“Why? Why? WHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHY!!!!”

Dolina Dewell let out a desperate roar.

His face was caked with mud and dried blood, his body battered and bruised head to toe. The sword in his hand lay broken; his once-gleaming armor shattered, its radiant runes now dull and lifeless.

He lifted his head… There—his brother, his niece, his fiancée. Family. People who should have stood beside him. Why were they all siding with his enemy?

How had it come to this?

He was Dolina Dewell—the noble heir, rune magic’s chosen, born elite, future powerhouse. How could *he* end like this?

“DOLINA DEWELL!”

A thunderous shout from his mortal enemy—Mirore Sistem—jolted him back.

This lowborn, mediocre, foolish deadweight—the very burden he’d kicked from his team without mercy, the one he’d scorned most—how had *he* grown so powerful?

His frame carved with lean muscle; every breath shimmered with magic. A star chart blazed above his head, forged from stellar energy. The bloodstained greatsword in his grip felt light as a toothpick. So mighty. So towering. Unbeatable… *Unbeatable!!*

“Ever heard ‘Don’t scorn the poor youth—the river’s flow turns’? Did you not see your arrogance sealed your fate? That this ‘trash’ you cast aside now stands as a sovereign power? Have you *ever* repented?!”

“You—you—YOU!!! DON’T PUSH ME—AAAAAAGH!!!!”

Dolina roared, lunging with his broken blade—only for Mirore to halt him with one finger. Then—*thrust!*—the star-charged greatsword pierced straight through his chest!

“NOOOOOOOO!!!!”

His final scream cut short. He collapsed.

———————

———————

“—Eep!!”

Torina jolted awake, cold sweat soaking her brow. A phantom sting lingered on her chest—the memory of being skewered.

After a dazed moment, she realized: *That scene… the guild master, slaughtered by the returning protagonist. Relatives and fiancée siding with him. Cheats. System buffs. No chance to fight. No chance to surrender. Just… death.*

“Hssk…” She sucked in a sharp breath.

*That was my fate. My tragedy.*

But—thankfully—

“Bad dream?”

A clear, sweet voice chimed beside her ear.

Torina turned. Leaning over her bedside was *her*—Milora Sistem, the gender-swapped protagonist of that cursed novel, eyes soft with concern.

Not yet sixteen, Mylora’s face held youthful innocence yet delicate allure. Features finer than an elf’s. Silvery hair fluffed like a kitten’s fur. A slender frame that begged to be held close.

“Bad dream? You okay?” Mylora repeated gently, noticing Torina’s daze.

“Ah… nothing. Dreamt a slime squashed me.”

“What? Silly dream.” Mylora chuckled, rising.

She wore the crystal-silk white thigh-highs and ultra-short hot pants Torina had gifted her. Legs like melting cream popsicles. A teasing curve of hip beneath the shorts. Milk-pale shoulders and arms peeking from her off-shoulder top—so flawless Torina’s gaze snagged.

“Your eyes got lewd,” Mylora pouted, cheeks flushing.

“J-just checking if you gained weight!”

“I don’t gain weight.”

“Ugh, you said the hated thing.”

“Truth! Here—breakfast!”

She lifted the tray. Hearty, but… messy. The cook tried. It just didn’t look tasty.

“…This is?”

“I made it! Um… not pretty, but I tasted it—it’s okay!” Mylora offered it shyly. Since rejoining the team, she’d been fiercely compensating. Before, Torina chased; now *she* did. Torina felt flustered.

*What villainess gets this much attention from the protagonist…?*

“Eat while hot.”

“I’ll scarf it down!”

“I washed your clothes. Had staff tidy the room while you slept. Here’s your sword and armor… Seriously, dungeon today? Maintain gear *beforehand*.”

“Ah… yeah.”

So thoughtful. Like a newlywed bride.

Torina dressed quickly: tucking curves into her bra, smoothing panties to avoid wedgies, fastening the garter belt, tightening the corset to accentuate her waist, slipping into the rune-engraved skirt armor (front hem dangerously short), stepping into leg-lengthening heels, pulling on silk gloves…

Hm?

A heavy gaze.

She looked up. Mylora stared, wide-eyed.

“…What’s wrong?”

“!! N-nothing!” Mylora spun away, face crimson, yanking a pocket book—*The Art of Socializing*—flipping frantically to Chapter 4, Section 7: *“How to Interact with Lesbians: How to Tell If a Lesbian Is Flirting With You.”*

“What’re you reading…?”

“N-nothing! I said *nothing*!”

“Oh.”

Pure-hearted villainess believed her instantly. *Mylora’s just a kind, innocent girl.*

“Oh! Put this on.”

“Huh?”

“Your pinky’s broken, right? Ranifi’s team made a temp prosthetic. Official version coming soon.”

Torina fitted the flesh-toned wooden finger onto Mylora’s hand. Perfect fit. Basic grip only—advanced functions later.

*(Will they hit my specs? Pocket Transformer? Mechanical flair in this fantasy world? So cool… I almost wanna break a finger too!)*

Torina fantasized. Mylora’s blush deepened.

“…This feels… like you’re putting a ring on me…”

“Hm?”

“N-nothing! You heard *nothing*! C’mon—lord’s treasury loot today, right?”

“Yep! Go, go, go!”