My name is Keita Minami, 16 years old. I'm your average high school student. Average looks, average grades, average life. There's nothing I particularly enjoy about the way I live. The only thing that keeps me going for now is the novel I'm currently reading (The Prince's Eternal Love). It's your classic villainess crap but I still eat it up. The villainess tries to get in-between the ML and the FL and gets killed. Predictable.
I sat at the very back of the classroom like the classic background character I am, half-hidden by the ray of sunlight coming in through the open window, reading the latest chapter of The Prince's Eternal Love. My lips twitched into a smirk as the "pure and innocent" heroine stumbled yet again into the crown prince's arms. "Blegh."
"Her eyes, like pools of moonlight, reflected the eternal devotion she felt for him."
"Moonlight eyes? What the fuck does that even mean?" I muttered under my breath. I cackled like a duck, drawing a glance from the boy at the next desk. "Seriously, who writes this dog shit?"
"Still reading those trashy romance things?" my friend Saito leaned over, smirking. "You're hopeless, man."
I rolled my eyes. "It's not romance. It's performance art. Reading these recycled trash is pretty entertaining, y'know."
Saito shook his head. "You know normal guys read sports manga, right? Or action? Not whatever this is."
"That's boring," I said, flicking to the next page. The villainess had arrived, sweeping into the ballroom in a beautiful crimson gown. Ah yes, I thought dryly, time for the inevitable public humiliation scene.
I rested my chin on my hand and narrated in a flat monotone, "Behold, the evil noblewoman, proud and arrogant—Evangeline de Valmont. She dares to insult the flawless heroine. In five pages, the prince will scold her. In ten, she'll be socially ruined. In fifteen, probably exiled or executed. Revolutionary storytelling."
Saito snorted. "If you hate them so much, why read them?"
I shrugged, lips quirking. "Same reason you watch Spider-Man even though you hate Mary Jane. You just… can't look away. Besides, guessing how the villainess dies each time has sort of become a hobby of mine. Honestly, if I were her, I wouldn't even bother fighting the heroine. I'd just enjoy my luxurious life and eat delicious food."
"You're insane," Saito said, turning back to his notes.
I didn't bother arguing. I knew it was stupid. All the stories in this genre are the same anyway. And yet, here I was, every day after class, scrolling and sneering at their exaggerated romances and predictable villains.
---
That evening, after trudging through cram school and grabbing some convenience store food to eat for dinner, I sprawled across my bed with my phone in one hand and a cup of instant ramen in the other. The steam fogged my glasses as I scrolled down to the latest chapter update.
Predictably, Evangeline de Valmont was being condemned at a royal trial. The prince denounced her, the heroine wept prettily, and the crowd cheered.
I jabbed at the screen with my chopsticks. "Unbelievable. Every single time. No nuance, no variety. Just drag her out and slap on the 'bad ending.' Seriously, it's the same shit every time. What's so good about the prince anyway? His younger brother is way better looking."
I slurped my noodles, half-smiling at my own bitterness. It wasn't like anyone cared about Evangeline anyway. She was always just a stepping stone for the heroine's happy ending.
Maybe that was what made her interesting. Maybe that was why I kept reading.
The thought barely had time to form before a noodle went down the wrong way.
I coughed violently, smacking my chest, but the heat and the sting choked me harder. I stumbled to my feet, the ramen cup clattering to the floor, broth soaking into my bedsheets.
"No—am I really going to die like this?"
The room blurred at the edges. My phone slipped from my fingers, Evangeline's sneering face frozen on the glowing screen.
What a joke, I thought dimly, vision tunneling. Dying like this, over instant ramen. This is exactly the kind of cliché ending those novels would write.
Darkness swallowed me.
---
When the sensation returned, it wasn't cold linoleum or the stink of spilled soup. It was silk. Heavy blankets, smooth as water, draped over my body. The air was perfumed with something floral.
My eyes fluttered open. An unfamiliar ceiling stretched above me painted white, trimmed with golden vines.
I sat up sharply, only to feel the weight of long hair sliding over my shoulders.
A voice broke the silence.
"My lady, you're awake!"
A young maid in a black and white uniform hovered at the bedside, relief brightening her face. She curtsied. "You collapsed at yesterday's soirée, Lady Evangeline de Valmont. Please, don't strain yourself."
I stared at her. Then, slowly, I looked down.
Slender, pale hands. Fingernails neatly manicured. A body beneath the covers that was—
"No way," I whispered.
The maid tilted her head. "My lady?"
My throat went dry. I knew this setup. I'd mocked this setup a hundred times.
And now, somehow—
I'm Evangeline de Valmont.