The red warning screen, a furious, glitching testament to my subversion, vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The nobles around me were buzzing, still processing the monumental charity pledges. Their whispers were not of scandal, but of awe. "Did you see?" one lady murmured to another, "The Valerius daughter is a force of nature. Lady Beatrice was a lovely woman, but she was a sparrow trying to lift a mountain."
The System, in its rage, had failed to account for the social fallout. I had not been a "villainess" in the way they had intended. I was a power player. I was effective. And in the world of high society, effectiveness was its own kind of morality. I had secured my position not through petty malice but through undeniable competence.
But the warning still burned in my mind. "Punishment for this deviation will be delivered at a later time." The System had promised a reckoning. The old me, the girl who had been terrified of every flashing screen, would have been paralyzed with fear. But this new me, the "creative villainess," felt a cold, sharp thrill. I had poked the beast, and now it was watching me. The game had just gotten a lot more interesting.
I spent the next few days preparing for a silent storm. I doubled my guards, instructed my staff to be on high alert, and even went so far as to start training with a rapier in the hidden gardens. I didn't know how the punishment would come—physical pain? a new, more horrifying task? a forced magical accident?—but I would not be caught off guard.
The silence lasted for a week. Then two. My senses, honed by a life of perpetual anxiety, grew sharper with each passing day. The System was patient, a predator lying in wait.
Then, one rainy afternoon, a screen flickered into existence, a stark white against the grey light of my study.
"Punishment: Delivered. Plot Subversion flagged. User's ability to manipulate the plot has been neutralized. All future plot points will proceed as originally intended. User will be unable to deviate from the script. This penalty will remain in effect for the duration of the current mission."
I stared at the screen, a cold dread creeping through my veins. This wasn't pain. This wasn't a cruel task. This was far worse. It was the return of my prison, but with the key now locked securely away. The System hadn't removed my freedom; it had simply made it an illusion. It had turned me back into a puppet.
A new screen appeared, its blue light a chillingly familiar harbinger of dread.
"Task: Attend the Royal Ball. Reward: 50 points."
That was it. Just "attend." In the original story, this was where Selena, in a fit of jealous rage, had attempted to sabotage the budding romance between the male lead, Duke Cedric, and the female lead, Lady Iris. She would have spilled a drink on Iris's dress, a petty, embarrassing act that would have been the first domino in a series of events designed to humiliate her.
And I knew, with a terrible certainty, that no matter what I did, no matter how I planned, I would spill that drink. The System had neutralized my ability to deviate. I was trapped in my own body, a prisoner of a script I was forced to perform. I was no longer the creative villainess; I was a pawn.
I arrived at the Royal Ball feeling like a condemned woman walking to the gallows. The grand ballroom was a whirlwind of color and music, but to me, it was a cage. I saw Duke Cedric across the room, his eyes already fixed on Iris , who was standing alone by a balcony, a vision in a simple white dress.
My body began to move with a will of its own. My hand, without my conscious command, reached for a glass of crimson wine from a passing servant's tray. My feet, as if guided by an invisible force, began to move across the crowded floor, not toward the Duke, but directly toward Iris .
Every fiber of my being screamed for me to stop. "No!" I silently pleaded, "I don't want to do this!" But my hand was already tipping the glass. The rich, red liquid was already arcing through the air.
And then, just as the wine was about to hit Iris's dress, a small, unassuming feather drifted down from the ceiling, landing lightly on my arm.
The motion stopped. The wine glass, suspended in mid-air, froze. My arm, which had been moving on its own, was suddenly mine again. The System's control had flickered, breaking for the briefest of moments.
I blinked. Was this a glitch? A momentary reprieve? The feather on my arm was a soft, snowy white. It felt warm, and a gentle humming sensation radiated from it. It was the kind of feather one might find on an angel's wing. It wasn't a punishment, but a gift.
I looked up to the ceiling, but there was nothing there. No sign of where the feather came from.
My mind, a machine of pure logic, began to work. The System was a literalist. It was bound by its own code. It had promised to deliver a punishment, and that punishment was that I would be unable to deviate from the script. But it had never said that another entity couldn't.
I looked at the feather on my arm. Then I looked at the wine glass, still frozen in the air. The System's control was a heavy, suffocating weight, but this feather was a small, almost imperceptible counter-force.
A new game had begun. It wasn't about breaking the System's rules, but about finding the loopholes in its code. It had bound me, but perhaps I could use an outside force to set myself free. I didn't know who or what had sent this feather, but I knew one thing: I wasn't alone in this cage anymore.
I slowly and deliberately lowered my hand, setting the wine glass on a nearby table. The humming sensation from the feather intensified for a moment. No screen appeared. No punishment was delivered. The System, it seemed, was blind to this new variable.
With a new kind of power blooming in my chest, I walked past Iris and Duke Cedric and out onto the balcony, the feather still on my arm. I had a new task, a new mission, and this one wasn't from the System. It was to find out who had sent this feather and why.