It was banquet day. Or dinner, or whatever ridiculous excuse nobles use to dress up and pretend they're not sharpening knives under the table.
By my guess of the empire's clock system, it was somewhere around 3 p.m. In modern terms: the exact time I usually promised myself I'd "get up soon" back when I was still a university student/NEET. Which is to say, too damn early.
At this point, I'd already decided I was taking a vacation the moment this was over. No arguments, no negotiations. S
"My Lady, when will you get out of bed?"
That was Jane—though tonight she wasn't just "Jane the maid." She was already dressed for the occasion, looking more polished than I'd ever seen her. No frilly apron, no modest uniform. Instead, she wore a sleek black gown with silver trims, simple but elegant, paired with her usual no-nonsense posture. She looked like she was about to stab someone with etiquette alone.
And the truth was, I'd chosen her deliberately as my partner. Out of everyone, she was the only one who had stayed by my side the longest. More than loyalty, she was competent, terrifyingly so, and if anyone tried to whisper about my "villainess reputation," she'd probably just glare them into submission. Rather, it would be more appropriate if no one would actually accompany me since I am the "Villainess" and that people will just pity Jane by being beside me.
At this point, I accepted that "her" reputation is already garbage.
Of course, I was still curled up under my blanket like a burrito.
"…Do I really have to go?" I groaned.
"Lady!"
"Lady!"
Two voices this time—Jane and, apparently, the gods in my system nagging in chorus.
The blanket was ripped away in one brutal sweep. A gust of cold air from the balcony poured over me, crawling down my spine. I hissed and tried to curl tighter, covering myself with my arms.
"What is the meaning of this treason?!"
"Lady Nephri," Jane said sharply, "I will still have to prepare you. It is nice if you have a lot of maids, but I am only one person. Do you expect me to dress you alone when you won't cooperate?"
In the past, "Josephine" had required preparation that spanned the entire day—morning to afternoon—just to look presentable. Hair arranged in ridiculous towers, corsets cinched to death, accessories layered like armor. But tonight? Jane had kept it surprisingly minimal. Maybe she pitied me. Or maybe she knew I'd mutiny if she tried to lace me into one of those death-trap gowns.
Reluctantly, I surrendered myself to her routine.
By around 6 p.m., I was finally dressed.
The gown she chose was a simple black number, sleek but unadorned. It didn't cling, didn't show too much skin, and, most importantly, didn't make me feel like a decorative cake topper. All of Nephi's original designs carried a faint emblem embroidered over the chest—a subtle mark of authenticity, mostly to prevent counterfeit copies flooding the market.
Accessories? Just a necklace and earrings, modest but carefully crafted. Ironically, they were pieces I'd made myself—my [Hands of the Divine] skill had been handy in jewelry-crafting. My hair was left loose, cascading down in soft waves, touched up only with the faintest hint of styling oil.
Makeup? Barely anything. A dusting of powder, the lightest gloss of lipstick, and maybe a concealer or two to hide how exhausted I always looked.
Shoes? Vision sandals. Practical, flat, and comfortable—because I fully intended to run if things got messy.
When I finally looked in the mirror, I had to admit… the effect was unsettling. The simplicity itself made it work. No frills, no excess. Just clean, cold elegance. It was the kind of look that screamed "villainess" not through extravagance, but by the sheer confidence of wearing less and daring people to underestimate it.
'That wasn't really necessary because of the mask…'
"Are you sure about this, my Lady?" Jane asked, clearly hesitant.
"Of course," I said, forcing a little smirk.
It's perfect. Simple, neat, and dramatic. Screams "Generic"
She gave me a long-suffering sigh.
That's when I noticed something odd: my face in the mirror looked sharper than usual. Higher cheekbones, colder eyes. Like I was leaning harder into "Josephine" than "Kim Yoo-ra."
[Xipe: Compliment to your appearance.]
"Thanks, I guess," I muttered.
The gods began bickering amongst themselves again—something about whether simplicity was elegance or laziness—but I tuned them out.
By 6:47, the carriage from the main mansion had arrived. Jane stood ready at the door, posture straight as a blade.
The coachman bowed stiffly. His face screams "Just get on with it"
"Why you-"
I stopped Jane.
"Save it," I said flatly, stepping inside. "It's not like I don't know how everyone here treats me."
The words hit him like a whip, but he only forced a smile.
I boarded the carriage, Jane following close behind. The ride was smooth, the night air heavy with anticipation. Outside the window, I saw the mansion blazing with light. Music drifted faintly even from this distance, violins and flutes merging with the hum of countless nobles already mingling.
The Great Banquet.
In the past, Josephine had used events like these to her advantage. Her reputation was already
it was Josephine's chance to flaunt her skills and wealth—an endless parade of gowns, jewels, and potions that screamed, look at me, I'm the villainess. But every single year, it backfired.
Why? Because Adele was a regressor. She knew every move Josephine would pull. Every potion, every little scheme—it was all part of Adele's playbook.
Last year, Josephine brought out a Mana Potion, the fruit of months of study. Adele, naturally, presented one better. The hall applauded. Josephine seethed. And the record books marked it down as another humiliation for the villainess.
This year?
My goal was simple: survive. Stay silent. Say nothing. Do nothing. Endure the torture, then disappear on vacation.
Of course, the gods had other plans.
[Hecatia: You've jinxed it! Now fate will twist.]
"Oh shut up," I muttered under my breath. "What's it going to be this time? A terrorist attack? A kidnapping? Or maybe a grand announcement just to ruin me?"
I glanced at the folded newspaper by my side. Headlines screamed about the Hero, Saint, and Prophet. Their emergence had electrified the continent, and the empire's propaganda machine was running at full tilt. Everyone was searching. Everyone was desperate.
Not that they'd find me so easily.
I still had my concealment item from the Faith Shop. And, if push came to shove, my Doppelganger Mask. Unless I wanted to be involved, no divine designation or starry alignment nonsense should expose me.
"Should," being the key word.
I've read enough shoujo novels to know exactly how this plays out. The moment the protagonist—me, apparently—steps into a ballroom, destiny rolls snake eyes.
[Trynda: Remind her of her rewards!]"Huh? What rewards?"
Apparently, the mausoleum fiasco had coughed up system loot I hadn't even opened.
Faith Shop. Body System. Chatroom. God Gift tab. Familiar tab. Quests. Titles. The whole package deal.
"...This is too much. It's literally a gacha game interface at this point."
[System Notice: Congratulations on completing conditions! Would you like to claim reward: Omniscient Reader's First Person Viewpoint?]
"NO TITLES!" I shouted.
[System Update: Quests have now been divided into Main, Sub, and Trial categories for easy multitasking!]
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Please stop turning my life into patch notes."
[Selene: Please don't be angry! I'll find a way to revamp the system, I swear!][Xipe: Is Selene bothering you-]"No, she's not!"[Selene: Thank you!]
"I'll be angry if you press Selene any further!"
By this point, the gods were arguing among themselves like a bunch of gremlins in a group chat. I tuned them out, more or less.
"Jane, can you tell the coachman to go at the backdoor?"
Jane whispered something sharp to the coachman outside, and his expression twisted into that mix of disgust and fear I'd gotten used to. He muttered something under his breath—probably about me being something.
Before Jane could actually hit him (and knowing her, she was seconds away from knocking him unconscious), I caught her wrist.
"It's fine," I said softly. "I can handle it."
She frowned, reluctant. But I didn't give her the chance to argue.
I opened the carriage window, leaned out just enough, and caught the coachman's gaze. He flinched, already pale, but it was too late.
I smacked him in the face.
"Wha-"
Then before he could react, I already healed him.
Then I repeated that a couple of times until he didn't question me
By the time I pulled back into my seat, he couldn't even look at me anymore. Just stared ahead, reins trembling in his hands.
Jane blinked at me. "…You're scary sometimes, my Lady."
"Only sometimes?" I smirked.
The carriage rolled on, circling the back streets until it reached the rear entrance of the mansion. Less fanfare, fewer eyes. My preference exactly.
Except someone was waiting.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Arms crossed, posture stiff as a wall.
The sight of him made my chest clench. My very-displeased, very-unforgiving brother, whom I hadn't spoken to in months.
He didn't say anything. Neither did I.
And maybe that was the problem.