the first place?!

Child-raising stories mean happy endings!
Romance fantasy means happy endings!
No matter how many hardships there are along the way, the ending is supposed to be happy!

Wasn’t that basically an unspoken rule of the genre?

And on top of that, the cover was all bright and cheerful, and nowhere in the synopsis or keywords did it even hint at being a grimdark story!

Did I really pour money into monthly cash payments just to see this kind of ending?
It was unfair. It was infuriating.

They say a fan who turns their back is the scariest of all.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who felt betrayed—yesterday’s fans became today’s haters and started flooding the comment section.

One of them was me.

Everyone, don’t read this novel. It’s a waste of money and time. The ultimate bait-and-switch ending.
What a waste of cash. Anyone can become an author these days, apparently.
If you’re curious about the ending, spoilers below—check the replies.

Ah… why did I do that…?

Was it because I got drunk on straight soju even though I couldn’t hold my liquor, and lost all sense of reason?

If I’d known I’d end up transmigrating into that novel, I would never have done it.

Seriously the worst novel. I could write something better than this.

While I was passionately exchanging “constructive criticism” with fellow betrayed readers in the comments, a strange voice suddenly echoed inside my head.

If you’re that confident, I’ll give you a chance. Go on—try doing it yourself.

“Huh?”

Uh… wait—

Before I could even process what was happening, my vision blurred and my consciousness cut out.

And when I opened my eyes again—

“Princess Asphodel! Congratulations on your fifth birthday!”

“…What?!”

As if struck by the author’s curse, I had become the heroine of Princess Asphodel.

At first, I never once thought I had actually entered the novel.

I assumed I’d just gotten so immersed that I was finally dreaming about it.

But days passed. Then months. Then seasons.

And I never woke up.

Everyone called me “Asphodel.”

After enough time had passed, I had no choice but to accept it.

I had truly possessed the body of the novel’s protagonist—Princess Asphodel, the Third Princess.

Once I got past the denial stage, I tried my best to adapt to this world.

I didn’t know whether this was really the author’s curse or something else, but maybe—just maybe—if I reached a happy ending, I could return home?

That ominous voice had said it, hadn’t it?

That if I was confident, I should try it myself.

With no other options available, I decided to give it a shot.

Besides, five years old—wasn’t that the perfect age to start a child-raising story?

At least I wasn’t starting as a nursing infant.

And to be honest… I was a little excited, too.

Even though the latter half had gone completely off the rails, Princess Asphodel was still my favorite novel—one I’d reread so many times I practically had it memorized.

And now I got to live that life as the protagonist herself!

Ignorance really is bliss. Back then, I was overflowing with motivation and drunk on baseless confidence, convinced that I would definitely achieve a happy ending.

But being the heroine of a child-raising story was no easy task.

Think about it.

Just because a perfectly normal adult ends up inside the body of a cute five-year-old girl—does that mean they can suddenly act like one?

On top of that, Asphodel in the novel was a bright, bubbly, slightly oblivious ray-of-sunshine type—and that alone was a massive hurdle.

Me… a ray of sunshine…? A ray of sunshine?!

Damn it. That didn’t suit me at all.

What good was knowing the plot and dialogue by heart?

I couldn’t replicate it.

Since my true self was a jaded, worn-down adult, spreading natural cuteness and cheer the way novel-Asphodel did was impossible from the start.

Still, for the sake of a stable happy ending, I tried my best to follow the novel’s flow.

But in the end, my reality turned into an even worse mess than the original story.

The biggest issue was my spectacular failure to build rapport with the key characters.

“You always feel like you’re wearing a mask. You don’t even show your true self, yet you think you can win people over with fake kindness? Give up on such empty expectations.”

My brother’s words didn’t just miss me—they shredded my mental state.

Honestly, even I had to admit it.

The innocent, cheerful Asphodel role didn’t suit me.

And since I was forcing friendliness just to follow the plot, anyone who actually liked that would’ve had questionable taste.

As a result, the characters who were supposed to trust and support the heroine unconditionally became uncooperative.

Sure, passive and useless protagonists aren’t popular these days, so Asphodel’s special abilities weren’t weak.

But this wasn’t a solo power fantasy, and I couldn’t handle everything on my own.

Because I failed to stop the villains at key moments, the world fell into chaos earlier than it should have.

At seventeen, I died—unable to stop the villains and monster invasions that ran rampant like fish in water.

I didn’t even come close to the ending I’d cursed so thoroughly in my previous life.

It was a miserable, pitiful death.

As I faced death, regret crushed me.

If this was how it was going to end, I should’ve stopped pretending to be the heroine and wasting time following the plot.

Instead of trying to force a family drama, I should’ve focused on growing stronger and eliminating the villains first.

The emperor mother who had always been indifferent to me.

I’d approached her based on how soft she seemed toward Asphodel in the novel—and nearly died of terror instead.

I learned firsthand what it meant to have your knees give out just from someone’s gaze.

My siblings—who rejected me from the very beginning, calling me fake and turning away.

You heartless jerks. I loved you all so much when I read the novel—how could you be this cold to me?

My younger brother, starved for affection, was easier to get close to, so our relationship was better than the others—but compared to the novel, it still felt half-baked.

Lately, it even seemed like he’d been getting close to the final villain, but the monster invasion happened before I could find out whether he’d truly fallen to darkness.

And I hadn’t even managed to plant a single meaningful flag with the male lead.

This life was completely, utterly ruined.

The only person who truly supported me was my father—the one who had always loved his daughter deeply.

But just like in the novel, he died earlier than I did, torn apart while trying to save me during a monster invasion.

Even so, I’d grown attached to him.

It hurt. I was devastated.

Was this really the end?

Even if I didn’t get a happy ending—could I still return to my original world?

Or… was I really going to die for good?

With a conclusion like this, what would happen to the people left in this world?

Flash!

At that moment, golden letters appeared before my blurred vision.

This kind of development makes no sense unless it’s a regression story.
I usually don’t say this, but honestly, they should switch authors and make Season 2 a regression story. It’d be amazing.

They were comments I’d written on the novel in the past.

Then that strange voice echoed in my head once more.