The Rival's Guide to Graceful Defeat

• Chapter 1: Please, Just Expose My Evil Deeds Already!
• Chapter 2: The Art of Ruining Your Own Reputation
• Chapter 3: Why Is the Crown Prince Smiling at My Insults?
• Chapter 4: Step One of Failing the Tea Party Protocol
• Chapter 5: The Spilled Wine Strategy (Backfires Horribly)
• Chapter 6: A Proper Rival Does Not Get Rescued from Slimes
• Chapter 7: How to Lose a Duel in Three Easy Steps
• Chapter 8: The Second Male Lead Is Interpreting This Wrong
• Chapter 9: Condemnation Event, Take One: Action!
• Chapter 10: Sabotaging the Royal Ball Outfit
• Chapter 11: Accidental Heroics at the Grand Library
• Chapter 12: I Hired Fake Assassins and They Joined His Guard
• Chapter 13: The Villainess Is Far Too Supportive of the Heroine
• Chapter 14: Rumors of My Cold Heart Have Been Greatly Exaggerated
• Chapter 15: Tearing Up the Marriage Proposal (He Found It Endearing)
• Chapter 16: My Attempted Exile Turn into a Royal Vacation
• Chapter 17: The Magic Knight Captain Won't Stop Following Me
• Chapter 18: Poisoning the Soup with... Too Much Sugar?
• Chapter 19: The Heroine Asks for My Relationship Advice
• Chapter 20: Falling Gracefully Into a Pile of Hay (and His Arms)
• Chapter 21: The Confession That Was Supposed to Be a Threat
• Chapter 22: Condemnation Event, Take Two: Total Failure
• Chapter 23: Even My Evil Laughter Sounds Like Soft Chimes
• Chapter 24: Running Away to the Countryside (They Tracked Me Down)
• Chapter 25: Accidental Engagement to the Entire Capture Target Group
• Chapter 26: The Worst Bad End Ever: A Very Happy Ending

The stained-glass windows of the Grand Conservatory cast a dazzling kaleidoscope of ruby and sapphire light across the marble floor, but all I wanted was to be thrown into a dark, damp dungeon.

I stood with my hands clasped behind my back, head held at a perfectly arrogant seventy-five-degree angle, sneering down at Lily, the delicate heroine of this wretched otome game. She was cowering on the velvet divan, her big, watery emerald eyes shimmering with tears that looked suspiciously like squeezed glycerin. In her trembling hands, she held the proof of my terrible, unpardonable crime: a stack of love letters she had written to Crown Prince Edward, which I had stolen and threatened to publish to the entire high society.

"Well, Lily?" I purred, injecting as much cold, haughty malice into my voice as my vocal cords could manage. "What do you have to say for yourself? A mere baron’s daughter, daring to dream of the sun! Hand over your seal, or tomorrow morning, every noble family in the capital will read your embarrassing, poetic ramblings about His Highness’s eyes!"

I internally cheered. It was a flawless villainess line. Classic. Text-book evil. All she needed to do now was sob, run out to the gardens, stumble directly into Crown Prince Edward’s broad, immaculate chest, and show him the letters while crying about how terrible Lady Serena von Rosenberg was. Then, Edward would roar with majestic fury, drag me before the Academy’s Disciplinary Committee, and strip me of my noble title.

I would get my Bad End. I would be banished to a quiet, rustic countryside estate where I could spend the rest of my life sleeping in until noon, eating fresh cheese, and reading romance novels without ever having to wear a corset again.

"Lady Serena..." Lily gasped, her voice trembling like a leaf in a gale. "You... you went through all this trouble?"

"Trouble?" I blinked, almost dropping my sneer. "It was no trouble at all. I snuck into your dorm, unlocked your desk with a hairclip, and intercepted your maid. I am a monster! A wicked, scheming viper! Now, run and tell the Prince!"

Lily looked down at the letters. Then she looked up at me. Instead of horror, her face flushed a soft, dusty pink. She brought the letters to her chest and squeezed them.

"You... you corrected my grammar," she whispered.

"I what?" I snapped, stepping forward.

"Look!" Lily turned the top page around, pointing a delicate, manicured finger at the parchment. "In my draft, I used the wrong subjective pronoun when addressing the royal family. And here—you corrected my spelling of 'irresistible.' You even added red ink notes in the margins explaining the proper etiquette for signing off to a member of the high aristocracy!"

"That wasn't a favor!" I hissed, my pulse spiking in sheer panic. "That was... that was me mocking your pathetic lack of education! I was holding a red pen to show how utterly unworthy you are!"

"No," Lily said, her eyes shining with absolute, terrifying devotion. "You knew that if the Prince saw these letters with bad grammar, his strict etiquette tutor, Marquess Carlisle, would look down on me. You fixed my mistakes so that if they did leak, I wouldn't be publicly humiliated for my poor provincial schooling. You... you're pretending to be evil just to teach me royal court protocol!"

"I am not!" I practically shrieked, taking a step back. "I am trying to ruin your life! I am your rival! Look at my face! I am scowling!"

"Your scowl is so majestic, Lady Serena," Lily sighed, practically sprouting digital anime flowers behind her head. "You truly are the ideal noblewoman. I will work hard to be worthy of your tough love!"

Before I could grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her, the double oak doors of the conservatory burst open.

Enter Crown Prince Edward.

He looked like he had been drawn by an artist who was paid by the hour to draw glowing gold dust around a man's hair. His hair was sunlight incarnate; his eyes were two chips of polished lapis lazuli; his shoulders were broad enough to carry the weight of a kingdom, or at least a very heavy plot points list.

"What is the meaning of this commotion?" Edward's deep, resonant voice echoed off the high ceiling. His eyes swept the room, instantly locking onto the crying heroine and then onto me—the cold, calculating villainess standing over her with a menacing red ink pen still clutched in my right hand.

Finally, I thought, a swell of glorious relief rising in my chest. The moment of truth. The hero arrives to catch the villain in the act! Expose me, Your Highness! Call the guards! Smite my wicked heart!

"Your Highness!" I proclaimed loudly, puffing out my chest and striding toward him. "You arrive just in time to witness the true nature of my terrible actions! I have ambushed this delicate girl! I have stolen her private correspondence! I stand before you, guilty of gross misconduct, harassment, and an unpardonable lack of grace!"

I bowed dramatically, making sure to keep my posture stiff and unsympathetic.

"I await my punishment," I said, suppressing a giddy smile. Goodbye, social calendar! Hello, cozy cottage with a fireplace!

Edward strode forward, his heavy leather boots clicking rhythmically against the marble. He stopped inches from me. He lowered his gaze, his sapphire eyes narrowing as he looked down at my pale, tense face. He reached out a hand, and I braced myself for him to point a finger at the door and banish me on the spot.

Instead, he gently took the red pen from my trembling fingers.

"Lady Serena," Edward murmured, his voice dipping into a low, velvety tone that made my stomach drop for all the wrong reasons. "Once again, you take the burdens of this academy onto your own shoulders."

My jaw almost unlatched itself from my skull. "I... I do what?"

"You saw that Miss Lily was struggling with her transition into royal court culture," Edward said, turning to look at Lily, who was nodding emphatically like a wooden dashboard doll. "You knew that if she made a faux pas in front of the council, the conservative factions would destroy her. So, you staged this elaborate confrontation to privately tutor her in secret, taking the blame upon yourself so she wouldn't feel indebted to you."

"Are you insane?!" I yelled, completely abandoning my noble speech. "I stole her mail! I threatened her! I literally called her a provincial peasant three minutes ago!"

"A harsh motivation," Edward said, smiling a slow, dangerously devastating smile that lit up his entire face. "You knew that only a strong emotional shock would force her to pay attention to her grammatical errors. Your methods are unorthodox, Serena, but your devotion to the harmony of this school... it is truly breathtaking."

"It's not breathtaking, it's black-hearted!" I screamed internally, gripping the silk of my skirt so hard I thought I heard the seams pop. "Look at the ink! I used red! Red is the color of evil!"

"And the color of passion," Edward countered smoothly, taking my hand and bringing it to his lips. He brushed his mouth against my knuckles, his warm breath sending a horrific shiver of absolute doom straight down my spine. "You pretend to be a villainess because you think a future Queen must be feared, not loved. But I see through your mask, Serena. I see the soft, caring heart you try so desperately to hide."

"No, you don't!" I yanked my hand back, clutching it to my chest as if he had burned me. "There is no soft heart! It is made of stone! Cold, hard, granite stone! I hate everyone! I hate you, I hate her, I hate grammar!"

Edward chuckled, a rich, warm sound that made me want to jump out the nearest stained-glass window. "Still maintaining your front, even when caught red-handed doing a good deed. How adorably stubborn."

"Your Highness," Lily added, stepping forward with her hands clasped tightly under her chin. "Lady Serena is truly a saint in a devil's cloak. I am so grateful to have such a wonderful rival to guide me!"

I looked back and forth between the Crown Prince of the realm and the main heroine of this world. Both of them were looking at me with eyes full of deep, unshakeable, utterly unhinged admiration.

My mind raced back through the memories of my past life—a overworked twenty-four-year-old office worker who had died of exhaustion after grinding forty hours of overtime, only to wake up as Serena von Rosenberg, the villainess of Love & Lilies in the Academy. I knew how this story was supposed to go. Serena acts like a monster, gets exposed, gets dumped by the prince, gets exiled, and lives a low-effort life in the country.

I didn't want the Prince. I didn't want the political intrigue. I didn't want the hair accessories that weighed four pounds each. I just wanted my Bad End.

"I am going to my room," I said through gritted teeth, executing a turn so sharp my silk dress whipped against the divan. "And I advise you both to remember this day as the day I ruined everything!"

"We will, Serena," Edward called out behind me, his voice dripping with affection. "We will never forget your kindness!"

I slammed the heavy mahogany doors of the conservatory behind me and began stomping down the hallway, my high heels clicking furiously against the stone.

It didn't matter. This was just a minor setback. The game was long, and there were plenty of flags left to trigger. If they wouldn't expose my evil deeds today, I would simply have to commit far worse, far more undeniable atrocities tomorrow.

I would ruin my reputation if it was the last thing I ever did.

The sun broke over the spires of the Royal Academy of Magic and Etiquette with the bright, offensive cheerfulness of a pastel watercolor painting. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling silk drapes of my private suite, catching the gilded trim of my mahogany vanity and illuminating my current crisis.

"Lady Serena," my personal maid, Martha, said, clasping her hands together with watery-eyed devotion as she set down a silver tray. "I heard of your heroic actions in the conservatory yesterday! To secretly sacrifice your own image to tutor young Miss Lily in courtly grammar... Oh, my heart swelled with pride! You are truly the light of the Rosenberg Duchy!"

I stared into my porcelain tea cup, watching a single leaf float aimlessly on the amber surface. I looked up at Martha, whose face was practically glowing with holy radiance.

"Martha," I said flatly. "I stole her mail."

"To protect her from her own terrible syntax!" Martha insisted, dabbing a tear from her eye with the edge of her crisp white apron. "His Highness Prince Edward himself told the head butler that your selflessness knows no bounds! The entire servant quarter is currently praying for your health and happiness."

I slumped against the plush velvet cushion of my armchair, groaning quietly. This was an unmitigated disaster. In my previous life, I was an overworked, coffee-addicted administrative assistant who died at twenty-four after working forty-eight consecutive hours to fix a middle manager's spreadsheet error. My only dream upon awakening as Serena von Rosenberg—the haughty villainess of Love & Lilies in the Academy—was to earn a swift, quiet exile.

I didn't want power. I didn't want the Crown Prince. I didn't want to spend my twenties attending twelve-hour galas while squeezed into whalebone corsets that restricted my internal organs. I wanted my Bad End. I wanted to be stripped of my title, sent to a modest, slightly drafty villa in the southern provinces, and left alone to sleep until two in the afternoon while consuming an excessive amount of soft cheese and cheap red wine.

Yet somehow, in trying to execute the classic "evil villainess blackmails innocent heroine" event, I had accidentally elevated myself to the status of a living saint.

"This ends today," I muttered, setting my teacup down with a sharp clink.

"Pardon, my lady?" Martha asked.

"Nothing," I said, sitting up straight and plastering on what I hoped was an ominous, calculating smirk. "Martha, fetch my walking dress. The black velvet one with the unnecessary amounts of lace."

If the high society of the capital refused to condemn me for my so-called evil deeds, then I would simply have to destroy my reputation from the ground up. In high society, actual crime was often overlooked if you had enough money and clout, but social ruin? Social ruin was absolute. If a noblewoman lost her dignity, her poise, and her reputation for refined elegance, the aristocracy would drop her faster than a hot potato.

I was going to prove to everyone that Serena von Rosenberg was not a selfless, stoic hero. I was going to prove that I was a crude, lazy, utterly unhinged degenerate who was entirely unfit to be anywhere near the royal court.

The Academy’s central courtyard was the bustling heart of noble social life. At noon, the manicured lawn was dotted with pristine white wrought-iron tables where dukes, marquesses, and counts gathered to drink expensive tea, display their tailored coats, and engage in subtle, vicious verbal warfare.

It was the perfect stage for my total social downfall.

I strolled down the grand stone steps, holding my chin high and my Parasol of Impending Doom tilted at a sharp angle. Beside me, my inner circle of aristocratic followers—two minor baronesses named Chloe and Mia who usually followed me around like ducklings—hovered nervously.

"Lady Serena," Chloe began, her fan fluttering rapidly against her pale chest. "We heard rumors about His Highness Prince Edward... Is it true he spoke with you for nearly twenty minutes yesterday afternoon?"

"It is," I said darkly, loud enough for a nearby group of second-year earls to hear. "And frankly, the man is a total bore."

Chloe choked on her own spit. Mia dropped her silk handkerchief directly into a rosebush.

"L-Lady Serena?!" Mia squeaked, looking around in utter terror to see if anyone had overheard my blasphemy. "You... you speak of the Crown Prince!"

"I do," I proclaimed, raising my voice by another notch as we approached the main fountain, where dozens of students were gathered. "He talks far too much about knight errantry and border taxes. Frankly, I find his presence entirely tedious. I would much rather stay in my bed all morning eating greasy fried dough and drinking unpasteurized milk out of the jug!"

I paused, waiting for the gasps of horror. I waited for the shocked whispers, the furious glares of the Prince's loyal followers, the immediate social ostracization that must surely follow a highborn lady admitting to boorish laziness and gross disrespect toward the monarchy.

Instead, a young Viscount standing nearby turned to his companion, his eyes wide with profound illumination.

"Did you hear that?" the Viscount whispered in hushed, reverent tones. "Lady Serena is critiquing the Crown Prince’s political rhetoric! She is pointing out that his focus on military border security neglects the economic realities of the agrarian working class!"

"And her mention of greasy fried dough and unpasteurized milk!" his companion gushed, clutching his leather-bound notebook to his chest. "A brilliant metaphor for the raw, unrefined struggles of the peasantry! She lives in such high luxury, yet her mind is constantly consumed by empathy for the working poor’s daily diet! What visionary social awareness!"

I froze. My parasol wobbled in my grip.

Metaphor?! What metaphor?! I just want to eat donuts in bed!

"No!" I snapped, whirling around to face the two young men. "It is not a metaphor! I am talking about actual lard! I am lazy! I sleep with my shoes on! I don't read classic poetry, I read trashy sensationalist tabloids about scandalized theater actors!"

The Viscount gasped, his eyes shimmering with tearful awe. "To openly confess her human flaws... To reject the suffocating, hypocritical perfection demanded by the high nobility... Lady Serena is declaring war on aristocratic vanity! She is showing us that true nobility lies in radical honesty and humility!"

"She is a revolutionary!" the companion sobbed softly. "A saint of authentic living!"

"I am not authentic!" I shrieked, my refined voice cracking slightly. "I am terrible! I kick small stones at ducks!"

"She works so hard to hide her righteousness behind a veil of perceived madness," a voice purred from behind me.

I whipped around so fast my neck gave an audible pop.

Standing beneath the shade of an ancient oak tree was Duke Julian von Lockwell—the game’s second male lead, the enigmatic, dark-haired prodigy of the Magic Department, and a man whose intelligence was supposed to be unrivaled in the entire kingdom. He was leaning against the trunk with his arms crossed over his embroidered dark blue vest, his gray eyes sparkling with amused intrigue.

"Lord Julian," I gasped, stepping back. "You... you heard everything?"

"Every word," Julian said, taking a slow, graceful step toward me. He tilted his head, his dark bangs falling over his forehead in a way that had undoubtedly made thousands of mobile game players drop their phone screens in awe. "And I must say, Lady Serena, your intellect continues to terrify and fascinate me."

"My... my intellect?" I repeated, feeling a terrifying sense of dread settling over me like a heavy wet blanket.

"Indeed," Julian said, stopping a foot away. He lowered his voice, leaning in so that only I could hear his low, smooth baritone. "You know that the conservative faction in Parliament is planning to push a controversial agricultural tax next week. By publicly mocking the Crown Prince’s detachment from common diets in a high-density student area, you have subtly shifted the political narrative toward agrarian reform—all while appearing to merely engage in careless noble gossip."

"I... I was complaining about my morning routine!" I yelled, throwing my hands up in the air, completely abandoning the parasol, which clattered pathetically against the cobblestones. "Why does everything I say have to be a multi-layered political scheme?!"

"Because you are Serena von Rosenberg," Julian said softly, his lips curving into a captivating, infuriating smile. He reached down, picked up my fallen parasol, and gently dusted off the tip before handing it back to me. "The most brilliant, calculating mind of our generation. You pretend to be a foolish, arrogant villainess so that your enemies underestimate you, while quietly moving the pieces on the chessboard to save the kingdom from its own hubris."

"I am not moving chess pieces!" I screamed internally. "I don't even know how the horse piece moves! It goes in an L shape and it confuses me!"

"Do not worry, Serena," Julian murmured, his grey eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle. "Your secret is safe with me. I will support your 'rebellion' from the shadows."

"Please don't!" I pleaded, my eyes wide with genuine terror. "Please, just tell everyone I’m a terrible person! Tell them I slurp my soup! Tell them I don't use a salad fork!"

Julian let out a low, velvety laugh that sounded like silk rubbing against mahogany. "Ah, your self-deprecating wit is truly unmatched. Have a good day, Lady Serena."

He bowed with flawless, maddening elegance and turned on his heel, strolling away into the garden with his long dark cloak billowing behind him like a cape of pure narrative frustration.

I stood alone near the fountain, clutching my parasol like a weapon, staring at his retreating back. Around me, the surrounding students were already scribbling furiously in their journals, whispering among themselves about the "Rosenberg Manifesto on Agrarian Humility."

I was failing. I was failing so hard that my failures were being documented as historic political triumphs.

If verbal self-sabotage wasn't going to work, I needed a physical, visual demonstration of my utter lack of decorum. Words could be reinterpreted by over-intellectualizing weirdos, but bad behavior? Bad behavior was objective.

The afternoon salon in the Academy’s West Wing was the absolute height of refined etiquette. It was a mandatory gathering where female nobles gathered to practice tea service, embroidery, and high-society small talk under the watchful, terrifying eye of Grand Duchess Beatrix—a woman so strict about protocol that she had once banished her own nephew to a monastery for three weeks because his cravat knot was asymmetrical by two millimeters.

If anyone could give me a Bad End, it was Grand Duchess Beatrix. One word from her to the Royal Disciplinary Board, and my noble standing would be thoroughly shattered.

I strode into the West Wing salon, my jaw set with grim determination.

The room was bathed in soft afternoon light, scented with expensive lavender and roasted bergamot. Dozens of young noble ladies were seated at linen-draped tables, carefully pouring tea from delicate bone china pots and working on delicate floral embroidery hoops. At the head of the room sat Grand Duchess Beatrix, upright as a spear, her silver hair pinned into a high, immovable bun, her hawk-like eyes scanning the room for the slightest infraction.

Beside her sat Lily, the heroine, who was currently struggling to thread a needle through a piece of silk, her small face pinched with intense concentration.

Perfect, I thought. A public stage, high stakes, and the ultimate authority on courtly behavior present.

I marched directly to the central table, intentionally making my heels clatter against the polished hardwood floor like thunderclaps.

Grand Duchess Beatrix immediately snapped her head toward me, her sharp eyes narrowing behind her gold-rimmed lorgnette. "Lady Serena," she boomed, her voice crisp enough to cut glass. "You enter this room as if you are driving a war chariot into battle. Where is your delicate step? Where is your quiet grace?"

"I don't have any!" I declared loudly, stepping up to the main tea table.

The room fell dead silent. Dozens of embroidery needles froze in mid-air. Lily looked up, her emerald eyes widening in worry.

"Pardon me?" the Grand Duchess asked, her voice dropping into a dangerously quiet register that usually signaled an impending execution.

"I said, I don't have any grace, Grand Duchess," I said, taking a deep breath and preparing to deliver the ultimate blow to my social standing.

I reached out and grabbed a silver teapot—not by the handle, but by the spout—and slammed it down onto the table. Then, without using a strainer, without measuring the temperature, and without checking if the cup was warmed, I poured tea straight into a fine porcelain cup until it sloshed violently over the rim, spilling dark amber liquid all over the pristine, hand-woven white lace tablecloth.

A collective gasp echoed through the room. Several young ladies clutched their pearls. One baroness looked like she was about to faint into her lavender sachet.

"Look at this!" I yelled, pointing aggressively at the brown stain spreading across the lace. "Look at this catastrophic mess! I poured tea like a tavern brawler! I destroyed a priceless tablecloth! I didn't even lift my pinky finger while holding the pot! I am a boorish, uncultured disaster who belongs in a barn!"

I puffed out my chest, turning to face Grand Duchess Beatrix, waiting for the heavy hammer of ultimate judgment to fall. Do it, I thought frantically. Order the guards! Strip my points! Ban me from the Royal Ball! Call my father and tell him his daughter is an unredeemable barbarian!

Grand Duchess Beatrix slowly rose from her chair. She walked over to the table, her long grey velvet train rustling softly against the floor. She stood before the spilled tea, her face an unreadable mask of cold, stern authority. She reached into her sleeve, pulled out a white silk handkerchief, and gently dabbed at the edge of the puddle.

Then, she looked up at me.

"Magnificent," Beatrix whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

My brain completely short-circuited. "I... I'm sorry, what?"

"Magnificent!" Beatrix repeated, her stern face suddenly breaking into a expression of profound, tearful reverence. She turned to address the entire room of terrified, confused noblewomen. "Look at what Lady Serena has done here today, girls! Look, and learn!"

"Learn what?!" I screamed in my mind. "I spilled liquid on a blanket!"

"For decades," Beatrix proclaimed, gesturing dramatically to the tea-soaked tablecloth, "we have been slaves to the rigid, suffocating standards of foreign tea protocols! We worry so much about strainers, pinkies, and temperature that we forget the true purpose of tea: connection, warmth, and breaking down social barriers!"

"I didn't break down a social barrier, I broke etiquette!" I protested, grabbing a handful of sugar cubes with my bare fingers and dropping them into the cup with a loud splash. "Look! No sugar tongs! Bare hands! I have hygiene issues!"

"A demonstration of raw, unfiltered hospitality!" Beatrix declared, her eyes shining with absolute fervor. "By intentionally spilling the tea, Lady Serena has shattered the illusion of perfection that causes so many young girls to develop crippling anxiety during their debutante season! She spilled the tea to show us that a stain on a tablecloth is not a stain on one's character!"

"No! It is a stain on my character!" I yelled, slapping my own forehead. "I'm bad at this! I have terrible fine motor skills! I am unfit for high society!"

"And using her bare fingers for the sugar!" Beatrix continued, completely ignoring my frantic screams. "A direct nod to the ancient tribal roots of our empire, reminding us that before we were nobles in silk, we were warriors who drank from the earth together with our bare hands! Oh, Serena... Your commitment to deconstructing oppressive social norms is breathtaking!"

At the side table, Lily was practically glowing. Tears of deep, pure emotion were streaming down her pale cheeks as she looked at me with eyes full of absolute adoration.

"Lady Serena..." Lily gasped, her voice thick with emotion. "You saw how nervous I was about my tea service exam... You ruined your own presentation just to relieve the pressure on me... You made a mess on purpose so that if I made a mistake, no one would judge me..."

"I didn't do it for you!" I howled, grabbing my own hair in sheer, unadulterated desperation. "I did it because I want to be banished! Why won't anyone banish me?!"

"Such humility!" a Marquis's daughter cried out from the back row. "She refuses to take credit for her revolutionary teaching methods!"

"We bow to your wisdom, Lady Serena!" another noble girl shouted, immediately dropping to her knees and intentionally knocking her own cup of tea onto her dress. "I too shall embrace the path of authentic, unpretentious tea service!"

Within five seconds, the entire salon descended into complete, chaotic madness. Noble girls were joyfully throwing sugar cubes across the room, pouring tea directly onto the floor, and tearing their lace embroidery into pieces in a misguided attempt to imitate my "revolutionary authenticity."

"Stop!" I screamed, waving my arms wildly in the air as a rogue sugar cube bounced off my forehead. "Stop spilling things! Stop being inspired! Maintain your dignity!"

"Look at her," Beatrix sighed happily, leaning toward a nearby teacher while watching me lose my mind. "Even now, she pretends to be distressed so that her peers feel equal to her. She is truly the greatest jewel of this academy."

I collapsed into the nearest chair, staring blankly at the ceiling as tea slowly dripped from the edge of the grand table onto my expensive velvet shoes.

I was stuck.

I was trapped in a terrifying, nightmare reality where every attempt to ruin my reputation only made me more popular, every insult was treated as a political masterclass, and every act of gross negligence was celebrated as avant-garde social progress.

I closed my eyes, letting out a long, shuddering sigh of utter defeat.

I needed a new strategy. Acting out in public was useless against the brain-rotting power of otome game tropes. If I wanted to get banished, I couldn't just act like a fool—I had to target the one thing that no otome game world could ever forgive.

I had to directly, viciously, and indisputably attack the capture targets' love lives.

Tomorrow was the Academy's annual Spring Poetry Festival, where Crown Prince Edward was scheduled to read a romantic sonnet to the entire student body.

I smirked, a dark, desperate glint returning to my eyes.

I was going to ruin that poem. I was going to ruin it so thoroughly that Edward would have no choice but to hate me forever.