"Did you take care of everything?"
"Yes. I did."
"Alright. Let's go now."
...
A sharp gasp escaped a young woman's lips.
The moment the three men disappeared from the balcony, she bolted upright, her chest heaving as if it had been torn apart.
Instinctively, her hands clutched at her ribcage, pressing against the phantom ache that lingered.
Moonlight spilled over her, tracing the contours of the girl in full bloom: wavy black hair cascading over her shoulders, soft bangs framing a face both delicate and fierce, and magenta eyes that glowed like neon against the night.
A dizzy flutter tickled the edge of her consciousness. She faltered, recalling the screech of tires, the impact...
Wasn't she hit by the car?
If she's conscious right now, that meant she survive.
"But… I don't remember any of this…"
She spun around, taking in the room.
The décor was old-fashioned, almost stuffy, far from her taste for sleek, modern minimalism.
Heavy drapes, ornate furniture, gilded accents; it felt like she'd stepped into a castle.
A noblewoman's chamber.
The car accident should have left her bedridden, battered and bruised.
Yet, aside from the phantom ache that lingered from before, she felt… fine.
Her gaze dropped to the bed. Her blanket was drenched in a deep, bloody red, soaked through in places.
"No, no, no! Am I… on my period?!"
That was the first, frantic thought to cross her mind.
Because if she truly felt fine, then the blood couldn't possibly be from her wounds and the vague pain was probably cramps.
'Okay, that made no sense.'
What happened?
Was the end, truly not the end afterall?
"Wait… that's not…" She froze. "…my voice."
Her eyes widened as she looked down when she pulled up her blankets. Her dress was soaked in blood as well. She tried to move and fell from her bed, a groan tearing from her throat. "Agh!"
The moment echoed with a surreal sound. A crisp, digital ding, like a notification bell.
< WELCOME, DEAR HOST >
< Initializing... >
< Loading... >
< .... >
< Complete! >
< You are now fully in sync with the vessel! >
...
< To begin, command the system by saying "connect" >
"...C-Connect?"
...
...
╔════════════════════════════════════╗
║ User: Cressida Blackthorne ║
║ Background: Former businesswoman, ║
║ Reborn into a minor villainess body.║
╠════════════════════════════════════╣
║ Level / Rank : 1 – Novice Broker ║
║ Capital (Points) : 0 ║
║ Moral Ledger : Neutral (0) ║
║ Temporal Points : 0 ║
╚════════════════════════════════════╝
"W-What? I don't remember the world being this… advanced!"
She reached out, swiping at the air, but her hand passed right through. A hologram. Just like the ones in the sci-fi movies, video games, and novels she used to devour.
Questions swirled in her mind, amplified by the dizzying upside-down perspective that probably sent even more blood rushing to her head.
The first, nagging question: Who was Cressida Blackthorne?
The name rang strange and painfully familiar, awakening a spark of resentment she couldn't place.
Once she managed to reposition herself; sitting, then standing, her eyes caught a mirror across the room.
Jet-black hair cascading like liquid night. Eyes that seemed to pull in everything around them. A pale, slender body, the clothes soaked in blood.
The reflection wasn't hers.
This was the pinnacle of beauty, impossibly perfect. A girl that comes out only from fantasy.
She flexed her fingers. They felt unreal, delicate, as if a single swipe of a card could slice through them.
Every inch of this body wasn't "hers," yet she inhabited it fully.
"I'm way too thin…" she murmured, staring at the impossibly slim arms and legs.
Desperate for answers, she moved to the desk and sifted through the scattered writings.
Every line spoke of obsession and hatred: how she despised a girl named Lilithia, how that bitch always stole the attention of the man she loved, how she craved Agrona's approval, how she fantasized about eliminating anyone who dared stand in her way.
Lilithia…Agrona…Cressida…The Blackthorne Family… The Royalty…
She drew in a shaky breath. "Fuck."
It all came rushing back; the fragments, the memories, the pieces of a life she didn't recognize as hers until now.
She remembered who she was. Where she was. What she was.
She had transmigrated.
Into a novel she had once read, a story she had loved long ago… the last one she'd picked up before turning her back on fantasy and dedicating herself entirely to reality.
Not only that, Cressida Blackthorne?!
Of all people?!
The stereotypical bratty noble daughter, a desperate people-pleaser masking the shame of a family on the edge of ruin.
The minor villainess who follows the main villainess like a dog and dies early in the novel.
The one everyone on social media had wished dead.
"Everything… makes sense now," she whispered, a shiver running down her spine. "After she died… my soul entered her body…"
Of course she had to reincarnate as the scapegoat. The bootlicker. The one everyone loved to hate.