The Adopted Princess Hopes to Escape the Genre

After walking for quite a while, I began to hear people talking, children running around, and even saw the glow of lights.

“Cheap! It’s cheap!”

“Move aside, move! Can’t you see that people are passing through?”

“Oh my, this is really pretty.”

“Isn’t it? I think I’ll get one too; it’s not that expensive.”

“A carriage is coming! Everyone, make way!”

I’d arrived at a bustling market, packed so full of people that there was hardly any room to step.

I’d found a place where people gathered, but I was still at a loss. I had no information about the body I’d possessed—not the exact age, name, or even a place to stay for the night.

I needed to gather my thoughts.

In most possession stories, the setting usually comes from a novel the protagonist had read or a game they’d played extensively, so they’d typically know the story inside out. If the protagonist’s name didn’t ring a bell, they’d at least recognize the unique worldbuilding of the story.

But I’d read well over a hundred novels, and none of the games I’d played had any real plot. They were all relaxing games focused on farming or greeting villagers, not the kind of romance-fantasy dating sims where you had to raise NPCs’ affection levels.

More than anything, even if someone could tell me the protagonists’ names, I wouldn’t have any confidence in recalling the original story on the spot without internet access in this world.

I let out a sigh, but I had to keep my head in the game if I wanted to survive.

Let’s recall some traits of the novels I’d read, maybe to guess the genre at least.

Typically, possessions happen to young adults about to make their debut, but since I started out as a child, that narrowed it down to either a childcare or a family-regret genre.

I tried to recall the childcare and family-regret stories I’d read, but I quickly realized that neither were really to my taste, so I hadn’t read many of them.

At the same time, I resolved to avoid any fiction routes as much as possible.

Even if there was an original story, the flow of the plot would inevitably break from the moment I was possessed, and I didn’t know what the original story even was.

In other words, I knew nothing. In such cases, it was best for my safety to be wary of every little thing.

Anyone overly handsome, overly beautiful, overly unattractive, overly kind, or overly rude—I’d need to avoid them all.

Nothing “overly” was ever good.

If only I could find some clue about where I was…

“What are you doing! Move!”

Just then, a shout from somewhere broke my train of thought. Then, with a screeching sound, someone stepped down from a carriage and approached me. In an instant, my collar was grabbed, and I was thrown to the ground before I had a chance to resist.

I was so shocked I couldn’t make a sound, just staring blankly at my scraped palms on the ground.

“Didn’t you hear me say move? Do you know who’s riding in this carriage? A beggar like you has no right to block the way!”

“……”

“Get lost if you understand!”

Wait… calling me a beggar on our first meeting? Isn’t that a bit much? Though, honestly, I did look every bit the part of a beggar right now.

But despite me agreeing with that, anger quickly flared up within me. I looked up to argue, only to see a large, rough-looking man glaring down at me.

I immediately dropped my gaze.

There was no way I could win this fight. Clearly, this was entirely my fault.

“Ah… yes… I’m sorry.”

The faster you acknowledge and apologize, the better. Since getting drenched earlier, I’d already come to terms with my situation, so an empty apology wasn’t hard to muster.

“Let it be. The child likely didn’t mean to get in the way. Just let her go.”

Just then, the door of the carriage, presumably the one that the man had been driving, opened and a deep, dignified voice came from within.

Reflexively, I looked toward the source of the voice, just as the man inside turned his head in my direction.

Our eyes met through the gap in the door, and his eyes widened in shock.

After a three-second stare, a single thought flashed through my mind.

No way. Is this one of those clichés… where I resemble his dead wife or lost daughter?

It can’t be… but why does he look at me with those teary eyes?! And what’s with that intense, wistful gaze?!

If I get taken in by this man, I’m f*cked. My life would be over.

If this really was a family-regret genre, I’d probably be neglected, ignored, and treated coldly, only to be framed and killed by the real daughter once she returned later.

“Um…”

“Thank you for just letting me go!”

“W-Wait!”

Before the man could grab me, I turned my back to the carriage and ran in the opposite direction with all my might.

I ran until I reached an empty alley, where I finally stopped to catch my breath.

I’d managed to dodge one cliché successfully, so now I needed to take stock of the situation.

First, I’ve possessed the body of a beggar child.

Usually, one would possess a villainess, the heroine, or at least some obscure extra who had nothing to do with the original plot, right? Of all the characters I’d read about, I couldn’t think of a single one with green hair. Nothing was coming to mind.

Second, I was lost.

I had no idea where I was. Whoever dropped me here hadn’t considered the fact that I had no sense of direction. They could’ve at least given me a map…

Third, I had just narrowly escaped death.

My years of reading romance-fantasy novels before being possessed had honed my survival instincts.

One lingering question remained: if I wanted to return home, should I avoid clichés, or should I follow them?

Maybe it was best to be open to clichés and counter-clichés, just in case.

‘Should I… have just gone along with the adoption back there?’