[Authors Note: I apologize for my on and off. I have to admit that I've been on depressive episodes for the past two months and could no longer emotionally resonate with what I wrote so I often made novels that didn't last long. This novel will be the last and I'll try to break the habit. University has started too and problems just keep popping up. I hope you guys understand, and I hope you guys enjoy this one.]
...
The atrium of Crescent International School gleamed under crystal chandeliers, light fracturing over polished marble.
At its center, Selene Veymore knelt, her gown ripped, hands slick with blood, not hers, but the guard's, taken down for daring to interfere.
Her golden eyes, wild and unyielding, fixed on him.
Alaric Dorne, heir to Mechton's wealthiest industrial family, stood near the dais, expression calm, like he was watching a trivial pest scuttle across the floor.
The heroine, Elise, trembled beside him. She had never been cruel, never wished harm. Yet here was Selene, tearing through protocol and flesh alike, claiming what Elise had earned through trust.
"Step aside," Selene hissed. "Do you think he belongs to you? Your timid smiles earned nothing!"
Elise swallowed. "Alaric doesn't belong to anyone. And you… you've crossed a line."
"I loved him first," Selene spat, claws brushing a fallen guard's blade. "I will have him, even if I burn this hall, drown this city in blood, and tear every hand that reaches for him!"
***
"I'm dating my sister's ex."
"My fiancé chose my sister over me."
"I stole the heroine's harem."
Notice a pattern?
Yeah, basically, all these stories were about stolen love. Either your crush gets snatched, or you're the one doing the snatching.
Marie, eighteen and freshly adult, had a nagging thought: Why do women in these type of stuffs always fight over the same guy? Aren't they supposed to be feminists? Champions of girl power?
But there they were, gleefully plotting who could win some handsome bloke. Confusing, frustrating and annoyingly entertaining.
"Man, I feel bad for the Villainess," Marie muttered, picking up a popcorn and flicking it to her mouth. "Imagine existing just to make the heroine be special."
On her screen was the latest urban, sci-fi, and fantasy otome craze, Stars, Scandals, and Schemes.
The plot revolved around the heroine, an ordinary commoner who somehow has a rare genetic anomaly in a world where magic flowed only through technology.
Every powerful family of Atomancers, those who bent atoms to their will, sought her as a bride for their sons, hoping she would bear the next generation of prodigies.
Basically, a breeding stock.
However, the setup was horribly predictable:
The heroine: poor, unremarkable, "special" without trying. Ignored until she conveniently saves her ass.
Male leads: impossibly wealthy, gorgeous, brooding, and suddenly obsessed with her.
The villainess: stylish, cunning, born to be hated.
The twist was that this Villainess wasn't a generic "mean girl."
She was a regressor cursed to relive her life, dodge disasters, and rewrite her fate only to still hit the worst outcomes like those stereotypical villainess webtoons.
Every choice, every move, every misstep, a trap laid by destiny.
Marie groaned.
She didn't fully understand the element or the full consequences.
Meanwhile, the heroine was effortless, admired, and constantly saved by plot armor.
Not only that, Otome games had evolved. They were no longer just dialogue choices, this one had actual combat.
[YOU HAVE LOST.]
[THE VILLAINESS SUCCESSFULLY TOOK ALL YOUR FAVORS.]
...
Marie smacked her lips and reached for her cup of water, muttering, "Nevermind. This woman is a homewrecker," when suddenly, it slipped.
She leaned too far over her desk, just a little too casually, and her elbow nudged the power strip beside her gaming setup.
Her cup of water tipped over at the exact same moment, spilling a cascade of liquid onto the power strip.
The combination of metal, water, and electricity created an instant, sizzling arc that flung her backward with a cartoonish BZZZT!
Marie's own limbs went limp as she slumped onto the floor, stunned, but somehow fully aware enough to think:
"…Goddamn it. I still need to submit my performance task for school."