The Adopted Princess Hopes to Escape the Genre - Chapter 1
Falling asleep while working on assignments was practically part of my routine. I never even knew when I drifted off; I’d just collapse, leaving the lights on and my laptop open.
Right, it was more like passing out than falling asleep. One moment I was awake, and the next—blackout.
Then, like clockwork, my auntie would find me in the early morning during her routine check to ensure everyone was asleep, and I’d get scolded.
Today, though, I was determined to finish the assignment, so instead of being at home, I was at the school café, muttering curses under my breath as I begrudgingly started an assignment that was due the next day.
Ding-!
[Nayeon-Unnie: Assignment reminder bot. Lab report due by 11:59 PM today.]
The preview of the message alone was terrifying.
As a chemistry major, I had to submit a lab report every single week. The problem was that the person reviewing these assignments was a demanding professor who had graduated from undergrad eons ago and was utterly out of touch with students’ actual skill levels, while I was just… a mere undergrad, basically a talking potato.
I wasn’t always the potato of the crop. Back in elementary school, I did pretty well academically, and in middle school, my grades were good enough that I could have applied to a nearby science high school.
Except for a brief slump in high school that affected my grades a bit, my mock exam scores weren’t bad.
As I reminisced about my school days, I naturally remembered my high school homeroom teacher, who thought I was out of my mind for relying solely on my mock exam scores, refusing to apply through early admission and banking everything on the regular admissions exam.
I was so confident I didn’t listen to anyone, confidently walking into the exam hall for my university entrance exam, and…
It went terribly.
“I knew it. You should have applied early, like I told you.”
Oh, please. You didn’t know my exam would be a disaster. I didn’t even know, so how could you?
Suppressing the rebellious thoughts sprouting in my mind, I let my teacher’s words go in one ear and out the other during our counseling session.
I kept drifting aimlessly until one day my mom, unable to bear my idleness any longer, offered me a proposal.
“If you’re just going to laze around like this, go live with your aunt in America. Go to college there.”
“What’s with America all of a sudden? No, thanks.”
“Then go to a Korean college. I can’t stand watching you sit around doing nothing anymore.”
And so, without any real preparation, I was sent off to study abroad in the U.S., practically an exile with no set end date.
Sure, people envied me for my life as an overseas student in America, but don’t dreams and reality always differ?
I couldn’t speak the language, the cost of living was high, and staying at my aunt’s place meant I was constantly tiptoeing around.
On top of that, even when my brain couldn’t keep up with class material, assignments and exams certainly didn’t wait for me.
Munch-, Munch-.
Taking a bite of a dry, flavorless sandwich, I began writing up my report. Trying to write the report for an experiment I did six days ago was a struggle; my memory was hazy, and I could barely recall the details.
Frustrated, I leaned forward and smacked my head against the keyboard. I wondered why the reports had to be submitted individually when we’d done the experiment as a group.
Then, suddenly, I was overwhelmed by sleepiness, feeling like I was being pulled downward. When I came to, shivering, I found myself standing in a completely unfamiliar place.
Whooosh—
Rain was pouring from the sky, and I didn’t have an umbrella. No matter how much I looked around, it was nowhere near where I lived—a strange, unfamiliar place.
All I could see were thick trees and muddy ground soaked from the rain.
I had definitely been working on the experiment report that was due today, so why was I suddenly standing here, drenched? I felt like the tragic heroine of some melodrama.
Ah, f*ck. It’s so f*cking cold.
I was far too cold to feel anything remotely romantic about this “tragic heroine” moment.
Where had my warm, long down coat gone, and why was I in this ragged garment? It was a plain dress, the kind that even vintage shops wouldn’t sell, and it was covered in dirt.
I pinched the fabric between my fingers. It was already soaked from the rain, hanging limp and heavy.
