The Doll Has a Name Chapter 1 - Prologue

〈Baby-doll〉 

 

A doll-like existence raised by prestigious noble families to serve as a substitute for the heir’s life in times of crisis.

 

Baby-doll. Yes, baby-doll.

 

Those who know the true meaning of this term are a rare breed. 

 

Congratulations. You’ve now joined that exclusive group!

 

In reality, those who fall under this category have become an endangered species, clearly in need of protection.

 

The era of baby-doll scarcity.

That’s how I’ve dubbed this peaceful modern age. Most people don’t even realize that such a strategic meaning lies hidden within the cutesy word ‘baby-doll.’ 

 

It’s not even slang—it’s classified as a full-fledged code word.

 

And as you’ve probably guessed by now, I am one of those endangered baby-dolls—the honorable spare life given to the young lady of the Marquisate, a backup existence prepared solely for her.

 

Ah, but don’t go throwing around pitying remarks about how barbaric that family is or how heartless humans can be. I’d rather not hear even a whisper of sympathy.

 

They say cats have nine lives, so why shouldn’t the descendants of noble houses have their own safeguards? 

 

For them, this is simply the best form of bloodline protection.

 

Anyway. The protagonist of the life I’m currently working so hard to imitate is Herciana Darein, the only daughter of the Marquisate of Darein, which owns the prime northern territories of the capital.

 

In this household, I’ve learned to smile like her, act like her, and think like her. Here, I am the perfect Herciana Darein, and everyone treats me as such.

 

“Lady Darein, good morning. Did you sleep well?”

 

‘Well, you get the idea.’

 

“Yeah, Sophie. Thanks. Did you light a scented candle by my bed last night? Thanks to that, I slept well.”

 

The girl who slightly bent her knees and lowered her head was a new maid who had joined earlier this year. Her cheeks flushed shyly, so I responded with an elegant glance and a bright tone.

 

Noticing the girl’s face brighten at the affectionate praise, I moved on, crossing the hallway.

I kindly acknowledged the numerous morning greetings directed at my avatar.

 

Being a doll didn’t mean there were many occasions to appear in public. 

 

In fact, it was almost nonexistent.

 

As mentioned earlier, this was more like a substitute—something kept hidden in a corner of the house, serving its purpose simply by being there as a spare for emergencies.

 

Originally, babydolls were created for these very reasons.

 

The obligation to be conscripted into war, hostages to be sent abroad in case of defeat, dreadful arranged marriages, or even the tedious volunteer work nobles were customarily expected to participate in…

 

Among these, the most important was, of course, the duty to be drafted into war. 

 

Nobles had to fulfill their obligation to defend the nation in exchange for the privileges their status granted.

 

Naturally, since it involved risking their own lives, it wasn’t something they took lightly.

 

So, when such unexpected situations arose, they would send their babydolls in their place to wherever they were supposed to go.

 

So, there were occasional anecdotes—take them or leave them—about how the corpse under the flag-draped coffin lid didn’t resemble its supposed owner, or how the young duke taken hostage looked slightly different from the portrait people had seen before.

 

Usually, nobles would discreetly bring in children from outside through government channels to serve as babydolls from an early age. 

 

Of course, they didn’t go around advertising it, meeting each other and saying, “Oh my! Our family just acquired a usable babydoll this time!”

 

So then, how did I become a babydoll?

 

Well, you see… I—

 

“Miss?”

 

“Hm?”

 

It was when we had reached the end of the hallway and descended the spiral staircase. 

 

A neatly dressed butler approached silently and stood beside me. The well-pressed fabric of his clothes carried the faint scent of fresh laundry.

 

“The Master is waiting in the study. Would you like to stop by for a moment before proceeding?”

 

“Of course. I’ll do that, Obern.”

 

Sweeping her flowing black hair over her shoulder, she gently lowered her deep blue eyes.

 

Ah, right. I was cut off earlier, but—it was thanks to these jet-black locks, like the fur of Cerberus, and these dark blue eyes, as if plucked straight from the ocean depths, that I was chosen as Herciana’s babydoll.

 

Black hair and blue eyes. This combination is surprisingly rare in the Kingdom.

 

In a land dominated by natural brown hair and golden wigs, black hair is an option no one picks. 

 

And because of that, meeting Herciana’s aesthetic requirements is far more difficult than one might think.

 

Additionally, I must be able to mimic many other things, and even that simple level of resemblance proves I’ve fully cultivated the qualities of a baby-doll.

 

Knock, knock—

 

Smoothing out any possible wrinkles in my clothes, I rapped on the door of the well-kept study with the back of my hand.

 

“Father, it’s Hena.”

 

Hena, Herciana. As always, I announced my name first. This wasn’t about my identity or anything of the sort—it was simply my name.

 

After counting the ensuing silence, I grasped the doorknob. 

 

If no objection came even after time passed, it usually meant I was free to enter. Today, since the other party had summoned me first, there was even less reason for refusal.

 

With composed posture, I opened the closed door, and the Marquis’s back, turned toward the window, came into view.

 

“You called for me?”

 

He had been smoking. The pungent air inside stung my nose, though of course, I didn’t let it show.

 

I waited leisurely as the aging Marquis turned around at an almost frustratingly slow pace. 

 

How long had it been since we last met alone? 

 

With that thought, I neatly clasped my hands together. But when I saw the wrinkles around his eyes, an involuntary pang of pity struck me.

 

No, does he really have to bear the weight of time like that…

 

The Marquis’s face was deeply marked by the passage of years. At that moment, the memory of our first meeting surged into my heart.

 

So, it was quite a long time ago.

 

I first met the Marquis in his youth.

 

At the time, his wife had just died in a carriage accident on her way back from a sweet getaway with her secret lover.

 

Even now, as back then, nobles indulged in the exotic thrill of infidelity under the ironclad condition of absolute secrecy.

 

In other words, as long as they weren’t caught, there was no reason not to enjoy the thrill of betraying their spouse.

 

Amidst all this, the death of the Marchioness of Darein became a major scandal that sent shockwaves through high society.

 

Rather than being mourned, her death was held up as a prime example of failed self-discipline, endlessly chewed over in gossip. The marquis’ family instantly crumbled into disrepute, branded a dysfunctional household. 

 

It was even said they faced severe censure from the social elite.

 

Whether due to the stress of the fallout or simply because he was exhausted and fed up, the marquis emptied his estate that winter and, holding his daughter’s hand, embarked on a journey to the frost-laden northern mountains. 

 

A path of penance.

 

And in a secluded monastery buried deep in the valley, he found me.

 

A child who bore a faint resemblance to his daughter.

 

“You… look like Herciana.”

 

It was absurd. Even back then, I thought he was gravely mistaken.

 

It’s not me who resembles her—it’s your daughter. Maybe your daughter looks like me, not the other way around. 

 

The only similarities were the color of our irises and hair, nothing more. But as nobles often do, he didn’t give me a chance to voice my thoughts.

 

Having no intention of furthering his family line, he brought home a babydoll that very day for his only flesh and blood.

 

“Will you hold my hand? Ah, how affectionate. But it’s strange—even untouched like this, I see no innocence in you.”

 

‘Ah, really.’ 

 

If I had been given even a brief chance to speak back then, I would have surely said this, 

“Mister, you should try growing up in a place like this once. See if your innocence stays intact.”

My life began the moment I accepted the reality that ‘Santa is just a kind old man from the neighborhood doing volunteer work.’ 

 

But I couldn’t even say that much.

 

—”Dolls aren’t registered in the family registry. It would be troublesome if you caused problems with the inheritance after I’m gone.”

I did think he was wise.

 

He saw it clearly from the very first glance—my purpose, and how I didn’t fit that purpose. To be precise, a certain part of me was permanently missing.

 

—”You won’t be tamed, will you?”

 

He sounded almost like a prophet.

 

—”Still, won’t you come with me? My affectionate child.”

 

“You finally have something to do for once.”

 

A voice thick with weariness shattered the vivid memories of the past. 

 

Reaction time: one second. 

 

Like a well-trained soldier, I answered with a faint smile.

 

An elegant invitation slid across the mahogany desk. After carefully measuring the timing, I picked it up with precise movements and examined it.

 

“It’s an opera performance.”

 

“Yes, I see.”

 

“It’s an event sponsored by the Crown Princess’s palace. It would be problematic to miss it. At least one representative from each household should attend.”

 

“Of course, that makes sense.”

 

“But, you know. Why does it have to be me? Aren’t there other people who should handle this kind of thing? Just how long do you plan to keep pushing everything onto me?” 

 

A dry retort followed, as if calculatedly measured.

 

“Because you’re the most eloquent.”

 

“You haven’t forgotten that my twenty-fourth birthday is coming up soon, have you?”

 

The subject was omitted at the beginning of the sentence, but the protagonist, about to celebrate her twenty-fourth birthday, was referring to Herciana. 

 

The real Herciana.

 

“Of course.”

 

Of course. It was a perfectly good answer—one I didn’t like at all.

 

“I see.”

 

I gave a short, beaming laugh, and the Marquis frowned after noticing my now even brighter smile before adding,

 

“Go and behave yourself—no, of course you’ll behave, but don’t go around teasing people with that grinning face of yours.”

 

“As if I’d ever do that.”

 

“You’re doing it right now, flashing that smile while giving me an inexplicable sense of discomfort.”

 

“It’s all in your head.”

 

“Impossible.”

 

To his near-categorical denial, I responded with a flawless smile. 

 

A well-cultivated social mask. It went beyond mere training—just how perfect of a baby doll was I? I could confidently say that no one at the party, no matter who they were, would ever see through this smile.

 

“Father, don’t be shocked. Most noble daughters marry by the age of twenty, but this household has a twenty-four-year-old spinster living in it.”

 

“I already know that.”

 

“There’s one more astonishing fact. That spinster doesn’t even have a fiancé, you know? Gossipy people can’t stop chewing over her story whenever it comes up. And she’s had to restrain herself more than once or twice.”

 

“Honestly, I already know all that.”

 

Ah, I almost forgot—there’s one more thing about Babydolls I haven’t mentioned yet.

 

Their expiration date.

 

Unless there’s a special exception, most Babydolls are naturally discarded once their real counterparts get married and have children.

 

In simpler terms, it’s a contract termination, an expiration.

 

The sharp-witted must-have already noticed. I’m a doll with little time left before disposal.

 

Herciana turned twenty-four this year. Her age was one that boldly challenged societal norms, as if saying, “What’s this ‘ideal marriage age’ you speak of? Is it edible?”

 

“Ugh, I just want to be free already. Damn sponsors.”

 

Once Herciana found a husband and built a new nest, my lifespan as her stand-in would soon come to an end. 

 

That was the script from the very beginning.

 

So, if she wouldn’t bring a husband to me herself, I had no choice but to step up and find one to cling to. With a bright, knowing smile, I tucked the invitation into my pocket.

 

“You already know—now it’s time to act.”

 

Just how long do you heartless nobles plan to keep me tied to your side, huh?