I Can't See Through Torina Dewell

That evening, after returning to her room, the system’s first words were exactly this.

“What do you mean, you can’t see through her?”

“I analyze motives through behavior, speech, micro-expressions, heart rate, neural signals—but Diweier is an exception. Before convalescence, she was merely a talented yet morally hollow noble lady. After returning? I can’t see through her. No analysis. No prediction.”

“So that’s why you kept warning me to stay away?”

“True danger stems from the unknown. Never trust what you cannot see through. Don’t be fooled by her gentle tactics—this is my solemn warning.”

“…How can you be sure she’s deceiving me?”

“And how can *you* be sure she isn’t? She treated you like a servant once, ignored your unfair treatment—and after one day adventuring together, you drop your guard?”

“Of course not! But—you said ‘danger comes from the unknown,’ right? Perfect. I’ll find out exactly what she’s up to!”

————————

Meanwhile—

“So comfy~ So comfy~~”

True to form, Torina had booked the entire bathhouse, summoning beautiful maids to massage her shoulders, knead her legs, scrub her back. *Ah, the life of the wealthy.*

Comfortable as she was, she mentally replayed the day.

(Indeed, Mylora isn’t as stubborn as she seems. With genuine sincerity, she listens.)

The original protagonist was similar—ruthless yet capable of mercy. After all, mass-market stories need morally balanced leads.

The issue? The author wasn’t skilled at crafting *logical* plots. Main quests relied entirely on system prompts: go where told, watch whom flagged. No need for coherent cause-effect. Readers just ride the hype.

But this isn’t fiction. This is reality.

Here, the protagonist is pushed by narrative coercion—a vessel for author and reader projection. Honestly… kinda pitiful.

(In the original, after being kicked from the party, the system instantly revised her plan. She’d already pocketed the relic key. Just grab the cheat item next… But now?)

She wanted Mylora to feel belonging, to stay—not chase some cheat item. Yet this clashed head-on with the system’s agenda. Even if she won Mylora over, that paranoid, control-freak system would stir trouble.

Was the real threat… not Mylora, but the system?

“…No! The choice is *hers*! I’ll win her heart and mind—even if I have to be forceful!”

Torina shot to her feet, shouting to pump herself up!

The attending maids froze inwardly—

((((PREDATORY LESBIAN ALERT! SHE’S GONNA CORRUPT THE INNOCENT GIRL!!!!))))

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The next day—

Mylora woke bound to a chair in a town beauty salon catering to female adventurers.

“…Where am I?”

“A salon, obviously. Dungeon crawling roughs you up. Well-off adventurers come here for upkeep,” Torina smirked slyly.

“W-why am I tied?! Untie me!”

“To keep you from running. Relax—it’s just sprucing up. You’ve been neglecting yourself.”

“Grr… Just kill me!”

“Cackle cackle cackle~ Such spirit! Let my special program begin!”

Torina snapped. Four sturdy women in aprons filed in—confident eyes, beaming smiles, gleaming tools. Top-tier beauticians, no doubt.

“Cackle cackle cackle~ Make her gorgeous. This young lady rewards handsomely~”

““““Cackle cackle cackle~ Leave it to us 💕””””

“NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!”

Two hours later—

“““““………………”””””

Even the beauticians were stunned.

This radiant girl tied to the chair… was *Mylora*?

Her wild hair now sleek, ends curled into soft waves, transformed from dull gray to luminous silver. Bangs swept back revealed a petite face with delicate features—clever, feline, utterly charming. Dead skin gone. Skin glowing from premium potions. Fingernails and toes painted soft blue, matching her eyes—and contrasting Torina’s crimson polish.

Mylora stared into the mirror, dazed.

“So I’m silver-haired?”

“You didn’t *know*?!” ← Beautician A

“I… wasn’t sure. Always just looked gray.”

“Silver hair needs care or it dulls fast!” ← Beautician B

“I wash it regularly.”

“Washing isn’t *care*!” ← Beautician C

“So troublesome…”

“Beauty takes effort! Look at that foundation!” ← Beautician D

“………………”

Mylora’s cheeks flushed. She tried covering her face—but hands bound, she ducked, lifted a leg, buried her face in her thigh. Adorably cat-like. Torina drooled. Beautician A slipped on the puddle.

Ahem. Back to business.

“Mylora-chan, clothing store next—let’s go!”

“Wait—”

…

…

After tugging battles, Torina stripped off Mylora’s painfully rustic outfit. Try after try. Final look:

White off-shoulder top

+ navy blue hot pants

+ crystal-clear white pantyhose

+ strappy sandals

Simple. Youthful. Paired with shimmering silver hair and light-blue eyes—even Patti would cry, “*You’re* the true elf!”

(For reference: Torina wore a black-red cocktail dress—she *loved* formal styles—black pantyhose, stuffy knee-high boots. A mysteriously symmetrical contrast.)

“Like it, Mylora?”

“…Passable. Pants are too short.”

“That’s hot pants.”

“They show my thigh roots.”

“Pantyhose cover it.”

“Still…”

“Buy it if you like?”

“I can’t afford it—”

“My treat.”

“I don’t take charity.”

“Not charity. You’ve already feasted my eyes.”

“…………Ugh. Pervert.”

Mylora protested—but stood before the mirror, lifting legs, bending. Hot pants rode up slightly, revealing the curve beneath white pantyhose; straightening, her C-cup gently stretched the top’s fabric… Unintentional allure held Torina captive.

“…Feels like a dangerous gaze behind me.”

“Just your imagination~”

Torina wasn’t a bad person.

She just wanted to secure the original protagonist and avoid that brutal death ending.

Lusting after a girl two years younger? *Absolutely* not in the plan.

Really.

Really, really, really.

…

…

Flustered Mylora, lost in her reflection, didn’t notice—the system had been utterly silent this whole time.

She had no idea what her ring-bound companion was thinking.

…

…

…

( [Mylora… I was here first… If only you’d just listened to me… Why?!] )