Since I’ve Transmigrated, I Guess I’ll Just Become The Grand Duke Of The North

I transmigrated into the body of the Northern Grand Duke’s only son. Since I was an Omega, inheriting the dukedom meant I had to wed an Alpha. But finding a decent match proved impossible.

The first prospect fled, whining about the bitter Oston cold, while the second bastard cleaned out the vault and vanished into thin air.

“Aw, man. Again?”

Every time my marriage plans went up in smoke, I regressed. I had already suspected something was terribly off when I noticed my chubby little hands and lisping pronunciation.

“How owd am I… Thwee… Fouw…”

It seemed that this time, I had regressed all the way back to a three-year-old.

Determined to handpick my own groom, I trailed after my father to the Imperial Palace.

“Hello.”

“Whoa…”

Never in my entire life had I laid eyes on someone so breathtaking.

“If you tell me your name, what will our little one give me in return?” he asked, a gentle smile gracing his lips.

“Mawwiage!”

This was the man I was going to marry! Though, of course, I reserved the right to change my mind if a better-looking guy came along.

Two years later, at the ripe age of five, I embarked on my very first solo adventure outside the estate. I stumbled across a snow leopard and promptly dragged it home.

“From today on, you’re Kitty.”

It was a majestic beast, the sort of creature no one would ever dare bestow such a ridiculous moniker upon. But if Noah decreed it so, then so it was.

Then came the night a terrible fever took hold of me.

“I met an angew.”

Through the hazy delirium, Noah beheld a devastatingly handsome man standing right there in his bedroom. Yet, when he fluttered his eyes open the following morning, the mysterious visitor had vanished without a trace.

Could the man who lingered so vividly in his thoughts have been nothing more than a midsummer night’s dream?