Debugging Love: Rae and the Villainess

by M12M

Summary:

Rae, a burned-out 30-something game designer, collapses while fixing a broken romance route in *Royal Requiem*. She wakes up inside the game—as the 18-year-old protagonist. Her only way out of the game is to debug the secret romance route or a.k.a the "villianess" romance route.

Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Fatal Error

The cursor blinked.

Then blinked again.

And again.

 

It was the only thing still alive on Rae's monitor, surrounded by a chaos of red-highlighted code and error logs that scrolled like blood down the screen. She exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her third coffee of the night had gone cold beside the keyboard. Somewhere behind her, the city was stirring into dawn—but inside this dim little studio apartment, time had all but stopped.

"Just one more bug," she mumbled.

*Royal Requiem*, the romance sim she'd spent three years developing, was set to launch its final build in a week. Everything worked—except the Claire Françoise route.

The "villainess" path.

Players were supposed to fall in love with the three noble heirs: Rod, Thane, and Yu. But for the handful of curious testers who chased Claire instead, the story broke. Dialogue corrupted. Flags misfired. Sometimes Claire looped between moods. Other times she simply vanished from the world altogether.

Rae, of course, knew why. That path hadn't been meant to exist.

She’d started coding it in secret—late nights, under pseudonymous branches, telling herself it was for “flavor.” A subversive joke. But somewhere along the way, it had become real to her. The story of a proud, prickly girl who wasn’t meant to be loved, who could be loved anyway.

And now that Claire’s route was broken, Rae couldn’t let it go live. Not like this.

Not without fixing her.

She leaned forward, fingers flying across the keys. She moved variables, restructured dialogue, retimed a critical memory scene—then paused.

There. That should force the event to fire properly if the player gives Claire the hairpin in Chapter 10.

She hit **Enter**.

"Wait—"

Then everything went dark.

Not just the monitor. The lights. The hum of her hard drive. The faint buzz of electricity in the room. Gone. Rae’s vision blurred—no, warped, like a dropped screen flickering static. She opened her mouth, but no sound came.

Just the last thing she saw:

 

> **System override initiated.**

> **Loading character: Rae.**

> **Route: Unknown.**

 

---

Rae gasped.

Air. Fresh. Warm. It smelled like spring.

And she was sitting in a chair. A real chair. Not her creaky office one, but a high-backed wooden seat, beneath arched windows and morning sun. She blinked at the rows of desks before her. Uniformed students. Soft murmurs. A chalkboard at the front of a classroom.

A girl stood near it, golden curls cascading over a crimson uniform. Her voice was sharp, commanding, dismissive.

“I expect no less than perfection, even if *some* of us are content with mediocrity.”

Rae stared.

It was her.

Claire Françoise.

And Claire was looking directly at her.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2: The Villainess Appears

Claire Françoise was even more stunning in person.

Or—no, that wasn’t right. Rae reminded herself: this was *still a game*. These characters were just scripted avatars, generated expressions and animations. Lines of code.

But standing there, radiant and sharp in her red academy uniform, golden curls catching the sunlight, Claire was breathtaking.

And terrifying.

“Miss Rae Taylor,” Claire said with cool authority. “I presume you have *some* excuse for sleeping through your first advanced etiquette class?”

Rae blinked. Once. Twice.

She was... Rae Taylor now. Not the game designer. Not Rae Oohashi from Tokyo. Just another commoner scholarship student who, in the base game, got swept up in palace intrigue and noble romance.

"Um," Rae said.

It was not her finest moment.

A few snickers echoed through the classroom, but Claire didn’t smile. Her expression was perfectly composed—except for a slight arch of one eyebrow.

A calm, even voice spoke beside her. “Hey. Say something before she verbally eviscerates you.”

Rae turned and saw her seatmate: a silver-haired girl with sharp gray eyes and a faint smirk. Her voice carried that kind of dry wit Rae had always liked.

Misha.

Cool, clever, slightly aloof—yet oddly approachable. Rae didn’t place her immediately, too distracted by everything else, but the familiarity lingered. It wasn’t until halfway through the class that it hit her.
*Misha Jur—right. The protagonist’s roommate and childhood friend.*

She’d spent hours writing her banter.

“I’m awake,” Rae managed.

Claire let out a sigh of refined disappointment. “See that you stay that way. I have neither the time nor patience to repeat myself for those who cannot appreciate the academy’s standards.”

With a final flick of her gaze, Claire turned and glided back toward the front of the room. Her heels clicked against the polished marble floor. The class resumed.

Rae slumped in her chair.

Misha leaned in just slightly. “First time seeing her up close?”

Rae nodded slowly. This is a dream. Or nightmare. Or both

“She’s... intense.”

“She’s a tyrant in silk gloves,” Misha said dryly. “But if you ask me, she works harder than any of the noble heirs combined. Not that they’d admit it.”

Rae gave her a sidelong glance. “You know her well?”

“Everyone knows Claire Françoise.” Misha smiled faintly. “She's the academy’s ‘villainess,’ remember? Cold, brilliant, beautiful" *—and doomed to fall in the end.*

Rae winced. She did remember. That’s exactly how the initial script was written before she got involved.

In the game, Claire was designed to oppose the protagonist, throwing verbal barbs and petty sabotage while secretly harboring a tragic backstory. The secret path Rae had started—the one that let you fall for Claire—was meant to humanize her. Let players love the villainess instead of damming her. Show the world that not everything was black and white.

That was the route that broke everything.

And now Rae was stuck *inside* it.

She glanced again toward Claire, who was busy writing on the chalkboard in perfect, looping cursive.

If she wanted to get out of this world, she needed to fix the bug.
And if she wanted to fix the bug...

She’d have to test the villainess romance story.

Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Maid in Debug Mode

It was a bold plan.
Also a ridiculous one.
But Rae had coded bolder and definitely more ridiculous things in her lifetime.

She stood just outside the dormitory wing reserved for the academy’s elite, nervously clutching a hastily drafted application form. Her hair was neatly tied back. Her uniform pressed. Her expression carefully schooled into that of a modest, deferential commoner.

She was here to apply to be Claire Françoise’s maid.

“Okay,” she muttered under her breath. “Trigger proximity event. Increase affinity threshold. Unlock side scenes. Piece of cake.”

Except it wasn’t. Because this wasn’t a screen anymore. It was real. Her heart actually pounded. Her palms were genuinely sweating. And Claire—Claire was more than just the elegantly-coded villainess she’d once pitied from behind a keyboard. She was sharp, proud, and fiercely alone.

If Rae wanted to understand her—and fix the broken romance route—she had to get closer. To observe the villainess in action and control the gameplay accordingly.

She’d tried, in her first week, to subtly trigger Claire-related events. Hovering near classrooms where Claire passed, arranging “accidental” shared tea breaks, or strategically placing herself near choice dialogue triggers. But it had all been futile.

Claire had an uncanny radar for Rae’s presence—and not the good kind. Plus, the game doesn't allow the player to get to know Claire easily. If Rae got too close, she received a cold glare or an icy remark, shutting the scene down before it started.

Worse, her attempts had caught the attention of Prince Thane, the villainess's love interest and one of the potential romantic options, instead.

He’d struck up a conversation after Rae “coincidentally” shared his literature elective. Twice.

Rae seethed at the thought. It was definitely her fault that Thane's and Claire's schedules overlap in order to set the scene.

Rae had zero interest in him (or his brothers), but the system hadn’t seemed to care. The flags were activating.

And Claire? Claire had noticed.

She’d sat stiffly at the back of the room, arms crossed, jaw tight as she watched Prince Thane converse with Rae during the classes. Rae remembered—because she recognized the expression. She’d written that exact reaction. Claire was jealous.

After all, Claire had a crush on Thane. At least, in the original script.

Which made Rae the rival in this twisted triangle. What a mess.

Rae sighed as she entered into the interview room.

Hence the plan: become Claire’s maid. Get close without suspicion. Avoid all heirs. Focus on the villainess.

---

The interview was held in the east wing staff office. Rae had expected someone older, stricter. Instead, Anna—the head maid—was surprisingly gentle, if efficient. A woman with graying hair pulled into a tight bun and eyes that missed nothing.

“You have no formal training?” Anna asked, leafing through Rae’s fabricated résumé.

“No, ma’am. But I’m a fast learner.”

“And why Lady Claire?”

“I lo-admire her,” Rae said honestly. “She deserves someone who takes her seriously. Despite her standing, she works as hard as any others to prove her worth.” - And she is my only way out of this virtual reality.

Anna studied her for a long moment. Sensing Rae's determination to serve her mistress wholeheartedly, she then nodded. “Very well. You’ll be assigned under Lene, Lady Claire's maid in waiting. She’ll evaluate your performance and guide you along the way. Dismissed.”

---

That evening, Rae was brought to Claire’s dorm by Lene herself.

To Rae’s surprise, Lene wasn’t the cold or stern NPC she has envisaged. She was younger—possibly Rae’s age—with brown hair in a braid and bright hazel eyes. The crisp uniform didn’t hide the ease with which she carried herself, nor the kindness she didn’t bother to mask anymore.

“You don’t seem like the usual kind of volunteer,” Lene said lightly as they walked. “Not many girls sign up to work directly for Lady Claire unless they’re trying to impress someone—or run from someone.”

“I’m doing both,” Rae said dryly. "Plus the scholarship only covered my school expenses."

Lene snorted. “Honest. That’s new. I still can't believe a scholarship student signed up to be Lady Claire's maid.”

She was clearly competent, but there was warmth under the professionalism. Rae remembered now—Lene had been a minor background character. A servant from a lesser noble house, selected personally by the Françoise family for her skill and loyalty.

Claire trusted her. That mattered.

They stopped at Claire’s suite.

“Be polite,” Lene said. “And don’t smile too much. She already thinks it’s suspicious that an Academy student, of all people, have signed up for this position.”

The door opened.

Claire sat near the window, tea cup in hand, not sparing Rae a glance.

“Lene,” she said, “please explain why there’s an unfamiliar girl tracking dirt onto my carpet.”

“She’s the applicant, milady,” Lene replied. “Assigned under my supervision. Rae Taylor.”

Claire turned her head. Just slightly. Her eyes landed on Rae with imperial weight.

“Commoner?” she said.

Rae offered a polite nod. “If you’ll have me.”

Claire ignored Rae's response and turned to Lena, demanding an explanation for the unusual choice.

“Milady, Miss Anna mentioned that there was a lack of suitable candidates this round and seek your understanding in this matter,” Lene replied. “If it helps, Miss Rae is currently under one month probation and would be let go if she doesn't meet your expectations.”

A long silence.

Claire rose, walked toward her. Stopped barely a pace away.

“You’re the one who fell asleep in etiquette.”

Rae smiled. “I was… dreaming of your perfection, milady.”

There was a pause.

Then—was that the corner of Claire’s mouth twitching upward?

“I’ll allow it, commoner,” she said coolly. “For now.”

She turned back toward her desk.

And just like that, the first maid event had been triggered.

Chapter 4: Chapter 4: Of Nobles and Variables

It turned out being a maid was less about romance and more about linen starch.

Rae spent her first week fetching hot water, pressing pleats into school uniforms, and memorizing the names of every absurd type of cutlery the nobles insisted on using at breakfast. She’d worked overtime in crunch weeks before, but nobility-induced micromanagement was on a whole different level.

Still—this was progress.

Claire hadn’t dismissed her yet. That had to mean something.

Though Rae had expected more event triggers, most interactions played out like background filler. Claire rarely spoke unless necessary and gave instructions as if Rae were a passing breeze rather than a person. But Rae had written enough passive flags to know: that was still within bounds.

Each morning, Rae prepared tea just the way Claire liked it (after multiple failed attempts)—two sugars, steeped precisely four minutes, no citrus.

Each afternoon, she worked with Lene serving Claire and her guests at tea parties while rushing through her own school assignments between breaks.

Each evening, she retreated before Claire returned from her music lessons, logging patterns, dialogue shifts, emotional variables.

Rae felt, or rather sense, the beginning of a burn-out after three days but she still pressed on. The route would appear eventually. She just had to keep adjusting.

The trick was not to overwrite it.

---

“What’s your take on Miss Claire after serving her for a week?” Misha asked one afternoon, as they walked along the edge of the courtyard.

Rae had taken to lunching with Misha when she could get away from maid duties. Although she inwardly reminded herself that Misha was nothing but a character devised by the story department, she couldn't help but seek out Misha’s company from time to time.

“She’s like a locked quest line,” Rae muttered. “Triggers buried ten layers deep. One wrong flag and boom—bad end.”

Misha gave her a look. “Why do you talk like you’re narrating a fairy tale written by an locksmith?”

Rae laughed nervously. “Bad habit.”

“You’re weird,” Misha said. But it wasn’t unkind.

“I don’t understand why you have applied to be Lady Claire’s maid and subject yourself to her daily whims. Granted the wage is decent but that is not the point. And, she doesn’t seem to appreciate your presence,” Misha added bluntly.

“She doesn’t like anyone,” Rae pointed out. “Except Prince Thane. And even then, she barely admits it to herself.”

Misha’s eyes narrowed, ever so slightly. “You think she likes Prince Thane?”

“She’s had a crush on him since chapter one. Subtle gestures. Small glances. It’s built into her code—or, well… her character.”

Misha stared at her.

Rae caught herself. “I mean. Probably. Just a hunch.”

Misha stopped and fully faced Rae. Rae could tell she was curious. Maybe suspicious.

She tried to change the subject. But Misha would not let her.

“Hmm. That might explain the glances she gives when you are not looking.”

Rae paused, her heart beating erratically. “What do you mean?”

“Both you and Prince Thane do share some similar traits. Silent. Intelligent. Always assessing the surroundings. The only difference is you choose to be by her side while the other actively avoids her,” Misha smiled mischievously.

---

She wasn’t the only one who noticed Rae’s increased presence in Claire’s life.

Loretta and Pepi, two girls from the lesser noble houses in Claire’s orbit—“friends” in title, though Rae suspected more of a shallow social alliance—frequently hovered near Claire during breaks. They were stylish, sharp-tongued, and apparently determined to make Rae’s life difficult.

“Oh, how quaint,” Loretta said sweetly as Rae served Claire’s tea during one outdoor study hour. “The commoner’s still playing house.”

“Careful,” Pepi added with a smirk. “You might scald someone with all that ambition.”

Claire didn’t respond at first. That was normal. She let them snipe while sipping her tea. Rae stayed silent too. They are merely NPCs designed to support Claire’s standing within the society. And they are doing exceptionally well.

Claire hadn’t told them to stop—but she hadn’t laughed either.

It went on like that for days.

But toward the end of the week, something shifted.

After another half-barbed comment from Loretta, Claire looked up—not with rage, but with something sharper.

“Pepi. Loretta,” she said. “If you’re here to waste time insulting my staff, I suggest you go do it somewhere less embarrassing.”

There was a stunned silence.

Pepi blinked. Loretta flushed, clearly caught off guard. “We were only teasing…”

Claire didn’t repeat herself. And that was somehow worse.

They backed off.

And Rae? Rae didn’t say anything.

But as she stood behind Claire’s chair, pouring tea with steady hands, she smiled just a little.

---

Later that week, Rae caught her first glimmer of hope.

It was evening, and she had just brought in Claire’s freshly folded uniforms to the bedroom. She found her standing alone by the window, unusually still. The sky outside had gone pale gold. A storm was brewing in the distance.

Claire didn’t turn as Rae entered.

“You’re late,” she said.

“I brought your music sheets, too. I noticed they were missing from your practice set.”

A pause. Then, quieter: “You presume too much.”

“I learn fast.”

Claire finally turned. There was something strange in her eyes. Not cold. Just... guarded.

“Why are you really here?” she asked.

Rae’s breath caught, sensing a slight vulnerability in her words.

“I mean,” Claire added, with a scoff, “no one volunteers to clean my shoes unless they’re either a spy or have a martyr complex.”

Rae smiled faintly. “What if I just want to stay near you, milady?”

Silence.

Claire looked at her for a long moment. Then turned away again.

“I don’t need company,” she said. “I need competence.”

Rae didn’t respond. But something in her chest flickered—because Claire hadn’t denied wanting her there.

Chapter 5: Cracks in the Porcelain

Summary:

Rae’s first real confrontation with Claire comes not with raised voices, but with shattered porcelain and quiet jealousy. When Prince Thane unexpectedly enters their orbit, the fragile script Rae’s been following begins to unravel—along with Claire’s composure. Between a garden tea party, a broken teacup, and a brush of fingers over rose jam, both Rae and Claire are forced to face the feelings they’ve been carefully avoiding.

Rae didn’t expect her first major confrontation with Claire to happen during a garden tea party.
Or involve Thane.
Or porcelain.
But that’s what she got.

Claire and her friends—Loretta and Pepi—were seated beneath a parasol in the academy’s manicured garden. A spring breeze teased the edges of tablecloths and dresses. Roses were in bloom. Birds were chirping. It should have been a perfectly scripted noblewoman scene.

Rae, in a butler uniform (much to Claire’s chagrin), refilled the teapot while Lene stood nearby with a tray of sweets. The two of them had started rotating service duties lately—Rae covering tea, Lene handling food.

“You’re pouring too slow,” Lene whispered, leaning over discreetly. Her voice was warm, not scolding. “She likes it steady, but not cautious. You’re overthinking.”

“I’m always overthinking,” Rae muttered.

Lene grinned. “Don’t worry. She’s already watching.”

That didn’t help.

Rae glanced toward Claire—and sure enough, the blonde’s gaze flicked toward her before returning to her teacup. Her expression was unreadable, cool, but not indifferent. Rae smoothed her apron and focused.

“Be careful with the biscuits,” Pepi drawled. “The commoner has a heavy hand.”

“She probably thinks forks are decorative,” Loretta added with a lazy smirk.

Claire didn’t respond. She rarely did when her companions mocked Rae. Not openly, anyway. Rae had learned to endure it, logging the moments, waiting for Claire to step in again—like she had, quietly, days ago, with a touch of mischief and warning both. A subtle rebuke. A flicker of defense. Rae had memorized it.

But today, Claire’s eyes were elsewhere.

Rae followed her gaze—
—and nearly dropped the tray.

Prince Thane was approaching.
Alone.

No, no, no—this isn’t the path, Rae thought, panic flaring in her chest. Abort. Roll back. This isn’t the scene.

“Lady Claire,” Thane said as he reached the table, bowing with courtly precision. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

He didn’t smile. He rarely did. His expression was solemn and unreadable.

Without waiting for a response, he turned—to Rae.

“I believe this belongs to you,” he said, holding out a neatly folded handkerchief embroidered with a daisy.

Rae blinked. “I—oh. Yes. That’s mine.”

“I found it near the west courtyard bench,” Thane added. “You were seated there yesterday afternoon. I recognized the stitching.”

Rae frowned. She didn’t recall the handkerchief being a flag trigger on his route. In fact, he wasn’t even supposed to appear during Claire’s tea sessions, given his aversion to her and her friends.

Claire, still seated, said nothing—but Rae felt the temperature drop.
She didn’t need to look to know it. Her skin prickled.

He noticed me, Rae thought. That’s not supposed to happen. This isn’t his route. He’s not supposed to notice me.

Determined to stop the momentum, she responded in a monotone: “Thank you for returning the handkerchief, Prince Thane. If you have time, milady and her friends would be more than happy if you joined them for tea.”

Thane hesitated, sparing a glance at the shocked faces. “Actually, I was hoping I could speak to you alone, if your lady permits. I—”

Crack.

The teacup in Claire’s hand split with a sharp, sudden sound, spiderwebbing across the saucer.

“Milady!” Rae stepped forward instinctively, reaching to inspect Claire’s hand for injuries.

Claire pulled away, voice sharp. “I don’t need your help.”

The sting was instant and surgical. Rae froze, hand mid-air.

Thane looked between them, brow furrowing. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Claire said flatly. “The cup simply slipped.”

But Rae knew.
It hadn’t slipped.
It had fractured under pressure.
And Rae had triggered it.

Without thinking, she unceremoniously pulled Thane aside, out of earshot.

Once they were in a quiet corner, Rae turned to him. “Prince Thane, forgive the abruptness, but I must ask you to leave. It appears milady is distressed, and I need to be by her side.”

Without waiting for a response, she returned to the table, mind in shambles.
This wasn’t part of the script. Something was very wrong.

---

Later, in the kitchen, Rae scrubbed at a smear of rose jam with more force than necessary. Lene leaned against the counter, folding napkins with deliberate ease.

“She doesn’t like being surprised,” she said gently.

Rae stared at the broken porcelain. “I didn’t mean to get his attention.”

“You didn’t have to,” Lene said. “Sometimes just existing is enough.”

Rae looked at her, confused.

Lene shrugged, not unkind. “She didn’t expect someone like you to show up in her life. And now, she doesn’t know how to act.”

Rae didn’t ask what that meant. But she remembered it.

That evening, Rae knocked softly on Claire’s door. For a moment, she considered turning back.

“Come in.”

Claire stood near the window, brushing out her hair. Her golden strands caught the light like polished thread. She didn’t look up.

“I wanted to apologize,” Rae began carefully.

“For what?” Claire said coolly. “For accepting a handkerchief?”

“For… existing, apparently,” Rae said, forcing a small, brittle smile.

Claire turned, slowly. “You said it. Not me.”

“Just to clarify—I don’t care about Prince Thane,” Rae said, more serious now. “I didn’t ask for his attention.”

Claire’s gaze didn’t soften. “You didn’t reject it either.”

“I panicked. I didn’t expect him to—” Rae stopped. “I’m panicking now.”

“You’re annoyingly transparent.”

“I just…” Rae exhaled. “I just want to be near you. To serve you.” To write your story.

That stilled something. Claire’s hands lowered. The hairbrush sat forgotten. The silence felt tight enough to shatter.

Claire stepped forward, close but not quite touching.

“Then show it,” she said, voice low. “Show that you want to be near me. Show that you want to serve me.”

Rae swallowed. “That’s hard when I don’t know where I stand.”

“Exactly where you are,” Claire replied. “Standing here. In my room. Apologizing for things that aren’t crimes.”

“You shattered a teacup.”

“I almost shattered a second one after you left.”

That startled a laugh out of Rae. Claire didn’t smile, but something in her posture eased.

Rae took a step closer, pulse thudding. “Do you want me to leave?”

Claire looked at her. “No.”

It wasn’t forgiveness. But it was something.

---

The next morning, Rae and Lene served tea again. Rae set down the cup while Lene laid the sweets. Without a second thought, Rae added a spoonful of rose jam—then paused, confused.

She didn’t remember doing that.

Before she could apologize for the assumption, Claire accepted the tea without a word.

Their fingers brushed over the porcelain.
Neither pulled away.

As Rae turned to go, heart in her throat, she heard Claire say softly,
“You remembered the rose jam.”

Rae looked back. “Of course.”

And Lene, watching discreetly from the side, smiled to herself.

---

Later that week, Rae was restocking the conservatory pantry when the door swung open.

Prince Thane.

He didn’t bow. Just stepped inside, hands behind his back, surveying the room.

“Apologies,” Rae said coolly. “Staff only.”

“I won’t be long,” Thane replied. “I wanted a word.”

Rae set down the tray. “About what?”

“You’re close to Lady Claire.”

Not a question. But pointed.

“I serve her tea,” Rae said.

“And brush her fingertips, apparently.”

Rae stiffened. “Is this a warning?”

“No,” he said. “Just an observation.”

Rae turned to face him fully. “You weren’t supposed to notice me.”

Thane blinked. Surprised. Good.

“I’m not part of your story,” Rae said, voice calm. “Whatever route you think you’re on, I’m not an event trigger. So stop treating me like one.”

Silence.

Then: “You are an interesting person, Miss Rae Taylor. I don’t always understand what you’re saying. But I know you care about her.”

It wasn’t cruel. Just… certain.

“I thought you did too,” Rae said. “But you never make her laugh.”

That landed. A flicker of something passed across his face.

Rae stepped past him. “If you’re going to fight for her, you’ll have to do better than returning handkerchiefs to her maids.”

She didn’t wait for a reply.

That night, Claire stood on the west balcony, moonlight catching the trim of her robe. She didn’t turn when Rae approached.

“Is he bothering you?” Claire asked.

“Who?”

“Prince Thane. I saw him enter the pantry after you.”

“Prince Thane?” Rae stepped beside her. “Not exactly. He’s just… looking for a mirror.”

Claire turned slightly. “And you showed him his reflection?”

Rae nodded. “He didn’t like it.”

A pause. The air between them was thick with unsaid things.

Claire’s voice was low: “You didn’t lie earlier, did you?”

“About what?”

“Not wanting him.”

Rae shook her head. “I only notice him when you do.”

That stopped Claire short. Her jaw clenched.

“And me?” she asked.

“I always notice you,” Rae said.

The words were soft. Honest. Dangerous.

Claire stepped closer, until Rae could smell the faint trace of roses in her hair.

“You’re a fool.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Claire’s hand rose—paused mid-air—then lowered. Hesitating.

“I broke the cup,” she said, eyes dark. “Not because of him. Because you looked happy to see him.”

Rae’s breath caught.

Claire looked away. “I wanted to shatter everything on that table.”

The silence wasn’t cold. Just heavy—charged.

Rae reached out. Fingertips to fingertips.

Claire didn’t pull away.

“I’m not good at this,” Claire said.

“Then we’ll be bad at it together.”

Claire’s mouth twitched—almost a smile. Almost a warning.

As Rae turned to leave, Claire’s voice followed:

“Don’t make me jealous again.”

Rae paused. “Then don’t give me reasons to wonder.”

This time, Claire did smile.

Notes:

Author’s Note:
This scene was a joy to write—balancing angst, attraction, and all the messy, beautiful tension that comes from two people who can’t quite say what they mean (yet). I wanted to explore how jealousy doesn’t always explode—it simmers, cracks the surface, and reshapes the dynamic in subtle, irreversible ways.
Special thanks to everyone enjoying the slow burn. Rae may not be part of Thane’s route, but she’s absolutely rewriting Claire’s.

If this scene hit you in the gut (or made you yell at your screen just a little), please consider leaving a kudos or dropping a comment—I’d love to hear your thoughts. Your reactions keep this fic alive and evolving. 💙

Chapter 6: The Path Not Coded

Rae was no stranger to writing branching routes. She had personally overseen four distinct romance arcs and countless decision flags in the game she now found herself stuck inside. But nothing—nothing—in the script prepared her for the emotional turbulence of reality. Because now, there were variables. Claire’s flushed silences. Lene’s sideways glances. Misha’s suspicious questions. And Rae’s own, increasingly unpredictable heartbeat.

She was improvising.

Badly.
“You’re distracted,” Misha said, casually flipping through a poetry collection while they lounged under the library’s arched windows. “More than usual.”

“I’m fine,” Rae replied, too quickly.

“You haven’t insulted a 'single supporting character' today. Whatever that means.”

“I’m maturing.”

Misha raised an eyebrow.

Rae sighed and leaned back against the sun-warmed stone wall. “Things are... going off-
script.”

“Script?”
“Metaphorically.”

Misha narrowed her eyes. “You say strange things sometimes. Like yesterday, you told me Claire’s behavior was ‘hard-coded.’”

Rae winced. “Did I?”

“And you keep mentioning quest flags.”

Rae laughed nervously. “Just a weird habit. From… reading too many novels?”

Misha didn’t look convinced.

Rae changed the subject. Again.

That week, Rae started shifting her approach.

No more quiet observation.

She began to speak up—retorting when Claire teased her, asking sharper questions, standing her ground when Loretta or Pepi tried to belittle her. She told herself it was strategic—meant to trigger event flags faster, push the romance route along, and fix the game’s final bug.

But somewhere along the way, she stopped acting like a player. And started behaving like a person.

The lines between code and reality blurred, and Rae couldn’t quite tell anymore whether she was “responding” to Claire or just… responding.

She also realized she was opening up. To Lene. To Misha.

It shouldn’t have mattered—NPCs didn’t count, right?

But Misha’s dry commentary made her laugh in ways she hadn’t since the office breakroom.

Lene’s insight cut through her spiraling thoughts with gentle accuracy. She noticed when

Rae was tired. She asked when Rae was quiet. And Rae found herself answering honestly.
It scared her.

One night, while Rae was folding linens in the servant quarters, Lene wandered in carrying a stack of clean napkins. She set them down, then sat on Rae’s cot without invitation. “You know you’re doing it again,” Lene said.

“Doing what?”

Lene tilted her head. “Looking soft every time Claire’s name comes up.”

Rae blinked. “I don’t—what? I’ve just been… trying different approaches. I need to understand her better to fix the route.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I mean, she’s more layered than I expected. Her personality branches. She's less of a story character and more of a—”

“—person?” Lene finished.

Rae paused. “...Yeah.”

There was a long silence.

“I’m not saying you’re in love,” Lene said finally. “But the way you listen when she speaks.

How you add jam to her tea without being told. How you fold her gloves instead of dropping them on her desk. You care.”

Rae looked down at her hands. “I didn’t think I was doing any of that.”

“Most people don’t,” Lene said. “Not until it’s too obvious to ignore.”

Claire, meanwhile, was noticing too.

At first, Rae had annoyed her—this clumsy commoner turned maid with a strange way of speaking and an uncanny ability to show up during the worst moments. But then came the little things.

The way Rae instinctively turned toward Claire’s voice in a crowd. How she stayed silent when Claire needed space and witty when Claire needed distraction. How Rae once stood between Claire and Loretta’s sharpest comment without raising her voice—just existing as a shield.

And then there were her contradictions: aloof yet kind. Careless yet attentive. Always
watching. Claire couldn’t read her, and that bothered her more than she liked. But it also intrigued her.

On a rainy morning two days later, Claire summoned Rae with no explanation. “Walk with me,” she said simply.

So Rae did.

No guards. No Lene. Just the two of them walking through the stone garden paths under an
umbrella.

“I’ve been thinking,” Claire said suddenly, “about Prince Thane.”

Rae’s heart thudded.

“Everyone expects me to fall in love with him.”

“You did, didn’t you?” Rae asked carefully. “At first?”

Claire hesitated. “I thought I did.”

“And now?”

Claire looked at her. “I’m not sure anymore.”

Rae’s breath caught.

Claire turned away again. “You irritate me. You defy me. You talk like you know the world better than I do.”

“I—” Rae started.

“But... you make me think differently. And I hate that.”

Rae exhaled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Claire stopped walking. “It wasn’t meant as one.”

Then, after a beat, she added, softer, “You always look like you’re halfway in and halfway
out.”

Rae blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You smile like you’re remembering something. You flinch like you’re somewhere else. You hesitate before speaking. And, sometimes, what you say doesn’t seem to make sense.” Claire glanced at her.  “It’s strange. Like you’re real and unreal at the same time.”

Rae had no answer for that.

They stood there in the rain. Rae holding the umbrella. Claire looking up at her with something like frustration and something like longing.

“I want to rewrite your ending,” Rae whispered. A happier one. One that you truly deserved.

Claire blinked. “What?”

“Nothing.”

And the umbrella tilted just a little closer.

Chapter 7: Affection: ???

Rae knew something was wrong.

Not with the fictional world though, obviously, that was still a mess of twisted flags, broken logic and unfinished lines.

But with her.

She was not supposed to build a strong attachment to these fictional characters.

Especially the villainess.

It started with logistics. She kept rechecking the original villainess route: where it should have turned romantic, where the engagement subplot should have softened her edges. But instead of reviewing the scenes with the cool detachment of a developer, Rae found herself lingering. Dwelling a little too long in certain moments. Letting the warmth they stirred seep in, even when she knew better.

There’s a bug in the script, she told herself again and again, each repetition a lifeline against the rising panic. Every day trapped in this loop without a clear exit only sharpened her resolve. Rae refused to be stuck without a fight. So she made a choice. A bold, dangerous choice. She would push Claire toward Thane, force the narrative to move, to shift, to finally break free from the tangled dead-end. If the story wouldn’t give her a way out, she’d rewrite the rules herself.

If she could redirect the narrative to its intended endpoint, a respectable noble romance, maybe the system would recognize it as closure and release her. Then she could code the final lines and give Claire her happily-ever-after ending. And maybe tweak Thane’s character settings, so that insufferable bore would at least shower her with the love and attention she deserved.

She meticulously arranged the seating during lunch, positioning Claire and Thane close enough to share a conversation but far enough apart to keep things casual, at least on the surface. She “accidentally” passed notes between them, carefully worded messages designed to spark curiosity or laughter. Every little gesture was calculated, subtle enough to avoid suspicion but clear enough to nudge the story forward. She even found moments to discreetly encourage Thane, dropping quiet suggestions and gentle prompts to get him to open up more around Claire—reminding him of shared interests, hinting at common ground.

Rae pulled every trick she knew from romance arc playbooks: timed encounters, meaningful glances, small acts of kindness. She manipulated the script like a seasoned player, weaving threads of connection between them, hoping to push the story, and Claire’s heart, in the right direction.

However, with each thread she pulled, a strange, heavy guilt settled deeper in her chest. They were only characters comprising of code and scripted lines. But, sometimes, it felt like so much more. Like she was invading a private space, rewriting feelings that weren’t hers to touch. She kept telling herself it was just a game. But what if it wasn’t? What if these fragments of Claire and Thane—these moments she created—were real in some way?

And with that thought came something more dangerous: attachment. She wasn’t just controlling the story anymore. She was living it, aching with every hopeful glance, every hesitant smile. She was fighting to make Claire’s happiness real, even if it meant losing herself in the process.

---

Claire noticed.
So did everyone else.

“You’ve been acting weird,” said a loud, unmistakably boisterous voice behind her during fencing drills.

Rae turned to find Rod Bauer, the First Prince. Broad-shouldered, full of energy, and loud enough to command any room. The quintessential male lead most players would fall head over heels for. Predictable. Tiresome. A walking trope she’d tried hard to avoid. She’d challenged him to a chess match purely to manipulate the seating arrangement so Claire could sit next to Thane. She won, of course, and unfortunately, she has to sit next to him for the rest of the week. He’s been annoyingly fixated on her ever since. He’d expected her to giggle, blush, hang on his every word. Instead, she’d yawned, walked off without a second glance, and somehow that only made him more interested. Much to her regret.

Beside him stood Yu, the Third Prince and another romanceable character in the game. Reserved, observant, and sharp-eyed, Yu had heard about Rae’s machinations through Misha and watched her from a quiet distance ever since.

“Trying to play matchmaker for Thane?” Rod drawled, a grin tugging at his lips. “Didn’t peg you for the romantic type, Rae. Selfless, too. Noble, even.”

"Your highness, shouldn’t you spending time with your noble friends?" Rae shot him a flat, withering glare.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just admiring the strategy. Sacrificing your seat, orchestrating a perfect little moment between our golden boy and your icy mistress. Very subtle.”

“What are your true intentions, Rae Taylor?” Yu asked softly, voice almost lost in the wind. “What are you trying to gain from this union?”

Rae blinked, caught off guard.

Yu shrugged, eyes flicking toward Misha, then back to Rae. “I hear things,” Yu continued gently, “and I watch. I have been watching you since you join the academy. Your interaction with Miss Claire intrigued me the most. You’re always just outside the scene but never far. You give her space, but you never really leave.” He glanced toward the spot where Claire had been sitting earlier. “Is this about what she wants? Or what you think she should want?”

Rod chuckled. “Now that’s the real question, isn’t it?” He tilted his head, studying Rae like she was an interesting puzzle. “You’re smart, but even smart people tie themselves in knots over feelings. Trust me. I’ve seen it.”

Yu’s voice stayed quiet, but there was something steady underneath it. “You can’t keep pretending you’re above all this. Not when your hands are all over the board.”

Rae scowled, teeth clenched, and turned on her heel. The last thing she needed was more attention, especially from two nosy, absurdly observant princes.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She’d set the board to push Claire and Thane together. She was supposed to fade quietly into the background. Instead, she became a damn piece in the game.

---

Claire watched Rae’s clumsy efforts with a growing swirl of irritation and something else she couldn’t quite name.

Since their last conversation, Rae had been a constant, awkward presence. A fumbling maid who sometimes spoke like a scholar and blushed over the smallest things. Annoying, yes, but almost endearing in a way Claire didn’t expect.

Then Rae began to orchestrate moments quietly, deliberately steering Claire and Prince Thane into the same spaces, weaving them together with an intensity that made Claire’s skin prick.

And that’s when something inside her snapped.

She was certainly not opposed to the idea of spending time with Prince Thane. In fact, she should be elated. Thane was the safe, sensible choice. A prince of royal blood, aligned with her values, a match that would please both their families without question.

But instead, Claire felt a tightness in her chest whenever she thought of his attention. She couldn’t bring herself to savor it.

What unsettled her most was watching Rae. Moving like a ghost in the background, guiding her toward Thane as if every step was calculated. Creating moments—small, fragile moments—that might have been beautiful if they weren’t so charged with quiet desperation.

And Rae didn’t look like she liked it. She vanished whenever Thane spoke to Claire. She looked away when he smiled. Once, Claire caught her flinch when she reached out to touch Thane’s sleeve.

Claire had first assumed Rae had lied. And that she was interested in the prince. But now…

It doesn’t make sense, she thought. If she liked Thane, why wouldn’t she just pursue him and court his affection?

He’s already intrigued by her. He interrupted her tea party just to return Rae her handkerchief.

And yet, Rae had offered him up to Claire. Like a gift.

So what is it, Rae Taylor?

Claire frowned, confusion and something darker swirling inside her. Rae was a riddle wrapped in contradictions, and the more Claire tried to unravel her, the more tangled her own feelings became.

She was supposed to be the one in control. But Rae was the one pulling strings. And Claire didn’t know if she wanted to stop her.

One afternoon, Rae lingered longer than necessary after tea service.

Claire looked up from her book, already irritated. “You’re still here.”

“And so are you,” Rae replied, too lightly.

Claire didn’t move. “Then leave.”

Rae didn’t.

Claire snapped the book shut. “I said leave.”

“I heard you,” Rae murmured, standing her ground. “But I thought you might want some quiet company.”

Claire rose, slow and deliberate, the rustle of her dress like the warning of a storm. Her heels echoed faintly on the polished floor as she stepped closer. Rae didn’t dare move.

“You’ve been strange lately,” Claire said coldly. “Stranger than usual.”

Rae said nothing.

“First, you watch me like I’m some kind of puzzle. Then you disappear the second someone else talks to me. And now you’re pushing me toward Prince Thane like it’s some noble sacrifice. What are you doing, Rae? What are you trying to prove?”

Rae tried to deflect. “I don’t—”

“Don’t lie,” Claire cut in sharply. “Not now. I don’t want your jokes. I don’t want your charm. I want the truth.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“Tell me something real,” Claire said, voice quieter now, but no less intense. “Because I’m tired of guessing. I’m tired of being kept at arm’s length when I can feel you pulling the strings.”

Rae swallowed. Her throat was dry. “I think I’ve stopped seeing you as part of the story.”

Claire stared at her. The words sank in slowly. And then something in her expression cracked.

“What story?” she demanded.

Rae stepped back instinctively. “Forget I said that. I didn’t mean anything”

“No,” Claire snapped. “You did mean it. You just didn’t mean to say it out loud.” She was breathing harder now, eyes narrowed and searching. “Every time I try to get close, you pull away. Every time I offer something real, you twist it into a joke or vanish. Why?”

Rae opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Claire took another step toward her. “Do you hate me that much? That the idea of me wanting to understand you makes you run?”

“No! you don’t get it.” Rae’s voice caught, faltered.

“Then what is it?” Claire’s voice broke now, her frustration laced with something more vulnerable. “Why won’t you let me in? What are you so afraid of?”

Rae’s heart pounded. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She was unraveling too fast, and Claire was watching every thread come undone.

She tried to steady herself. It’s just a script, she told herself. Just a misfire. A bad route. You can fix this. You always fix things.

But logic was useless when Claire was looking at her like that. Not with anger, but with pain. With the kind of open wound Rae didn’t know how to handle.

And behind all of it, the question Claire hadn’t asked. But Rae heard it anyway:

Why are you giving me away to someone else, when it’s you I want standing next to me?

Rae turned, every instinct screaming to flee. To retreat before she said something she couldn’t take back.

But her hands were shaking. Her chest ached. And Claire’s voice stayed with her long after she left the room.

---

Rae didn’t stop moving until she reached the maintenance corridor behind the kitchens, the place staff used when they wanted to be invisible.

She gripped the edge of a utility shelf, fingers trembling.

Her breathing was shallow. Her thoughts disjointed.

Why won’t you let me in?

Claire’s voice echoed in her skull, raw and relentless.

Rae squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t shake the look on Claire’s face. The mixture of hurt and fury, of confusion and something far too close to longing. She had seen it coming, and yet she hadn’t been prepared.

Not for that.

She paced the narrow hallway, counting each step like it could restore order. Like routine could buffer whatever was spiraling inside her.

You always fix things.

That’s what she told herself. That’s what she was good at.

Logic. Patterns. Clean lines of code. She could identify bugs in minutes, reroute a love flag with a few lines of script. This world was supposed to be manageable. Predictable. Controlled.

Claire Francois was none of those things.

And Rae had made a mess of it.

Pushing Claire toward Thane had seemed like a solution. A clean, objective end to a broken route. It should’ve worked. It was working. Thane had shown interest. Claire had responded. The system should’ve been appeased.

So why did it feel like Rae had torn something vital out of herself?

Why did she flinch when Claire reached for someone else?

Why did she freeze every time Claire looked at her like she mattered?

She leaned back against the wall, eyes burning. You’re not supposed to matter. You’re the dev. You’re background.

But the truth clawed at her, messy and unwelcome: she wanted Claire to see her. Not just as a maid, or a pawn, or a girl with clever tricks and coded schemes. She wanted Claire to look at her the way she looked at Claire—like the world had tilted just slightly to make room for something dangerous and new.

And now it was all falling apart.

Rae leaned against a full-length mirror, burying her face in her hands. She wanted to reset the day. The week. The whole damn simulation.

But there was no button for that.

Not anymore.

Click

The panel beside her shifted slightly ajar—subtle, almost imperceptible.

Rae paused mid-step, frowning. That shouldn’t be accessible from this hallway. Maintenance corridors were meant to be boring, routine. There was nothing scripted here.

Curiosity tugged harder than caution.

She reached out and pried the panel open.

And froze.

Inside was a faintly glowing slate, runes etched deep into its surface, pulsing like a slow heartbeat. Blue-gold light shimmered across the edges, refracting over her skin. And then, text began to flicker into existence—lines of pure code, interface scaffolding... a developer console.

Her breath hitched.

It was familiar. Terrifyingly familiar.

This wasn’t just backend logic. This was root access. Something only meant to exist in the pre-release sandbox—not in a live narrative. Not here. Not now.

And yet, it was active.

Lines scrolled across the slate:

| Route: Villainess – Status: In Progress

| Affection: ???

| Bug ID: Unresolved.

| Override options available.

| Force Exit [Y/N]

Rae stared at it, heart thudding in her ears.

The words “Force Exit” glowed faintly under her fingertips, like an escape hatch whispering her name. The illusion could end here. One press, and she could be done. Pulled back to her own world, her own body, her own control.

She could stop feeling like she was drowning in Claire’s eyes.

She could stop the ache that bloomed every time her fingers brushed Claire’s sleeve. The breathless pauses. The broken logic. The glitched rhythm of her heart.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Rae was never meant to fall into her own story.

Her finger hovered.

Just press it.

Just press it.

But she couldn’t.

Because the console didn’t answer the one thing she needed to know.

What would happen to Claire?

What would happen to everything they'd shared—the quiet moments, the stares, the arguments that somehow meant more than apologies ever could?

Would Claire remember her?

Would she miss her?

Would she even exist without Rae to keep the route going?

Rae’s hand trembled, and slowly, she pulled it back.

Not yet.

She closed the panel with a soft click, sealing the glowing slate back into the wall. It vanished like it had never been there.

But Rae’s pulse didn’t calm. Her chest didn’t stop tightening.

Because now, she knew there was a way out.

And choosing not to take it terrified her even more than finding it in the first place.

Chapter 8: The Unscripted Romance Flag

Rae didn’t think much of it at first when a new noble transfer student was introduced to the class. Manaria Sousse was her name—elegant, poised, and, Rae recalled vaguely, one of those backup sub-branch characters in the game’s deeper routes. She was designed to serve a purpose: a temporary distraction for the villainess, a narrative smokescreen meant to redirect Claire’s emotional investment just long enough for players to build up affection points with the princes. A minor character developed for a minor event flag. Rae remembered joking once with the character development team about her—something about too much caffeine, not enough sleep, and the sheer chaos of padding out the third-act pacing with a flirtatious wildcard.

Then she met her.

Manaria Sousse wasn’t just some static side character cobbled together from unused personality templates. She had presence. Sharp-tongued, effortlessly charming, and unapologetically tactile, she strolled into the academy like she owned half the continent and winked at whoever doubted it. She was the kind of person who made people turn their heads—not just because of her status, but because she knew she belonged. A hint of tomboy flair softened by impeccable manners. Laughter that was just a little too loud for nobility, and hands that moved like she was always mid-duel, mid-challenge, mid-scheme.

She had no problem tossing an arm around Claire’s shoulder in broad daylight, no hesitation linking arms with her at lunch, no shame in stealing sips from Claire’s tea like they’d known each other for years instead of days. And Claire—Claire didn’t mind. In fact, she glowed under it.

They clicked. Naturally. Irritatingly. As if the script had been waiting for this all along. They shared banter—effortless, intimate, teasing. They shared rides back from committee meetings and practice bouts during fencing drills. They shared looks, Rae noticed—knowing glances that passed between them like secrets Rae would never be allowed to overhear.

Every time Rae passed by the garden pavilion, she’d spot the two of them: heads bent together over the same textbook, Claire laughing into her sleeve while Manaria gestured animatedly. Rae would stop—just for a second—and watch Claire’s expression soften in a way Rae hadn’t seen in weeks. A real smile. One that lingered through dinner, through evening meetings, through the entire day like it had been stitched into her face.

And Rae would walk away, her throat tight. Her chest too heavy.

This is good, she told herself. Claire is opening up. She’s bonding. The game is adjusting to her emotional development. If this creates a valid romance branch, the exit conditions might finally trigger.

But no matter how many times Rae repeated that logic—cold, clinical, sensible—it never quite explained why it stung so sharply when Claire turned toward Manaria instead of her

“I didn’t expect you to sulk,” Misha said bluntly, as they sat by the arched window on the third floor of the academy, the afternoon sun slanting across the polished floors.

“I’m not sulking,” Rae muttered, arms folded and face pressed against the cool stone windowsill like it might drain the heat from her thoughts. “I’m observing. Quietly.”

“You’re glaring at the fencing field like you’re about to set it on fire with your mind.”

“I’m thinking,” Rae insisted. “Strategizing.”

Misha didn’t even try to hide her smirk. “Oh? About which blade style to adopt for next week’s mock battle? Or perhaps about how Claire just wiped sweat off Manaria’s cheek with her own handkerchief?”

Rae made a strangled noise and let her forehead thunk against the sill with a muffled groan. She cracked one eye open just in time to catch the end of the scene: Manaria placing a firm, familiar hand on the small of Claire’s back and steering her toward the changing rooms. Claire let herself be guided. And worse—worse—she turned her head and smiled up at Manaria like she’d just handed her the moon on a silver platter.

Misha clicked her tongue, entirely too satisfied. “Ah,” she said sagely. “In your complicated emotional lexicon, I believe this translates to: Analyzing the code, deploying hotfix, everything is fine, nothing is broken.”

Rae didn’t move. “You don’t understand.”

“Oh, I absolutely do,” Misha said, tipping her chair back against the wall. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m—what?” Rae snapped up, clearly flustered. “No. That’s—no. I’m merely trying to preserve narrative integrity. The Claire–Manaria event flag isn’t even part of the original structure. This is a minor hiccup in the balance of affection points. I’m monitoring variables.”

“Uh-huh.” Misha unwrapped a lollipop and popped it into her mouth. “That why your left eye twitched when Claire offered to polish Manaria’s blade for her?”

Rae went scarlet. “It was a practical gesture!”

“It was flirtation. In fencing euphemism.”

Rae groaned again and turned to stare dejectedly out the window.

The truth stung more than she cared to admit. Claire didn’t just tolerate Manaria—she sought her out. Laughed more freely around her. Looked at her the way Rae used to imagine Claire might someday look at her—if Rae could just be patient, just play her part correctly, just be the invisible support long enough for Claire to turn around and realize…

But lately, Rae wasn’t even sure Claire remembered to look her way.

And worst of all, it wasn’t Manaria’s fault. The girl was smart, funny, good with a blade, decent at diplomacy, and clearly had no problem matching Claire quip for quip. Rae had spent so long obsessing over keeping the game intact that she hadn’t noticed someone else writing a better route right in front of her.

She wanted to hate it. But more than that, she wanted Claire to be happy.

Even if it wasn’t with her.

“You know,” Misha said quietly, turning more serious as she glanced at her friend’s profile, “you don’t always have to be the one outside the story.”

Rae didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

Because right now, she wasn’t the protagonist.

She was just the bystander.

And that’s exactly where she’d put herself.

---

It all came to a head during a group ride.

The air was crisp, the sun filtered through a light veil of clouds, and the scent of pine and old earth hung heavy as the horses made their way through the wooded estate. Claire, Manaria, Rae, and several other students had been tasked with scouting a new trail for the academy’s annual riding route. It was supposed to be a light-duty field assignment. A bonding activity.

Rae had been assigned to the rear, managing the supplies cart and leading the two packhorses hauling survey equipment and rations. She hadn’t protested at being assigned with the back-breaking mundane task that other students shunned. It was easier this way as she can perform the chore at her own pace. No need to witness Manaria’s jokes or hear Claire’s radiant laugh directed at someone else.

She was just beginning to enjoy the solitude when the trail curved sharply near a quiet streambed—and there, just around the bend, stood Manaria Sousse.

The noble girl had dismounted, reins loose in one hand, the other resting casually on her hip. She wore her riding uniform like it was part of her skin—sleeves rolled, boots dusted with forest mud, and a glint in her eye that Rae had come to associate with trouble. It was obvious that she has waited for Rae.

“Rae Taylor, isn’t it?” Manaria said, her voice light with amusement. “I believe we haven’t been formally introduced. Manaria Sousse, at your service.” She gave a mock flourish and bowed with exaggerated grace, like a prince in a fairy tale.

Rae stiffened. She didn’t recall any canon dialogue between Manaria and the player character—not in the main route, not even in cut content. This wasn’t part of the script. None of this was.

“I’m the maid,” Rae replied coolly, not stopping. “That’s all you need to know.”

Manaria blinked, clearly taken aback by the tone. “I see. It seems I’ve committed some offense I wasn’t aware of. Pray, do enlighten me. I’m quite open to correction, if you think my behavior unworthy of the lady’s court.” She offered another lopsided smile. “Or is it just me you dislike, Rae Taylor?”

Rae kept walking, her grip tightened around the reins of the supply cart. The last thing she wanted was a conversation—especially not this one. She could smell the performative charm from a mile away, the same charismatic nonsense that made impressionable girls swoon and turn their affection points into confetti.

Unfortunate, Rae thought bitterly, that Claire François was seventeen. Just the right age to fall for sugar-dipped words and cheeky smiles.

“It’s fine,” Rae muttered. “Go charm someone else.”

But Manaria didn’t comply. She walked beside her, matching Rae’s pace in long, easy strides.

“Then I don’t suppose you want to hear what I’ve noticed about Claire,” she said casually.

That stopped Rae cold.

She turned, narrowing her eyes. “As long as they are not insults about my mistress, you can keep the thoughts to yourself. I’m not in the mood for gossips.”

Manaria raised an eyebrow. “Oh. How about the fact that she kept glancing back every time your name came up in our conversations?”

Rae didn’t have an answer. The breath caught in her chest.

“She does it unconsciously,” Manaria continued, her tone less teasing now, quieter. “Just a flick of her eyes. Like she’s checking if you are around. If you’re watching. And when you are… she relaxes.”

Rae looked away. “It means nothing.”

“You’re scared,” Manaria said gently.

“I’m rational,” Rae replied too fast.

“You’re lying to yourself,” Manaria countered, not missing a beat. “And you know it.”

Rae exhaled hard. “Look, you don’t understand—”

“Oh, but I do,” Manaria cut in, stepping in front of Rae and stopping her in her tracks. Her eyes had sharpened, playful arrogance replaced with quiet conviction. “Do you want to know what I’ve noticed about you? You’re the one who wants to hold her hand when she’s nervous. You’re the one who notices when she’s pretending to be brave. You’re the one who makes excuses to stay by her side. You look at her like she’s not a love interest or a prize to be won—you look at her like she’s home. And you hate yourself for it.”

Rae’s throat tightened.

“And what do you do?” Manaria went on, softer now. “You push her away. You tell yourself she’s better off with me or Thane or whoever fits the narrative because it’s safer. Because you don’t get to want things.”

Rae shook her head. “That’s not—”

“Say it.”

Manaria’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “Put a name to it.”

Rae doesn’t answer back. Her mind struggled to reach for the words. For the truth she kept buried beneath logic and distance and mission parameters. But there was a block there, a hard-wired refusal to speak what she didn’t think she had the right to feel.

So she walked around Manaria instead.

Eyes forward. Jaw clenched.

But Manaria didn’t follow.

She just watched her go, lips pressed in a thin line. “Coward,” she muttered, not unkindly.

Rae didn’t turn around.

But she heard it.

And hated how much it rang true.

That evening, golden light poured through the latticework of the garden pergola, catching on the delicate porcelain teacups and turning them into prisms. The trailing vines overhead rustled softly in the summer breeze, and the faint scent of jasmine hung in the air.

Claire sat with Manaria at the wrought-iron table near the fountain—laughing, teasing, sipping delicately from her cup. From a distance, it was a picture-perfect scene. Two beautiful noble girls basking in the twilight glow, heads tilted together like co-conspirators. For anyone passing by, it would have looked effortless. Idyllic. Right.

Rae stood a few feet away, pouring the second pot of jasmine tea with mechanical precision. Her posture was textbook—straight-backed, chin slightly bowed, one hand tucked behind her apron as she served. Her expression was neutral, practiced. Not blank, but still. Like a mask she’d worn one too many times and forgotten how to take off.

Claire noticed.

She called Rae’s name lightly—“Rae”—in that upward lilt she used when she wanted attention. Wanted her attention.

But Rae didn’t look up.

Not when Claire said her name. Not when Manaria turned her head, raising an eyebrow like she half-expected a quip or some reluctant reply. Not even when Claire said her name again, quieter this time. Tentative.

Rae simply placed the pot down, nodded politely, and stepped back with a muted, “Will that be all, Lady Claire?”

Claire blinked at the formal tone. This was the first time she hears Rae addressing her so formally like her other house staff, Lene being the exception. It cut sharper than it should have. She opened her mouth to respond but then Manaria leaned in, her voice low and teasing. A private comment, something clearly meant to fluster or amuse.

Claire turned her head slightly toward Manaria, her lips parting automatically in what should have been a laugh.

But it didn’t come.

Not right away.

Because Claire wasn’t listening.

She was watching Rae.

Watching the way Rae turned on her heel and began to walk away, not once glancing back. No furrow between her brows. No subtle twitch of the corner of her mouth. None of the usual signs that Claire had learned to read like second nature.

Rae always watched her. Always reacted, even if she didn’t speak. Even if she pretended to ignore her.

But not tonight.

Tonight, Rae’s shoulders were rigid. Her steps too even. Too controlled. And for the first time since this dance of theirs began, Claire realized she couldn’t tell what Rae was thinking.

Couldn’t feel her.

It left her strangely… cold.

Claire sat there, tea forgotten between her hands, and felt the silence in Rae’s absence louder than the laughter Manaria was still trying to coax out of her.

And Rae, for once, wasn’t watching back.

The corridor behind the conservatory was empty save for the soft shuffle of Claire’s boots against polished stone. A breeze slipped in through the open archways, lifting the gauzy curtains just enough to obscure Rae’s silhouette ahead. She was standing still, alone, near the balustrade overlooking the moonlit orchard.

Claire took a breath, schooling her expression, then stepped forward.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Rae didn’t turn. “I’ve been busy.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

The quiet between them stretched, thin and taut. Claire took another step, stopping just beside her. Rae’s hands were folded neatly in front of her, the picture of composure and contemplation. But her jaw was clenched.

Claire watched her for a long beat. “Why didn’t you look at me tonight?”

Rae finally looked up at the moon, still refusing to meet her eyes. “It wasn’t appropriate.”

“Oh, but it was appropriate the other dozen times you rolled your eyes at me during council meetings? Or when you sassed me in front of the entire fencing class?”

“I was in character,” Rae said evenly. “Playing the cheeky maid. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Claire flinched. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Then stop asking me questions you don’t want real answers to.”

That did it. Claire stepped in front of her, forcing Rae to look at her. “You think I don’t want the truth? That I haven’t been dying to know what’s going on in that smug, unreadable head of yours?”

Rae gave her a look, something caught between exhaustion and bitter amusement. “You’re not dying to know anything. You’re just upset I stopped orbiting around you.”

Claire’s breath caught.

Rae continued, quietly now. “Lady Manaria is a good choice for you. You smile more when you are around her. You look happier.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Rae asked, her voice softer now. And resigned. “She’s everything I’m not. Charming. Noble. Confident. And most importantly, she’s available and has shown an interest in you. With time, you will learn that both of you are suited for each other as life partners. Though your union might be deemed unconventional by some, rest assured that it will be a celebrated event by the Francois and Sousse households.”

Claire was appalled at Rae’s speech and its implications. “Take back your words, servant. This is not how you should speak to your mistress. How dare you assume I care about any of that?”

“I don’t know what you care about anymore,” Rae admitted, finally meeting her eyes. “But it’s clear you don’t need me to orbit you any longer.”

“I didn’t laugh,” Claire whispered.

“What?”

“In the garden. I didn’t laugh.” Claire’s expression cracked just slightly. “Because I was watching you. And you weren’t watching back.”

Something unspoken flickered in Rae’s eyes.

Claire looked at her, raw and furious and aching. “Do you think I’m so blind I wouldn’t notice when you stop looking at me?”

Rae inhaled sharply, the moonlight catching the edge of her lashes.

“I was trying to give you space,” she said at last. “Trying not to want too much.”

Claire stepped closer. “Then stop pretending you don’t.”

And for a moment, the air between them shimmered with something dangerous—fragile and close, like glass on the verge of cracking.

Rae looked at her, truly looked at her, and whispered, “You scare me.”

Claire blinked. “Why?”

“Because every time I think I’ve accepted my place in your world, you say something… or look at me a certain way… and suddenly, I want more.”

Claire didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides.

“I don’t know what this is,” Rae said, voice barely audible. “I don’t know what you want.”

Claire opened her mouth—but no words came.

And that silence said enough.

Rae stepped back.

“Goodnight, my Lady.”

Then she was gone, leaving Claire staring after her with her heart in her throat and no idea what to do with it.

---

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Manaria had been... a calculated choice.

When the Sousse girl first arrived, Claire welcomed her with the kind of poise expected of a Francoise. Polite, friendly, and just warm enough to appear sincere. And in private, she'd allowed more. Not because she was drawn to Manaria—not truly—but because she needed something, anything, to divert her attention from the one person who refused to stop invading her thoughts.

Rae Taylor.

The woman was maddening. Always just a breath too close. Always infuriatingly calm. Always looking at Claire like she meant something. Like she mattered beyond her title.

Claire had thought Manaria could be a buffer. A distraction. Perhaps even an effective rival—someone to absorb the feelings she didn’t want to have, didn’t ask for.

She’d even told Manaria as much.

“She’s impossible,” Claire had muttered over tea one afternoon.

Manaria had only laughed, all lazy charm and foxlike eyes. “Then let’s test her limits,” she’d suggested one day over tea. “Let’s see how the maid reacts when the princess is stolen out from under her nose.”

Claire had agreed to the plan, too proud to admit she already knew Rae wouldn’t take the bait.

And for a while, they played their little game.

Claire let Manaria lean closer. Let her whisper in her ear. Let her touch her arm in the garden, tilt her chin in fencing, smile wider in her company, laugh too long at things Rae could’ve said better.

But Rae didn't react. Not even a flinch.

She’d looked right through them with that same unreadable face. And when Claire called her name, Rae didn’t even look back.

Now, Claire stood alone, hands curled into fists at her sides.

Why won’t you look at me?

A surge of heat rushed up her spine. She turned on her heel, breath tight. She couldn’t bear this silence, this unbearable distance. If Rae wasn’t going to chase her—

"Claire."

The voice cut through the quiet corridor like lightning. Raw. Familiar. Too personal.

Claire stopped mid-step, heart catching before her mind could catch up. She knew that voice—knew the cadence, the restraint barely clinging to its edges. She turned slightly, not fully, her spine drawn taut like a bowstring.

Footsteps echoed behind her. Measured. Intent.

Then—
A hand caught her wrist.

Not forceful. But grounding. Like a tether pulled tight between them.

She whirled around, prepared to snap. To reassert boundaries. To remind Rae Taylor, once and for all, of her place.

But what she saw stole the breath from her lungs.

Rae looked devastated. Like someone who’d just run a hundred miles and only now realized they had no destination. Her eyes burned—not with defiance, but with a raw vulnerability that had no business being exposed in the corridors of power. There was no mask. No witty deflection. No calculated distance.

Claire’s lips parted, unsure whether she was about to ask why, or how, or demand that she let go—

But Rae moved first.

She leaned in, swift and silent, propelled not by courage but by something far more dangerous: longing. Desperation. Truth.

Their mouths met.

It wasn’t graceful. Their teeth nearly knocked. Rae trembled. And Claire—Claire stood frozen as her world tilted on its axis.

It was her first kiss.
Not under a canopy of stars.
Not behind a fan at a court dance.
But here. In a hallway that still echoed with unresolved things.

And yet—

It felt more real than anything she'd ever scripted for herself.

Rae drew back almost immediately, her breath shallow, face pale with panic. Her hand dropped from Claire’s wrist as though it burned her now. She stepped back, gaze flicking down, already mouthing apologies that wouldn’t come.

“I—I shouldn’t have done this.” Rae whispered, voice breaking.

Claire stared at her. At the girl who had spent months refusing to break the lines between them, only to shatter them now in the most reckless way possible.

Her heart thundered. She hated the silence between them, hated the vulnerability coiled in Rae’s clenched fists and lowered eyes.

But more than anything, she hated how right it had felt.

So she did the only thing that made sense in the chaos:

She stepped forward.

Rae startled—but didn’t move away.

Claire reached up, cupped Rae’s cheek with one gloved hand. Her palm was steady, her thumb brushing lightly against the edge of Rae’s jaw.

Then she leaned in.

And kissed her back.

Softly. Surely.

This time, no panic. No hesitation. Just the quiet, deliberate press of lips to lips.

Chapter 9: Affection Route: Conditions Met

Rae walked briskly down the corridor, her face troubled, her thoughts a messy loop of guilt and longing. As part of her usual morning duties, she was meant to escort Claire to the cafeteria for breakfast, alongside Lene. But today, the staff had informed her calmly, that Claire and Lene had already left ahead of schedule.

She hadn’t even needed to ask why. She already knew.

Last night was still too fresh.

She’d intended to walk away. To head to the hidden developer console in her mind and execute a clean exit: minimal damage, maximum plausible deniability. She’d even convinced herself, naively, in hindsight, that Claire and Manaria were the canon match. That she could polish that route and hand it over like a completed patch file before logging out for good.

It had been the rational choice.

Logical. Predictable. Safe.

What she hadn’t expected was for Claire to confront her. To demand honesty. To ask her, plainly, What do you want, Rae?

And Rae, after a dangerous beat of hesitation, had answered.

With a kiss.

And Claire—Claire had kissed her back.

Of all the ways to ruin a quiet exit, she’d gone with spontaneous mouth-to-mouth. Brilliant. Very professional.

They broke apart when footsteps echoed down the hallway. Lene appeared uncannily punctual and escorted Claire back to her room with clockwork precision.

Rae had laughed nervously, maybe a little unhinged, at the timing. It was like the universe had sent in a PG-rating enforcer. She wasn’t sure what might’ve happened if Lene had been even two minutes late.

Her fingertips still tingled, memory replaying like a broken animation loop: Claire’s hand in hers, the faint citrus of her perfume, the feel of her lips pressing back with deliberate, devastating clarity. Conveying unspoken words of sincerity.

“Abort. Abort,” Rae muttered, slapping her cheeks lightly as she turned a corner.

The morning bustle greeted her like nothing had changed—cutlery clinking against porcelain, girls huddled over their tea, the soft murmur of whispered gossip. Just another day in the academy.

And yet Rae stood at the threshold, heart hammering wildly out of sync, wondering how the world could look so normal when she felt so completely undone.

And then she saw her.

Claire François. Poised, dignified, pristine—even this early. She was seated with Manaria Sousse at one of the central tables, her posture straight as ever, one elegant finger tapping against her teacup while she listened intently. Rae's stomach sank and twisted, and not from hunger.

No, better than fine. She looked beautiful. The morning light caught her golden curls just right, turning them into spun sunlight. Her expression was unreadable. Her aura, untouchable. Rae nearly scoffed.

As if summoned by telepathic irony, Manaria glanced up and caught Rae’s eye. Her lips curled into a knowing smirk. Rae's gaze snapped away and she made a beeline for the breakfast trays.

She was halfway through piling her tray with toast and eggs when Lene waved her over. Misha was already seated beside her, chewing quietly with the calculated disinterest of someone watching a drama unfold but pretending they weren't invested.

“Rae, over here!” Lene called, patting the seat beside her. Rae offered a distracted wave and turned, passing by Claire and Manaria’s table on the way. And that was when she noticed it.

Claire’s spoon.

There was a faint smudge on the handle— barely visible, maybe a watermark, maybe oil from a less-than-diligent polish. Rae sighed, already imagining the chaos of going back to the queue for a clean one. She simply stepped up to the table, slid her own pristine spoon onto Claire’s tray, and picked up the smudged one in exchange like it was part of a subconscious routine.

“Use mine,” she mumbled.

Claire froze, her entire frame going still. Her breath caught audibly.

Rae didn’t notice. She was already walking off with her tray, the swap filed under minor breakfast optimization.

“Ah,” Manaria said, drawing out the syllable like silk. “My knife seems to have a suspicious fingerprint. Rae, would you be so kind as to—?”

“No,” Rae said, not even glancing back.

She reached Lene and Misha’s table and sat down like nothing happened, fully focused in her breakfast. After a minute of silence, she looked and found them staring at her in varying level of astonishments. Misha arched an eyebrow. Lene looked like she had just witnessed a scandal.

“You—” Lene sputtered. “You just… swapped utensils with Miss Claire.”

“She had a smudge on her spoon,” Rae replied indifferently, cracking open her boiled egg.

Misha gave a slow, deliberate blink. “So naturally, you gave her yours.”

“She needed one. Mine was clean.”

“You mumbled ‘use mine,’” Lene said, voice high. “You can’t just say that and walk away like you didn’t offer her your soul.”

“I didn’t offer her my soul. I offered a spoon,” Rae answered, reaching for her toast.

Lene gaped. “Rae. You do realize that’s a wildly intimate gesture, right?”

Rae frowned. She was really emotionally laden with previous night events and was unable to understand Lene and Misha over-the-top reaction. “Isn’t that what you’d do? If you saw Miss Claire with a dirty spoon?”

“I’d fetch a clean one from the tray. Like a sane person.”

“Too troublesome,” Rae said, shrugging. “Besides, the smudge doesn’t bother me.”

Misha put her tea down, very slowly. “That’s the part you fixated on? Not the fact that you just committed silverware-based seduction in front of the entire cafeteria?”

“Seduction?” Rae looked genuinely confused. “It was a spoon.”

Misha didn’t respond. She just gave Lene a meaningful look. Lene, mouth still slightly open, nodded mutely.

Across the room, Claire stared down at her tray.

The spoon gleamed where Rae had placed it, stark and unmistakable against the delicate china. Her fingers hovered above it like it was a relic, not cutlery. A flush bloomed across her cheeks—subtle at first, then spreading quickly to the tips of her ears.

Manaria leaned in, whispering something low and teasing. Claire’s fingers twitched around the porcelain rim of her teacup. She didn’t reply.

She just looked at the spoon. And picked it.

Held it like Rae’s touch was still there.

---

By midday, Rae was beginning to suspect the universe was playing some kind of joke.
First, the campus café’s playlist, usually a rotation of soft jazz, kept looping love songs—obnoxiously sweet, painfully on-the-nose ballads that followed her from hallway to hallway.
Then, during Literature, the scheduled lesson on political satire was mysteriously replaced with a passionate discussion on romantic confession scenes in classic poetry

And now, Rod Bauer was waiting for her outside her strategy and mechanics class like a loyal golden retriever armed with a smug grin and a velvet chess pouch.

"Rae," he called as she stepped out of the lecture hall.

"Rod," Rae address informally, already shifting sideways like she was ready to wall-run down the corridor.

But Rod was persistent. He stepped in front of her, arms crossed. "You've dodged me for three weeks. No chess. No wagers. No witty banter. I'm starting to feel like a bug in your life."

“You are a bug in my life,” Rae sighed. “A very loud, persistent one.” She totally ignored the gasps from the nearby girls.

Undeterred by her lack of enthusiasm, Rod pulled out a black-and-white chess piece with flair. “So. I’m upping the stakes.”

Rae paused, eyeing the piece suspiciously. “If this is about playing for my socks again, the answer is still no.”

Rod grinned. “Better. I’ll give you my seat in the afternoon classes for a whole month.”

Rae grimaced. “Okay? Why would I want that?”

He leaned in, voice dropping like he was revealing national secrets. “Didn’t you challenge me for a game of chess a few weeks ago so that your beloved Claire François sit beside Thane. Previously one win means one week. Now a win means one whole month of reassignment. No strings attached.”

A month ago, that would’ve worked.

Back when Rae’s sole mission had been to debug Claire’s fractured love route. Back when she saw herself as a temporary code anomaly, not part of the final render.

Back before Claire kissed her back.

“Oh,” Rae said blankly. “That’s... thoughtful of you.”

Rod looked confused. “So you’ll play?”

Remembering Claire’s reaction at her interference and not having a say in this matter, Rae tilted her head slightly, then shrugged. “Why don’t you ask milady if she wants to sit next to Thane?”

Rod’s mouth opened. “Wait, what?”

“If she wants to, I’ll play you. Simple.”

He stared at her. “You’re saying you won’t agree… but if Claire wants it, you will?”

“Exactly,” Rae said, brushing past him. “Tell her to let me know.”

Rod turned in a slow circle, looking thoroughly betrayed by logic. “That’s not how bribes work!”

Rae just waved behind her without turning back. “Not my problem.”

---

Claire hadn’t intended to eavesdrop. Truly. She had just happened to pass by that particular hallway. With absolutely no ulterior motive. And now she stood hidden behind a pillar, face burning.

“She said… if I want to sit next to Thane…”

Her heart was beating far too fast.

A month ago, Rae would have gladly pushed her into Thane’s orbit like a matchmaking engine set on fire. Now she’d… thrown the choice at Claire instead, casually, like it wasn’t a strategic decision but a personal one.

Claire felt absurdly cornered by her own autonomy.

She didn’t even want to sit next to Thane right now.

She wanted— No. That was a dangerous thought.

Still clutching the history book she no longer remembered borrowing, Claire turned and walked quickly in the opposite direction, her head spinning.

---

By the time Rae made it to the afternoon lecture hall, she was running on one cup of glitchy tea and negative clarity. She flopped into her seat beside Misha and leaned her forehead against her notes.

“Are you okay? I saw Rod approach you just now. And he looked like you broke up with him.” Misha asked, cautiously.

“Rod wanted another round of chess and he is being too persistent about it. He even tried to bribe me with seating arrangements,” Rae opened her textbook, not wishing to discuss the topic further. As the lesson was about to being, she felt the sudden shift in the air around her. A presence approaching.

"Commoner"

Rae glanced up. Claire stood by the row, one gloved hand resting lightly on the desk. She looked conflicted.

Her gaze flicked to the empty seat beside Thane a row ahead, then back to Rae.

"I… heard about Rod’s proposal."

Rae nodded. “I see. And what you like me to do with it? Just say the word and I will battle with Rod until I win the match.”

Claire stood frozen for a moment, then exhaled. “I don’t want to sit next to Thane.”

Rae raised an eyebrow, not sure where this is going. “Okay.”

“I want to sit here.”

There was no room beside Rae. But Claire didn’t move. Just looked at her, challengingly, like daring Rae to interpret it any other way.

“I mean,” Rae said, scratching her cheek. “I could sit behind—"

“No need!” Misha said a little too quickly, nearly upending her inkwell as she stood. “I have… um…could sit behind. You stay here.”

Claire sat. Prim, proper, but with pink in her cheeks that she couldn’t hide. Rae didn’t say anything more.

Not out loud, anyway.

Inside, she was screaming.

---

The sun had begun its slow descent behind the academy’s western towers, and the terrace where Claire held her usual tea gathering was bathed in a warm, rose-gold hue. The table shimmered with delicate china, layered desserts, and sugared fruit slices arranged like miniature sculptures. Loretta, Pepi, and Manaria were chatting lightly, the air full of noble laughter and clinking teaspoons.

Claire sat at the center, refined and poised—until Manaria leaned in to whisper something, voice silk-soft and intentionally private. Claire laughed, light and startled, brushing her hair back.

Rae, stationed near the table in her usual staff uniform—black shirt, sleeves rolled up, slate slacks—watched from a discreet distance, a tray in hand. Her eyes narrowed at the scene. The same kind of moment. Again.

Needing a task, she zeroed in on the tray of crusted finger sandwiches Manaria had brought as a gift. Apparently from that artisan bakery downtown. “To elevate the flavor profile of your afternoon,” Manaria had cooed when she presented her offering with a flair.

Rae said nothing.

She picked up the tray and began plating the sandwiches, methodical and silent. Each slice went onto its own dish, centered with the kind of precision that came from years of training and instinct.

Then she reached Claire’s portion.

Without pause, Rae trimmed the crusts with the butter knife in a few deft flicks—movements clean and practiced, like removing excess code. She added three strawberry slices from the fruit tray nearby, symmetrical and sweet, then placed the plate in front of Claire without a word.

A hush fell over the table.

Pepi blinked. Loretta leaned forward like a hawk spotting scandal.

Claire’s eyes widened slightly. “…Wait, why does mine—”

“Mine has crust,” Pepi cut in, squinting down at hers.

“Same,” Loretta confirmed.

“I don’t see any fruit garnish on mine either,” Manaria added, far too pleased.

Claire looked helplessly between them and her plate.

Rae deftly wiped the butter knife clean with a folded napkin, angle precise. The sunlight, perhaps nudged by the game’s ambient logic, hit the blade just right, casting a subtle gleam across Rae’s cheekbone as she worked. For a second, the tableau looked almost cinematic. And dangerously alluring.

Loretta let out a soft breath. Manaria tilted her head, lips parted in something dangerously close to admiration.

Claire’s mouth went dry.

Rae, expression unchanged, turned the knife over once more before setting it aside. She then took a single trimmed crust from Claire’s plate and popped it in her mouth.

“Mm,” she said mildly, to no one in particular. “Not bad.”

She turned slightly toward Lene, who was standing nearby watching this unfold like a Regency drama. “You could cube the rest of the crusts,” Rae said, brushing crumbs from her palm. “Make croutons for dinner. If you toast them with thyme and that oil the head chef’s hoarding, it should go well with the soup Miss Claire has requested tonight.”

Lene made a strangled sound and quickly turned away—whether to stifle laughter or scream into her apron, it was unclear.

Manaria, finally recovering, grinned across her teacup. “First she trims crusts, now she’s planning your meals. Should I book the chapel now or wait until she starts ironing your blouses, Lady Claire?”

Claire, flushed and stiff, straightened her spine. “That’s enough.”

But her voice cracked on the last syllable, and Rae—blessedly, maddeningly oblivious—only nodded solemnly at Manaria’s suggestion, assuming it referred to dinner.

“I’d need a proper steam press for that,” Rae said, mostly to herself, already collecting the spare crusts from the side plate.

Loretta bit into a scone to stifle a laugh. Pepi whispered something like “this is better than the opera.” Even Lene gave up and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, eyes crinkled.

Claire, still pink-faced, glared down at her dainty strawberry-garnished sandwich. She picked it up, took a bite primly, like she hadn’t just had her court composure disassembled by a girl in slacks wielding a butter knife like a weaponized love letter.

Across the table, Manaria leaned toward her with a wicked smile.

“Lady Claire,” she murmured, “forgive me, but if she starts alphabetizing your perfume bottles, I am sending out the engagement invitations.”

Claire inhaled through her nose. “You’ll be banned from the wedding.”

“Oh,” Manaria said, sipping her tea with delight, “so it is happening.”

---

Rae sat alone in the courtyard alcove just past the west wing, the stone bench cool beneath her, one elbow propped on her knee and a half-polished silver knife dangling from her fingers. The sun had dipped below the hedges, casting long amber shadows that made the air feel softer than it was.

It had been… a strange day.

She hadn't thought much of the spoon that morning. Claire had was issued a smudged one at breakfast. Rae didn’t like it so she’d swapped it with hers. Instinctively. She thought she was just being fussy about presentation. But her friends had stared at her like she’d done something outrageous.

Then there was Rod and his chess declaration. Normally Rae would humor him between duties. It helped her analyze patterns, stay sharp and win favours for Claire. But when he’d waved her over that afternoon, something in her had just… pulled back. She’d deferred his offer to Claire instead of taking it out proactively.

And the sandwich.

She frowned slightly, remembering the feeling of the knife in her hand, the clean slide of blade through crust. She hadn’t even noticed what she was doing until she was already plating Claire’s portion—crusts trimmed, berries arranged at the side like she was preparing a bento. Everyone had stared like she’d just proposed marriage.

She didn’t get it.

It wasn’t a big deal. Claire liked things neat, didn’t she? Rae just didn’t see the point in not doing it, if it would make her happy.

A sound broke her thoughts—heels on stone.

Claire.

She approached slowly, arms folded as if hugging herself. Rae turned, not quite standing.

“Evening,” Rae said. Quiet. A little curious.

Claire hesitated a foot away. “I… I wanted to ask—” She looked at Rae, really looked. “About yesterday night.”

The kiss.

Rae stilled.

Claire waited. So did Rae. But nothing rose to the surface. No neat explanation. No coherent answer. Just the lingering warmth of lips and the echo of Claire’s breath too close to hers.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“I just—” Claire tried, but the words fell away like sugar into tea. Her composure frayed at the edges. She looked at Rae like she was waiting for her to reach across again.

Rae didn’t.

Claire studied her for a moment longer, searching for something Rae couldn’t quite name. Then she smiled—small, sad, fond.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Rae.”

And then she was gone.

---

She shouldn’t have followed.

But there Claire was—standing near the hedges where the courtyard opened to the west wing, backlit by the low amber light. Her arms were bare, her posture tight. From this angle, Rae could almost pretend Claire wasn’t unraveling.

But Rae knew better now.

She had watched her all day. Caught the too-long glances. The way Claire stirred her tea absentmindedly and never actually drank it. The half-step she took toward Rae before retreating again. The ache just beneath the surface.

Rae’s own chest felt strange. Too full.

She hadn’t meant for things to escalate this far, not really. She’d only wanted to say goodbye with some measure of honesty. A kiss—not a declaration. Just a gesture to explain what words kept failing to express.

But then Claire kissed her back.

And now Rae didn’t know where the line was anymore. Only that she was still moving toward her.

She stepped forward, deliberate. Not quiet this time.

“Claire.”

The name left her like an anchor, like grounding herself in something solid.

Claire turned, startled. Rae saw the shock in her eyes first, then the confusion. The pain.

Rae didn’t hesitate. She raised her hand—not to grab, just to steady. To offer.

Claire didn’t flinch. That somehow made it worse.

“It’s happening again,” Claire said, voice thin. “I’m starting to care more than I should, and you’re just calmly catching me like it’s nothing.”

Rae’s heart ached in a new, slow way. She tilted her head, trying to find the right translation for whatever it was she was feeling.

“It’s not nothing,” she said. Because it wasn’t. Not anymore.

Claire blinked, and Rae felt the pull of her gaze like gravity.

Last night, she had kissed Claire with every ounce of confusion and longing she didn’t understand. But tonight… it was different. The fog had started to lift. Her feelings no longer tangled in code or duty. They just were.

“I just… don’t always know how to say what it is,” Rae added, quieter this time.

She stepped closer, testing the space between them. Claire didn’t move.

So Rae reached out, brushing a curl behind Claire’s ear, a new habit she hadn’t even realized she’d memorized.

“See you tomorrow,” she murmured.

And then she kissed her. Not rushed. Not questioning. Just a kiss, warm and steady and real.

It felt like turning a page. Like saying I’m still here.

When Rae pulled back, Claire’s eyes were wide, lips parted, breath soft and unsure.

“I—” Claire started.

Rae gave the smallest smile. “I’ll be around,” she whispered.

She turned then, walking away—not because she wanted distance, but because she didn’t need to prove anything anymore. She’d already said what mattered.

And for the first time in a long time, Rae felt… light.

---

The door clicked shut behind her with a soft finality, but the echo of Rae’s kiss lingered like warmth in her skin.

Claire crossed her bedroom on autopilot, her heels clicking softly on the polished floor until she reached the edge of her bed. She sat down slowly, like someone waking from a spell.

She hadn’t even changed out of her tea dress. There were still faint fingerprints of Rae’s presence on her. The gentle tuck of her hair, the press of her lips, the way she’d looked at her without fear or confusion.

“See you tomorrow.”

Claire exhaled shakily, lifting trembling fingers to her lips. She hadn’t imagined it. Rae had kissed her again. But this time, it was not out of impulse or confusion. It was with intention.

And worse — better — Rae had meant it.

Because Rae wasn’t ignoring the kiss.

She just didn’t flail like Claire did. She didn’t spiral.

She showed up, calmly and completely, with spoon swaps and sandwich crusts and words that took the wind out of Claire’s chest.

“It’s not nothing.”

Claire fell back onto the bed, an arm flung over her eyes. The ceiling blurred above her.

“I kissed her,” she whispered into the fabric of her sleeve. “Twice.”

A beat.

“She kissed me.”

A longer beat.

“…And I liked it.”

Her laugh came out thin, disbelieving. Not hysterical — but dangerously close. Because somewhere under the fluster and panic, she was happy. Floating, weightless, terrified.

Rae Taylor was impossible. And relentless. And kind. And absurdly gentle in ways Claire had no defense against.

Tomorrow felt like a lifetime away.

Still — when Claire finally reached for the lamp and curled under the covers, she did so with a quiet smile tugging at her lips.

She would see Rae tomorrow.

And maybe, this time… she’d be ready.

---

While the world is asleep, the hidden developer console lit up. New lines started to appear.

[AI ROMANCE ENGINE v2.9 : ACTIVE]

> Monitoring flagged user behavior…

> Cross-referencing variables: [TAYLOR_1127] + [FRANÇOISE_01]

> Condition: “Unprompted Affection” = TRUE

> Condition: “Mutual Emotional Recognition” = IN PROGRESS

> Verifying last interaction: [kiss_event_001]

> Dialogue context: [“See you tomorrow.”]

> Emotional score delta: +8

> Threshold met.

:: INITIATE RELATIONSHIP PATHWAY ::

:: UNLOCKING RANDOMIZED EVENT POOL ::

:: ENABLING AFFECTION-TRIGGERED ITEM DROPS ::

Chapter 10: Reward System Is Bugged

Rae noticed it the moment she stepped into the cafeteria, tray in hand, already calculating the most efficient way to avoid prolonged social engagement. Her options were limited. She could wedge herself into the conversational deadzone between Lene’s encyclopedic chatter and Misha’s weaponized silences, or vanish into the corner booth near the windows where nobody dared sit unless they were actively brooding.

She was halfway through plotting the former when something caught her eye.

Behind the polite rows of sandwiches and suspiciously perky salad cups—tucked discreetly behind a wall of indifferent scones and lemon tarts that smelled like surrender—sat a slice of chocolate cake.

Not just any cake.

A small, elegant wedge lacquered in dark ganache, crowned with three perfect strawberries. The kind of strawberries that looked misted rather than washed, each seed gleaming like polished punctuation. The frosting shimmered faintly, smooth enough to be a rendered texture. Suspiciously aesthetic. It didn’t look served. It looked summoned.

Rae slowed. Tray hovering.

She had memorized the academy’s meal rotation during her first week. Out of boredom. And possibly anxiety. But this cake wasn’t part of the usual offerings. It wasn’t even a seasonal variant or holiday treat. The cafeteria ran like a deterministic machine. This? This was an anomaly.

She stared at it. Tilted her head. Then picked it up carefully, like it might vanish if she looked away.

If the world wanted to drop a dessert-shaped glitch on her tray, who was she to ignore a possible trigger flag?

Claire was at her usual table, backlit by a spill of sunlight like some noble oil painting. Her curls gleamed, her tea steamed, and her entourage circled like moons in a perfect orbit. Pepi and Loretta on either flank. Yu across from her. Thane beside her, radiating chivalry.

The table was harmony and hierarchy incarnate.

Rae approached without hesitation, tray balanced in one hand, expression unreadable.

She stopped just short of the table, set the cake down in front of Claire like an offering to a temperamental goddess, and said, casually, “Here. This should pair well with your tea.”

Five heads turned in eerie unison.

Claire blinked. “Commoner, what…?”

“Looked nice,” Rae said simply, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Too sweet for me.”

Claire looked down at the cake. Not at Rae. Not at anyone else.

No blush. No sputtering gratitude. No shy protest. Just a sharp silence.

Rae read the quiet as indifference and sighed inwardly. Guess it’s not an affection item after all. No scripted reaction. Probably not even an in-game object. Should’ve known.

Disappointed with the outcome, she turned to leave. Only to catch a blur of motion out of the corner of her eye.

A fork. Reckless. Hungry. Drifting toward the cake like a thief in the night.

Without looking, Rae’s hand darted out and caught Yu’s wrist mid-reach.

Yu froze mid-pilfer. “You wound me.”

Rae didn’t flinch. “A gentleman shouldn’t steal dessert from a lady. And this slice is for one person only.”

There was no venom in her voice. Just calm, lethal finality.

Thane exhaled softly. Pepi’s mouth opened in scandalized protest. Loretta let out an actual gasp. “She just—She gave Lady Claire a chocolate cake. And stopped Prince Yu from stealing it.”

Rae leaned in, voice low. “Milady. Eat it before someone else gets bold again.”

She turned and walked away, tray still half-full, not sparing another glance at the stunned table.

At her usual corner, Rae dropped into her seat beside Misha and Lene and began mechanically spearing a carrot like it owed her rent.

Misha stared. “Do you even realize what you just did?”

Rae shrugged. “I gave Miss Claire a cake. End of story.”

Misha looked to Lene for backup. Lene looked like she was processing the fall of a monarchy.

“You gifted Lady Claire a dessert conjured from thin air,” Lene added, stunned. “While maintaining eye contact. Then disarmed a fork assault. And walked off. Like that wasn’t the most emotionally charged dessert delivery in recorded academy history.”

Rae paused. “You’re all being dramatic. I don’t have a sweet tooth. Miss Claire does. So I gave her the cake. That’s it.”

Lene rubbed her temples. “You’re not even doing it on purpose, are you?”

Misha watched her like one might watch a baby duck walk into traffic. “You’re going to be the death of her.”

“Or us,” Lene muttered.

Across the room, Claire still hadn’t touched the cake.

She sat very still, staring at it like it was a live grenade that had just been gently placed in her lap.

Pepi and Loretta were whispering furiously.

Yu, defeated but intrigued, leaned back and sipped his tea. “I have never felt so personally attacked by a baked good.”

Thane had excused himself with a polite cough and was currently pacing outside in confusion.

Finally, Claire picked up her fork.

She hesitated. Just for a moment.

Then took a bite.

The sweetness bloomed instantly—dense, rich, complex. Not cloying. Not heavy. The ganache melted like silk. The strawberries were so ripe they practically hummed with summer. It was perfect.

Too sweet for the commoner.

But not for her.

Claire’s lashes lowered slightly as she took a second bite. Then a third. As if to confirm it hadn’t been a dream.

When she looked up again, Rae was laughing at something Misha said. The sunlight was on her shoulder, catching on the line of her jaw. She wasn’t even looking in Claire’s direction.

Claire stabbed her cake again.

This time, with feeling.

---

The second anomaly came two days later, during an afternoon walk meant to clear Rae’s head.

The weather engine had no business being this pleasant. Gardens around the academy glowed under a sunlit haze that felt like late spring—soft gold, slow breeze, birdsong playing in stereo. Rae frowned up at the sky. The cherry blossoms from last week had already faded, as coded. Seasonal assets were hardwired, their bloom schedules tied to narrative arcs. This sudden warmth? The scent-heavy breeze? It wasn’t just off-script—it was emotive.

She slowed near a bend in the path and stopped dead.

Nestled just off the cobbled trail was a low patch of crimson-blushed bluebells, blooming in thick, wild clusters. They shimmered faintly in the dappled light, petals swaying ever so slightly in sync with the breeze—not a texture loop, but dynamic physics.

Rae crouched, eyes narrowing. She reached out and brushed a fingertip across one bloom. It reacted—subtle, like it shivered at her touch.

“This isn’t in the game.”

The shading was too detailed, too lovingly rendered. The floral scent was thick and heady, clinging to her like memory. Someone hadn’t coded these. Someone had remembered them.

She plucked a few without thinking and stood, sniffing absently as she walked back toward the main building, still mentally combing through environmental logs and item IDs. The bouquet swung lazily from her hand.

She spotted Claire near the courtyard, mid-conversation with a professor—shoulders straight, voice poised. The sun caught her hair at a flattering angle, like someone had adjusted the lighting rig to favor her profile.

Claire turned at Rae’s approach. And stilled.

The flowers in Rae’s hand glowed softly in the late light, casting amber-hued shadows across her wrist. For a moment, Claire said nothing. Just looked at her.

Rae came to a stop at the base of the marble steps, hesitant. “Found these near the east trail,” she said. “Might suit the table, if you want them for the tea party.”

She meant it as a gesture. Aesthetic enhancement. Maybe even a test. Another possible affection item, though the UI hadn’t flagged it. No sparkle. No confirmation sound.

Claire stepped forward slowly. Her fingers brushed Rae’s as she accepted the bouquet. The touch was featherlight. Uncalculated.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “But… I think I’ll keep them in my room.”

Rae blinked, surprised. “Oh. Sure.”

Claire’s voice had dipped—softer, warmer—but Rae barely noticed, only taking note on the polite refusal for display. Maybe Claire didn’t like the scent. Maybe it didn’t match the tea setting.

Or maybe she was just being courteous in front of the professor.

Rae chalked it up as a neutral event and marked the interaction off in her mind. Probable non-trigger. Decorative tier. No affection change.

Behind Claire, the professor leaned in. “Extraordinary,” he breathed. “Those aren’t from the standard greenhouse rotation. Miss Claire, may I take one for study?” He reached toward the stems with delicate reverence.

Rae’s hand lifted and caught his wrist before it got close.

It wasn’t aggressive. Just final.

“Apologies, Professor. These were meant for Miss Claire. I’ll try to bring you a sample next time.”

The shift in tone was subtle, but it landed like a steel latch sliding shut.

The professor blinked, then chuckled with practiced ease. “Ah, yes. Of course. Quite right. My apologies, Miss Claire. Miss Rae. I simply haven’t seen Everbloom in full blossom before. Not once. Until now.”

He bowed slightly and stepped away, choosing the better part of discretion.

Rae offered Claire a small nod, then excused herself and headed toward class, her thoughts already drifting back to environmental flags and AI narrative loops.

She didn’t see Claire’s gaze follow her departure, eyes slightly wide.

“Miss Claire?”

Claire blinked. Lene had just arrived in the courtyard, her clipboard tucked against her chest. When she saw the bouquet, she faltered.

“Are those…?” Lene gasped. “Those are Everblooms. They’re practically rare species and ’ve never bloomed properly here before. Not once.”

Claire didn’t answer. She just smiled faintly, dreamlike.

Lene stepped closer, hesitant, reverent. “Do they smell like the stories say they would?”

Claire nodded once, slowly, and inhaled again—eyes fluttering shut.

The scent was thick with warmth and nostalgia. Like something remembered by the heart before the mind could catch up.

She held the bouquet tighter, as if it might dissolve if she let go. Her thumb brushed instinctively across a velvet petal—once, then again

---

The third anomaly came disguised as something Rae usually treated with casual contempt: a surprise exam.

Tactics & Morality. Mid-week. Rae had planned to autopilot the session while mentally debugging the simulation's new flora and dessert anomalies. Instead, she opened the logic assessment packet and felt... sharp.

Her mind moved like clean code. The answers clicked into place like neatly aligned subroutines.

She submitted her paper with fifteen minutes to spare and sat back, mildly disturbed by her own clarity.

The professor scanned the results and his eyebrows rose. Then rose further. He chuckled softly—genuinely impressed—and stood, walking over with something concealed behind his back.

“Well now, Miss Taylor. A perfect score.” He beamed, something mischievous glinting in his eyes. “This is indeed a rare feat even among the scholarship students. The academy acknowledges excellence in all its forms. Here’s a token to recoginze an achievement.”

He held a plush otter.

Rae cautiously accepted it with thanks, her mind wheeling with confusion.

It was undeniably adorable. Soft, round, vaguely egg-shaped. Stubby flippers, ridiculous glass-button eyes, and a navy ribbon tied around its neck stamped with the academy’s crest in gold thread. It looked like it belonged in a dorm gift shop, not a tactical ethics course.

She turned it over in her hands, squinting.

This wasn’t part of the item pool.

No achievement badge. No reward token coded for that class. And certainly no plush collectibles in the logic branch of the system. Rae knew the in-game prize tables down to the decimal, and this... this was definitely not in the code.

Her gaze flicked across the room. Claire sat a few rows away, watching with polite curiosity—and something gentler layered beneath it.

Before she could stop herself, Rae stood. She crossed the aisle and stopped in front of Claire’s desk. Wordlessly, she placed the plush otter down with both hands, gentle and weirdly ceremonial.

Claire stared up at her. “Commoner?”

“You like cute things,” Rae said tentatively. “Seems more your vibe.”

Claire blinked again. Then—slowly—her expression melted into something utterly open. “He’s… adorable.”

She said it like the word didn’t quite contain what she was feeling.

Behind them, Manaria leaned forward with the elegance of a predator sensing a shift in the wind. Her voice was a purr—barely above a whisper, but perfectly audible.

“My, my,” she murmured. “Chocolate cake, rare flowers, and now plush animals? Should I start planning your wedding, or wait until she gives you a puppy?”

Claire’s fingers curled tighter around the otter. Her face went pink, then red, right to the ears.

Watching her, Rae exhaled. The reaction wasn’t to her, clearly. It was to Manaria’s teasing words. Rae felt the familiar twist of misplaced effort. Maybe Claire had just accepted the gift just to be polite in front of the class and the professor. Rae had misread before.

She looked over her shoulder, voice clipped. “Not a puppy. Maybe something more fitting next time.” A beat. “Just have to keep searching.”

Manaria arched an eyebrow, delighted. “Oh? Already thinking about next time?”

Rae paused. Thought about denying it. Then shrugged, more to herself than anyone else.

“Depends on the reward structure.”

Claire made a small, strangled sound—something between a squeak and a cough—and quickly busied herself adjusting the plush’s ribbon like her life depended on its symmetry.

Manaria leaned back, smug. “How delightfully efficient.”

The professor, blessedly oblivious to the romantic war being waged behind him, cleared his throat and moved on to the next student’s results.

Class ended and the students began gathering books, ready to exit the room. Rae moved quickly, already halfway packed when Misha wandered over, voice gentle.

“A plush otter huh. What...it's name?”

Rae glanced at the otter still cradled in Claire’s arms. She scratched the back of her neck, gaze flitting toward the ceiling like it held the answer.

“It’s Miss Claire’s,” she said. “So it’s her call.”

A pause. Then: “But I think Ralaire’s a good name.”

She left before either of them could respond, ducking out of the room with the kind of speed that screamed not-running.

Misha didn't watch her go. Instead, she was watching Claire.

The reaction was instant.

Claire smiled like something had bloomed behind her ribs. Her cheeks still carried the flush of earlier, but now there was wonder behind it. She cradled the plush like it had weight. Meaning. Memory.

Manaria, who appeared next to Claire, said nothing this time. Even she knew when to let a love flag trigger in silence.

---

Rae was busy scrolling through the lines in the developer console. Through a stroke of ingenuity—and increasing staff suspicion—she’d smuggled the slate out of the hidden panel and back to her dorm. Her late-night "kitchen visits" had started to raise eyebrows.

Lines of code raced across the screen—event triggers, dialogue flags, affection point deltas—each timestamped, clean, and maddeningly off.

Rae rubbed her temple with the heel of her hand.

Something wasn’t adding up.

The perfect-score flag on a surprise assessment? Plausible. Hidden aptitude modifier, likely buried in her character class. But the plush? The item ID didn’t match any known category. Same with the flowers. She’d scoured the asset library three times. Nothing. No origin. No metadata.

Rae opened the romance arc framework and froze.

Claire’s record now had a string of recent modifiers that shouldn’t exist. Variable labels she didn’t remember writing. Affection deltas... way too high.

She stared at the screen, suspicion crawling up her spine.

Then came the knock.

A sharp rap at the door—too polite to be Rod, too confident to be Misha.

Rae frowned.

It was her off day.

Sighing, she shoved the chair back, slipped the slate beneath a towel, and crossed the room to open the door.

“Oh.”

Claire stood in the hallway like a painting—immaculate, aloof, with a ribbon of gold just barely peeking from behind her back. Lene was behind her, radiating fond exasperation, arms full of books.

A rush of scent hit Rae immediately—sweet, heady, unmistakable. And spied a pressed Everbloom flower peeking between the book pages.

The flowers.

They hadn’t just been thrown. They’d been kept.

Rae stepped back, almost involuntarily.

“Am I needed somewhere?” she asked, scanning the hallway for clues.

Claire stepped inside without waiting for an answer. “You didn’t show up today.”

Her voice was calm. Too calm.

Rae frowned. “It’s my rest day.”

Lene breezed past and deposited the books in Rae’s arms. “Miss Claire thought you might benefit from companionship while studying.”

“I had a perfect score in my last assessment.”

“I’m supervising your exam prep,” Claire added breezily, ignoring Rae’s outburst. “No servant of mine should score poorly on any exams or assessements.”

Rae was too stunned to roll her eyes. Her gaze was fixed on the soft navy-and-gold fabric barely visible behind Claire’s back.

Wait.

“...Is that the otter?”

Claire froze for half a second, then leveled her with a glare. “Ralaire accompanies me for emotional support. It’s perfectly reasonable.”

Rae blinked at her. “That’s not even in your inventory.”

Claire tilted her head. “What?”

“Nothing,” Rae muttered, heart thudding in her ears. “He suits you. He’s kind of smug.”

Claire held the plush tighter, narrowing her eyes. “He is dignified. Unlike some people I know, who keep dropping off gifts and fleeing before I can even say thank you.”

“I don’t flee.”

“Oh? Then what was the perfect-score otter incident? Or the mystical bouquet drop-off? Or the chocolate cake?”

“I thought you didn’t like the flowers! And you kept frowning at the cake like it offended you,” Rae shot back before she could stop herself.

Claire blinked. “What?”

Rae repeated softly, “You frowned at the cake. And you didn’t use the bouquet for any public event. I figured it wasn’t your taste.”

Claire’s expression softened all at once, the air between them shifting.

“Commoner,” she said quietly. “I put them beside my bed. I wake up to them every morning. And the cake does goes well with the tea.”

Rae’s thoughts skidded to a halt.

Claire stepped closer, close enough that Rae could see the little flecks of green in her eyes, the way they darkened at the edges when she was feeling something too big to say.

“Next time,” Claire said, voice low and sure, “maybe don’t run off. Stay. See what I do with the things you give me.”

It hit Rae like a slow flood. She’d been reading signs, looking for system responses, coding logic into moments that had nothing to do with triggers.

Claire wasn’t reacting like a character.

She was just... reacting. As herself.

“I…” Rae’s voice cracked slightly. “I might need to reevaluate my understanding of how romance works.” And my qualifications as a romance sim developer.

Claire’s lips twitched into something halfway between a smirk and something too soft to name. “You’re such a weirdo.”

Then she walked to Rae’s bed and sat down like she owned the place. Ralaire in one arm. Rae’s dignity in the other.

Lene left with a hurried goodbye.

Rae didn’t move, still replaying the conversation, the weight of it just sinking in.

“Rae,” Claire called gently, patting the space beside her. “Come here.”

Rae closed the door slowly and obeyed.

She sat stiffly, still clutching the books.

Claire reached up, her fingers grazing Rae’s jaw—so light it barely registered before it was real.

Then she leaned in.

The kiss was soft, chaste, a single press of lips that felt more like a promise than a declaration.

Rae froze. Then kissed her back.

Just once.

When they pulled apart, Rae’s eyes were wide. Her breath hitched.

“What—” she began.

“Consider that,” Claire said, a little breathless, “my official response.”

Claire plucked a book from her arms like nothing had happened, leaned against her shoulder, and began to read. Calm. Elegant. So very Claire.

Ralaire, dignified as ever, sat between them like a knowing chaperone.

Rae shifted automatically to make her more comfortable, mind reeling.

She didn’t speak for a long moment.

But when she finally exhaled, it was with the quiet, defeated realization of someone who knew her heart had just been claimed and categorized—without permission, without logic.

“…I’m doomed,” she muttered.

Claire smiled faintly into her book.

“Correct.”

Chapter 11: The School Festival (of course)

The grounds buzzed with overlapping music and laughter as the school prepare for the upcoming festival. Rae was perfectly content to watch from the sidelines, leaning against a post with a paper cup of something too sweet in hand. She’d forgotten how much school festival events brought out the worst excesses in a game developer’s design instincts. Timed romance triggers, bonus affection events, awkwardly scripted confessions in the rose garden. It is where the player will spend the most time trying to max out the affection points. 

A dangerous time to be in the wrong place at the wrong moment.

Unfortunately, Rae had been in exactly the wrong hallway when Rod had cornered her that morning, flanked by Yu and Thane, grinning like a wolf who’d spotted fresh meat.

“You’re helping with the school play,” Rod had said, as if that were already law.

Which was why she now sat in the back of the auditorium, staring at a printed script that looked like it had been mangled by three different authors with entirely different visions.

Onstage, the student council was half-arguing, half-rehearsing. Claire, in full costume for her role as the aristocratic heroine, stood with arms crossed, radiating elegant disapproval. Rod was making grand gestures that had nothing to do with the scene. Yu, sitting beside Rae, was reading his lines in a monotone as though testing their durability against sheer boredom.

“Who wrote this?” Rae muttered, flipping a page. The dialogue swung from period drama to modern slang in the space of two lines.

Yu leaned over. “I think it was supposed to be romantic, but I’m playing her childhood friend and these lines make me sound like a stalker.”

Rae took the script from him and scanned his highlighted part. She winced. “Yeah, no. This reads like someone mashed together two dating sim routes and didn’t bother to merge the flags.”

She reached into her bag for a pen. Without thinking, she started crossing out phrases, re-ordering exchanges, and adding stage directions that actually matched the emotional beats. “Okay, try this,” she said, handing it back.

Yu read aloud the new version, eyebrows lifting. “Huh. That… actually flows better. I sound less like I’m hiding in the basement.”

“Good. Again, but lean into the second line more—it’ll set up her response.” Rae was already adjusting the next section, smoothing transitions, and mentally mapping the scene’s pacing.

The two of them fell into a quiet, focused rhythm: Yu reading, Rae tweaking, Yu giving feedback, Rae adjusting again. It was the kind of iterative process she’d done a thousand times in dev rooms, only with better lighting and considerably worse costumes.

They were so absorbed that they didn’t notice when the rest of the group drifted over.

“What are you two plotting?” Rod’s voice cut in, equal parts curiosity and suspicion.

“Fixing the script,” Yu said before Rae could claim innocence.

“Script doesn’t need fixing,” Rod said automatically, but he took the pages from Yu’s hand anyway. He read a few lines, his grin faltering into something more thoughtful. “…Okay, that’s actually better.”

Claire stepped closer, her shadow falling over Rae’s notes. “May I see?”

Rae hesitated—Claire in character was a little too distracting—but handed her the revised section. Claire read it silently, her lips twitching at the new cadence. “It reads cleaner. The heroine’s motivation is clearer in this version.”

Thane, lounging against a prop pillar, looked up. “What about my lines? Can you make me sound less like a pompous idiot?”

“Rod wrote it himself,” Yu pointed out dryly. Rod puffed up his chest with pride.

“Exactly, which is why they’re too good for this play,” Thane said.

Rae pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine. Give me your part.”

It was over after that. One moment she was doing minor touch-ups for Yu, the next she had all four scripts in her lap, the group hovering like she was some rare animal they’d finally coaxed into the open. Rae’s pen flew across the pages, rewriting chunks wholesale, tossing in cues to smooth scene changes, trimming dead weight.

“Wait—if you change that line, then the third act won’t make sense,” Yu said, leaning in.

“That’s why I’m merging the subplot into the main arc,” Rae replied without looking up. “You’ll still get your big reveal, but it won’t derail the pacing.”

Rod pointed at a margin note. “What does this mean? ‘Play it like a reluctant confession’?”

“It means stop smirking when you say it. You’re not seducing the entire audience, just the heroine.”

Claire, reading over Rae’s shoulder, actually smothered a laugh. “That might be impossible for him.”

An hour later, the stage manager was blinking at the heavily marked script like he’d just been handed a completely different production.

“So… Rae’s the director now?” he said slowly.

“No,” Rae said at the same time Rod said, “Obviously.”

Yu gestured at the rewritten stack. “You’ve basically re-blocked the entire play. Might as well see it through.”

Rae looked around. Everyone was staring at her with varying degrees of expectation. Claire’s expression was the worst—polite, poised, but with that subtle curve to her mouth that said she’d already decided the outcome.

Rae sighed. “Fine. But if I’m doing this, you all follow the damn script.”

“Deal,” Rod said cheerfully.

“Under protest,” Thane added.

Claire only inclined her head in that elegant way of hers, as though this had been the plan from the beginning.

By the time they broke for the evening, the “school play” bore almost no resemblance to the original draft. Rae had tightened the pacing, clarified the relationships, and even added a few moments she recognized—reluctantly—from classic festival romance flags. If the developers of this world had been watching, they’d have been both horrified and impressed.

Back in the wings, Misha appeared with a paper cup of tea, eyeing the group as they rehearsed under Rae’s direction. “So… when exactly did you agree to this?”

“I didn’t,” Rae muttered, flipping through her notes.

Misha smirked. “Looks like you did to me.”

Out on stage, Yu delivered his revised confession with a sincerity that actually made Claire pause before responding. Thane’s pompousness had been dialed down to charming banter. Even Rod’s theatrics had focus now.

It was almost… good.

Which, Rae realized with a faint sinking feeling, meant she was now officially invested.

---

By the next day, Rae had convinced herself that yesterday’s “accidental director” incident was a one-off. She’d smooth the script a little more, sit through a run-through, and then hand the whole mess back to the student council with her polite resignation.

That was the plan.

The plan did not survive the first ten minutes of rehearsal.

On stage, Claire and Yu were in the middle of the garden confession scene—one Rae had rewritten in a haze of caffeine and narrative logic. She’d tightened the beats, added pauses in the dialogue to heighten the tension, even slotted in a prop handkerchief for Claire to offer. It was textbook festival drama structure.

Which, unfortunately, was also textbook romance flag territory.

Yu knelt slightly, eyes fixed on Claire. “Even if the world turned against you… I’d still be by your side.”

Claire’s hand rose, the embroidered handkerchief fluttering delicately. “Then… perhaps I should trust you with my heart.”

Rae nearly choked on her tea. That’s a direct romance route trigger. In a game, picking this choice would instantly bump affection by twenty points and lock in a confession CG by the festival finale.

 She could also feel Misha’s glare from behind.

“Stop,” Rae blurted, waving her hand. “Claire, on that last line—less sincerity. More… formal courtesy.”

Claire tilted her head, amused. “You wish me to downplay the emotional weight?”

“Yes. Exactly. Keep it cool.” Rae didn’t add, so the heroine route doesn’t trigger and accidentally make Yu the love interest.

Yu looked faintly betrayed. “But this is my big emotional moment.”

“It’s act two,” Rae said flatly. “You’ll peak too early.”

Rod, lounging in the front row, snorted. “That’s what she said.”

“Rod.” Rae didn’t even glance at him. “Page thirty-seven, your scene’s next. Read it.”

Yu gave her one last wounded glance before stepping back. Claire’s expression, though poised, carried a flicker of curiosity Rae did not like.

The next scene was worse.

Thane entered with a basket of roses—her addition, meant to give him a prop and occupy his hands so he’d stop leaning on pillars like a rejected romance cover model. But the moment he strode up to Claire and offered a bloom, Rae saw it: the way the lighting crew had set the angle, the way the rose framed her face.

That’s a blooming CG event. Literally.

Claire accepted the rose with a faint smile, her eyes meeting Thane’s. Rae’s inner game dev brain screamed affection +15.

“Pause!” Rae called. She marched onto the stage and plucked the rose from Claire’s hand. “You can’t hand it to her like that. Too… deliberate. Toss it into the basket on the table instead.”

Thane blinked. “Why? It’s romantic.”

“Exactly,” Rae said.

“That’s bad?” Rod asked, amused. Yu grinned knowingly.

“For pacing.” She tried to sound casual. “You want the big moments at the end, not halfway through.”

Claire’s gaze lingered on Rae for a beat too long, a faint smile curving her lips. “You seem quite… invested in controlling the flow of events, Commoner.”

Rae ignored the heat creeping up her neck. “I’m invested in not having act three feel anticlimactic.”

They resumed, but Rae could feel the script tightening around her like a noose. Every line she’d rewritten to “make sense” had incidentally become a perfectly balanced series of romantic cues—paired entries, meaningful silences, small physical touches. In game logic, these weren’t just flags; they were neon-lit billboards screaming Route Progressed!

Halfway through act three’s rehearsal, she caught Misha leaning against the back wall, watching her with open amusement.

“Seems like you are busy defusing the scenes today,” Misha murmured when Rae stalked over during a scene change.

“I wrote a landmine,” Rae muttered. “Several landmines. And they’re stacking.”

Misha smirked. “And who exactly are you worried will step on them?”

“Everyone,” Rae said grimly. She didn’t mention that one particular aristocratic blonde had been the unintentional focus of at least three of those moments.

Her worst fears crystallized in the final scene of the day: the moonlit rooftop farewell. In the original draft, it had been melodramatic and nonsensical. Rae had rebuilt it into something cleaner, more bittersweet, with a slow approach and a final, lingering look before the curtain fell.

Claire stepped into the light, her gown catching silver highlights. Yu, fully committed to his role, matched her pace, their gazes locking. The silence stretched, the air thick with unsaid words.

That’s a full confession flag. And a possible accidental marriage proposal flag if the right dialogue choice is picked.

“Cut!” Rae’s voice was sharper than intended. Everyone jumped.

Yu frowned. “What now?”

“You’re too close,” Rae said, striding between them. “Leave more space—this isn’t the finale.”

“It is the finale,” Thane pointed out.

“Of act four,” Rae shot back.

Claire’s eyes sparkled with something between mischief and interest. “Perhaps,” she said softly, “you’re simply worried about the implications.”

Rae froze. “Implications?”

“That when one invests so much in guiding another’s path… one might forget they, too, are onstage.”

It took Rae a beat too long to process the double edge of that remark. Her brain scrambled for a safe retort, found none, and settled on muttering, “Just… hit your marks.”

By the end of rehearsal, the student council members were still bickering good-naturedly over their scenes, Misha was openly grinning at Rae’s distress, and Rae herself was half-convinced she’d just built the most romance-heavy school festival play in the history of the academy.

Best of all, she’d have to direct every single scene to completion.

---

On the actual day, Rae had thought she’d prepared for every contingency.
She’d triple-checked blocking. She’d drilled line pacing until even Rod knew his cues without prompting. She’d personally replaced the rose basket with a neutral fruit bowl to avoid that scene escalating.

And still, as the curtain rose, she had a bad feeling in her gut.

From the wings, Rae watched act one unfold. The first two scenes went smoothly—no ad-libs, no accidental hand brushes, no audience “oohs.” She started to believe, just for a moment, that her carefully rewired script would hold.

Then Rod happened.

His “hero’s entrance” line was supposed to be a simple “Fear not, for I have returned.” Instead, he strode in, threw his cloak over his shoulder, and smirked directly at the audience.

“Fear not, my love. For I have returned to your arms.”

Rae’s hands clenched into fists. That’s not in the script.

Across the stage, Yu visibly froze before fumbling his response. Claire, to her credit, covered the awkward beat with aristocratic grace, tilting her chin and delivering her next line as if Rod’s choice had been planned all along.

It got applause.

Act two was worse.

Thane, ignoring her fruit-bowl substitution, had smuggled in an actual rose. Rae only realized it when the petals caught the spotlight. Her stomach dropped.

He offered it to Claire, clearly relishing the audience’s collective sigh. And Claire… took it. Slowly. Fingers brushing his.

The crowd loved it.

Affection +15. Possibly +20 with the bonus lighting. Rae could practically hear the invisible stat counters in her head ticking upward.

By act three, the cast had caught on that the audience adored any hint of romantic tension—and they were leaning into it with reckless abandon. Yu’s pauses grew longer. Rod’s hand gestures became unnecessarily lingering. Thane started circling Claire like a wolf in a period drama.

Rae’s frantic hand signals from the wings were ignored.

Then came the rooftop scene. The big, bittersweet farewell she’d tried to keep measured and platonic.

Claire stepped forward, moonlight catching on her hair. Yu matched her pace, eyes intent. Rae held her breath, silently praying they’d stick to the script.

They did not.

Instead of stopping at the safe, “respectable” distance Rae had rehearsed, Claire closed the gap until only a breath separated them. She reached out, unscripted, and lightly touched Yu’s cheek.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Rae’s pulse spiked. That’s an endgame confession flag. That’s—

“—But perhaps,” Claire said softly, her gaze flicking for the briefest moment toward the wings where Rae stood, “my heart belongs somewhere else.”

It was a throwaway line to the audience. But Rae felt it like a direct hit. Her brain stuttered. Her hands went cold.

Yu blinked, visibly thrown, before rallying with a gallant bow. “Then may the one you choose treasure it always.”

The curtain fell to wild applause.

Backstage erupted into chatter and laughter, everyone flushed from the energy of the crowd. Rae tried to retreat into the shadows, but Claire was already striding toward her, rose still in hand.

“You were very quiet during that last scene, Rae,” Claire said, voice low enough that only Rae could hear.

“I was—” Rae swallowed. “Making sure you hit your marks.”

Claire’s smile was faint and far too knowing. “Oh, I believe I did.”

Before Rae could reply, Claire brushed past, leaving only the faint scent of her perfume and the uncomfortable realization that Rae’s entire strategy had not only failed—it had backfired spectacularly.

Because somehow, in trying to keep the play romance-free, Rae had built the perfect stage for Claire to improvise her own.

The greenroom was a mess of half-unbuttoned costumes, makeup wipes, and the smell of hairspray clinging to everything like smoke. Someone had dragged in the leftover festival snacks, and Rod was sprawled on the couch with a skewer in each hand like a man who’d just won a war.

“You see that standing ovation?” he announced to no one in particular. “We crushed it. Totally unscripted. Totally electric!”

“Totally off-script,” Rae muttered from her post by the prop table, where she was attempting to de-petal the smuggled rose into something less lethal to her sanity.

Rod glanced over, grinning. “You’re welcome.”

Before Rae could retort, Yu dropped into the chair beside her, still in his doublet and with one smudge of stage makeup under his eye. He was practically glowing.

“I didn’t think the rewrite would work this well,” he said, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “The pacing? The new beats? That last scene had people holding their breath.”

“That last scene was not in the rewrite,” Rae said flatly.

Yu shrugged, too pleased with himself to care. “You gave me the foundation. I just… built on it. Adapted in the moment.”

Adapted. Rae’s jaw tightened. That was one word for tripping over multiple romance flags with a torch in hand.

Before she could mount a proper argument, Misha materialized at her other side like a demon summoned by the scent of impending gossip. She had a paper cup of festival cider in one hand and an expression Rae didn’t like in the slightest.

“So,” Misha began, drawing the word out like taffy. “How does it feel, Director?”

“I’m never doing this again,” Rae said without looking at her.

“Uh-huh.” Misha sipped her cider. “You do realize you choreographed the perfect setting for Claire to say that line, right?”

Rae’s ears heated. “It was a safe, neutral line. Until she made it about—” She stopped, realizing she had no safe ending for that sentence.

Misha pounced. “About who?”

Rae stared very hard at the prop basket, mumbling about the play losing it focus.

Across the room, Claire was speaking with one of the professors, still in costume, the rose twirling idly between her fingers. The lighting in here was too warm, too flattering, and Rae wished someone would turn it off so she could think clearly.

Yu followed Rae’s gaze. “She really sold that moment,” he said. “Made it feel like… something personal.”

Misha’s eyes lit. “Ohhh. Did she look at Rae when she said it?”

“No,” Rae said quickly. Too quickly.

Misha grinned like a cat presented with an unlocked birdcage. “You’re such a bad liar.”

Before Rae could shove her off, the conversation in the room shifted. Claire was crossing toward them. The hum of chatter around them seemed to fade, just slightly, the way it always did when she walked in.

“Commoner.”

Rae straightened instinctively. “Milady.”

Claire stopped just close enough for Rae to catch the faint scent of her perfume—something floral, with an edge of citrus that made Rae’s thoughts stumble.

“I wanted to thank you,” Claire said, voice pitched low enough that only Rae and the two nosy satellites at her sides could hear. “Your… adjustments gave the performance more heart than I anticipated.”

Rae cleared her throat. “You did most of that yourself.”

Claire tilted her head, as though weighing whether to push further. “Perhaps. But you guided us there. That final scene, for instance—your direction made it possible for me to say exactly what I wanted to say.”

There was a pause. Rae felt it down her spine.

Misha was practically stunned. Yu, thankfully, just looked curious.

“…Right,” Rae said finally. “Well. Glad it worked.”

Claire smiled—small, deliberate—and let her gaze linger for a beat too long before stepping back. “Let’s enjoy the rest of the festival.”

And then she was gone, her skirts brushing past the curtain as if she’d never been there.

Rae realized she’d been holding her breath.

“Oh my god,” Misha hissed, turning on her. “She meant something. She meant it.”

“She meant the performance,” Rae said, forcing her voice into something resembling calm. “You’re reading into it.”

“You’re not reading into it enough,” Misha shot back before turning to Yu. “Back me up here.”

Yu frowned thoughtfully. “It was… unusual phrasing for that scene. And she didn’t really break eye contact with you, Rae.”

Rae scrubbed a hand over her face. “Both of you stop.”

But they didn’t. Of course they didn’t.

By the time Rae escaped the greenroom, she’d been subjected to three different conspiracy theories, two offers from Rod to “coach” her in improvised romance dialogue, and one more look from Claire across the corridor that Rae couldn’t begin to decode.

 

---

Rae had been making her way through the lantern-lit courtyard, weaving between stalls selling candied fruit and paper masks, when the familiar sound of Claire’s laughter caught her ear. She spotted her easily with the crowd clustered like moths to a flame.

Claire was in the middle of it all, still in her costume from the play, a ribbon loose in her hair, looking every inch the heroine the festival had decided she was. Students leaned in with animated praise, their voices overlapping.

“Your delivery was perfect!”
“I’ve never seen the audience so quiet.”
“That final line just give me chills. Absolute chills.”

Claire took it all in with the grace of someone born to it. A polite nod here, a warm smile there. Rae slowed, deciding to let her enjoy the attention for a moment. But she quickly noticed that some of the compliments were sliding off script.

“Your smile at the end…” one boy was saying, leaning a bit too close, “it felt like it was meant for someone in particular.”

Claire tilted her head, unruffled. “It was meant for the audience,” she replied smoothly.

Another girl chimed in, “But those lines in the last act? That wasn’t in the original draft.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Rumor is the director rewrote them herself.”

Claire’s smile didn’t falter. “Is that so?”

“Oh, totally,” the girl pressed. “And if you listen closely… it almost sounds like a love letter.”

A ripple of speculation passed through the group. Someone gasped softly. “Wait, are you saying—”

“I’m saying maybe,” the girl drawled, “the mystery director had someone specific in mind when she wrote it.”

“That would explain why the emotions hit so hard,” another voice added. “It felt… personal.”

Claire’s expression was unreadable now, though Rae didn’t miss the faint upward twitch at the corner of her mouth.

And then, like the universe deciding Rae had suffered too little embarrassment in life, one of the costumed boys glanced over, squinted, and pointed. “Hang on… isn’t that her? The director?”

Half the circle turned. Rae froze mid-step.

“Yeah, it’s Rae!” another student said, eyes bright with recognition. “Yu told me she basically rewrote the whole second act. She even fixed the timing for the festival fireworks cue.”

“That’s why it worked so perfectly!”
“Wow, you’re like—behind-the-scenes genius level.”

Rae raised her hands, backing up a step. “I just—helped with pacing, that’s all—”

“No way, that confession scene?” someone interrupted. “That had to come from experience. Who was it for?”

“I—what? No one—”

“Oh my god,” a girl whispered suddenly, eyes darting between Rae and Claire. “It’s them.”

A few others followed her gaze, and the murmurs swelled.

“It is them.”
“That would be so romantic.”
“Director x Lead Actress—festival power couple!”

Rae felt heat climb up her neck. “Absolutely not.”

Claire, infuriatingly, did not rush to deny it. She simply turned her head, met Rae’s eyes across the crowd, and smiled. It was subtle, but it made Rae’s stomach tighten all the same.

The circle was starting to close in. Someone touched Rae’s sleeve. “So when’s the next play? Will it be another love story?”

Rae exhaled sharply. Enough.

She stepped forward, closing the space between herself and Claire, and said evenly, “Excuse us.” Then, before anyone could react, she took Claire’s hand and pulled her through the nearest gap in the crowd.

Voices followed them—calls of “Director!” and “Claire!”—but Rae didn’t look back. They cut through the throng, ducked down a side path, and slipped under a stone arch into a quieter courtyard where the fountain’s soft trickle replaced the festival noise.

Only then did Rae let go. “Sorry,” she said, still catching her breath. “It was getting—”

“Crowded?” Claire offered, arching a brow.

“…Complicated,” Rae muttered.

Claire’s lips curved faintly. “You didn’t have to step in. I can handle compliments.”

“I know,” Rae said, “but some of them weren’t talking about the play anymore.”

“Ah,” Claire said lightly. “So you were… protecting me?”

“Managing the chaos,” Rae corrected.

Claire stepped closer, lanternlight glinting in her eyes. “You managed it straight onto yourself, Commoner.”

“That wasn’t the plan.”

“And yet,” Claire murmured, “you handled it.”

Rae looked away. “I just wanted to get you out of there.”

“Mission accomplished,” Claire said.

They stood there for a beat longer than necessary, the quiet stretched taut. Rae still felt the ghost of Claire’s hand in hers, and from the faint curve to Claire’s smile, she had a sinking suspicion Claire knew it too.

“It would be a shame to hide away now,” Claire said, tilting her head towards the noise. “We’ve already missed most of the festival due to the play.”

Rae glanced toward the archway they’d just ducked under. “You’re sure? We might run into…”

“More admirers?” Claire’s mouth curved. “I’m counting on it.”

Rae sighed but didn’t argue. “Fine. But if the shipping rumors get any worse, you’re answering them.”

Claire only hummed, as if that sounded like an entirely pleasant prospect.

---

The festival air had shifted. The scent of grilled yakitori and candied fruit clung to the breeze, laced with the chatter of students drifting between stalls. After the chaos of the school play—and the unexpected aftermath of her “accidental” directorial debut—Rae was more than ready to sink into anonymity again.

No such luck.

They couldn’t take ten steps without someone whispering about the script.

“I heard the whole second act was rewritten overnight.”
“Wasn’t it Rae who did it?”
“Some people think that balcony scene was a confession.”

Rae stuffed her hands into her pockets, pretending she hadn’t heard any of it. Claire walked beside her, seemingly unbothered, though Rae caught the occasional upward twitch of her lips whenever a particularly absurd rumor floated their way.

“You’re enjoying this,” Rae muttered under her breath.

“Perhaps,” Claire replied, tone velvet and infuriatingly amused. “It’s not every day I get to be the leading actress. Accompanied by the mysterious director.”

Rae rolled her eyes, but there was no bite in it. “It was just fixing a few clunky lines for everyone. The original script was a disaster.”

“Mm.” Claire’s sidelong glance was all skepticism. “And yet half the school seems to think you’ve been writing love letters disguised as dialogue.”

Rae decided that the safest course of action was to change the subject entirely. “Hungry?”

They wove through the festival stalls until a small display caught Rae’s eye. A stand tucked in the corner of the courtyard was selling hand-crafted glass charms shaped like little blossoms—each one catching the sunlight in shifting colors. Rae slowed, drawn in despite herself.

She picked one up: a pale lavender bloom, delicate but sturdy in her palm. It reminded her, absurdly, of the flowers she’d given Claire the other day.

“This one,” she said, before she could overthink it. She paid the vendor, turned, and held it out to Claire without ceremony. “For the performance. You were… pretty good up there.”

Claire took the charm, fingers brushing Rae’s in a deliberate pause. “Just ‘pretty good’?” she asked, voice low.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Rae replied, but her ears felt warmer than they should.

They continued walking, Claire turning the charm over in her hand, letting the sunlight play across its surface. Rae caught her doing it more than once, and a small, stupid part of her felt lighter because of it.

The chatter about the play followed them everywhere. Students from other classes called out congratulations, others teased them about the “chemistry” in certain rewritten scenes. Misha had apparently been cornered earlier by a gaggle of underclassmen asking if Rae and Claire were a thing. Rae was half-tempted to track down whoever started that rumor and hide in a storage closet for the rest of the semester.

By the time they found an empty bench under a paper lantern, Rae was almost relaxed. The lantern swayed gently in the late afternoon breeze, casting warm shadows across the paving stones. Claire sat beside her, posture perfect as always, but her gaze was somewhere distant—probably replaying the performance in her head.

“You’re quiet,” Rae said.

“I’m thinking about something,” Claire replied. Then, after a beat: “There’s one line I can’t stop wondering about.”

Rae gave her a wary look. “Which line?”

Claire’s lips curved, slow and deliberate. “You know exactly which one.”

Rae did. And it was one of the new ones she’d scribbled in during the frenzy of last-minute rewrites—a line that, if she was being honest, hadn’t needed to be there at all.

Claire leaned forward, eyes bright. “Say it.”

Rae blinked. “What, now?”

“Yes. Now.”

Rae hesitated, glancing away toward the milling crowd. “You realize this is ridiculous.”

“I realize you’re stalling.”

Somehow, she found herself turning back to meet Claire’s gaze. Her pulse felt stupidly loud in her ears.

She drew in a breath, got down on one knee and recited the line—not just the words, but the tone and action she’d imagined when she wrote it:

“I’d cross the whole stage, the whole world, if it meant you’d look at me like that again.”

The words hung between them, heavier than they had any right to be. Claire didn’t break eye contact.

Rae only realized they had an audience when she heard the sound of someone stifling a squeal.

She turned her head just enough to catch a cluster of familiar figures lurking behind a nearby stall—Misha, Yu, Rod, and, unbelievably, Thane—all half-hidden but not even pretending they weren’t watching. Misha was biting her knuckle to keep from laughing, Yu had the decency to look slightly guilty, and Rod was already whispering something to Thane that earned him an elbow in the ribs.

Rae closed her eyes for a moment, inhaled slowly, and muttered, “Of course.”

Claire, naturally, didn’t so much as glance in their direction. She just sat back with the air of someone who had won something important. The faintest blush touched her cheeks, but her voice was perfectly smooth when she said, “That’s terrible. You should taking acting classes.”

Rae rubbed at the back of her neck, feeling about three different flavors of embarrassment. “Happy now?”

“Not quite,” Claire replied, and Rae had no idea if she was teasing or telling the truth.

The lantern above them swayed again, scattering gold-tinged light across their faces. Somewhere nearby, the festival music shifted to something slow and lilting. The sound of laughter from the stalls wrapped around them, warm and alive.

For a moment, Rae let herself forget the stares, the rumors, the crowd of very obvious onlookers. She just watched Claire turn the glass blossom in her hands, the colors flickering across her skin.

And thought that maybe rewriting that play hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

---

By Monday morning, the play was still being performed — not on stage, but in whispers, giggles, and dramatic reenactments across the entire campus.

The art club had already posted stills from the performance on the student bulletin board, complete with lovingly calligraphed captions. The drama club’s president was overheard in the cafeteria loudly proclaiming that no one had expected the “rewritten” version to be that… charged.

Some claimed Rae’s direction had turned a half-baked school play into a subtle romance masterpiece. Others swore the script was a thinly veiled confession to “a certain someone” — which naturally meant the rumor mill had paired Rae and Claire as the obvious candidates.

By lunch, someone had created a “Best Lines from the Festival Play” thread on the school forum. Rae’s recited line from the closing scene — the one she’d delivered to Claire after the festival, in what she thought was a private moment — had somehow made it onto the list. It sat there, highlighted in bold, under the caption: “The way she looked at her—HELLO???”

Misha, of course, found this hilarious. She read snippets out loud at the table, deliberately switching her voice to imitate Rae’s deadpan delivery. “I would choose you in every story, no matter how it’s written. Oh my god, Rae, were you trying to start a campus-wide war?”

Rae groaned and tried to bury her face in her lunch. “It wasn’t like that. It was just a line from the play.”

Claire, seated across from them, didn’t say much. She simply sipped her tea with the air of someone supremely unbothered — though the faint upward curve at the corner of her lips didn’t escape Rae’s notice.

By the end of the week, the student paper had run an editorial titled ‘When Festival Art Imitates Life’, and the last paragraph speculated — without naming names, of course — that “perhaps the best performances are drawn from genuine feeling.”

Rae decided she was never directing anything ever again.

Chapter 12: All in the Name of Research

Rae leaned back in her chair, eyes fixed on the faint glow of the slate. Lines of text scrolled slowly past — developer logs she’d been combing through for the better part of an hour.

School festival event data, dialogue branch records, minor NPC state changes… All neatly filed in the game’s hidden backend. If this were a normal playthrough, she knew what she’d be seeing right now.

After the school festival, there was always an interlude. A breather in the pacing before the game quietly shifted into the next major arc — a time to lock in certain affection points, trigger key relationship flags, or in some routes… to begin the slow unraveling of the heroine’s fate.

That’s what should’ve been happening.

But Claire François wasn’t following the script.

In the original game, the Claire route had a tell-tale pattern displaying subtle but unmistakable signs of her impending “downfall” arc. Coolness in her interactions. A tendency toward self-isolation. A brittle, almost imperceptible edge in her voice that even her admirers failed to catch.

Here? Nothing.

If anything, Claire’s recent behaviour had been warmer. Sharper in wit, yes, but also more openly engaged with the people around her. She’d genuinely laughed during rehearsals, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She engaged in playful banter with her classmates and co-stars. She’d even humoured Rae’s “director instincts” without complaint, despite the chaos of the rewritten play.

And now, staring at the logs, Rae found… nothing. No indication that the system had registered a deviation, no new hidden affection flags, not even a stray debug note that might hint at a branching point.

Rae tapped her pen against the desk, brows knitting.

Her developer instinct whispered that this was wrong.

If Claire was going off-script, and Rae’s gut told her she was, then why wasn’t the game acknowledging it?

The thought nagged at her, heavier than it should’ve been.

She put away the slate with a sigh, rubbing her temples. With summer holidays approaching, the academy schedule was thinning out. That meant less opportunity to monitor Claire’s in-game behaviour from the safety of school events… and more chance for unseen story beats to slip past her.

Which meant she needed to look elsewhere.

If the logs wouldn’t tell her anything, maybe the town would. Events, errands, chance encounters — the sort of filler content players skimmed past without thinking. That was often where the developers hid their cleverest flags.

Rae leaned back, already picturing the cobblestone streets and bustling markets of the nearby town.

If the game wouldn’t give her the answers in code, she’d find them in person.

---

The Saturday sun was already warming the flagstones by the time Rae stepped through the academy gates, light filtering through the lazy sway of early-summer trees. Few “odd jobs” hinted at background plot events.

It was routine — a sweep of the usual NPCs and hotspots where information tended to pool — but Rae kept her senses tuned for anything out of pattern. An overheard rumor. A shopkeeper acting out of character. Any subtle shift that might hint the game’s systems were quietly rewriting the story around Claire.

She was just about to cut through the main lane when she spotted two familiar figures in the crowd.

Claire François, dressed in a pale summer dress, was examining silk ribbons at a stall, while Lene stood beside her holding two neat boxes and a wrapped parcel. Claire’s hair caught the light, almost glowing, her posture perfectly poised even here among the bustle. Rae froze mid-step.

Perfect. She could just turn, slip down the next street, and—

“Ah, Rae,” Lene said, noticing her instantly. “What a coincidence.”

Busted. Rae put on a polite smile. “Lene. Lady Claire.”

Lene glanced down at the packages in her arms, her expression faintly regretful. “I was just about to return these to the carriage before they become unwieldy. Lady Claire was still browsing.” She hesitated, eyes flicking between them. “Would you mind accompanying her until I return?”

Rae’s gaze narrowed. Lene’s tone was mild, but Rae had known her long enough to catch the tiny tell in her voice — the one that meant I will disappear for more than an hour so take all the time you need.

“Of course,” Rae said purely because refusing would only draw more attention.

Claire looked up from the ribbons, an unreadable gleam in her eye. “It seems fate insists on throwing us together in the most unexpected places, Commoner.”

“Seems so,” Rae replied evenly.

As Lene moved off toward the carriage, Claire stepped away from the stall. “So,” she said, her tone casual but pointed, “what brings you to town today? Shopping for yourself? Or… something else?”

“Just looking around,” Rae said, sidestepping the truth. “Checking in with a few people. Seeing what’s new.”

“Mm.” Claire’s lips curved faintly, though Rae couldn’t tell if it was amusement or suspicion. “Well, since we’ve crossed paths, you may as well walk with me.”

It wasn’t phrased like a question.

And Rae, despite herself, fell into step beside her.

---

They’d barely made it halfway down the market lane before Rae’s eyes flicked toward the side street leading to the tavern. It was still a little early, but if she wanted a word with the owner, she’d need a plausible reason to be there.

“Have you had lunch yet?” Rae asked, keeping her tone casual but alert.

Claire tilted her head, curious. “Not yet. Why?”

“I know a place,” Rae said. “Quiet, good food. Might be a nice break before we continue.”

Claire studied her for a long moment, her gaze lingering just a second too long, and then nodded. “Lead the way.”

The tavern’s carved sign swayed gently in the summer breeze, its paint a little more weathered than Rae remembered. Inside, the light was warm and muted, a soft contrast to the bright market outside, carrying the scents of baking bread, roasting meat, and faint ale. Rae couldn’t help the flicker of satisfaction she felt—this was the kind of place where conversations could be private, subtle glances could go unnoticed, and most importantly, information could be gathered without alarming anyone.

Rae stepped up to the counter first. “Private table, somewhere quiet,” she said. “We’d like not to be disturbed.”

The server blinked at her, then at Claire. Rae could guess the conclusions forming in her mind, but she didn’t bother correcting them. It made keeping her cover easier.

They were led to a booth tucked into a far corner, shielded on two sides by high wooden partitions. Claire settled in, smoothing her dress, a faint quirk tugging at her lips. An expression Rae knew was just the tiniest hint of amusement, curiosity, maybe a touch of… something else.

“I’ll get us drinks,” Rae said, using it as an excuse to step away.

The tavern owner was behind the counter, polishing a glass. His sharp eyes caught her immediately. “Well, well,” he said with a grin. “Haven’t seen you in here with company before.”

Rae ignored the implication. “Two drinks, and I wanted to ask—”

“On a date, are you?” he interrupted, leaning forward, a smirk teasing at the corners of his mouth.

She blinked. “It’s not—”

“Then you’ll want the couple set,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Most popular. Comes with a shared platter, dessert for two, drinks to match. Fills you up without weighing you down. Young folks love it.”

He never said “romantic,” but the glint in his eyes did all the talking. Rae exhaled slowly, forcing her expression to stay neutral. “Just… bring the drinks first,” she said.

He smirked knowingly and moved to fill the order. Rae carried the drinks back to the booth, careful not to glance at Claire. But she could feel the other’s eyes on her. Claire’s fingers brushed the rim of her glass, delicate and deliberate, as though measuring her reaction. Rae swallowed, reminding herself it was just a meal.

“They were already pouring,” Rae said smoothly, sliding into the booth. Claire’s lips twitched in half amusement, half disbelief but she said nothing.

The drinks were followed far too quickly by a large wooden tray. Rae’s eyes narrowed. Artfully arranged meats and cheeses, a small plate of heart-shaped fruit, symmetrical halves—the works.

“Oh,” Claire murmured, glancing between Rae and the tray. “How… thoughtful of you.”

Rae didn’t rise to the bait. “It’s just what they serve here,” she said, dividing the food before Claire could add anything. “Efficient.”

Claire rested her chin on her hand, studying Rae with that faintly amused, teasing expression Rae had learned to both dread and secretly crave. “Efficient is one word. Uncharacteristically sweet is another.”

Before Rae could answer, the owner appeared at the edge of the booth with a wide grin. “Enjoy your meal. You two make a fine—” He stopped abruptly at Rae’s look, coughed, and backed away.

Claire’s smile widened, but she didn’t press, lifting a fork to taste one of the cheeses. “You have interesting taste in restaurants.”

Rae watched her. Every subtle motion—the way her eyes lingered a moment too long, the soft blush creeping up her cheeks—made Rae’s chest tighten.

“They have good… information,” Rae said carefully, letting the words be casual. When Claire focused on her plate, Rae excused herself under the pretense of fetching more bread.

At the counter, the owner was waiting. “So, how’s the food?”

Rae rolled her eyes slightly before lowering her voice. “Anything unusual lately? Unfamiliar faces asking too many questions? Deliveries that shouldn’t be here?”

He shook his head. “Nothing big. Though…” He leaned in, glancing around. “Someone’s been asking after the academy’s visiting lecturers. Said they were with a publishing house. Didn’t seem bookish types.”

“Did they leave a name?”

“No. Paid in cash. Didn’t drink much. Just… listened.”

Rae filed it away. “Thanks. Let me know if they come back.”

“Will do. In return, tell me if you have more ideas for upcoming trends. The couple set curated by you drew massive crowds last week. Especially after the school festival,” he said with a knowing smile.

Rae nodded, promising to check in next visit.

Returning to the booth, Rae noticed Claire had already eaten half the platter, relaxed in a way Rae rarely saw. Claire offered a piece of fruit without a word. Rae took it, the brush of fingers sending an unbidden shiver up her arm. She chewed slowly, acutely aware of the warmth in Claire’s gaze.

They lingered, conversation drifting from the festival to classes, to the students’ reactions to the play. Rae was acutely aware of every subtle glance, every quiet laugh, the way Claire’s hand occasionally brushed the table near hers.

By the time they left, the sun had dipped low, bathing the street in amber light. Rae had what she needed from the tavern, a new lead to follow later—but she also had something else: a flustered, almost imperceptibly smiling Claire, and the undeniable pull of something neither of them wanted to name out loud.

For now, Rae pushed the thought aside. The “couple set” would likely be whispered about all week, but something told her the real story wasn’t on the tray—it was in the quiet tension between them, simmering, unspoken, dangerous in its subtlety.

---

The bookshop sat just off the main square, tucked between a tailor and a tea house. Rae had been here often enough to know its quiet corners and, more importantly, the owner’s habit of keeping tabs on anything that passed through town — whether in conversation or in print.

She held the door open for Claire, planning to split off toward the counter while Claire got distracted by the more academic shelves. But the moment the bell above the door chimed, the owner glanced up from behind the register, grinned, and said loudly enough for two customers to look over,

“Ah, Rae it has been a while."

He peered through his glasses and his grin widened. "Are you the other half of the festival power couple?”

Rae froze mid-step. “We’re—”

“—here to browse,” Claire said smoothly, gliding past Rae with perfect composure. “Lead the way.”

The owner chuckled, wiping his hands on a cloth. “You’ve caused quite the stir, you know. Ever since that play, I’ve had a surge in romance novel sales. All these students looking for their ‘Director and Actress’ moment.”

Rae’s ears burned. “That’s—”

“Here,” the owner interrupted cheerfully, steering them toward the romance section. “Best to start here. Classics, modern tales, bittersweet endings, and happy ones.”

Rae considered staging an immediate escape. But Claire was already standing in front of the shelves, her head tilted as she read the back of a slim, elegant volume.

The sight of her in the summer dress, framed by rows of gilded spines, was enough to make Rae’s train of thought wobble dangerously.

She cleared her throat, waited until Claire was engrossed in another book, and slipped away to the counter. “I’m looking for something else,” she murmured to the owner, keeping her voice low. “Anyone unusual asking after the academy? Or for historical records?”

The owner’s genial smile didn’t falter. “Had a gentleman in two days ago asking about the academy’s school festival and the books used. Didn’t look like a scholar. Bought nothing, just took notes on what we had and left.”

“Description?” Rae asked.

“Tall, dark coat, carried himself like a soldier. Polished accent, maybe.”

Rae filed it away. “Let me know if he returns.”

Before she turned, the owner whispered, “Your books have been selling like hotcakes. Customers have been demanding for the sequel. They’re also asking for a meet-greet session with the mysterious author.”

“Will let you know when the summer holiday starts. As agreed, my identity should remain a secret,” Rae whispered back.

The owner nodded, satisfied with the answer.

Rae rejoined Claire and found her still browsing, a faint crease between her brows as if weighing whether to actually buy the book in her hands. Rae said nothing — the titles she glimpsed were decidedly in the romantic intrigue category, and she wasn’t about to hand Claire that particular conversational weapon.

At the register, the owner rang them up for Claire’s book and then, with a conspiratorial wink to Rae, produced a small paper-wrapped parcel. “A gift for this lovely lady,” he said, “as instructed by your lovely companion.”

Rae opened her mouth to protest, but Claire accepted it with a gracious nod. “How kind of you,” she smiled at Rae and tucked it neatly into her bag.

As they stepped back out into the sunlit street, Rae had the sinking feeling she’d just become part of yet another rumor cycle. And she still didn’t know what was in that package.

---

The guild board was Rae’s final stop for the day. Just a quick check of posted notices for anything suspicious — bounties, supply shortages, cryptic warnings that usually masked larger events in the game’s world logic.

It was, she told herself, the safest location so far. No candlelit tables, no crowded aisles of romance novels. Just parchment tacked onto wood, smelling faintly of ink and dust.

No chance of anything “romantic” happening here.

That thought lasted precisely three seconds.

Because there, pinned right at eye level, was a freshly printed sheet in decorative script:

“Top Ten Romantic Spots & Date Ideas for the Season — As Voted by the Academy’s Sweethearts.”

Rae felt her soul leave her body. Number one? The tavern. Number two? The bookshop.

Suppressing a groan, she moved to block the board with her body, stretching casually as though inspecting another posting. Maybe she could distract Claire before—

“What are you hiding?”

The question came from directly behind her, but it wasn’t Claire’s voice — it was Lene’s.

Rae turned to find Lene approaching, the carriage behind her. She gave Rae a curious smile before glancing toward Claire, who was standing a few steps away, scanning the square.

“Milady,” Lene called innocently, walking over. “Where have you been? I left you for an hour and…”

“The tavern and bookshop,” Claire said promptly, with the air of one reporting an entirely routine itinerary.

Lene’s gaze drifted past her to the noticeboard Rae had been guarding. Her eyes lingered on the neatly inked “Top Ten” list — then, with a bemused lift of her brows, she said, “Ah. Well, that explains it.”

“Explains what?” Claire asked, curiosity piqued.

“The tavern and bookshop happen to be ranked first and second,” Lene replied lightly, “for most popular romantic destinations in town.”

Claire tilted her head, processing this. Rae, meanwhile, tore the notice from the guild board and glared at it. She also wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

Claire’s gaze slid from Lene to Rae, then back to the list in Rae’s hands. Her lips curved in the faintest, most dangerous kind of smile — the one Rae recognized from every moment in the game when Claire was about to change the flow of a scene.

“Oh,” Claire said softly, as if speaking to herself. “Number three… is the dessert shop near the west fountain.”

Rae’s instincts screamed retreat. “It’s probably crowded,” she said quickly. “And expensive. And—”

“And highly recommended,” Claire interrupted, tilting her head just enough to make Rae meet her eyes. “They’re famous for their mille-feuille and strawberry parfaits, aren’t they? We are already in town…”

Lene gave Rae a knowing look, the sort that said she had absolutely no intention of rescuing her from whatever this was. “I’ll catch up with you later,” she said, retrieving Claire's book purchases from Rae. “The carriage will be ready whenever you’re done.”

“Done with what?” Rae asked warily.

“Your… research. Or outing,” Lene said, the corners of her mouth twitching in barely hidden amusement. “Enjoy yourselves.” And with that, she left them standing in the square.

Claire turned back to Rae, her expression perfectly composed. “Shall we?”

Rae considered making an excuse, but the way Claire’s voice wrapped around those two words made it sound less like a question and more like a trigger flag in the game’s event system. She could almost see the invisible prompt hovering over Claire’s head: Accept Invitation — Yes/No.

And Rae, despite knowing exactly how the “date” label would spread through the school like wildfire, found herself saying, “…Fine. Just dessert.”

“Of course,” Claire said, the faint smile returning. “Just dessert.”

Which, Rae thought grimly as they started walking toward the west fountain, in this game’s logic, is never “just” anything.

The dessert shop near the west fountain looked exactly the way Rae remembered it from the game design— soft golden light spilling through wide windows, lace curtains fluttering faintly, the air filled with the scent of sugar, fruit, and warm pastry. It was one of those places that seemed to exist entirely for pastel-colored cutscenes.

Claire, naturally, fit right into the scene, her white sundress and red ribbon catching the light in a way that made passersby slow down to look. Rae, by contrast, felt like she’d walked into a frame she didn’t belong in.

A server spotted them the moment they stepped inside. “Welcome!” she sang out, beaming. Her eyes flicked between Rae and Claire. Then the smile widened just a little too knowingly.

“Table for two?”

“Yes,” Claire said smoothly before Rae could open her mouth.

The server ushered them toward a small table in the corner — the kind framed by a trailing vine and a window box of flowers. Rae’s developer instincts prickled. This was a flagged seat in the game — the one that would normally trigger an intimacy scene with the protagonist’s chosen love interest.

She sat down slowly, glancing toward the counter, thinking she’d at least get a chance to speak with the owner for her “information gathering.”

But the server leaned closer conspiratorially. “If you’re here for the first time, may I recommend the Lovers’ Special?”

Rae blinked. “The what now?”

“It’s our signature dessert plate for two. Perfect for sharing. The mille-feuille with fresh cream, chocolate-dipped strawberries, and our seasonal parfait. It’s very popular among—” the server’s eyes sparkled “—couples visiting from the festival.”

Claire’s smile deepened. “That sounds delightful.”

“Wait—” Rae started, but the server was already scribbling on her notepad.

“Coming right up!”

As the server bustled away, Rae sank back in her chair, covering her face with one hand. “This is the third time today.”

“Third time?” Claire asked, the picture of innocence.

“Tavern owner. Bookshop keeper. Now this. Everyone’s thought we are here…for their romantic specials.” Rae gestured.

Claire’s expression was unreadable, but the faintest touch of color warmed her cheeks. “Perhaps,” she said lightly, “they just sense the vibes. Although they are not too far off.”

Rae nearly choked on air. “You—”

She was saved — or doomed — by the arrival of the dessert plate, which the server set down with the air of presenting a royal banquet. The mille-feuille was dusted with powdered sugar so fine it gleamed, the parfait crowned with whipped cream shaped like a heart.

“Enjoy,” the server said warmly. “And take your time.”

Rae picked up her fork slowly, muttering, “This is a trap.”

Claire, utterly composed, slid the plate toward Rae. “Then we’ll spring it together.”

They ate — or rather, Claire ate gracefully while Rae tried not to be hyperaware of the way people at nearby tables kept sneaking glances at them. And cooing how cute they looked.

When the bill came, Rae automatically reached for it, but Claire’s hand was already there, cool and slender, brushing against hers.

“My treat,” Claire said softly, her voice carrying that quiet certainty Rae had learned to respect and, occasionally, fear.

Rae shook her head, fixing her expression with mock seriousness. “No. I’m the one who’s been dragging you all over town today. This one’s on me.”

Claire arched an elegant brow. “Dragging me?”

“...Guiding you,” Rae amended quickly, though the corner of her mouth twitched into a wry smile. She slid the bill toward herself before Claire could protest and head to the counter.

“How’s things? Any new development to note,” she whispered quickly to the smiling owner, knowing that Claire was watching them.

“We ‘ve see an influx of new customers last week. Hardly noteworthy. Most of them ordered the Lover’s Special,” the owner whispered back, wriggling her eyebrows. “Genius of you to suggest the parfait and mille-feuille pairing and market it to the couples.”

Rae smiled tightly. “Just change the name. ‘Lover’s Special’ sounds cringy.”

The owner lady nodded enthusiastically at the suggestion.

Rae then settled back into her seat and pulled out the crumpled notice she had torn from the guild board earlier. She smoothed it out and scanned the list again. A sudden realization hit her.

Every place mentioned in the list had been influenced or subtly consulted by her, in the name of “research.” Somehow, she had created a trail of romantic-themed opportunities without even noticing.

Belatedly, Rae spoke, almost to herself, “Next time, we’ll have to check the rest of these spots… for market research.”

Claire’s eyes flicked up, sharp and attentive. The faintest, most deliberate smile curved her lips. “Next time?” she repeated softly, tilting her head just enough to make Rae feel as though she were standing on a precipice.

Rae nodded seriously, “They’re probably worth following up. Might have a lead or two. Strictly professional, of course.” She then picked up her fork and finished the last piece of cake.

Claire’s gaze lingered, warm and knowing, her lips twitching with amusement. “Of course,” she said, her voice soft, teasing, and layered with meaning, “we wouldn’t want to miss a single one.”

It hit Rae a beat too late. Her chest tightened, and she froze mid-chew. Claire had not interpreted her words as logistical; she had interpreted them as a plan—for them. The mental image of Claire leaning in, picking the next destination together, made Rae’s strategic brain short-circuit.

Desperately, Rae tried to cover. “I mean, uh… logistical follow-ups. Definitely nothing… romantic.”

Claire only smiled more, faint, knowing, and utterly unbothered. “Don’t fight with me for the bill. Next time.”

---

Lene was arranging the parcels in the carriage when the sound of familiar footsteps reached her ears. She glanced up to see Claire approaching, sunlight glinting off her hair, a paper-wrapped bundle cradled in one arm and the faintest curve at the corners of her lips.

“You’re back earlier than I expected,” Lene said lightly, stepping forward to relieve Claire of a few shopping bags. “How was your time with Rae?”

Claire settled into her seat with the grace of habit. “Eventful,” she replied, her tone neutral. Lene had been with her long enough to hear the hidden threads.

“Eventful?” Lene prodded gently, closing the carriage door.

Claire glanced out the window as the carriage rocked into motion. “We visited a few places.” She paused, as if editing her own words. “And Rae was… quite insistent that we need to check the remaining places next time. From that list.”

At that name, Lene hid a smile behind the pretense of adjusting a parcel. Rae? Insistent? That was new.

“I see,” Lene murmured, deciding not to press — yet. “And did you enjoy yourself today?”

Claire’s gaze flicked toward her, cool and assessing, before she gave a faint hum of affirmation.

When the carriage hit a smoother stretch of road, Lene noticed Claire retrieving the paper-wrapped bundle from the bookshop. “Is that what I think it is?” she asked.

“It’s a gift,” Claire said, and there was something almost reluctant in the way she admitted it. She began untying the string, fingers deft, and peeled back the wrapping. Inside was a finely bound hardcover, its title embossed in gold.

Lene recognized it immediately. A classic romance, the sort young ladies pretended not to read but kept tucked away under their pillows.

Claire’s expression shifted as she turned the book in her hands, brushing her thumb over the gilt lettering. Her lips parted, just slightly, and a breath escaped her — not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.

Lene leaned back, studying her lady. “Interesting selection,” she said quietly.

Claire’s eyes flicked up, faintly narrowed in warning. “It was a gift prepared by the shop owner.” The last words were said with a dryness that told Lene exactly how much Claire suspected there was more to the story.

“I see,” Lene said, lips twitching.

Claire didn’t elaborate further. She was still staring down at the book, fingers resting on the cover as though she wasn’t ready to put it aside.

And in that moment, Lene thought, despite her obliviousness, Rae do know how to plan a memorable first date with her lady.

That, more than any gossip from the guild board, was worth noting.

Chapter 13: Summer Holiday Arc (Because Why Not)

Rae sat cross-legged on her bed and reviewed the developer logs with a sigh.

Summer holidays has arrived.

She leaned back and rubbed her eyes. If this world really was still following romance sim mechanics, this was a prime opportunity. The long break was traditionally the part where players could build deeper bonds with their selected companions. Dates outside the academy, swimsuit CGs, festival scenes, late-night confessions under fireworks.

More importantly, new lore or clues would be introduced to deepen the emotional bonds or provide a glimpse at the upcoming arcs.

Rae’s lips tightened.

In canon, this was where the protagonist’s options exploded to fit the holiday mood. With Claire’s (secret) path being locked early due to the game bugs, there were no events specially designed for players to win affection points.

If she wanted answers on what’s next, she’d need to rely on her usual information sources from town and watching for any behavioural anomalies or hints. Which also meant spending the break in the academy’s nearly empty halls.

The next day, she told Claire and Misha about her plan over lunch.

“You’re staying here?” Misha stared at her as if Rae had just declared she’d live under a bridge for fun. “In this empty oven of a building? While the rest of us are in actual civilization?”

“It’s not like I’m going to sit in my room all day,” Rae said. “I’ll be… conducting field research.”

Misha rolled her eyes. “On dust mites?”

Claire, who had been silent until now, finally set down her fork. “You’re saying you’d rather spend the summer spying on bartenders and staring at notice boards than go somewhere… pleasant?”

Rae hesitated. “It’s—”

“Pathetic,” Misha cut in.

Claire’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Then perhaps you should accompany me to the summer estate.”

“Accompany you?”

“My family’s summer estate isn’t far,” Claire said smoothly, as though she were inviting Rae to take a casual stroll rather than cross an invisible social chasm. “There’s an art exhibition in town, boating on the lake, a midsummer festival… And—” She paused, studying Rae. “You’d still have access to more… colorful local information sources than you would in an empty campus.”

Rae’s mental alarms went off. This was not in canon. Claire never extended personal invitations to anyone outside her noble circle.

She fought to keep her tone neutral. “You mean, I could… continue my ‘research’ there.”

Claire’s smile was faint, but victorious. “If that’s what you wish to call it.”

Misha leaned forward, practically beaming. “Translation: she’s giving you a golden ticket and you’re about to say yes.”

Rae’s pulse quickened. Every instinct screamed this was a deviation—a rare one—and deviations were opportunities. “Fine,” she said slowly, “I’ll go.”

Claire’s expression softened just enough for Rae to catch it. “Good. I’ll have Lene arrange the travel.”

She also invited Misha to join them and the two then engaged in a lively conversation on their plans. As the conversation moved on, Rae’s mind was already racing. If summer break really was an integral event arc, and if this invitation unlocked a new setting—then perhaps the investigation wasn’t at a dead end after all.

Perhaps the key was simply to follow Claire into the unknown.

---

Rae had expected the words summer estate to mean something sprawling—columns, marble floors, fountains you could mistake for small lakes. Something that could easily house a small army without anyone needing to breathe the same air.

What greeted them past the wrought-iron gates was… not that.

The building was stately, yes, with ivy climbing over warm stone walls and rose gardens spilling in pink and crimson, but it wasn’t a palace. If anything, it was cozy for a noble’s country retreat—three floors at most, sloped roofs, wide windows that caught the summer light.

In a romance sim, Rae thought, this would be the moment a “New Location” banner would slide across the screen, followed shortly by the ominous ding of an “Event Flag Raised.” She didn’t need the graphics to know what that meant: the setting was smaller than expected, and smaller meant limited rooms. Limited rooms meant…

Oh no.

“Welcome to the estate,” Claire said as she stepped out of the carriage first. “It’s smaller than the capital residence, but I find it far more restful.”

Lene disembarked next, her eyes already scanning the grounds for security gaps.

Misha hopped down last and her eyes widened. “This is smaller? I could get lost in your garden.”

Claire ignored her and led the way inside.

The housekeeper greeted them in the entry hall—polished wood floors, lavender drifting from unseen sachets—and confirmed Rae’s suspicion. “Unfortunately, the east wing is under renovation. We only have three rooms prepared.”

In Rae’s mental playbook, this was the part where the camera would slowly pan toward her with an exaggerated zoom.

“Lady Claire and Miss Lene, your rooms are ready,” the housekeeper said. “Miss Misha, the corner suite. And Miss Rae—”

“Actually,” Rae cut in quickly, “I can bunk with Misha. Plenty of space in a corner suite, right?”

“Nope,” Misha replied instantly, clearly enjoying herself. “I snore like a dying walrus. Terrible idea.”

“Then Lene,” Rae tried. “We’ve… shared cramped quarters before.”

“There is only a small bed.” Lene replied smoothly.

Rae took a breath. “Then—how about a spare mattress? I’ll sleep in the hall, the library—”

“No,” Claire said, her tone as smooth and final as a game dialogue choice locked in by the system. “You’ll stay with me.”

The housekeeper smiled in relief and ushered them upstairs before Rae could rally another excuse.

One bed. Large, canopied, immaculate—but still one.

Claire set her gloves and hat on the vanity. “I trust this isn’t an issue?”

“No,” Rae lied instantly. “Not at all. Happens all the time in… budget inns.”

“I see,” Claire murmured, a faint curve to her mouth.

From down the hall, Misha called, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“Which narrows the field how much, exactly?” Rae called back.

Claire’s eyes glittered. “So you’re assuming there is something to be done.”

Rae nearly tripped over her suitcase. “I meant—never mind.”

In her head, Rae could almost hear it: the bright little chime of a “Shared Quarters” event unlocking.

This was exactly the kind of setup that guaranteed trouble in any game.

 

---

By the time the sun dipped behind the hedgerows, the estate had fallen into the kind of quiet Rae usually found comforting. Tonight, it felt like a setup.

Claire had disappeared after dinner, citing correspondence to review. Rae had tried to pass the time in the drawing room with Misha and Lene, but the conversation had gone downhill fast.

“She’s going to have silky sleepwear,” Misha said darkly, like she was predicting a natural disaster. “Mark my words.”

“Indeed, she specifically requested the silky sleepwear for this trip,” Lene confirmed, far too serenely.

“It’s just a bed,” Rae muttered, standing. “I’m going to turn in.”

“Into her arms,” Misha sang after her.

Rae refused to dignify that with a response.

When she opened the bedroom door, she nearly shut it again. Claire was already inside, hair loose over her shoulders in a way that shouldn’t have been legal after sunset—especially not in a small, candlelit room. She was draped in an ivory silk robe with embroidery so fine Rae felt unworthy just looking at it.

“I trust you found your way back without getting lost,” Claire said, not glancing up from the book she was skimming.

“Perfectly fine,” Rae managed, setting her things on the settee. “I’ll, uh… just take the left side.”

“There’s only one pillow,” Claire observed mildly. “But we can request another tomorrow.”

Rae froze. One pillow? Who designed this room—an innkeeper with a cruel sense of humor?

“I can sleep on top of the covers,” Rae offered hastily. “Keep it… professional.”

Claire’s eyes flicked up, cool and curious. “And what about comfort?”

“I’ll survive.”

Claire set her book aside and, with deliberate slowness, loosened the belt of her robe. She glanced over her shoulder, amusement glinting in her eyes. “I would prefer you didn’t merely survive. Now, come here and help me out of this.”

Rae’s pulse stuttered. She did as she was told, hands quick, gaze firmly averted, as though eye contact might ignite the silk itself. She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. “Well, it’s just for one night—”

“Three,” Claire corrected smugly. “You’ll be here three nights before the carriage returns.”

Rae’s internal event meter spiked into dangerous territory. Three nights. One bed. No pillow partition.

Claire turned back the covers, her tone perfectly innocent. “Come to bed, Rae.”

The problem was, Rae’s brain had already attached dramatic confession-scene background music to the words. She slipped under the sheet as carefully as if she were disarming a trap, leaving a wide buffer of mattress between them. For good measure, she laid her hand flat to measure the invisible line. Neutral zone established.

Claire slid in beside her, close enough that Rae could feel the warmth radiating across the gap.

“Are you always this tense at bedtime?” Claire murmured.

“Yes,” Rae lied without hesitation.

A beat of silence stretched between them. Then a soft hum, amused and knowing, from Claire’s side of the bed. “We’ll see.”

Rae stared at the ceiling, every nerve wired, certain of only one thing: she didn’t need flashing icons to know this was going to be the longest night of her life.

---

Rae had woken before dawn, congratulating herself on her flawless escape plan. If she got up, dressed, and downstairs before Claire stirred, she could avoid the nightmare scenario: the awkward “good morning” moment in bed. No bedhead comparisons. No sleepy, half-lidded looks that would replay in her brain like cursed highlight reels for weeks.

She padded into the hallway, light-footed as a thief—only to nearly collide with the housekeeper, who was balancing a breakfast tray so perfectly it could have doubled as a stock photo for “rustic estate charm.”

“Ah, perfect timing, Miss Rae,” the woman said warmly. “Your tray is ready.”

Rae blinked. “M-my tray?”

“For you and Lady Claire, of course. I’ll just bring it up to your room.”

“Oh, no, no, that’s fine!” Rae yelped, planting herself in front of the staircase like a panicked security guard. “We can eat in the dining room. With… you know… other people. And tables. And chairs. Big ones. Not… intimate… little ones.”

The housekeeper tilted her head, mildly amused. “Lady Claire prefers to breakfast in her room during summer retreats.”

“I… see. I could help you… uhm… peel potatoes. Or… or toast things. Communal things,” Rae babbled, stalling for divine intervention.

“Don’t worry, it’s all arranged,” the woman said cheerfully, sidestepping Rae’s human barricade with professional ease. “Fresh scones, warm tea, fruit compote—just the way she likes it. And for you, Miss Rae, extra bacon.”

They bribed me, Rae thought grimly, staring after the vanishing tray.

By the time she opened the bedroom door, Claire was already awake—sitting cross-legged on the bed in a soft, pale blue morning gown, hair still tousled from sleep. Sunlight poured in behind her in a halo so picturesque Rae was half-convinced some divine director had cued a CG cutscene just to torment her.

“Good morning,” Claire said, smiling as the tray was set between them. “Join me?”

Rae froze on the threshold. Options flickered through her mind: retreat, fake illness, leap out the window. No viable routes.

Claire patted the space beside her. “It’ll be warmer here.”

Rae crossed the room like someone approaching a guillotine, perching on the edge of the mattress with spine so straight she could’ve been mistaken for a lamppost. Hands folded primly in her lap.

Claire poured tea with unhurried grace, the steam curling between them like something deliberate. “You were up early.”

“Had to—uh—check the weather,” Rae muttered, eyes fixed on the scones like they might save her.

Claire’s lips curved, amusement flickering at the corners. “And? What’s the verdict?”

Rae risked a glance at the sunlight spilling across the bed, at Claire glowing softly in it like she’d been staged by professionals. She swallowed.

“Dangerously good.”

Claire laughed, low and pleased, and nudged the plate of bacon toward her. “Then we’ll just have to endure it together.”

Rae’s survival instinct whispered: Abort mission. Too domestic. Too lethal. But the bacon smelled divine, Claire looked devastating, and the tray was positioned exactly where it forced them to sit closer than Rae’s dignity could endure.

She picked up a scone like a soldier gripping a shield. This was going to be worse than last night.

---

The art gallery smelled faintly of lemon polish and old paper, the kind of curated blend that whispered antique charm while really meaning touch anything and we’ll add it to your bill. Rae trailed a safe distance behind Lene and Misha, hands clasped behind her back in her best imitation of “professional detachment.”

“Shouldn’t you be at the front? Clearly Lady Claire prefers you next to her,” Lene asked in a low voice as they stepped into the gallery.

“Clearly, you’re missing the point. I am just her maid,” Rae muttered back.

Misha raised an eyebrow. “Right. Because sitting beside her at breakfast in bed this morning definitely didn’t give anyone that impression.”

Rae stumbled. “You—how did you—?”

“Claire mentioned it,” Misha said with infuriating nonchalance. “Said the tea was perfect. I assume she wasn’t talking about the drink.”

Heat shot straight up Rae’s neck. She contemplated the nearest marble bust as a weapon. “That’s—completely out of context—”

“Uh-huh. Context being, you practically spoon-fed her?”

“Anyway,” Rae hissed, trying desperately to redirect, “I’m here to research—”

“Research what?” Misha cut in smoothly. “How to avoid looking like a couple while being glued to someone’s side?”

Before Rae could conjure a comeback worthy of the insult, Claire turned, pale hair catching the light like a challenge, and said with crisp authority:
“Rae. Walk with me.”

That was that. Rae shuffled forward, heart doing double-time, and took her place beside Claire, trying not to look like she’d been summoned by divine decree.

Which is, of course, exactly when a cheerful gallery guide materialized at Rae’s elbow. “Ah! The lady and her… companion,” the guide announced, beaming as though she’d uncovered a delightful secret. “You’ll want to start with the Romantic Period.”

Rae choked. Claire, naturally, looked pleased.

“I—what? No, I’m here for—” Rae tried, but the guide was already shepherding them toward a row of large, gilded frames, each depicting lush gardens, moonlit balconies, and lovers gazing longingly across candlelit tables.

Claire, walking just a step behind, seemed to be enjoying herself far too much. “Oh, this one is exquisite,” she murmured, pausing in front of a painting depicting two figures sharing a pastry on a sun-drenched veranda. She tilted her head at Rae, lips curving into a sly smile. “Don’t you think so, Commoner?”

Rae leaned in, squinting at the brushwork with exaggerated concentration. “I think the pastry is… historically inaccurate,” she said, deadpan, letting a single eyebrow rise for emphasis.

Misha snorted, barely suppressing a laugh, while Lene simply offered a patient, amused smile, clearly used to this sort of banter.

They wandered through three more rooms filled with subtle, and occasionally not-so-subtle, romantic imagery. Rae’s commentary dwindled from ironic quips to terse observations, and by the last room she had run out of snark entirely. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes flicking over the paintings with a sullen intensity that made Claire pause.

“Is something wrong?” Claire asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.

“Just… running out of patience with all this… emotion,” Rae muttered, though her gaze lingered on the canvas longer than she cared to admit.

Claire’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. “Running out of patience, or running out of excuses?” she asked softly, stepping even closer. The faint scent of her perfume drifted to Rae, a subtle blend of citrus and something richer, warmer.

Rae blinked, straightening her posture instinctively. “Both,” she said, almost too quickly. She turned back to the paintings, though the words rang hollow even to her own ears.

Misha rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath about “shipping in real life being too much for one afternoon,” while Lene only smiled knowingly, as if the two of them had entirely predictable trajectories.

At the exit, the guide pressed a folded brochure into Rae’s hand. “A special exhibition is opening tomorrow,” she said. “Couples get a discount.”

Rae’s smile was tight enough to chip enamel.

---

By the time Rae escaped the gallery, her brain felt like it had been dipped in rose-tinted varnish and left to dry. She decided she needed air. Space. Trees that didn’t have lovers carved into their trunks.

She also changed her outfit into something sensible for walking the grounds: khaki shorts, a light shirt, and sneakers. Practical. Comfortable. Entirely unremarkable.

…Until Claire stepped out of her own room a few minutes later wearing nearly the same outfit. Same blue shirt. Same cuffed shorts. Even the same white sneakers — though hers probably cost more than Rae’s entire outfit.

Misha took one look and smirked. “Oh good, the ‘We’re definitely not a couple’ uniforms arrived early.”

Rae tried to ignore her and focus on her surroundings. The estate’s gardens were sprawling — hedged paths, blooming roses, shady bowers, and a ridiculous little stone bridge over a koi pond. She could use this time to map the grounds, look for secluded places to investigate later—

A sudden gust of wind sent a cascade of flower petals swirling down, a perfect pastel shower that somehow only landed on her and Claire.

Claire brushed one from Rae’s shoulder, fingers lingering just a second too long. “They suit you.”

Rae forced a laugh that sounded suspiciously like a cough. “Thanks. Allergies.”

They continued walking. At that moment, a pair of doves landed on a low wall beside them, nuzzling together with the sort of casual intimacy that seemed staged. Rae rolled her eyes subtly. Of course, even the birds were conspiring.

A few steps later, they passed under an archway of wisteria. The blossoms hung low, forcing Claire to duck. Rae reached out instinctively, placing a guiding hand on her back. The contact lasted just a fraction longer than necessary. Rae told herself firmly: purely practical, nothing else.

By the time they reached the koi pond, Rae was certain the estate groundskeeper was in on the conspiracy. The bridge’s planks were just wide enough for two people to stand very close together. Claire leaned on the rail, watching the koi lazily drift in the sun, and Rae… did not notice the way sunlight caught in her hair. Not at all.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Claire said softly.

Rae kept her eyes on the water. “Yeah. The fish are nice too. And plump.”

Claire’s eyes narrowed just slightly, a teasing glint flashing through. “Are you hungry?”

Misha, trailing behind them, pretended to cough something that sounded suspiciously like “Hopeless.”

Lene, as always, took everything in with serene, calculating eyes, letting the two of them stumble through the moment while she cataloged every minor detail—the tilt of Claire’s head, the small flinch in Rae’s shoulder, the space between them shrinking by inches with every step.

The estate’s lake glimmered under the afternoon sun, dotted with little wooden rowing boats bobbing at the dock. Someone, Rae suspected the same “groundskeeper conspirator” from the garden, had set out cushions in each boat like this was an event in a romance sim’s summer DLC.

Misha spotted it immediately. “Ohhh, a lake date. Classic. Perfect for stolen glances, accidental hand touches, and—”

Rae cut her off. “Perfect for collecting aquatic environmental data,” she said firmly. “Which is why you’re coming with me.”

The plan was simple: Rae and Misha in one boat for purely investigative purposes, Claire and Lene in another for… whatever upper-class ladies and their attendants do when they’re not the target of Rae’s half-baked sleuthing. Everyone wins.

At least until the estate’s housekeeper handed Rae a life vest and gestured to Claire. “Lady Claire has requested you join her boat, Miss Rae.”

“Requested?” Rae echoed, but the housekeeper was already walking away, which Rae suspected was code for ordered and I’m not paid enough to argue.

Misha grinned. “Guess we’re having girl talk, Lene.”

Lene, ever the picture of polite neutrality, gave a small smile. “Definitely.”

And that’s how Rae found herself standing awkwardly beside Claire on the dock, watching Misha and Lene push off in the boat Rae had meant to be in.

“You’re not afraid of rowing, are you?” Claire asked, stepping into their boat with a grace that Rae could only describe as “designed to make peasants feel clumsy.”

“I’m not afraid of rowing,” Rae said. “I’m afraid of scenarios that raise my blood pressure for entirely unrelated reasons.”

Claire only smiled, settling into the seat opposite Rae. The boat wobbled slightly, forcing Rae to reach out and steady it — which of course meant grabbing Claire’s hand. Which of course she didn’t let go of immediately. Which of course Misha and Lene were watching from their boat with the world’s most irritating grin.

Rae began to row, focused on keeping her strokes even and telling herself she was just burning calories. Not rowing directly into a trap. The lake was calm, the sun warm, and the faint rustle of reeds somehow made everything feel more intimate.

Halfway across, a breeze drifted through, carrying the sweet scent of wisteria from the nearby shore. Claire closed her eyes briefly, tilting her face toward the sun like something out of a painting.

“Beautiful,” Rae muttered before she could stop herself—and immediately clamped up.

Claire opened her eyes slowly, meeting Rae’s gaze. “I agree.”

Rae’s cheeks heated. “I meant the… hydrological clarity. Very… pristine,” she added hastily, as though analyzing water quality could save her dignity.

From across the water, Misha’s voice carried: “Sure, Rae, blame it on the hydrology!”

Rae resisted the urge to toss an oar at her.

They docked on the far side at a little shaded cove, where a blanket had been spread out, complete with a fruit basket and a bottle of sparkling water chilling in a bucket of ice. Rae sat down reluctantly, telling herself she’d stay just long enough to “scout the area”.

Nature, however, had other plans. A dragonfly landed on Claire’s shoulder, shimmering in the sunlight. Rae reached out to brush it away, and their hands brushed again. A pair of lovebirds landed nearby, pecking at the crumbs from the fruit basket, utterly unconcerned with human protocol.

By the time they rowed back, Misha and Lene were waiting on the dock, their expressions identical: the universal “we saw everything” look.

Misha leaned forward as Rae stepped onto the dock. “So… hydrological clarity, huh?”

Lene, quieter but no less perceptive, murmured, “You seem… flushed, Miss Rae.”

Rae didn’t answer. She was too busy silently cursing the estate, the boats, and every single plant and animal that had clearly conspired with the universe to sabotage her mission.

---

The lake was quieter now, the water turned glassy under the sinking sun. Dinner was still an hour away, but the housekeeper had been clear: best to freshen up early, milady. Claire had intended to do just that — until she caught sight of Rae lingering by the dock, speaking with the gardener about “tidal patterns” in a lake that didn’t even have tides.

Honestly. That girl could turn anything into an investigation if it meant avoiding sitting still.

Claire would have left it at that, content to watch from the veranda, except the sky shifted. The horizon darkened, clouds gathering with the stealth of a cat closing in on its prey.

The first drops fell just as Rae turned to head back toward the house. Claire had barely taken two steps toward her when the rain came in earnest, sudden and heavy.

“Lady Claire!” Rae called, as if Claire hadn’t already noticed. Her hand was warm when she took Claire’s elbow, steering her toward the gazebo by the roses. They made it inside just as the rain thickened into a curtain.

The space was small — far smaller than she’d expected — and every drop of water on Rae’s skin seemed magnified in the close air. Her shirt clung slightly at the shoulders, damp fabric outlining the strength in her arms. Claire told herself she was only noticing because she was cold.

“Should’ve brought an umbrella,” Rae said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Or two. One for you, one for… well, still you, because I’d just hold it wrong.”

Claire almost smiled. Almost. “If I’d waited for you to fetch one, I’d be drowned by now.”

Rae’s ears turned faintly pink. “Point taken.”

A breeze carried the scent of wet roses into the gazebo. Claire found herself watching the way Rae’s gaze kept darting toward the rain — as if searching for an excuse to escape — and felt a spark of something sharp in her chest. She didn’t want Rae to leave. Not yet.

The rain drummed on the roof, an oddly steady rhythm. For a moment, Claire let herself imagine reaching for Rae’s hand, tracing her fingers over the callouses there, asking her why she looked at Claire sometimes like she was both a puzzle and the answer.

Before she knew it, Claire lifted her hand and brushed a raindrop from Rae’s cheek. Her fingers lingered, just for a moment, against the warmth of her skin.

Rae froze, breath caught, eyes wide and unguarded in a way Claire had never seen. The moment stretched, taut as a bowstring, until Rae swallowed hard and stepped back half a pace.

“Guess… we’ll have to wait it out,” she said, voice rougher than usual.

Claire lowered her hand slowly, the ghost of contact still buzzing at her fingertips. “I don’t mind waiting,” she answered, softer than she intended.

The look Rae gave her in return—startled, almost vulnerable—was worth the risk.

They stayed until the rain softened to a drizzle. Rae was the first to step into the damp grass, keeping her gaze fixed anywhere but Claire, while Claire lingered, committing every detail to memory: a matching outfit, a touch that felt far too intimate, and the certainty that however fiercely Rae tried to resist, something between them had already shifted.

---

By the time they’d changed for dinner, the rain had left the air washed clean and sharp. The dining room gleamed under warm lamplight, its polished wood and soft drapes far too elegant for the evening’s guests — especially when Rae walked in wearing her usual neutral expression and the same damply tousled hair from earlier.

The worst part?

She was still wearing that pale blue shirt. The exact match to Claire’s blouse.

Claire took her seat at the head of the table, pretending not to notice how Lene’s gaze flicked between the two of them like she was already composing a scandalous letter to her nonexistent pen pal. Misha, on the other side, was less subtle — biting back a grin that promised trouble.

Halfway through the first course, Rae was frowning at her plate. Or, more specifically, at Claire’s.

“You’re struggling with that cut,” Rae murmured, leaning in.

“I am not—” Claire began, only to have Rae reach for her plate without asking, switch it with her own, and begin cutting the steak into neat, even pieces. The action was practiced, unhurried, completely devoid of self-consciousness.

To anyone else, it would have looked like simple courtesy.

To Misha and Lene, it was the equivalent of a marriage proposal.

Lene’s teacup paused mid-air.

Misha actually whispered, “Oh my God,” behind her napkin.

Claire kept her voice level. “You are… surprisingly confident in your table manners.”

“It’s just efficiency,” Rae replied, pushing the plate back toward her. “No point in wasting your time wrestling with a stubborn cut.”

No point in wasting your time.

The words sat in Claire’s chest like a secret, warmer than the wine in her glass. She lowered her gaze to the neatly portioned steak, willing herself not to let anything show.

Conversation resumed, but the shift was subtle — Misha’s occasional coughs that were definitely laughter, Lene’s infuriatingly serene smile. Rae, entirely oblivious, focused on her own plate, as though she hadn’t just fed enough gossip to last Lene and Misha the rest of the summer.

Claire took a measured bite of steak and decided, just this once, not to correct anyone’s assumptions.

---

The moment Claire excused herself from the table, Lene rose from her seat to follow her back to the hall, her mind replaying the steak incident in glorious slow motion.

Rae hadn’t even hesitated. One smooth motion, the plate swap, the precise cuts — as if feeding the lady was part of her job description. Which, technically, it was not.

Lene had spent enough years in Claire’s service to know that her lady did not take kindly to anyone assuming familiarity. And yet… she’d let Rae do it. No correction. No arch eyebrow. No frost in her voice.

Claire had sat there, composed as ever, and eaten every single bite.

From her vantage point, Lene had caught the flicker — the faint, rare curve of Claire’s mouth. She’d seen it soften into something private, something Lene hadn’t seen in… well. A long time.

Misha, of course, was still stunned like she’d just witnessed a public proposal. “She’s got nerve,” Misha whispered, leaning toward Lene.

“She’s got no idea,” Lene corrected under her breath, the words half amusement, half warning.

Because Rae didn’t. That was obvious. The girl still carried herself like she was playing some elaborate maid role, never realizing that her every small gesture was chipping away at the walls Claire had built.

Lene followed Claire out into the hall, catching up just before they reached her quarters. “You seemed to enjoy dinner. Albeit the slight interruption,” she remarked, carefully neutral.

Claire didn’t stop walking. “It was acceptable.”

Acceptable. The most Claire way possible to describe a moment that had sent an entire table into silent, delighted shock.

“And the steak?” Lene pressed, because subtlety was a tool but not always a necessity.

Claire glanced at her sidelong, a faintly dangerous gleam in her eyes. “It was cut to my liking.”

Lene allowed herself a small smile as she fell back, letting Claire enter her room alone.

Cut to my liking.

She’d remember that one.

---

The lamplight pooled across the table, illuminating a battlefield of half-legible notes, open books, and crumpled scraps of paper. Rae had been at it for hours, trying to wrestle some sense out of the mess of connections she’d unearthed these past weeks.

If this were a game, she thought grimly, she’d be stuck grinding side quests until dawn just to unlock the Aha! cutscene. Except her progress bar moved slower than her handwriting.

The house was quiet, save for the steady scratch of her pen and the soft thunk of books sliding back into place. Lene, precise and patient, was restoring the shelves Rae had raided earlier. Across the room, Misha lounged in an armchair with an art book, though her eyes lifted every so often to watch Rae’s posture. Shoulders hunched, jaw set — the stubborn configuration that meant Rae would sit there until sunrise unless forcibly removed. Misha almost wanted to see if she’d pass out mid-sentence.

Lene hummed softly as she worked, but her gaze was thoughtful. She knew Rae’s focus could be useful, but there were limits. And there was someone far more effective at ending these work streaks than either of them.

As if on cue, the library door swung open. Claire stepped in, dressed for bed, her pale hair loose around her shoulders. Her eyes found Rae immediately.

“Commoner.” Her voice was low, but it carried.

Rae looked up, startled. “Yes?”

“It’s late.” Claire crossed the room and stopped just beside her chair. “Come to bed.”

Rae fumbled, caught between mortification and instinct. “But Misha and Lene are still awake!”

“They’re not sharing a room with me,” Claire said smoothly, one brow arched.

Oh. Right. That.

Rae scrambled for an excuse, but Claire’s head tilted just so, a wordless signal that she was waiting. The ridiculous thought hit Rae that this must be what it felt like when a wife called her husband to bed, and the “husband” was still stalling with just one more chapter.

“…Fine,” she muttered, gathering her papers with uncharacteristic haste.

Misha bit her cheek to keep from laughing outright. The entire exchange was absurdly domestic — like watching a married couple argue over bedtime.

Lene closed the last book with a gentle snap and bid Rae good night, expression betraying nothing. Inside, though, she allowed herself a private note of satisfaction. Exactly as she’d predicted.

 

Chapter 14: Summer Holiday Arc (Festival, Childhood and Ghosts cliches)

The sunlight in the summer estate always seemed gentler than in the city, streaming in through gauzy curtains and carrying the faint scent of the gardens below. Rae had been awake for some time, sitting at the edge of the bed with her hair still mussed, trying to remember if there was a “skip cutscene” option for mornings like this.

It didn’t help that Claire, still asleep beside her, looked like she had stepped right out of a romance CG—one arm draped over the pillow Rae had tried to sneak away from, her breathing slow and even.

Unfortunately, Rae’s quiet escape was interrupted.

“You’re up early, again,” came Lene’s voice from the doorway. She leaned on the frame with a maid’s practiced poise, but the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her amusement. “Trying to avoid breakfast in bed for the second day in a row?”

Before Rae could respond, Misha wandered in, yawning and already dressed in a light summer dress. “Oh, don’t bother, Lene. She’s just in a hurry to avoid looking like the devoted spouse waiting for her wife to wake up.”

Rae froze halfway through pulling on her jacket. “Don’t start.”

Misha grinned. “Too late. You should’ve seen yourself—sitting at her bedside like some worried husband in a period drama.”

Lene folded her arms. “And the way you keep flustering at the simplest things, Rae… one might think you were hiding feelings.”

“I’m hiding my sanity,” Rae muttered, trying to shove her satchel strap over her shoulder.

Her plan had been to meet the others downstairs, blend into the bustle, and avoid any triggers the game might be trying to throw at her. But the universe, and apparently her so-called friends, had other plans.

By the time Claire finally stirred and they made their way downstairs, Rae’s dignity had been eroded by an uninterrupted chain of teasing. And when the housekeeper intercepted her at the door, it was the final nail in the coffin.

“Miss Rae,” the older woman said, looking her over like a mother inspecting a child before a long trip. “Would you like me to arrange a double portion for your breakfast tomorrow? You’ll need the stamina to keep up with Lady Claire.”

The words took a full three seconds to land.

Rae blinked. “Stamina… to keep… with—” Her ears turned scarlet.

Misha’s laughter was instant. Lene covered her mouth, clearly struggling not to join in. Claire, of course, remained perfectly composed, stepping past with the faintest curve of her lips.

“Do as she says,” Claire said smoothly over her shoulder. “I’d hate for you to tire out too quickly.”

Rae was still spluttering as they set off toward the midsummer festival, and she had a sinking suspicion that this was only the beginning of the day’s problems.

---

As they approached the main gate, the guard stepped forward and presented a sealed envelope on a silver tray.

Claire accepted it with the grace of someone for whom such deliveries were routine. She broke the wax, eyes flicking over the calligraphy with practiced disinterest.

“An invitation,” she announced, voice light but laced with a quiet amusement. “The royal family is hosting a formal gathering the weekend after next. The princes, it seems, will be in attendance.”

Lene inclined her head in polite acknowledgment, as though a summons from royalty were no more remarkable than the daily mail. Rae, however, felt her stomach lurch like a stone dropped into water.

Claire skimmed the elegant parchment, then paused at a smaller slip tucked inside. Her mouth curved into something between irritation and reluctant mirth.

“…And this,” she said, holding it aloft like incriminating evidence, “is unmistakably Rod’s handwriting.”

Rae leaned closer and winced. The scrawl was bold, jagged, and impossible to mistake:
Bring Rae and Misha along! Need them!!

“Subtle,” Rae muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Misha leaned in, her grin faltered. “Sounds like someone just volunteered us.”

Rae’s thoughts sank in grim procession:
A royal event meant high society.
High society meant politics.
Politics meant hidden daggers, too much wine, and about a thousand ways to humiliate herself.

She cleared her throat, trying to make her refusal sound casual. “That’s… generous, but I think I’ll pass. Not exactly my kind of scene.”

Claire’s head tilted towards Rae. For the briefest moment, disappointment flickered across her features before she smoothed it away. “You would decline a royal invitation?” she asked softly.

Rae groaned. “I don’t even own clothes fit for that sort of event. Unless they want me to show up in my school uniform, I’m not much use.”

That earned her a thoughtful hum from Misha. “Didn’t you say your parents run a tailor shop? Why not come home with me to Euclid tomorrow? They’ll have you fitted and finished before the weekend.”

Rae opened her mouth to refuse immediately—the last thing she needed was dragging her personal mess anywhere near her professional one. But then she thought of the untouched developer logs, the excuse to scout a new location quietly, the chance for a few nights of solitude to actually think.

“…Actually,” she said slowly, “that might not be a bad idea.”

The air shifted. Claire halted mid-step. When she turned, her expression was still composed, but her eyes betrayed her.
“You’re leaving?” she asked, voice even, though something fragile threaded through it.

“Just for a few days,” Rae said quickly. “To, ah, see how my parents are doing. And get my outfit sorted. I’ll be back before the event, I promise.”

Claire’s lips pressed into a fine line. Rae braced herself for the rebuke, the command to stay. Instead, Claire lifted her chin, the mask of aristocratic poise snapping firmly back into place.

“Very well. You have my permission to spend time with your parents,” she declared, already moving forward without looking back.

Lene fell into step beside her, the two exchanging whispers too low for Rae to catch.

Misha, however, lingered at Rae’s side, her expression far too knowing. “Huh. Can’t believe she let you slip away that easily.”

“…Sorry, what?” Rae blinked.

Misha only smiled, patting her friend’s back with infuriating cheer.

---

The festival air was thick with incense and roasted sweets, laughter rising over the drumbeats. Rae was half-tuned to the stalls, half to Claire’s posture beside her. Claire has been more subdued since she announced her plans to head back to Euclid. 

And then they stumbled into them.

A poised young woman stepped out of the crowd, her arm hooked neatly with a tall, polished-looking man.

“Claire François,” the woman said warmly, eyes bright. “It’s been ages.” After a brief exchange of pleasantries, her tone dropped into something sharper, weighted in intent: “And what of your engagement? Surely the details would be confirmed by now? Or a date to be set?”

Rae’s eyebrows shot up. Engagement?

Her head snapped toward Claire, but Misha and Lene’s grim expressions told her this wasn’t a mistake.

“Not yet,” Claire said lightly, side stepping the topic. “There are… other matters to attend to first.”

The friend laughed lightly, the kind of laugh meant to flutter and sting all at once. “I see. Well then, allow me to introduce my fiancé.” She pressed the man forward proudly, as if displaying fine china.

The fiancé’s gaze, meanwhile, drifted in ways that made Lene’s eyes narrow. Misha pursed her lips. Trouble.

Rae, however, was distracted by the narrative opportunity screaming at her. Childhood friend? Fiancé? Classic festival event flags. There would be hidden lore here.

So when the friend suggested they all play the festival games together, Rae said “Of course!” far too quickly.

The silence that followed was not kind.
Lene’s polite smile looked like it had been carved from marble.
Misha muttered something vicious in Euclidean that Rae very deliberately ignored.
And Claire… Claire gave her a look sharp enough to cut glass.

Still, there was no backing down now. They moved as a group toward the nearest stall, where trinkets and prizes dangled from strings above the counter. Rae noticed the way Claire’s eyes flicked upward, ever so briefly, to a delicate pair of silver bracelets tied together with a ribbon. Win the bracelets. Trigger a “matching accessories” event. Romantic flag. Absolutely unmistakable.

She was about to gently steered the group to another stall when the fiancé puffed his chest up and declared in a dramatic pomp.  “Let this be the first of the gifts I shall present to you for the evening!” He pointed grandly at the bracelets, drawing cheers from the onlookers. The friend preened at the attention.

“Oh darling, you—”

Clank!

A ring arced through the air and landed neatly on the winning peg.

Silence befell on the crowd.

The vendor then recovered, coughed awkwardly and declared. “Congratulations! The couple’s bracelets are yours!”

The crowd turned expectantly. Rae stepped forward, composure effortless, and accepted the prize as though this were the most natural outcome in the world. She pressed the bracelets into Claire’s hands, reverent as if handling sacred treasure.

When Claire’s questioning glance brushed over her, Rae offered a sheepish smile, subtly gesturing at her friend. “I… might have spoken out of turn just now. Please accept these as my apology for interrupting your plans.”

Misha and Lene smirked at Rae’s theatrical attempts at redeeming herself after thrusting them into an awkward situation.

And Claire, ignoring the group, slipped a silver bracelet onto Rae’s wrist before smacking her arm lightly.

“…You’re insufferable.”

She then wore the other silver bracelet with a smile brighter than the lanterns.

The crowd clapped and awed, delighted by the scene.

Archery came next. Rae, very aware she had just stolen the rival couple’s thunder in the previous game, intentionally loosened her stance to throw the match. Her arrow flew.

And planted itself dead center in the bull’s-eye with a resounding thunk.

The fiancé, aiming with practiced flair, missed the target entirely. Claire’s childhood friend’s smile tightened by a fraction.

Misha bit her sleeve to keep from laughing aloud. Lene gave an encouraging smile.

Rae buried her face in her hands. Of course. Festival scripts are always rigged for the protagonist.

And then she looked at Claire—at the brightness returning to her smile, the faint color in her cheeks, the way she laughed freely when Misha teased her—and something in Rae unraveled.

…Well. If the world insists on rigging this, I might as well lean in.

“Festival speedrun accepted,” Rae muttered, rolling up her sleeves.

From that moment, she went all in. Ring toss, darts, target shooting—one after another, she cut through each game, collecting prizes until her arms were overflowing with festival masks, candied fruit, stuffed charms. Every cheer from the crowd, every glare from the rival pair—all of it faded compared to the way Claire’s eyes lit up, brighter and brighter, as though Rae had plucked stars out of the lanterns just to hand them to her.

By the end, Rae staggered under her absurd pile of winnings, breathless but victorious. The fiancé muttered darkly about “rigged stalls.”

The childhood friend, her smile brittle, leaned close to Claire. “Your attendant seems… competent.”

Claire’s reply was velvet wrapped around steel, sharp enough to cut clean, “She is more than competent. She is mine.”

The words carried, heavy as a temple bell, undeniable in their resonance.

Rae’s heart stuttered. Mine? Heat surged up her neck. For a wild moment, she wondered if Claire had meant it—really meant it—before her brain scrambled to the safest conclusion.
Ah. Professionally. She must mean professionally.

So Rae smiled her most oblivious smile and said brightly, “If you’d like tips for the booths, I’d be happy to share my techniques.”

Misha nearly collapsed with laughter. Lene pinched the bridge of her nose.

Claire shook her head with an exasperated smile and hugged the big teddy bear, from Rae’s recent win, a bit tighter.

Rae, you’re really an insufferable fool.

She looked at as Rae attempted to discuss her techniques with the couple, her infectious energy annoying them with every second. Her smile widened

My insufferable fool.

---

The final stall loomed over the festival street: a haunted house maze dressed with paper lanterns and painted skeletons, shrieks drifting out every time a group vanished inside.

Claire’s chin tilted imperiously. “We’re going.”

Lene blinked. “Milady… you dislike—”

“I said we’re going.” The words were sharp. But Rae noticed the faintest tremor in Claire’s grip on her fan. She sighed. The classic haunted house trope. Of course.

The childhood friend and her fiancé swept in first, the fiancé chuckling bravely. Misha dragged Lene along next, muttering about how “a little fright builds character.”

That left Rae and Claire. Before they entered, Rae grabbed Claire’s hand and smiled apologetically.

“Let’s take our time in the maze and allow your friend win this round. After all, everyone should have a winning chance at the summer festival.”

Noting Claire paled at her words, she quickly added.

“Or we can forfeit and wait for them at the exit.”

Claire glared, her competitive spirit in full force, before softening slightly at Rae’s earnest look. “Fine. I will let her win this time. Just..stick close to me once we are inside.”

Upon hearing the words, Rae felt something stir in her muscles—like a subtle boost, as though the world itself had handed her a temporary upgrade. She didn’t have a chance to examine the sudden sensation before Claire forcibly dragged her into the darkness.

Inside, the haunted maze was all creaking floorboards, smoke from hidden braziers, and painted masks that lunged from the shadows. Every second step, Claire jolted, her fan clutched so tightly the lacquer creaked.

When a ghost swung down from above with a bloodcurdling wail, Claire startled and clutched Rae’s arm like a lifeline. Feeling the trembles getting worse. Rae made a decision. She bent close, her voice low against Claire’s ear.
“Pardon me, milady.”

Before Claire could question, Rae swept her off her feet.

Strong arms cradled her effortlessly, bridal-style. Rae’s tone was steady, matter-of-fact, as though this were the only logical solution, “If it unsettles you, close your eyes. I’ll see you through.”

Her voice was so certain, so grounding, that Claire’s protest caught in her throat. Instead, in the suffocating darkness, she allowed herself a small rebellion. She curled closer, burying the tremor of her breath against Rae’s shoulder, trusting that no one could see her weakness here.

Rae, meanwhile, moved through the gloom leisurely and wondering why she didn’t even feel the strain she expected. Interesting mechanic, she thought, noting the way Claire seemed almost weightless in her arms. No fatigue penalty, no stamina drain. A pity this doesn’t apply in real life—carrying her like this would hardly be feasible otherwise.

A papier skeleton clattered in their path; Rae brushed past it with all the attention she might give a stray curtain. Claire, hidden in the crook of her neck, tightened her grip on Rae’s jacket, telling herself it was only for balance. Only because it was dark. Only because it was Rae.

By the time they emerged, lantern-light spilling over the path outside, Rae still bore her without falter. Gasps rose from the small crowd gathered at the exit. Misha nearly bent double trying not to cackle. Lene closed her eyes as if praying for patience. The childhood friend’s expression pinched, while her fiancé muttered under his breath.

Unperturbed, Rae lowered Claire gently to her feet. “Safe now.”

Claire smoothed her skirts, head held high despite the heat burning her cheeks. “Naturally. I never doubted you.”

No one dared question her, but when Rae turned to glance back at the haunted house with an absentminded hum — already wondering whether the mechanics scaled with party composition — Claire’s fingers lingered, brushing Rae’s sleeve as though she wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

The friend gave a thin smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Both of you were in the haunted maze for quite a while, Claire. We were about to send a search party in.”

Claire’s chin tilted, every inch the noble heiress. “Rae is just a little lost. But she manages to find the exit eventually. With guidance from me, of course.” The faint edge in her tone silenced any further comment.

Her friend’s eyes continue to linger on Rae with something between envy and disdain. She then leaned forward, lips curling into a conspiratorial smile.

“It will be interesting to see if she has a place in your life after the council meeting. Given her competency, she will not be satisfied being your attendant or servant forever.”

The words struck deeper than Claire expected. Her breath caught, sharp enough that she hoped no one else heard. Her composure wavered for the smallest fraction of a second, but it was enough. Her friend’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction before she withdrew with a graceful curtsy, her sulking fiancé trailing behind.

Claire remained still, staring after them as if the retreating figures had peeled something raw open in her chest. The sounds of the festival dulled, thinning into a distant hum. Not satisfied. Not forever. One day she’ll leave.

Her throat tightened. She told herself she should brush it off, but the heaviness pressed down with alarming speed. She hated it—hated the idea that someone else could glimpse the one fear she dared not name.

And then, without warning, the weight lifted. Literally.

“Rae!” Claire gasped, clutching instinctively at broad shoulders as she was swept off her feet. Again. This time in full view of half the festival.

“Put me down this instant!” she hissed, her cheeks burning.

“Seems like the strength boost hasn’t worn off yet,” Rae murmured, almost absently. But when Claire lifted her chin to scold her properly, she froze.

Rae was looking at her with that quiet, unwavering intensity that stripped everything else away. Earnest, unflinching—protective in a way that made Claire’s carefully guarded fears feel seen, and immediately defied.

“Don’t listen to her,” Rae said simply, firmly, as if it were the most obvious truth in the world. “I’m not going anywhere unless you send me away yourself.”

Claire’s breath caught, her indignation melting into something dangerously close to relief. For one perilous moment, she was suspended not just in Rae’s arms but in the gravity of her words, heart hammering loud enough she swore Rae could hear it.

The festival roared back into sound as Lene and Misha quickly joined them. But all she could register was the woman carrying her, steady and resolute, as though nothing in the world could pry her away.

Misha was the first to break. She staggered forward, clutching Lene’s sleeve for balance, half doubled over in barely-contained laughter. “S–strength boost… bridal style? Really? You’re going to kill me—”

“Compose yourself,” Lene hissed, though her own mouth twitched in a betraying curve.

Rae, oblivious to her friends’ breakdown, just hold Claire tighter. “That was odd, though. She hardly weighed anything. Not even a stamina penalty.”

Misha nearly smacked Rae’s head. “Stamina penalty?! Rae, she’s not a sack of grain—”

“It was a mechanic of the event,” Rae explained seriously. “A clever one, though unrealistic. In reality, I wouldn’t be able to carry her even a quarter that distance without collapsing.”

Lene’s fan froze mid-flick. “…You mean to say…”

Rae nodded earnestly. “Yes, basically the world granted me temporary strength to carry Lady Claire out of the maze. Should wear off eventually given it wouldn’t be feasible at all in daily life and…”

She trailed off as she registered the various expressions. Suddenly, the realization of what she has done came crashing down on her. She gently set Claire down.

Lene pinched the bridge of her nose. “Unbelievable.”

Misha leaned closer to Rae, whispering through giggles, “You have no idea what you’ve just done, do you?”

“…Protect a lady from ghosts?” Rae offered weakly.

Claire exhaled slowly, the picture of composure to anyone watching — except Rae, who caught the tiniest quiver at the corner of her smile. But before she could press, Claire slipped her arm smoothly through Rae’s, claiming her escort as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Come, my foolish knight. The night is still young.”

And though her tone was cool, the pressure of her hand against Rae’s sleeve lingered, as if daring anyone to question whom she had chosen to stand beside.

---

The walk back to the inn was quieter than Rae expected. Misha and Lene chatted softly ahead, arms laden with festival spoils, but behind them Rae and Claire walked in step, silence threading between the rhythm of geta on stone.

At the door to their shared suite, Claire paused, fingers resting on the frame. Her profile was calm, though the faintest trace of lanternlight still lingered in her eyes.

“Rae,” she said, in that low, composed way that always made Rae straighten. “Ring for tea, won’t you? I think… it would be pleasant to end the evening together.”

Rae’s gamer instincts blared in alarm.

This is THE “last summer night” flag. A massive flag. In every festival route, this is where the confession event happens. Or worse—the bad end where I overstep. I should retreat, immediately. Retreat, regroup, grind side quests—

“…Of course, Milady.” Rae’s voice betrayed not a flicker of her turmoil. She moved to request the housekeeper for tea as if nothing at all was unusual.

Claire did not comment, but when Rae glanced back, she caught the faintest curl of a smile tugging at her lips, as though she had already seen through every layer of Rae’s frantic denials.

Later, steam curled lazily between them from the teapot, carrying the faint scent of roasted barley. The quiet felt heavier here, within the soft-lit room, where the festival’s laughter and lanterns seemed impossibly far away.

Claire lifted her cup with elegant poise, but her words broke softer than her manner. “This was my first summer vacation spent with anyone other than Lene.”

Rae blinked, surprised. “…Truly?”

A small, brittle smile. “Vacations are never for leisure, not when you’re born a noble. They become showcases, negotiations, obligations. This time, it… was different.”

Rae hesitated, her throat tightening. Claire wasn’t looking at her, but Rae could see it — in the line of her shoulders, the delicate crack in her composure. Loneliness, the kind so long-worn it became invisible until someone else dared notice.

Perhaps the game’s romance mechanics would demand a dramatic CG here — a forced kiss, a scripted embrace. Rae thought… maybe the right answer was simpler. Maybe it was listening.

“…Then I’m glad I was here,” Rae said, voice rougher than she intended. “Glad it was me.”

That earned her Claire’s full attention. Those sharp blue eyes fixed on her, unwavering, as if Rae had just offered something far heavier than words.

“You say things so simply,” Claire murmured. “As though you don’t realize what they sound like.”

Rae laughed weakly, rubbing the back of her neck. “I-I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t you?”

The room seemed to shrink around them. Rae’s breath caught, her pulse hammering in her ears. “No,” she said softly, forcing herself to hold Claire’s gaze. “I did mean it. You deserve summers that belong to you, not to duty. If I can give you even a little of that… then I’ll work for it.”

The words hung between them, raw and unguarded.

Claire’s lips parted, her composure slipping for a fleeting instant. And before Rae could retreat with humor or formality, Claire leaned forward — her hand brushing Rae’s where it rested on the table, cool porcelain giving way to the warmth of skin.

“Then let me be selfish this once,” she whispered.

Her lashes lowered, and Rae barely had a second to register what was happening before Claire closed the space between them, pressing her mouth to Rae’s.

It was soft, hesitant at first, the kind of kiss that carried all the weight of unspoken years and stolen chances. Rae froze, just for a heartbeat, then her chest clenched at the thought of what it must have cost Claire to bare herself like this.

So Rae kissed her back. Gently, carefully, as though she was afraid to break something fragile and priceless. She tilted her head, deepening it just enough to let Claire know that she’s here. With her.

Claire’s breath hitched, her fingers curling tighter around Rae’s. When she pulled back at last, her cheeks were flushed, but her eyes glowed with a fierce, quiet light.

“Now,” she murmured, voice trembling yet resolute, “this summer belongs to me. Truly.”

Rae, dazed and undone, could only think that if this was a “romance flag,” she had no regrets about letting it trigger.

---

The morning sunlight spilled through the gauzy curtains of the summer estate, far too bright for Rae’s liking. She sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand down her face.

So that was it?

Their “last night of summer” — the kind that romance sims hyped up as pivotal, irreversible turning points — had ended with tea, quiet conversation, soft kisses, and the gentle rhythm of Claire’s breathing as they drifted into sleep side by side.

No dramatic fireworks.
No sweeping kiss stolen under the stars.
No trembling confessions whispered in the dark.

Just warmth. Comfort. Claire’s presence pressed close, so familiar now it felt like an inevitability.

Rae let out a low sigh, part relief, part something dangerously close to disappointment. What was I expecting, exactly? That she’d suddenly… She shook her head, smacking her cheeks lightly. Dangerous territory. Best not to dwell on the aching tug she felt every time she remembered Claire’s laugh in the festival streets, the way her body leaned instinctively toward Rae in the haunted house. Better to keep her guard intact.

Her thoughts shifted, with grim inevitability, toward what lay ahead: returning to Euclid.

Her “hometown.”

In the game, the parents were always faceless sprites — heads cropped out, or else suspiciously similar to the generic villager template with new hair pasted on. Background filler, nothing more. Rae had never expected to actually meet them or any town folks as people. People who would have opinions, and questions, and—

She frowned. —and knowledge about her “engagement.”

The supposed engagement Claire’s friend had hinted at the previous night. And the mentioned of council meeting in her parting words. Both of which Rae absolutely did not recall from canon or the game lore.

Whatever it was, Rae was determined to dig into it while in Euclid. If there was even a chance it touched on Claire’s future, she had to know.

The door creaked open.

Rae’s thoughts scattered like startled pigeons as Claire stepped in. Morning light struck her hair, gilding the golden waves until she looked almost untouchable. And yet her expression… Rae blinked. It wasn’t the usual serene composure, not entirely. There was a flicker beneath the polish — nerves, maybe. Shyness. A hint of something vulnerable.

“Good morning, Rae,” Claire said smoothly, as if greeting her in her bedroom was the most natural thing in the world.

Rae managed a crooked smile. “Morning, milady. You’re up early today. Excited to head back to the capital?”

Claire tilted her head, considering, then spoke with that same commanding clarity she always used when she’d already made up her mind.

“Change of plans. I’ll be going to Euclid with you.”

Rae’s brain crashed.

Wait—what?

She blinked at Claire, dumbstruck, her entire carefully scripted internal monologue dissolving. She’d been preparing for a gentle farewell, convincing herself the “summer arc” had closed. And now—Claire, in all her noble certainty, had just rewritten the narrative.

“H—heading to Euclid? With me?” Rae blurted, her voice cracking embarrassingly as she forgot how to be a composed, competent human.

Claire’s lips curved in a small, satisfied smile, the kind that said I’ve just checkmated you in three moves.

When Misha first brough up her trip back home, Claire had expected Rae to offer some perfunctory well-wishes. Instead, Rae chose to follow.

The actions were ordinary enough. The effect was not.

A week ago, she might have brushed it off—Rae’s life was her own, after all. But after last night, or even the past few ones … after the warmth of Rae’s hand on her back, the way her voice had dropped when she’d whispered goodnight…

Something in Claire’s chest tightened. She let her gaze linger on Rae for half a heartbeat longer than necessary, savouring the panicked and, yet, adorable look on her attendant’s face.

No. The idea of Rae leaving so soon was entirely unacceptable.

“I had assumed we would… remain together until the term resumed. Surely you don’t intend to leave me behind when I’ve yet to experience what your hometown has to offer, Rae Taylor? Besides…”

Her tone shifted — softer now, dropping into something dangerous, intimate, almost conspiratorial.

“I have no intention of letting my summer end here.”

Rae swallowed hard. Her pulse thundered. The “last night” she had resigned herself to had been a false flag.

The real event had just triggered.

And Claire — brilliant, unpredictable Claire — had seized the controller.

The summer arc wasn’t over. Not yet.

Chapter 15: Hometown, Childhood NPC and Sleepover Mess

The carriage rattled steadily along the countryside road, its windows framing stretches of golden fields and the occasional cluster of trees. Misha and Lene sat opposite, quietly chatting, while Rae occupied the seat beside Claire.

Rae hadn’t said much since they left. Her eyes kept drifting to the horizon, but her thoughts were nowhere near as calm as her expression.

Meta hometown event. This is it.

She knew the map outlines. She knew the town sprites, the little dialogue boxes with throwaway NPC chatter. But the real place? The alleys, the faces, the smells? She didn’t know them at all. And her parents… sprites in a game, now actual people she’d have to face.

What if Claire noticed? What if she realized Rae didn’t belong?

Next to her, Claire watched Rae’s silence with her own growing unease. Had she pushed too hard by insisting she come along? She replayed the morning scene in her head—her firm declaration, Rae’s startled look. Was she smothering her? Was this unseemly of her, trailing into Rae’s private life under the guise of elegance?

She adjusted her gloves, hiding the tiny fidget in her hands.

Misha caught the movement instantly, her gaze flicking between Claire’s stiff posture and Rae’s distant stare. She opened her mouth, but Lene shook her head ever so slightly. Best to let it play out.

Then Rae, ever attuned to the subtle shifts in Claire’s mood, caught the flicker of tension anyway. Her heart thudded, and she cursed herself inwardly. Idiot! Of course she’s nervous—it must be nerve-wracking to meet your attendant’s parents. Nobles don’t exactly… do this.

“Milady,” Rae said suddenly, turning to her with uncharacteristic softness. “You don’t need to worry. My parents will love you. You’re… you.”

Claire blinked, caught off guard. “I—what makes you think I was—”

Rae smiled faintly, almost sheepish. “Because anyone would be nervous, right? Meeting someone’s family for the first time. But… if it’s you, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

For a beat, the rattling of the carriage wheels filled the silence. Then, ever so subtly, Claire’s shoulders relaxed. The line of tension around her mouth eased, replaced by something warm that she quickly hid by turning to the window.

“…Fool,” she murmured, too quiet for anyone but Rae to hear.

Across from them, Misha and Lene leaned back against the seat, smirking as they watched the sweet little misunderstanding unfold.

Rae leaned back, relief blooming in her chest at the sight of Claire’s softened expression. She’d managed to ease her nerves, not realizing she’d completely misread what those nerves were about.

---

As the carriage rolled into Euclid, Misha pointed the sights to Lene and Claire.

“Euclid’s a modest town,” Misha said, her voice as warm and composed as if she were reading aloud from a travel guide. “The market’s busiest on the weekend, with weavers and farmers from nearby villages. There’s the bakery that sells honey tarts worth the trip alone, and the square has a fountain that doubles as the gossip hub. If you walk past that, you’ll reach the Taylors’ tailor shop. Everyone knows them.”

The carriage finally stopped in front of a gate leading to a modest but well-kept lodging that Lene has arranged for her and Claire’s stay in Euclid. Lene alighted first and quickly busied herself with the preparations for the lodging, leaving Rae and Misha to accompany Claire as she continues to examine the town square.

Euclid was exactly as Rae remembered from the game’s background maps: cobblestones, cheerful flower boxes, the market square busy with chatter. She awkwardly smiled and waved back at some of the town people who called her, choosing to keep the interactions minimal.

And then

“Rae? Misha?”

A tall young man appeared beside Lene, hair a shade lighter than hers, eyes bright with recognition. His smile was open, earnest, and far too familiar.

"Louis? It's been awhile," Misha nodded in greeting.

Rae's heart gave a jolt.

Louis. The protagonist's childhood friend who existed as the rival NPC in the original script to tug the protagonist’s attention away from her destined love interest. Rae had nearly forgotten him but here he was, bounding toward her like the past ten years hadn’t happened.

“You’re really here,” Louis said, breathless with relief, as if she might vanish if he blinked. “Rae Taylor—it’s been so long!”

“Oh no,” Rae muttered under her breath. “Not you.”

“Pardon?” Claire’s brow arched, but Rae was already past hearing her.

Louis clasped her hands with all the familiarity of an unskippable cutscene. Rae forced a strained smile. “Hi. Hello. Great to see you, Louis. Yes, I’m alive. Let’s move on—”

But Louis’s gaze slipped over her shoulder. He stopped cold. His whole demeanor sharpened as he took in the noblewoman beside Rae.

"Ah..Lady François, welcome to Euclid. I am Louis, the groundkeeper for this estate. The rooms have been prepared," he bowed respectfully. Claire thanked him with a tight smile and turned to speak softly with Lene.

Louis turned back to Rae, his voice dropped low. “That’s… Lady Claire François, only daughter of the main François household, isn’t it?”

Rae’s stomach plummeted. Her brain slammed straight into high alert.

“How do you know?” she whispered back.

Louis’s lips pressed thin, like someone recalling a rumor half-believed. “Been doing some work for the nobles...and her name seems to come up in certain circles recently. She is the only one in the family that has blonde hair and blue eyes.” His eyes flicked back to Rae, troubled and strangely calculating. “Why is she here? With you?”

Rae masked her jolt by laughing too quickly, tugging at her collar. “We are…uhm…classmates and she expressed her interest to join me for the summer holidays.”

But Louis only studied her, weighing her reaction. “I see. So you are on friendly terms.”

"That's one way to put it. She is also my…ah…employer. Need to earn my keep," Rae laughed nervously.

And then, with a sliver of shrewdness she didn’t remember from the game, he leaned in slightly. “Then I believe I have some information that might be of interest to you. Head over here when you are available and we can speak over dinner or drinks one of these days.”

Rae nearly choked. Dinner?! Drinks?!

She wanted to deny it outright, but she needed what Louis knew even thought they might be just rumors.

For once in her life, Rae Taylor couldn’t speedrun past the childhood friend event.

“Rae, shall we go ahead and say hello to your parents? Lene will join us there once she is done with the preparations.”

Rae felt the shift in Claire’s voice like a drop in temperature. Taut, sharp, and unmistakably tinged with jealousy.

Misha subtly nudged at Lene and mumbled about one-sided crush. She then waved her goodbyes and headed back to her parents’ house.

With no rescue in sight, Rae plastered on her best awkward grin and gently slipped her hands free from Louis’s. “Right, right—I need to head back to my parents. I…” She glanced sideways at Claire, whose face looking darker with every second, “…I’ll find you later, Louis.”

Louis frowned, clearly reluctant to let the moment slip, but Rae had already taken Claire’s arm, and guided her firmly toward the tailor shop. “Good seeing you! Bye!” she called over her shoulder, her words tumbling out too fast.

“Rae—” Louis tried again.

“Later!” Rae shot back, quickening her pace until the crowd swallowed him behind them.

Only when she was certain they were out of earshot did she risk a glance at Claire. The noblewoman’s expression was perfectly composed, but her lips were pressed thin, and the glint in her eyes was far from neutral.

Rae cleared her throat. “That was… unexpected.”

“Indeed.” Claire’s tone was calm, but the clipped precision of the word carried weight.

“Just an old childhood friend,” Rae said quickly. “Louis is harmless. Mostly. Just—clingy.” She gestured vaguely. “Nothing worth noting.”

Claire’s eyebrow arched at that curious phrasing. “Nothing worth noting? He seemed quite determined to secure your attention.”

Rae winced inwardly. Claire had definitely noticed the dinner invitation, and she was definitely not amused. She scrambled for a lifeline, her words tumbling in a rush: “Look, he’s not important. What matters is that you’re here. With me. So let’s focus on getting you measured for an outfit that’ll outshine everyone at the royal gathering, alright?”

That earned her a flicker of amusement. Claire’s lips twitching despite herself, the jealousy easing into something softer. “You are far too transparent, Rae Taylor.”

Rae grinned, sheepish but relieved. Crisis averted… for now.

Still, deep down, her nerves thrummed. Because no matter how fast she’d dragged Claire away, the dinner flag with Louis had already been set.

And Rae knew better than anyone—you couldn’t skip an event once it was triggered.

---

The bell above the tailor shop door chimed brightly as Rae pushed it open. The familiar scent of starch, cotton, and dyed thread rushed at her.

“Welcome, welcome—oh!”

Her mother looked up from behind the counter, a length of measuring tape in hand. She froze. Then her expression broke into sheer delight.

“Rae!”

Before she could react, her mother bustled around the counter and wrapped her in a tight, lavender-scented hug. Rae flailed for a second, then awkwardly patted her mother’s back. “Uh—hi, Mom.”

Her father appeared from the back room, wiping his hands on a work cloth. Stoic as ever, though Rae swore she saw the edge of a smile tug at his mouth. “So. You did come home.”

She laughed nervously

Her “parents.”

Van and Mel Taylor.

Van was broader, sturdier than any sprite could convey—thick forearms, shoulders like a dock beam, stoic personality. Mel was…

…well, if she’d walked onto campus, Rae would have mistaken her for a fashionable older student. Her mother’s hair bounced with a healthy shine, her sundress fluttering in the sea breeze, and her expression—bright, curious, slightly scatterbrained—didn’t match the “stock NPC” she remembered at all.

Rae cleared her throat and grinned sheepishly. “Yeah… I, um—brought a classmate to say hi.”

That was enough to draw her mother’s attention past Rae. Claire stood near the door, posture straight, glancing curiously at the scene in front of her. At once, Rae’s mother brightened all over again.

“A classmate! Oh, how wonderful. What’s your name, dear?”

“Claire François,” Claire replied smoothly, dipping her head in polite greeting. “I attend the same academy as Rae.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Mel said, her eyes sparkling with interest. “So you’ve been studying together? Is she keeping up with her work? I always worried Rae would slack off if no one pushed her…”

“Mom—” Rae protested, face heating.

Claire, of course, looked entirely unbothered. If anything, she seemed faintly amused. “On the contrary, Rae has been performing very well in school and is a role model to many. She is diligent,” she said, her voice warm in a way that made Rae’s stomach flip. “Almost too diligent.”

Her mother chuckled, clearly charmed, and launched into more questions about exams, teachers, and dormitory life. Rae stood stiffly beside them, feeling more like an intruder than a daughter, unsure how to jump into the easy rhythm of family chatter.

Her eyes drifted instead around the shop—the polished oak counters, the bolts of fabric stacked neatly on shelves, the half-finished jacket draped on a mannequin in the corner. Details she had skimmed over in the “game” version of this place now felt painfully vivid.

Her father cleared his throat, pulling Rae’s gaze back. “And you, Rae? What are your plans in Euclid?”

Rae blinked, scrambled. “Oh, uh… I need an outfit. For a formal event. Was hoping you might help…” She hesitated, and then gesture to the small bag. “I’ll stay in my room to catch up on my studies.”

There was a small silence. Claire tilted her head just slightly, a disappointed look flickering across her face.

“Your room?” she repeated softly. “You are not staying at the guesthouse?” With me

Rae, confused by the reaction, stumbled. “Uh—well—it’s just—it’s my old room. Practical.”

Claire’s eyes lingered on Rae, the kind of look that said far more than her polite words ever would. Rae resisted the urge to bury her face in the nearest pile of fabric.

Before she can question further on the disappointed look from Claire's face, the bell over the shop door jingled again.

“Pardon the intrusion—ah, Lady Claire, there you are.”

Lene stepped inside, composed as ever, though Rae caught the faintest flicker of relief in her eyes at locating her charge.

Claire turned with effortless grace. “Ah—this is Lene. A friend of mine,” she said smoothly, the word friend carrying just enough weight to erase any hint of hierarchy.

Rae’s parents perked up with Lene gracefully bowed in greeting. Her mother smiled warmly. “Another classmate? How wonderful! It’s so nice Rae has such good company. And well mannered friends.”

Before Rae could correct, or even process, the exchange, Van spoke. “And where will you young ladies be putting up while you’re in Euclid?”

Rae opened her mouth to answer, but Claire got there first. She turned slightly toward Lene, her voice casual, pleasant… and cuttingly precise.

“Did you hear, Lene? Rae will be staying here, with her family.”

It was phrased like an innocent remark, but Rae felt the sharp edge underneath, and her stomach lurched.

Lene, quick on the uptake, didn’t miss a beat. “Indeed, Lady—” She caught herself, adjusting smoothly. “Claire. Yes. As it happens, the guesthouse we initially booked was unable to accommodate your preferred sleeping arrangement. I'm afraid,” she glanced meaningfully at Rae, “with your separation anxiety acting out, we might need to think of alternatives.”

She then pressed a hand to her cheek with an air of faint concern, her voice dropping into a stageworthy sigh.

“Oh dear… and that means Lady Cl—Claire… would not be able to sleep comfortably tonight.”

Rae’s head whipped around. “Wait, that’s not—”

But before she could blurt the truth, her mother gasped softly, hand to her chest. “Goodness! That won’t do at all.”

Her father frowned, decisive. “Trouble sleeping in strange surroundings? Understandable. You deserve a good rest after the journey.”

Rae floundered. “No, really, it’s not—”

But her mother had already turned to Claire with warm insistence. “You’ll stay here with Rae, of course. Her room could accommodate two people.”

Claire, of course, merely inclined her head, graceful as always. “If it truly isn’t a bother, then I’ll accept your kind hospitality.”

Mel beamed. Van gave his approving grunt. And Rae sat frozen, every rational argument bottlenecked behind the shrill siren in her head screaming.

And when they finally climbed the narrow staircase and Rae opened the door to her childhood room, the final nail hit the coffin.

Her bed. Her tiny, narrow, barely-for-one bed.

Claire looked at it with a thoughtful little hum, then at Rae, her lips curving just enough to make Rae want to bang her head against the wall.

---

Claire watched Rae go utterly still at the sight of the narrow bed. For a moment, she thought Rae had been turned to stone. The poor thing was actually calculating escape routes.

It was almost endearing.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Rae blurted finally, too fast, too earnest, the words practically tripping over each other. She scratched the back of her neck, refusing to meet Claire’s gaze. “It’s fine, really. I’ve slept in worse.”

Claire’s lips curved, slow and deliberate. She let the silence linger, savoring it, savoring her.

“Rae,” she said softly, letting her voice glide with elegance. “That is absurd.”

Rae startled at the firmness. “It’s not absurd, it’s practical!” She waved a hand at the floorboards as if presenting irrefutable evidence. “Look, flat surface, plenty of space. Totally reasonable. It’ll be fine.”

Claire stepped closer, letting her shadow overlap Rae’s. Her chest tightened with something dangerous, something she’d spent years suppressing under duty and decorum. But here, in Rae’s small, intimate childhood room, it slipped free like a flame finding air.

“And have me explain to your parents tomorrow morning,” she murmured, “why their daughter looks sleep-deprived and rumpled because she was left to the floor? Absolutely not.”

Rae’s mouth opened, closed, opened again—like she was rebooting.

Claire tilted her head, allowed herself a victorious glint in her eye. “We have been sharing a bed for the past few nights so this is no trouble at all. It is not so small that two people cannot fit—provided,” and here she let her tone drop into a quiet challenge, “that one of them does not thrash about like a restless child.”

A flush crawled up Rae’s neck. Claire bit the inside of her cheek to keep her composure. Because the truth was, the bed was small. Small enough that she could feel Rae’s heat just standing next to it. Small enough that once they lay down, there would be no polite space between them.

She pretended to fuss with her earrings at the mirror, giving Rae a chance to stew. But in her chest, her heart thudded like it wanted to escape.

This, she realized, was what she wanted—no, needed after seeing Rae’s interaction with Louis. To see Rae’s unshakable composure crack. To claim this small, stolen intimacy. To prove that she could still make Rae falter.

“Unless,” Claire added lightly, almost as an afterthought, “you’d rather fetch a blanket and sleep under the stars. Though I imagine your parents might find that… curious.”

The look Rae gave her was pure, beleaguered despair. And Claire—quietly, triumphantly—felt both her heart break and heal all at once.

“Ah, and one more matter,” she said, smoothing an invisible crease in her blouse. “My luggage is at the guesthouse.”

Rae froze. “…What?”

Claire turned to face her fully, chin lifted with that noble composure that dared anyone to call it scandalous. “You dragged me here without sharing your sleeping arrangements. My belongings are still there. Which means”—and here she allowed the faintest, most deliberate pause—“I have nothing to change into for the night.”

The silence that followed was so thick Rae could’ve carved it with a bread knife.

Rae made a strangled noise. “You—you what?!”

Claire folded her arms, her expression the picture of elegance masking provocation. “I assume your mother can spare me a gown in the morning. But for tonight…” She let her eyes flick—just barely—toward Rae’s bed, then back to Rae. “…I will manage.”

The poor girl looked like she might combust.

“You—you can’t just—manage—” Rae rubbed her temple, her voice cracking in disbelief. “You’re seriously telling me you’re going to sleep—in my—like this—without—?”

Claire tilted her head, as if innocently puzzled by Rae’s unravelling. “What alternative do you suggest? Should I return alone to the guesthouse in the dark? Or you will go instead and leave me unattended in your home?” She let a small, knowing smile bloom. “You wouldn’t permit that, would you, my knight?”

Rae groaned into her hands, utterly defeated.

When she finally muttered, “Fine. But you take the bed, I’ll—” Claire immediately cut her off.

“Do not even suggest the floor again,” she said, quiet steel in her tone. “I would rather you kept me warm than leave me cold, Rae Taylor.”

The words slipped out far more intimate than she intended. And when Rae’s stunned eyes met hers, Claire felt both triumphant and terrifyingly bare.

---

The door creaked open, and Rae stumbled in, face red to the roots of her hair, clutching something silky and pale.

Claire raised an eyebrow, already amused to see what antics Rae was up too.

“I—uh—I found something!” Rae blurted, face red to the roots of her hair. “My mom had spares. It’s—uh—it’s clean, freshly laundered, don’t worry—”

Claire accepted the garment with practiced grace. It slipped over her fingers like water, the fabric whispering against her skin. Her eyes flicked down, and then up again, slowly.

A nightgown. But not the prim, modest kind. Thin straps. Low neckline. Hem scandalously short.

“...This,” Claire murmured, her lips twitching, “is what you consider suitable?”

Rae’s face flamed. “I didn’t know! Why are all her nightgowns like this?! Who even—who wears this?! She’s married!” Rae pressed both hands against her burning cheeks and practically shouted to the ceiling, “Why are they ALL so revealing?!”

Claire had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop from laughing. The way Rae looked like she’d been asked to commit treason with her bare hands… it was almost too much.

“I’ll wear it,” she said lightly, standing with all the dignity she could muster, even as her pulse raced.

Rae made a strangled noise, half protest, half plea, and turned away so fast she nearly tripped on the rug.

“D-don’t say things like that!” Rae hissed, ears scarlet.

Claire allowed herself a private smile as she slipped into the adjoining washroom with the nightgown in hand. She could already imagine Rae’s face when she returned wearing it.

When Claire emerged from the washroom, the lamplight painted her in shades of gold. The nightgown clung like a whisper, its straps slipping delicately against her shoulders, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs.

Rae froze mid-step. Her entire soul seemed to shriek danger.

“...You’re going to catch a cold like that!” she blurted, far too loud, before diving headfirst into her own travel bag. Clothes went flying—socks, notebooks, a comb—until Rae surfaced, triumphant, with a plain black t-shirt.

“Here—wear this! Please. Please wear this.” Rae practically shoved the garment into Claire’s hands like it was a lifeline.

Claire accepted it with a languid grace, lips curling into a smile that was all silk and secrets. “My, my. So flustered. Is it really so improper, Rae, for you to see me like this?”

Rae’s ears turned scarlet. “It’s not about me—it’s about decency!”

That earned her a low, musical laugh. Still, Claire slipped the t-shirt over her head. It was too big, drowning her frame, but Rae’s scent lingered faintly in the fabric—clean cotton, ink, the faintest trace of cedar soap. It transformed something indecent into something far more intimate.

Claire looked down at herself, the hem of the shirt brushing her thighs over the nightgown, and allowed the smile to soften.

“Better?” she asked.

Rae, caught between relief and a deeper, more treacherous kind of ache, muttered, “...Much.”

She turned hastily toward her side of the bed, missing the way Claire’s fingers brushed the fabric at her hip, savoring the warmth that wasn’t hers but felt like it could be.

---

The house had gone quiet hours ago.

Only the faint creak of the floorboards and the occasional whisper of the wind through the shutters accompanied them.

Claire lay on her side in Rae’s childhood bed, the blanket drawn neatly to her waist. The mattress was narrow enough that their shoulders brushed no matter how still they tried to lie. Or at least how still Rae tried. Claire wasn’t making any effort at all to keep her distance.

Now Rae was stretched out stiffly beside her, staring at the ceiling with the tense alertness of someone facing a crisis.

“You’re acting like this is dangerous,” Claire murmured into the dimness.

“It is dangerous,” Rae muttered back, not turning her head.

Claire smirked. “For who?”

That got her a sideways glance, faintly exasperated, faintly shy. In the dark, Rae’s eyes caught just enough light to gleam.

“You’re not… uncomfortable?” Rae asked finally, her voice quieter than before.

“Not in the slightest,” Claire said truthfully. She reached out and, deliberately, brushed her fingers over Rae’s hand resting atop the blanket. Rae went still.

Claire’s gaze flicked briefly over the desk, the small shelf, the faint outlines of things that might once have been personal treasures. Rae hadn’t touched any of them. Hadn’t even looked at them for long.

“Does it feel strange?” Claire asked softly. “Being back here?”

Rae’s jaw shifted slightly, like she was turning over the answer before letting it go. “…Yeah. More than I thought it would.”

Claire thought about pressing but then Rae’s hand shifted beneath hers, the lightest return of pressure. Almost without thinking, she let her shoulder rest against Rae’s, just lightly. A selfish, quiet act of claiming.

She decided that maybe tonight wasn’t the night for interrogation.

Just for tonight, she told herself, closing her eyes. Let me have this much.

---

The morning sun barely filtered through the thin curtains when Rae woke. Her body stiffened immediately. Because Claire was right there.

Not at the usual polite distance they’d kept over the past few nights. No, Claire had migrated in her sleep, nestled so close Rae could feel the warmth of her breath against her cheek. Her delicate hand rested lightly against Rae’s chest, as though it belonged there.

Rae’s heart leapt into her throat. Too close. Way, way too close.

She froze for a second, then—like a soldier trained for emergency retreat—slipped carefully out of bed, swearing her pulse might give her away. She scrubbed her face, muttering, This is fine, absolutely fine, just… air. Need air.

Padding downstairs, Rae was relieved to find her mother already awake. Less relieving, however, was the sight of Lene, perfectly composed and sipping tea at the table as though she’d been waiting for this exact ambush. Beside her sat Claire’s traveling trunk, pristine and untouched.

“Good morning, Rae,” Lene greeted smoothly, her smile knowing. “I took the liberty of retrieving the lady’s luggage from the guesthouse.”

Rae gritted her teeth. “You should have retrieved it yesterday! Besides, she should have no trouble sleeping at the guesthouse tonight. The room is too small for two.”

Lene leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. “And let my lady be the subject of the town gossip? Your childhood friend doesn’t seem to be a reliable sort. So eager to share the secrets of the nobles he worked for.”

Rae narrowed her eyes. That’s…true.

Before she could probe further, footsteps descended the stairs. Claire appeared, graceful as ever, except—except she was dressed in Rae’s black shirt draped carelessly over a thin nightgown that was very clearly not designed for modesty.

Mel’s eyes sparkled with undisguised delight. Lene’s brows flicked upward for just a second, before she hid the expression behind her teacup. Rae just want to disappear.

“Good morning,” Claire said and primely sat at the table. She brushed a strand of golden hair from her face and smiled warmly at Rae’s mother. “Thank you again for your hospitality.”

Mel clapped her hands together. “My, my, you look just darling in Rae’s clothes. They suit you.”

“Mother!” Rae yelped.

Her hands twitched uselessly at her sides. She could feel the heat creeping up her neck as her mother all but beamed, and Claire—of course—looked entirely unruffled, as though parading around in Rae’s shirt over a scandalously thin gown was the most natural thing in the world.

Mel clasped her hands under her chin. “Doesn’t she look sweet, Van? A perfect match.”

Her father, already eating breakfast at the table, grunted his usual noncommittal, which only made Mel double down.

“You two could be a pair in the tailoring catalog. Oh, just imagine the orders that would come pouring in!”

“Mother!” Rae nearly choked. “Stop making it sound like—like—”

“Like the obvious?” Lene supplied coolly, setting her teacup down with surgical precision. Her gaze flicked between Rae’s flustered face and Claire’s unbothered one, and she arched a brow. “I take it Rae ensured you were… properly settled?”

The implication in her tone was subtle, but sharp enough to make Rae splutter. “I—I slept on the floor!” she blurted. “On the floor, Lene, do you hear me?!”

Claire’s lips curved upward, faint amusement dancing at the edges. She tilted her head ever so slightly toward Lene. “Yes, Rae was… very considerate.”

That single pause between words nearly sent Rae into an early grave.

“Oh, how reliable,” Mel sighed, entirely missing the nuance. “Just like her father.”

Van grunted again, though Rae swore he was suppressing a smirk.

Meanwhile, Lene’s eyes gleamed with the satisfaction of someone who’d engineered this entire outcome from the start. “Then it seems sharing a roof was for the best after all,” she murmured, and Rae didn’t know whether she wanted to wring her neck or collapse in defeat.

And Claire? Claire only tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear and gave Rae that look—the look that promised she knew exactly how much Rae was suffering and was enjoying every second of it.

 

Notes:

It is so, so tempting to bump the rating up right here, but I’m (begrudgingly) keeping it where it is… for now. 👀 Let’s just say Rae’s self-control (and mine) are both being tested.

Chapter 16: Sandbox Building and Word Duels

“No.”

“Rae, don’t be ridiculous. You should take your friend to the beach.”

Rae’s arms were folded like a fortress, chin tipped stubbornly toward the ceiling. Her mother, apron still dusted with flour from breakfast preparations, tapped her foot with the rhythm of a woman used to winning arguments.

“The beach is five minutes from here,” Mel pressed. “The sun is perfect, the tide is gentle, and your classmates—” she smiled warmly at Claire— “would enjoy it. Honestly, Rae, have you no sense of hospitality?”

“It’s not about hospitality!” Rae blurted, hands waving frantically. “It’s about… about sunstroke. And sand in your shoes. And jellyfish! Did you know they’re in season? Very dangerous.”

Van, peering up from the morning paper, made a noise halfway between a snort and a cough. “In season? Rae, it’s the seaside, not a produce market.”

“Exactly!” Rae jabbed a finger in the air, as if she had proven her case. “The beach is—uh—an incredibly unsafe environment. Sunburn. Crabs. People running around in… in swimsuits…”

Her voice cracked on the last word. She coughed into her hand, praying no one noticed.

Of course, everyone noticed.

Claire, seated primly at the low table, lifted her teacup to hide the curve of her lips. Her eyes sparkled with unmistakable amusement, as though Rae were some fascinating new species of bird flapping about the room. “Is that so, Rae? I had heard beaches were places of recreation.”

“Recreation!” Rae nearly toppled her chair. “That’s just propaganda. They don’t tell you about the undertow! Or the risk of dehydration! Or the—”

“Bikinis?” Lene supplied smoothly from her corner seat.

Rae choked. “I—what—that’s not—!” She turned crimson from ear to ear, flapping her hands like she could erase the word from the air.

Claire lowered her cup with the grace of a queen and tilted her head, that little half-smile blooming into something far too dangerous. “Oh? So that is the concern.”

Rae’s brain sputtered like a broken engine. “It’s not a concern! It’s a perfectly reasonable, logical—”

Mel clapped her hands together, effectively cutting her off. “Settled then. You’ll all go to the beach this morning. I’ll pack refreshments. And Rae, do try not to scowl the entire time. You’ll frighten the gulls.”

“Mother!” Rae groaned, burying her face in her hands.

Van had already folded the paper with finality. “No use arguing, girl. The whole town will be out there today. You should show your friends the shoreline before the afternoon heat sets in.”

Lene, ever the picture of composed observation, sipped her tea. “I confess, I’ve not seen Rae quite this animated since the haunted house.”

Claire’s shoulders shook with the effort of holding back laughter. “Nor have I,” she said, her voice smooth, almost purring. Her gaze flicked to Rae, sharp and amused all at once. “You needn’t worry, Rae. I can handle myself… even if there are jellyfish.”

“That’s not the point!” Rae protested, voice pitching high.

Claire leaned forward, her elbow resting delicately on the table. “Then what is the point?”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Rae scrambled, her mind a blur of excuses and red flags from every romance sim she’d ever played. The beach scene was classic: swimsuits, confessions, CG illustrations with dramatic sunset lighting. It was every possible danger compressed into one narrative minefield.

But she couldn’t say that.

So instead she stammered, “The point is—uh—sand. Sand gets everywhere. Absolutely miserable.”

Mel pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly at the end of her patience. “Rae, for heaven’s sake. If you’re that worried, wear sandals. Now go fetch your things before I drag you there myself.”

Rae slumped forward onto the table, muttering into her sleeves, “This is how protagonists die…”

“Die?” Claire echoed softly, the lilt of her tone dangerously close to teasing.

Rae jerked upright, shaking her head violently. “Figure of speech! Totally harmless! Nothing at all to do with—uh—any narrative tropes I may or may not be aware of.”

Lene raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth twitching. “You sound like a criminal trying to explain why they’re innocent.”

“I am innocent!” Rae cried, only to realize how absurd that sounded, and immediately wished the floor would swallow her whole.

Claire, ever composed, closed her fan with a delicate snap and rose gracefully from her cushion. “Very well. If Rae insists it is such a dangerous ordeal, then I shall consider it… a test of her devotion as my escort.”

Rae’s heart stopped. “Your—your what?”

“My escort,” Claire repeated, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “You wouldn’t let your lady wander into peril unprotected, would you, Rae?”

She leaned in and whispered softly into Rae’s ear.

“Especially when I am in my red bikini.”

The room spun. Rae opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, then finally croaked, “…Of course not.”

Claire’s smile was devastating. “Good. Then it’s settled.”

Lene set her cup down with an exaggerated sigh, muttering just loud enough for Rae to hear, “Rest in peace.”

And Rae knew, with bone-deep certainty, that she’d just lost the battle before it even began.

---

The sun was already high when Rae trudged across the sand, every step a silent protest. The gulls wheeled overhead, the surf hissed against the shore, and her mother’s words echoed like a death sentence in her ears: “Take your friends to the beach.”

So here she was.

In a plain white t-shirt and shorts.

Among goddesses.

“Ahh, it’s been too long since I’ve been near the sea!” Misha stretched her arms high, earning more than a few admiring looks from passing townsfolk. She wore a sleek grey swimsuit that hugged her figure with alarming precision, hair tied up in a casual knot.

Next to her, Lene stood calm and collected in a deep green one-piece, modest but elegant, as though she had stepped straight out of a fashion catalog. Even the waves seemed to pause respectfully before lapping at her ankles.

And then—

“Rae, come here.” Claire ordered, standing a few paces ahead, the sea breeze tugging at her golden hair.

Her red bikini gleamed like a banner of war.

Rae’s soul nearly vacated her body. No. Absolutely not. This was why I refused. I knew it would be like this.

Every step Claire took across the sand looked like it belonged to a cinematic cutscene: the slow sway of her hips, the confident tilt of her chin, the way sunlight kissed her pale skin. She was radiant, devastating, and Rae was… wearing gym clothes.

They all have those beach-beautiful bodies, Rae thought miserably. And I’m just… me. But that’s beside the point. The point is survival.

Claire, of course, was entirely unbothered. She drew her fan from nowhere—how did she even bring a fan to the beach?—and flicked it open with practiced elegance. “Well, Rae? Aren’t you going to accompany me?”

Rae scrambled upright, tugging at her t-shirt like armor. “Y-yes, of course, Milady!”

Misha, adjusting her sunglasses, smirked. “You look like a bodyguard in those clothes, Rae.”

“That’s the idea!” Rae snapped before she could stop herself. “I’m here to… to maintain security perimeter. Not… swim.”

Lene arched an eyebrow, her tone dry. “So the plan is to guard Lady Claire from jellyfish by… glaring at them?”

“Exactly,” Rae said with grim seriousness.

Claire’s lips curved. “How reassuring.” She took Rae’s arm anyway, as if her plain clothes didn’t matter in the slightest. “Come. I’d like to walk near the tide.”

---

The shoreline sparkled under the noon sun, the waves cool against their feet. Claire glided as though she belonged to the sea itself, while Rae stumbled in her wake, hyperaware of every glance cast their way. Townsfolk whispered—of course they did. Claire in a deep red bikini was the kind of sight legends were built on.

Rae risked a glance sideways. And instantly regretted it. The red fabric clung in ways Rae’s brain was not prepared to catalog, the sunlight painting Claire’s skin in warm tones, every detail threatening to sear itself into memory. Rae’s throat went dry.

Do not compute, she thought frantically. Abort visual input. Look at the sand. Sand is safe.

But Claire noticed, of course she did. Her blue eyes flicked toward Rae with quiet amusement, a secret smile tugging at her lips. “You’re awfully quiet, Rae. Is the sea not to your liking?”

Rae nearly tripped over a shell. “It’s—it’s fine! Very salty! Uh—I mean, serene! Serene and salty!”

Behind them, Misha had sprawled onto a towel, sunglasses perched on her nose, sipping from a chilled drink like she was born for this. Lene busied herself preparing the refreshments and humming happily.

“Salty and serene,” Claire repeated, her tone feather-light. “How poetic of you.”

Rae groaned inwardly. She’s enjoying this. She’s actually enjoying watching me combust.

Claire’s fingers brushed Rae’s sleeve, a fleeting touch that nonetheless sent a jolt through Rae’s chest. “I should thank you, you know. For indulging me.”

Rae blinked, startled. “What—what do you mean?”

“This isn’t easy for you.” Claire’s smile softened, the playful edge dimming into something more vulnerable. “Yet you came anyway. For me.”

Rae’s protests died on her lips. Because it was true. Because no matter how many alarm bells screamed “romance flag” in her head, the moment Claire wanted something, Rae followed. Always.

“…Of course, Milady,” she said at last, her voice low. “If it makes you happy, I’ll endure.”

Then Claire’s fan snapped shut, the mask slipping neatly back into place. “Good. Then you can help me build a sandcastle.”

“A what?” Rae sputtered.

“A sandcastle.” Claire’s lips curved. “Surely even you can manage that?”

Lene smiled from the towels, calling out, “Careful, Rae! She’ll want a palace, not a castle!”

Misha added dryly, “And you will comply, of course.”

Rae pressed her palm to her forehead, resigning herself. This is it. This is my beach episode. No bikinis for me, no dramatic sunset confession… just building castles at her side.

And, somehow, Rae thought as Claire tugged her toward the damp shoreline with a smile, maybe that wasn’t such a bad fate after all.

---

Rae threw herself into it.

Sandcastle building. Just like a sandbox. She crouched on the damp shoreline, hands already digging into the wet sand with single-minded focus. If I spend more time on this, I don’t need to partake in other dangerous beach activities. No swimming, no splashing, no accidental sunstroke from seeing Claire in a bikini again. Just… building. Yes. Safe.

Claire settled gracefully beside her, tucking her legs to the side in a way that made even sand look like a throne. “I expect nothing less than a palace, Rae,” she said serenely.

Rae saluted without looking up. “Of course, Milady. Leave the fortifications to me.”

Misha stretched under an umbrella, lemonade in hand. “You sound like you’re preparing for war, not a beach outing.”

“It is a war,” Rae muttered, patting the foundation. “A war against embarrassment.”

Claire hid her smile behind her fan. “Then you had better win.”

Towers rose, arches curved, walls spiraled.

Rae scoured the shoreline for materials—flat stones for gates, driftwood for bridges, shells for ornamentation. That was when she stumbled across a cluster of shells, small and glossy under the tide. Most were pale ivory, but scattered among them were faintly rose-colored ones.

Rae picked one up, squinting. “...Why are these pink?” she murmured, rolling it between her fingers. “Mutation? Iron content? Maybe algae strain?” Her words trailed as her brain shifted back into “optimize the build” mode.

She lined them absentmindedly along the perimeter wall—pink shells alternating with pale ones—until the entire outer ring gleamed with color. “Variety,” she mumbled. “Aesthetic appeal. That’s all.”

Minutes stretched into an hour. Where most children dug vague mounds with plastic buckets, Rae approached the sand like a master craftsman—smoothing, carving, layering. Towers rose, arched bridges formed, walls spiraled. She muttered half to herself, half to some invisible blueprint.

“Load-bearing structure… perimeter reinforcement… need to optimize moat depth…”

Claire, initially amused, fell into a strange hush as she watched. Her sharp blue eyes followed every movement, her lips parting slightly as if Rae’s diligence was a private performance.

Misha eventually wandered closer, blinking down at the fortress. “You weren’t kidding. This is—actually good. Too good. Rae, it’s a sandcastle, not urban development.”

“Don’t distract me,” Rae hissed, adjusting the angle of a turret.

Lene, who had been silent most of the afternoon, crouched next to Misha. For the first time, her composure cracked—if only slightly. “She’s… serious about this.”

Claire rested her chin lightly on her hand, her gaze bright. “Naturally. Rae always takes my requests seriously.”

Those words should have been harmless. But the way Claire said always left Rae’s ears burning, even as she pretended not to notice.

---

When she finally sat back, brushing sand from her hands, she sighed with satisfaction. “There. Functional, balanced, resistant to minor waves, and—”

Misha, who had been observing the work quietly, leaned closer. Her brows knit faintly. “Rae. Do you… realize what shape this is?”

Rae looked at Misha confusedly. “Isn’t it obvious? It is a circle.” Her gaze followed Misha’s hand as she gestured around the perimeter. Rounded walls, tapering to a perfect point. The line of shells glittered like an outline. Pink, luminous in the sunlight.

Her stomach dropped. “...oh no.”

Lene’s eyes widened as the outline revealed itself, nearly spilling her drink. “It’s a HEART! Rae, you literally built a love fortress—WITH AN ARROW PATH THROUGH THE CENTER!”

Rae’s face ignited. “No! No, it’s defensive geometry! The perimeter is rounded for structural integrity, the arrow path is for runoff, and the pink shells—THEY WERE JUST THERE, OKAY?!”

“Sure, sure,” Misha sighed. “Engineering your way into a love confession.”

Rae was about to retort when she realized people were watching.

Locals who recognized her from her parents’ shop had gathered nearby, whispering excitedly.

“Is that… supposed to be a heart?”
“It looks like a confession.”
“Who’s it for, though? The blonde? The lady in the green swimsuit? Or the one in grey?”

Rae flailed. “No! It’s not—it’s nothing—stop saying confession like it’s—!”

Misha collapsed into the sand, shaking her head at the development. Lene pressed her hand to her lips to stifle her smile.

And Claire? Claire risen silently. She walked a slow circle around the castle, her shadow gliding over the heart-shaped wall, her red bikini catching every sunbeam. The murmurs around them grew louder. She ignored them all.

Finally, she stepped into the arrow path and through the gate, crossing into the heart without hesitation. When she turned back, her expression was calm but her eyes glittered.

“I wasn’t aware that castles with this particular shape exist,” she said hesitantly, her eyes scanning through the display.

“I didn’t—It wasn’t—” Rae spluttered, tugging at her hair. “I was just thinking about optimal perimeter structures—! It must’ve—It wasn’t intentional!”

Claire looked over the structure again. Her voice, calm and certain, carried just enough for the gossiping onlookers to hear: “Intentional or not… I accept it.”

The whispers exploded into cheers and laughter.

“She accepted it!”
“How bold!”
“But which one was it for?!”

Rae buried her face in her hands. Worst day of my life. Absolute worst.

And yet, when she dared peek, Claire was smiling—calm, radiant, standing proudly inside the pink heart Rae had built for her.

Rae thought miserably, If this is what losing looks like, I’m doomed.

---

And, of course, that was the exact moment Louis appeared.

“Well, well.” His voice carried over the murmur of the beachgoers, smooth as ever, tinged with amusement. “Still not a fan of the beach. Glad to see some things never change.”

Rae cracked one eye open, groaning. Why now? The one person she didn’t have the energy to deal with. “Louis,” she muttered weakly.

He looked unfairly fresh, not a hair out of place, his linen shirt rolled at the sleeves and his smile easy as always. His gaze flicked past Rae to the sandcastle—the pink-shell gate, the unmistakable heart-shaped perimeter—and something in his expression sharpened.

“A heart,” Louis said lightly, though his eyes betrayed the weight behind it. “How romantic. And here I thought you’d never put your feelings into the open, Rae.”

Rae bolted upright, heat rushing to her face. “It’s not—that’s not—” She flailed, gesturing wildly at the structure. “Random drop! RNG! It just—built itself!”

Misha snorted into her hand. Lene turned away, hiding her sigh behind composed silence.

Louis chuckled, clearly unconvinced. He crouched in front of Rae, close enough that she leaned back on instinct. “Still the same,” he murmured, softer now. “Pretending not to care, pretending it’s all a joke. You work yourself raw, and then dismiss the meaning when it stares you in the face.”

Rae stiffened. That tone was too familiar, too intimate. She tried to brush it off with a groan. “I’m just tired, Louis. Go pester someone else.”

Instead, he rose smoothly and dusted off his hands. “Then at least let me take care of you. You look parched.” He turned toward a nearby vendor. “I’ll fetch you something from the stall.”

A crisp snap cut through the air.

“Don’t trouble yourself.”

Claire’s voice, cool and absolute, stopped Louis mid-step. She approached with regal ease; every eye nearby shifted toward her without her asking.

She stopped just between Rae and Louis, her blue eyes glittered dangerously. “If Rae requires refreshment, I will see to it.”

Louis paused, then smiled, amused but unruffled. “Lady Claire François. I didn’t realize attendants had their every need managed so… personally.”

Claire tilted her chin. “Rae is not just an attendant. She is mine.”

The words rang out, final and unflinching.

Rae’s ears burned crimson. “M-Milady, please—” she sputtered, but Claire ignored her entirely, gaze locked on Louis.

For the first time, Louis’s smile faltered, just a fraction. He inclined his head, lips curved in something that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Then I suppose she’s in capable hands.”

“More than capable,” Claire replied, folding her arms.

 Rae wanted nothing more than to bury herself into the sand.

Finally, Louis gave a low laugh, shaking his head. “Very well. I’ll leave her to you—for now.” He cast Rae one last glance, something sharp and unreadable in his gaze. Then he melted back into the crowd, easy as ever, as though the confrontation hadn’t just happened.

Only when he was gone did Rae let out the breath she’d been holding, shoulders sagging. “That could’ve gone worse,” she muttered weakly.

Claire turned to her with a tight smile. “You looked ready to let him tend to you.”

Rae groaned. “No—I was too tired to—”

“Too tired to stop him,” Claire said softly, cutting over her. “You should rest, Rae. I’ll see to what you need.”

Rae swallowed hard, caught between gratitude and guilt. Claire’s shadow fell across her, protective, unyielding. And Rae realized, no matter how tired she was, her heart was thundering far too fast to ever truly rest.

She quickly stood up and brushed the sand off her shorts.

“Milady, I do need to speak to Louis,” she said, voice low, as though the road itself might overhear.

Claire arched a brow. “Oh? And what exactly do you need to say to him?”

“It’s…” Rae looked away, the word hovering on her lips before she seemed to shove it back down. “It’s complicated. But it concerns your happiness.”

Claire’s eyes shot up in surprise.

“I can’t explain everything right now,” Rae continued, her gaze steady now despite the blush creeping up her neck. “But I’m asking you to trust me. Just this once.”

The silence between them stretched until Rae began to wonder if she’d made a mistake. Then Claire finally relented grudgingly.

“Five minutes. Any longer than that and I will personally drag you back myself.”

Rae nodded with relief before jogging towards Louis. She could still feel the tension radiating off Claire, subtle but steady, like the weight of a hand on her back urging her to explain herself properly.

And maybe she would.

Later.

If this went well.

And if Claire didn’t strangle her first.

---

Rae certainly wasn’t anticipating Louis to interrogate her after she caught up with him.

“What exactly is your relationship with Lady Claire?”

“…My relationship?”

“Just now…at the beach, the way she looked at you” Louis paused, searching for the right words. “…seems intense.”

Rae’s throat went dry. “She is my classmate. And, for the time being, I work for her as a maid. That is all.”

Louis’s eyes narrowed slightly. “A maid. Why?”

“I needed work.” Rae said dismissively.

“Needed work?” He shook his head, incredulous. “Rae, you’re a scholarship student. One of the very first this town has ever produced under the merit system. Do you realize what that means? Children here — they look up to you. They see you and believe they can rise above their station if they study hard enough, if they try. You’re a role model. And yet…” His tone sharpened. “…you chose to serve another noble? Doesn’t that defeat the entire purpose?”

The weight of his words pressed down like a judgment. Rae forced herself to meet his gaze, lips tightening into a thin line. “I have my reasons.”

Louis leaned back, frustration flickering across his face. “Reasons? Do you understand how this looks? You’ve always been proud, Rae. You always stood tall even when others mocked you. Now you’d just bow your head and serve?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Louis exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I just… I don’t want to see you hurt.” His voice softened. “Lady Claire’s relatives… they’re traditionalists to the core. To them, you’re the embodiment of everything they despise about the king’s reforms. If they discover you within her circle, they will not hesitate to use it against you. Or Lady Claire”

Rae gritted her teeth, her mind spinning. Of course she knew that. In the game, Claire’s downfall had come, in no small part, at the hands of her family. They schemed behind her back and arranged alliances that cut her off from power. She had monitored their movements ever since she first “woke” in this world, combing the developer console for any hints of their interference.

And now Louis had said it outright.

Her voice came out lower than she intended. “…What do you know?”

Louis studied her, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He must have seen the intensity in hers, because he quickly masked it with a smile. “Enough to know they’re already selecting Lady Claire’s suitors that would aid in their cause. Lady Claire is nearing her age of majority, isn’t she? The moment that happens, her future ceases to be hers alone. You should be careful. Or better, stay away from her if you can.”

Rae’s chest tightened.

“Louis.” Her voice was quieter than before, but steadier. “I understand what you’re saying. I know what I represent to this town, to the kids who are watching. I know the importance of the scholarship system, of showing that hard work can carry someone beyond their birth.”

“But…” She inhaled slowly. “It won’t work if it’s only one side reaching upward. There has to be acceptance from both ends — from the commoners who aspire, and from the nobility who hold the power. If one side rejects the other, it collapses.”

Louis frowned, uncertain. Rae’s lips curved faintly, though her voice grew more certain as she went on.

“And Lady Claire—” she risked a glance at her lady watching the duo from a safe distance, her eyes were fixed on her with unreadable intensity, “—Claire François is already proving it can work. She’s the heir to the powerful Francois household, and yet she chooses to spend her summer here and mingle among the common folks.”

Louis looked unconvinced. “You think her relatives, the most traditional of the nobles, will care that she mingled and spoke to the commoners during the summer holidays?”

“I think,” Rae said firmly, “that change starts small. The old walls don’t have to stand forever.”

For the first time, Louis faltered. He looked at Claire, then back at Rae, conflict flickering across his face.

Rae tightened her resolve, and before she realized it, the words spilled out:

“…And that’s why I’ll protect Lady Claire’s future. Because she’s my future, too.”

Louis frowned, confusion and suspicion warring on his face. “…Your future?”

Rae smacked her head, the weight of her own words crashing belatedly into her. Wait. No. That’s not what I meant. She’d meant her future in the game, the way Claire’s storyline determined everything.

Rae cleared her throat, scrambling. “What I meant was she is a key figure to ensure that the meritocracy system will work for people like me.” She forced her gaze back to Louis, desperate to redirect. “That’s why I need your help. Please, Louis. Tell me what you know. If I understand the risks, I can prepare. I can… make sure none of us get blindsided.”

Her voice cracked with urgency, sincerity bleeding through even the awkward stumble.

Louis studied her for a long, weighted moment.

“Meet me at the lamppost near the square tomorrow at midnight. I will give you the names.”

With that, he gave a short wave and disappeared back into the crowd.

---

Rae hadn’t meant to blurt it out. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t poke at the subject until she’d figured out exactly what Louis’s clue meant. But the words were already halfway out before she could stop herself.

“Milady… what happens when you come of age?”

Claire put her book down slowly. Rae fiddled with her pyjamas, pretending she’d just asked something casual. But inside, her chest was tight.

Claire didn’t answer right away. She was too composed for that. “When I turn eighteen?” she said finally, in that measured tone she used when weighing every syllable. “I inherit certain legal responsibilities. And… expectations.”

The way she said the last word made Rae’s skin prickle. “Expectations like… marriage?” she asked, keeping her voice light but her grip on her satchel strap too firm.

Claire glanced at her, lips curving just enough to be unreadable. “Possibly. Why?”

Rae forced a laugh she didn’t feel. “Just curious how the noble circles work.”

She shoved her free hand into her pocket. “You’d tell me if something big was planned for then, right?”

Claire’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than felt comfortable. “…You’ll find out soon enough.”

It wasn’t meant as a threat, but Rae’s stomach still dipped. She hated the thought of anything being decided for Claire.

And that, Rae thought grimly, was exactly why she had to get to the bottom of Louis’s clue tonight when everyone is asleep.

“My happiness,” Claire interrupted her thoughts, glancing at her. “That’s what you said before. That your conversation with Louis was about my happiness.”

Rae hesitated, feeling the words catch. “…Yes.”

Claire studied Rae’s face. “And how does my happiness hinge on a conversation with your childhood friend?”

“I thought he might have information about…things that might be of relevance to you. Like…the latest trends…” Rae lied nervously. “…Or the best desserts in Euclid.”

Claire looked at her unconvincingly. “And what about yours?”

The question stopped Rae cold. “Mine?”

 “You’re always doing things for my sake. Do you ever think about what happens to you?”

Rae swallowed, because the truth — you are what happens to me — felt far too dangerous to say aloud. “I’m fine,” she said instead, even though it was the weakest, least convincing thing she’d ever spoken.

Claire studied her for a long moment, like she could see right through the thin veneer. Then, in a voice softer than Rae expected, she said, “You matter to me, Rae.”

Rae’s heart gave a sharp, traitorous twist. “You matter to me too.”

Something unreadable passed over Claire’s face, a shift Rae couldn’t quite track — part warmth, part something deeper, something that made Rae’s breath catch.

They started preparing for bed slowly. As if neither was in a rush to end the day.

Rae told herself she should say something safe, something to break the tension, but the words that came out weren’t safe at all. “If I could, I’d stop the clock until you could choose freely. No pressure. No deadlines. Just… you deciding.”

Claire looked at her, and for a moment Rae thought she’d stepped too far, revealed too much. But instead, Claire’s voice was low, almost thoughtful. “And if my fate has already decided?”

Rae’s breath caught. “Then I’d hope it would be one that bring you the happiness you deserved. Else I will do my utmost to fight it.”

Claire’s smile then was small, but it reached her eyes this time — bright, unguarded, and devastating.

---

The moonlight painted long silver bars across the floorboards, thin stripes crawling over the foot of the bed. Rae lay flat on her back, staring up at the low ceiling of her childhood room, piecing the bits of information that Louis and Claire shared with her.

Marriage, Rae thought, the word sounding heavier than it should. In the noble circles, it was deemed as an alliance contract and a redistribution of influence. The one piece of game lore that mirrored the real world with cruel accuracy.

In the game, the protagonist and her chosen prince proved their compatibility through trials — contrived, dramatic events designed to let them “earn” their happy ending.

For noble houses like Claire’s… Rae didn’t know what the trials were as these were never incorporated in the game.

Worse, she didn’t know how much say a lady actually had in choosing. In all her time observing the upper echelons here, she’d seen precious little evidence that women had anything approaching final authority.

If it came down to politics, Rae thought bitterly, even Claire’s brilliance might not be enough to keep her from being treated as a bargaining piece.

The mattress shifted slightly. Rae blinked and turned her head. Claire had rolled onto her side, facing her. In the pale light, her hair spilled loose over the pillow, and her eyes, though still half-lidded with sleep, were fixed on Rae.

“You’re quiet,” Claire murmured, her voice husky from drowsiness.

“Just thinking,” Rae said.

“About what?”

Rae hesitated. “About… how things work. For nobles. For marriage. For choosing someone.”

Claire’s brow arched faintly, though she didn’t tease. “And you think I haven’t thought about that?”

Rae opened her mouth, but Claire reached over before she could answer, fingertips brushing the side of Rae’s face. It was a deceptively gentle touch, but it sent a jolt through Rae all the same.

“I notice when you start folding into yourself,” Claire said softly. “You carry all these thoughts alone, like they’re yours to solve.”

“They kind of are,” Rae said, forcing a wry note into her voice. “I mean, it’s my job to—”

“No,” Claire interrupted, her tone firmer now. “It’s not your job to lose sleep over my future.”

Rae swallowed. “You’re worth losing sleep over.”

Something in Claire’s eyes changed then, subtle but unmistakable.

Like a lock clicking open.

Her hand slid from Rae’s cheek to the nape of her neck, and Rae suddenly forgot how to breathe.

“You’re also worth keeping close,” Claire murmured. “So stop drifting away from me, Rae Taylor.”

Rae meant to say something back.

Maybe a joke. Or a deflection.

But Claire’s lips found hers before she could think, warm and insistent.

Nights of sharing a bed had built a dangerous kind of familiarity. This was different. There was no “accidental” brush of knees, no teasing in the dark. This was deliberate.

Claire shifted closer, the heat of her body seeping into Rae’s, her thigh brushing Rae’s hip. The kiss deepened, and Rae felt her pulse hammer in her ears. She’d told herself she wouldn’t push things but Claire’s hands had their own ideas, sliding under Rae’s shirt with a slow, exploratory touch that made her breath catch.

“M-milady...C-Claire…” Rae said, or tried to, but the name dissolved into a low sound she didn’t recognize as hers.

“I’m not asking you to solve noble politics tonight,” Claire whispered against her lips. “I’m asking you to be here. With me.”

The plea unraveled the last of Rae’s restraint. She kissed Claire back, matching her urgency, the taste of heat and want eclipsing the cold, logical part of her mind that kept warning her about consequences.

For now, the world could wait. The trials, the contracts, the deadlines — all of it could burn.

Because Claire was here, warm and safe in her arms, and Rae… Rae wasn’t letting go.

Chapter 17: The Guide Book that should not exist

The room was hushed, the soft rhythm of Claire’s breathing steady against the stillness of night. Moonlight streamed faintly through the window, pale ribbons spilling across the bed where Rae lay, every sense taut with guilt and resolve.

She turned her head just enough to look at Claire. Her hair spilled like silk across the pillow, her lips parted in unguarded sleep. For a moment Rae faltered—her chest tightening with longing, shame, devotion—but then she carefully shifted away, holding her breath as she slipped from beneath the covers.

She tucked the blanket back around Claire, her fingers brushing against her shoulder in one last silent apology.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Rae whispered, too soft to be heard, and padded to the door.

She moved like a shadow through the suite, through the living area and out into the cool night air.

Louis was waiting where he said he would be: under the lamppost at the edge of the path, its weak glow cutting his profile into sharp relief. His mouth curved with dry amusement as his gaze swept her.

“You’re late,” he muttered.

“I had to be careful,” Rae replied, voice flat though her pulse thrummed in her throat.

He handed her a folded paper. “As promised, the households you wanted.”

Rae unfolded it and cursed under her breath. The list was longer than expected. Far too many names to track while she was tied to her duties.

Louis’s tone darkened, his gaze shifting away. “Word on the street is Lady Claire is a pawn in her family’s politics. When she comes of age, the family council will fight to marry her off the instant it serves their ambition.”

Before he could turn away, Rae caught his sleeve.

“Louis. Thank you for this. I know it’s not easy.” Her voice was quiet, solemn. She pressed something small and heavy into his hand.

He looked down at the pouch of gold, brows knitting in confusion. “…Rae?”

She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “I know about your mother. That she’s been sick. That you’ve been taking… other work to pay for her medicine.”

His breath hitched. His eyes snapped to hers, wide with shock.

“Trading secrets is dangerous,” Rae murmured, her tone firmer now. “Too dangerous. If something happened to you, she’d rather have you alive by her side than risk losing you over coin. Don’t make her grieve that way.”

Louis’s fingers trembled faintly around the pouch. “…How much do you know?”

Rae gave him a tired smile, both gentle and unyielding. “Enough. Don’t ask where this came from. Just consider it repayment for everything.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it, still reeling. “…And what do you expect in return?”

Her gaze hardened, though the smile lingered. “That you forget this night. Every word. For your safety as much as mine.”

Louis studied her for a long moment, then closed his fist around the pouch. “…You’ve changed, Rae.”

She exhaled softly. “Haven’t we all?”

He hesitated, then added, “Be careful. You’ve gotten closer to her than anyone expected. The candidates will start arriving soon, and they won’t tolerate rivals.”

Rae’s stomach dropped. She opened her mouth to demand more. But a cold and familiar voice rang out.

“You need not worry. I will take care of Rae.”

Louis stiffened suddenly, eyes flicking over her shoulder.

“You should’ve kept her in bed,” he said with a wry chuckle. “She’s better at following than you are at sneaking.”

Rae spun, her breath catching.

Claire stood there, a crimson wrap hastily pulled over her nightgown, the moonlight turning her hair silver. Her eyes, sharp and unblinking, fixed on Rae.

“Milady…” Rae’s voice faltered, useless.

Claire stepped forward, her words slicing the quiet. “So this is what you do while I sleep peacefully beside you? Slip into the night and trade secrets under lampposts?”

---

The night air felt suddenly thicker, like the summer heat had condensed into the space between the three of them.

“Lady Claire François,” Louise said with a grin that was just a shade too confident, “you have excellent timing.”

Claire’s eyes, even in the dim lamplight, carried that crystalline sharpness Rae had learned to both admire and fear. She didn’t look angry, exactly. But she wasn’t neutral either. “I thought you were asleep,” Rae said, a little too quickly.

“I was,” Claire replied, her voice even. “And then I noticed my bed was missing something important.”

Louise chuckled, not catching — or not caring about — the current running under Claire’s words. “We were just talking about—”

“Nothing,” Rae interrupted, throwing him a warning look. “Louis, you should be on your way.”

Louis’s gaze flicked between them. “So you haven’t told her?”

Rae’s chest tightened. “Louis.”

He leaned back against the lamppost like he had all night to play with. “Rae is concerned about the Francois family’s charter as you are coming of age soon. If no one stakes a claim before then—”

“—they’ll choose for me,” Claire finished, her tone clipped.

Rae turned to her, startled. “You knew?”

Claire’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course I knew. It’s my life we’re talking about.” Then she tilted her head, gaze narrowing just slightly. “The question is why you were meeting with him about it instead of me.”

Rae opened her mouth, closed it again, and dragged in a breath. “Because Louis has ears on the ground. I needed to confirm what’s coming so I can—” She stopped herself, realizing too late that she’d nearly said protect you.

“So you can…?” Claire prompted, one brow arched.

“Help,” Rae finished lamely. “Plan. Make sure you’re not cornered.”

Louis’s smirk softened. “She’s always been like this. Even back then, she’d get between me and trouble before I even realized I’d stepped in it.”

“That was years ago,” Rae said quickly, pulse kicking up. “And it wasn’t—”

“One-sided?” Claire asked, her voice mild but laced with something Rae couldn’t quite name.

Rae exhaled slowly. “Louis had his moments. But it was never what you’re thinking.”

Claire didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stepped forward, closing the space between herself and Rae until Rae could catch the faintest trace of her perfume — cool night air over something warmer, like spiced citrus. Her voice, when she spoke, was quiet.

“What I’m thinking is that you left our bed in the middle of the night to meet another person without telling me why. And now I’m finding out it’s about my future, and that you’ve already been discussing it.”

“That’s—” Rae broke off, searching her face. “Milady, I’m serious. This isn’t some harmless bit of gossip. If the council decides without your say, it could—” She bit the inside of her cheek. “Just… please, trust me on this.”

Louis, for once, stayed quiet, watching the exchange with something almost like sympathy.

Claire’s gaze held Rae’s for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she said, softly, “I do trust you. But that doesn’t mean I like being kept in the dark.”

“I wasn’t trying to. But sometimes, it is for the best...” Rae began.

“I know,” Claire cut in. Her tone softened, just slightly, like she was letting Rae off some invisible hook. “But next time, tell me before you sneak out into the night. Especially if it involves someone who once had a crush on you.”

Rae blinked, caught off-guard by the way Claire’s phrasing landed. “Like I said, that was a long time ago,” she said again, though it sounded weaker now.

Louise pushed off the lamppost. “Well, since I seem to be causing trouble just by existing, I’ll leave you to your thoughts. Oh, and one more thing...”

Rae glared at him. “Get lost.”

Louise shook his head and smirked. “Rae said you are her future.” His gaze zeroed onto Claire, who looked surprised at the statement. “So, don’t wait too long.”

With that, he gave a lazy salute and strolled off into the shadows.

---

The square was quiet again, leaving Rae and Claire standing in the middle of the cobblestone path. The lantern above them flickered once, casting shifting light over Claire’s face.

Rae found herself speaking before she’d decided what to say. “I was going to come back. I just didn’t want to—”

“Wake me?” Claire supplied. Then, after a beat, “Or have me follow you?”

Rae hesitated. “…Maybe both.”

Claire’s lips curved into something almost like a smile, though her eyes still held that sharp glint. “You’re a terrible liar, Rae Taylor.” She turned, starting back toward the house. “Come on. If I’m going to be awake at this hour, I’d rather be somewhere warmer.”

Rae trailed after her, pulse still racing. Because if he was right, then the clock on Claire’s freedom, and on Rae’s own quiet but stubborn hopes, had just started ticking down.

 Before she could voice her thoughts, Claire whispered. “Is this why you’ve been restless? Why you’ve been sneaking around like some common spy?” Her voice trembled with effort, equal parts resignation and heartbreak.

Rae’s lips parted, but no words came. Every careful plan, every secret she had carried unraveled under Claire’s raw gaze.

“I—” Rae swallowed, her throat dry. “I was trying to protect you.”

She forced herself to hold Claire’s eyes. “And if it includes gathering with information in the dark, so be it.”

For a moment, Claire said nothing. Then, with the kind of sigh only she could make, she spoke.

“Marriage for nobles is rarely about sentiment. It is a a binding of houses and fortunes. Contracts are drawn up to specify dowries, estates, lines of succession. Every detail is scrutinized—who gains influence, who loses face, what children will be expected, even which properties change hands.”

Rae listened, throat tightening. This was more than the game lore assigned to this world.

Claire’s voice remained steady, but something flickered beneath it. “It is about legacy, Rae. A family like mine doesn’t survive on charm alone. We are a pillar among nobles, and every marriage must reinforce that pillar, or risk the whole structure collapsing.”

Rae’s heart gave a painful twist. “And… what about love?”

A brittle laugh slipped past Claire’s lips. She turned her face away, golden hair catching the lamplight. “Love is a luxury few can afford. If it comes after the contract, so be it. If not… one learns to live with civility and seek comfort or love elsewhere.”

Rae stopped walking. She hadn’t realized until that moment how badly she’d wanted Claire to say otherwise, how desperately she’d hoped that even amidst all her pride and duty, Claire would admit she still longed for something more.

“Milady…” Rae’s voice was raw. “If your house decides a match that does not align to your personal interests, you’ll just… accept it? Shouldn’t you have a say in this matter?”

Claire turned back slowly, her expression unreadable, but her eyes carried a weight Rae had rarely seen. “It would be irresponsible of me to cast aside centuries of expectations for a whim of my heart.”

The words sliced Rae open. A whim.

She dropped her gaze to the gravel, fists clenching. “That’s not what I am to you, is it?”

A silence hung between them, taut as a drawn bowstring. The night seemed to hold its breath.

Claire’s lips parted, as if she meant to speak, but no words came. Instead, she folded her arms across her chest, regal and aloof, the perfect image of a François scion. “This conversation is unnecessary in the first place. A mere commoner should not be concerned with noble politics.”

Rae laughed bitterly, the sound startling even to her own ears. “Forgive me if I can’t just stand by and watch the thought of you being a pawn to your house’s whims.”

For the first time, Claire faltered. The haughty mask slipped, if only for a second, revealing a flash of genuine pain.

But then it was gone. She straightened, eyes glacial. “You presume too much, Rae Taylor. I have not lost to their schemes. And I will never bow down to their unreasonable requests.”

---

By the time they climbed the familiar stairs to their shared bedroom, the air between them had grown taut, stretched thin with unspoken words.

Rae carried Claire’s shawl to the stand, her movements precise, as if each gesture were armor against the weight in her chest.

“I’ll leave you to rest, Lady Claire,” Rae said softly, careful, as though speaking too loudly might shatter what little peace remained. “I’ve… some reading to do.”

Claire’s head tilted slightly. “Reading? At this hour?”

Rae forced a faint smile. “I’m behind on a few things. It won’t take long.” She dipped her head, already edging toward the small desk tucked against the far wall.

Claire’s eyes lingered on her, sharp and searching. With a tiny nod, she relented. “Very well. Don’t keep yourself up too late.”

Rae bowed her head, hiding the flicker of pain in her eyes. “Of course.”

Before she could turn and head to her desk, Claire leaned forward and kissed her.

Rae gasped softly against her mouth, startled. Claire’s fingers fisted in her shirt, pulling her closer instead of pushing away. Rae stiffened at the feel of her nails scraping lightly across her collarbone; then she kissed back, deeper, her hand sliding up to cup Claire’s cheek.

And just like this, the tension between them snapped like a bowstring.

Claire’s hand lingered on her cheek, thumb brushing gently over skin gone hot with nerves. She swallowed, her pride warring with her heart, but in the end the words broke free anyway, low and trembling.

“You are… insufferable,” she breathed, but the bite had gone out of it. Her forehead pressed to Rae’s, her voice softer still. “And yet every time I try to imagine a future without you, it feels hollow. Unbearably so.”

Rae’s eyes widened, her breath catching. “Claire…”

“Hush,” Claire whispered again, almost desperate, her grip tightening on Rae’s collar as if to keep her from slipping away. “Don’t say anything foolish. Just know this much. You are not a whim. You are not replaceable. You are… mine. At least, for as long as I can keep you.”

The words tumbled out before she could stop them, the raw truth she had buried for too long. Her chest ached, but at the same time a strange relief surged through her veins, warm and terrifying.

Rae, stunned silent, lifted trembling fingers to cover Claire’s hand at her cheek. She searched her eyes and saw a glimpse of the heart Claire never showed anyone else.

Not trusting her words, she nodded silently.

Claire exhaled, shaky, her lips brushing Rae’s once more.

===

When Claire finally settled beneath the covers, Rae waited, listening to the gentle rhythm of her breathing. Only when it smoothed into the cadence of sleep did Rae move.

Quietly, carefully, she slid into the chair at her desk. Her fingers brushed the hidden notch along the drawer, pressing until the panel gave way. From within, she pulled out the developer console, its surface faintly aglow with lines of shifting code.

The console shimmered to life, windows cascading open as names and crests appeared. Each entry unfurled like a dossier, filled with genealogies, records, whispers of scandals, hidden strengths and weaknesses. Rae scrolled, eyes sharp, cataloguing every detail.

It felt clinical, mechanical. But underneath, her heart throbbed with raw ache.

Her hands shook slightly on the slate, but she pushed through it, line after line of data lighting her tired face. She would map the terrain, weigh the suitors like pieces on a board, and somehow carve a sliver of safety for the woman sleeping only a few feet away.

Behind her, Claire stirred faintly in her sleep, turning toward the empty side of the bed where Rae should have been. She murmured Rae’s name, soft, almost questioning, before drifting back into silence.

Rae froze, her chest tightening. For a heartbeat she almost abandoned the console, almost crossed the room to lay beside Claire, to let herself believe she could belong there.

But logic anchored her.

She bent her head back over the glowing slate, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Sleep well, Claire. I’ll keep watch, even if you never know it.”

And so she read, line after line, her determination burning quietly in the dark.

---

Claire lay beneath the covers, her eyes closed, her breathing slow and even. To anyone else, she would have looked sound asleep. But years of training in court etiquette had given her the ability to mask unease behind a composed exterior. And right now, her mind refused to rest.

Rae’s voice still lingered in her ears: “I’ve… some reading to do.”

Claire knew Rae well enough to hear what wasn’t being said. Rae had tucked herself neatly at that little desk, with her back to Claire, putting a wall of quiet distance between them. The scratch of pen or shuffle of papers never came. Instead, there was only the faint, unnatural hum which she chose not question.

Rae thought she was asleep. Rae thought she didn’t notice.

Claire gripped the sheets tighter, fighting the sting in her eyes. Rae was brilliant, determined, endlessly resourceful—yet even Rae couldn’t bend the iron will of tradition forever. And when that day came, when the council forced her to stand beside another man for the sake of the house, what would remain of this fragile happiness she had stolen with Rae?

So she resolved, as she had many nights before, to cling with both hands to what little time they had left. To savor every glance, every touch, every stolen night in the same bed. To live as though forever were possible, even knowing it was a lie.

She opened her eyes and looked toward Rae’s silhouette at the desk. So close, yet already half a world away, lost in some secret battle Claire could only guess at.

She rolled onto her side, facing the desk.

And whispered Rae’s name once, very softly, a test.

Rae didn’t stir. Or perhaps she had heard, but chose not to answer.

Claire shifted quietly onto the edge of the bed and simply watched Rae, chest tight with a mixture of admiration and longing.

Her gaze fell on the burgundy book resting on the nightstand—the one from the bookseller on their first date. Without a sound, she picked it up, feeling the worn cover beneath her fingers. She opened it gently, letting her eyes trace the familiar words, the comforting rhythm of the story pulling at her heart.

Rae, absorbed in her work, didn’t notice Claire’s movement behind her. Claire’s fingers brushed the page lightly; her eyes flickered between the book and Rae’s back now and then—content just to share the quiet space.

Page by page, Claire allowed herself to be drawn into the story. The dialogue, the tender moments between the characters, the imagined worlds—they carried her away from the weight of the House, the expectations, the suitors looming like shadows.

Slowly, the book slipped from her hands as her eyelids grew heavy. The lamplight glimmered across Rae’s features one last time before Claire surrendered to sleep.

Her dreams were gentle, painted with the soft glow of what might have been—a life unbound by duty, a quiet laughter shared, a hand held in secret, and a heart allowed to love freely.

And for a few fleeting hours, Claire let herself forget the world outside, letting Rae’s presence and the story cradle her into peace.

---

Rae’s fingers hovered over the console, but a soft, rhythmic sound from the bed drew her attention.

A gentle snore.

Her heart softened. Claire, curled under the covers, eyes closed in peaceful sleep. Rae’s chest tightened—so much effort, so much risk, and here she was, blissfully unaware. She leaned closer, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Claire’s ear and adjusting the blanket. “Sleep well, Claire,” she whispered.

In that motion, her hand brushed the burgundy book on Claire’s lap. It slipped to the floor with a quiet thud. Rae bent to pick it up, flipping it open

And gasped in astonishment.

The words were shifting. The soft romance that had comforted Claire just moments ago seemed to dissolve, reordering themselves. Sentences broke apart, rearranged, and revealed… notes.

Handwritten notes.

Rae blinked, disbelief and awe twisting together. These were her notes—the ones she had hidden in the game lore years ago while researching noble houses, succession, and politics for the RPG she’d designed. She recognized the tiny quirks in her shorthand, the sketches of family trees, the bullet points about alliances, the faintly coded reminders about hidden mechanics.

And then she saw it: a section she didn’t remember putting in here, at least not so clearly. Her developer mind buzzed at the phrasing, the specificity:

“Artifact of Binding: ultra-legendary secret item. Grants control over succession disputes. Hidden triggers must be met. Only the chosen may wield. Risk of destabilizing all Houses if misused.”

Her breath hitched. That was it. That was the kind of item she had imagined in-game—a fantastical mechanic to “override” a council’s power—but here it was, in her own handwriting, woven into the pages of a book Claire treasured.

She mentally ticked through the catalog of item IDs she’d created for the game: legendary tier, ultra-rare drops, hidden event rewards. If such an item existed, she should’ve remembered it. But no matter how far she ran through the internal catalog in her head, she came up blank.

Rae’s mind raced. How had it ended up here? Had the book somehow absorbed her earlier work, or was this… something else? It didn’t matter.

Then her eyes flicked to the cover. Something she hadn’t noticed before. The author’s name, printed elegantly in gold along the spine: R. T. Ooohashi.

No. That couldn’t be… could it?

She traced the letters with her finger, disbelief warring with recognition. It was her real name. Her own pseudonym—the very one she had used in her coding experiments and placeholder entries, meant to amuse herself, buried in the world of her game. Somehow, impossibly, the book had taken it all—the story, her notes, her secret imprint—and transformed it into something tangible, something Claire now possessed.

Rae exhaled slowly, gripping the book tighter, a mixture of awe and resolve settling over her. This was a clue, a map, a lifeline—and it was hers to follow.

She glanced at Claire, still sleeping, chest rising and falling softly. A quiet determination filled Rae’s chest. She would decipher this, chase it, and protect Claire, no matter the cost.

Because now she had proof—not just of what was possible, but that the world, somehow, had given her a way. And she would not let it slip through her fingers.

 

Chapter 18: Interlude: Unexpected Parent Bosses and Hidden Dialogue

The estate bustled with nervous energy that morning. Lene, her usual calm intact, noticed Rae fumbling with the hem of her shirt.

“Stand straighter,” Lene whispered, interrupting Rae’s thoughts. “And don’t speak unless spoken to. The Duke notices everything, and the Duchess…” Lene trailed off, glancing ahead. “…she notices more.”

Rae swallowed hard. She could survive final bosses, game-breaking bugs, and glitchy love routes. But standing in a line of maids to greet her employer’s parents? This was true terror.

Lene had announced the unexpected arrival of Claire’s parents the morning after Rae’s night escapade. The group hurriedly packed and said their goodbyes to Rae’s parents before heading back to the main estate.

During the carriage ride back, Rae’s mind whirled with thoughts at the impossibility of the situation.

Because the parents should not exist.

In the game, Claire François’s parents had perished in a carriage accident when she was still a child. It was a central piece of her “tragic” backstory, a design choice Rae remembered arguing against during development. Too heavy, she’d insisted. Too cruel. And yet the lead writer had been adamant: Claire needed that sorrow to make her struggle more poignant.

But now? Now they were flesh and blood. And Rae had no script to lean on.

The great doors opened.

Claire was already moving forward, her poise melting into something softer—joy. “Father! Mother!” she cried, and for the first time since Rae had known her, Claire looked utterly, incandescently happy. She embraced them both at once, all dignity forgotten in her eagerness.

 “Father. Mother. Welcome home.”

Lord Dole François was exactly as the family portraits suggested—tall, broad-shouldered, with an austere but not unkind face. His eyes were unmistakable: sharp, bright, the same piercing stare that Claire herself had inherited.

Beside him, Lady Melia François moved with unstudied elegance, her every gesture steeped in refinement. She had the kind of beauty that didn’t fade, the sort that made even the air feel lighter in her presence.

“It’s been far too long, my dear.”

The reunion was brief but heartfelt. Claire lingered at their side, her arm looped through her mother’s, her smile refusing to dim. It was a sight so tender Rae almost felt she shouldn’t be watching.

Until Melia’s gaze shifted, scanning down the line of maids. Rae stiffened, heart hammering.

And then it happened.

Melia François’s eyes landed on her.

And Rae had the chilling sense that, without saying a word, Melia already knew far too much.

---

The hall was silent after the greetings. Dole gave brisk instructions to the steward, his attention already shifting toward estate matters. Melia, however, lingered.

Her gaze returned to the maids. No — not the maids, Rae realized with a jolt. To her.

“Ah,” Melia said, her voice smooth, lilting, with just enough edge to suggest her words were never casual. “This one is new.”

Rae stiffened under the weight of her eyes. Melia tilted her head slightly, the faintest of smiles tugging at her lips. “So very young, too. Claire, dear… is this a recent addition to the household?”

Claire’s shoulders drew taut, a flicker of something rare crossing her expression. “Yes, Mother. She’s a scholarship student from the Academy. And my attendant. Rae Taylor.” Her voice was steady, but Rae caught the subtle hitch at the end, the way her fingers brushed at her sleeve as if bracing.

Rae’s chest tightened. Claire François was uneasy because her mother’s gaze lingered on Rae.

Melia’s eyes never left her. “Scholarship, is it?” she murmured, as though tasting the word. “How fortunate… and how unusual. I should like to know what it is that makes you worthy of such distinction.”

The words were polite. And yet Rae felt the undercurrent of a subtle, deliberate test.

Her instinct screamed to drop her eyes and shrink into the crowd. A stray thought intruded: If this were a game, if Melia François were coded as a mid-boss event, what would the winning choice be?

Rae inhaled slowly. She met Melia’s gaze directly with steady eyes and a respectful bow. “It isn’t just my doing, my lady,” she said, voice calm despite the drumbeat of her heart. “I’ve been fortunate to learn under capable teachers. And Lady Claire has been gracious enough to ensure that my duties doesn’t interfere with my studies.”

There was a brief pause, but in it Rae felt the weight of judgment pressing down on her.

Then the Duchess’s lips curved, just slightly. “Mm.” A noncommittal sound with a trace of amusement. “Polished enough, for someone so new.”

Rae exhaled, careful not to let it show. She had survived the first strike.

Dole François joined the group after his conversation with the steward, his gaze sweeping the line of attendants. Where Melia’s eyes had carried a sharpened elegance, Dole’s presence was heavier, practical, stripped of pretense. His stare landed on Rae with the cool weight of appraisal, like a merchant measuring grain.

“So,” he said, voice low and resonant, “the scholarship student. Under His Majesty’s new meritocracy system to upskill the commoners.”

Rae bowed her head slightly. “Yes, my lord.”

He studied her a long moment, fingers tapping against his cane. “Scholarship means no ties to another house. Clean background.” His eyes narrowed. “That is useful.”

The words might have been a compliment, or a dismissal. Rae couldn’t tell.

“It seems so,” Melia echoed, her smile faint but sharp, eyes flicking between Rae and Claire.

Claire inclined her head, the perfect noble daughter once again, though Rae caught the faint stiffening of her shoulders.

Dole grunted, already turning away. “We’ll see if diligence proves as valuable as recommendation. Come.”

The family swept toward the drawing room, the servants trailing after at measured distance. Rae fell into step, head bowed, but her thoughts were a whirl. She let her eyes wander just briefly to Melia, all poise and elegance, and to Claire beside her.

Carbon copy, Rae thought helplessly. Every movement, every perfect word — Claire’s is definitely the image of her mother. Her chest tightened as she added, but the eyes… no, those are Dole’s. Sharp, unyielding. The kind that misses nothing.

A picture filled out in her head, unbidden: Claire not at seventeen, but ten, maybe fifteen years older — carrying her mother’s devastating grace, her father’s piercing gaze. The thought hit her square in the gut.

If she looks like that in her thirties, I’m finished. Absolutely finished. There’s no way I could handle her in the real world. I’d fold in half the second she glanced my way.

She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but a whisper slipped past her lips.

And that was, unfortunately, enough.

“Pfft—”

Rae jolted, whipping her head around. Lene had materialized at her side, the corners of her mouth twitching in barely restrained laughter.

“I didn’t quite catch all of that, Rae” she said smoothly, her voice laced with dry amusement. “But I heard enough to know I should not leave you unattended near the family portraits.”

Rae’s face burned. “Th-that wasn’t— I mean, I was just—”

Lene shook her head, the faintest smirk breaking through her usual composure. “Relax. Your secret adoration is safe with me… for now.”

Then, without waiting for Rae’s protest, she slipped a hand around Rae’s elbow and steered her toward the service corridor. “Come. Duties don’t wait for daydreamers. We’ll be assisting the household staff in the drawing room. Best keep that tongue of yours from running off again.”

Rae groaned under her breath, half mortified, half resigned. First day meeting the masters, and I’m already digging my own grave.

But she let herself be guided, the echo of Lene’s quiet laugh still trailing behind them.

---

The drawing room had grown quiet after the polite exchanges, her father withdrawing to review correspondence while her mother lingered.

“Claire,” Melia began, folding her fan delicately over her lap, “we’ve missed much of your summer. Tell me — how have you spent it?”

Claire smiled warmly. “We spent some time at the summer estate. And a side trip to Euclid to enjoy the sights and beach.”

“We?”

“Rae and Lene accompanied me. Another classmate, Misha Jur, joined us too.”

Melia’s eyes narrowed just slightly, a glimmer of amusement flashing behind them. “My my, it seems like a lively group. Did you enjoy their company?”

Claire felt her face flushed slightly at the question and willed herself not to respond immediately. Images she could not allow to surface here — shared quarters, stolen kisses, impossible promises — pressed insistently at the edge of memory.

She gave a slight nod, hoping her mother would not press for more details.

“Claire,” Melia sighed, her tone deceptively mild, “you’ve grown more poised since spring. Though…” Her eyes softened in that razor’s-edge way Claire knew too well. “It’s curious. When your attendant — Rae, wasn’t it? — was introduced, you held yourself in a way that reminded me of myself when I first met your father.”

Claire’s heart gave a betraying jolt.

“Mother, you read too much into it.”

Melia smiled knowingly, the faintest tilt of her lips. “Ah, I see. It’s only natural. Nobles take notice of those who stir them.” She tapped her fan lightly against her wrist. “Interesting.”

Claire forced her voice steady. “Rae is diligent. I… respect that aspect of hers.”

“Ah.” Melia’s fan tapped once, lightly, against her wrist. She didn’t press further not directly. But her eyes softened in that infuriatingly knowing way, as though she were cataloguing every twitch of Claire’s composure.

And Claire knew, with mortifying clarity, that her own restraint was unraveling. Because at the sound of Rae’s name, she had glanced toward the door too quickly where Rae and Lene were setting the table for dinner.

Melia noticed. Of course she noticed.

A faint, private smile curved the older woman’s lips. Melia leaned closer, voice quiet but precise. “Guard your tells, my dear. And guard your heart even more carefully.”

Her fan snapped shut with finality, and the moment ended.

---

The François estate grew noisier with her parents home again — the echo of staff moving briskly through hallways, the deeper timbre of her father’s voice, the silvery ring of her mother’s laughter drifting through the salons. Claire loved it. She had always loved it.

And yet, for the first time, she also resented it.

Because every moment was watched. Every schedule reshuffled around her parents’ return. And though she cherished the warmth of family, she could not steal away to Rae’s dorm room in the servants’ wing or drag her off to a quiet garden alcove. Every chance she might have had to hover too close, to drink in that ridiculous smile, to reassure herself Rae hadn’t built a wall of overthinking between them overnight — all of it was gone.

Instead, she was left to play the dutiful daughter. To sit at her mother’s side, to join her father at the study’s hearth, to recount the latest trifles from the Academy. It was fine. It was expected.

But she was suffering.

The ache of it showed in small cracks — her eyes straying toward the corridor when Rae passed, the way she lingered at mealtimes hoping Rae would be assigned to serve, the involuntary quickening of her pulse whenever Rae’s name entered the conversation.

Her mother noticed, of course. Melia François always noticed.

She said nothing, but every so often, when Claire thought she had kept her composure, she would catch the faintest curl of amusement on her mother’s lips, as though she were watching her daughter try to balance porcelain while blindfolded.

 

It was at dinner that the conversation turned.

“Claire,” her father said, his tone genial but firm, “your coming of age is soon.”

Her knife paused against the pheasant on her plate. “Yes, Father.”

Dole nodded, swirling his wine. “And with it, expectations. Your name carries weight. Suitors will—”

“—must be chosen carefully,” Claire finished quickly, sharper than she intended. “I am aware.”

Melia arched a brow. The edge in her daughter’s voice did not escape her.

Dole chuckled, fond and exasperated all at once. “I mean only that you should keep your eyes open, not hide behind prepared speeches. You cannot deflect with Academy reports forever, my dear.”

“I am not deflecting,” Claire said primly, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her.

Across the table, her mother’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. “Oh, I should think she is. Look at her ears, Dole.”

Claire stiffened. “Mother.”

“What? It’s hardly shameful to blush at the thought of marriage.” Melia’s voice was smooth, lilting, utterly merciless. “Some of us find the matter worth blushing over still.”

Dole groaned and pressed a hand to his brow. “Melia, must you—”

“—Yes,” she answered simply, taking a sip of wine. Her eyes flicked, almost imperceptibly, to the corner of the dining hall where Rae was assisting Lene with trays. And just as quickly, back to her daughter, whose fork had stilled in midair.

A gleam danced in Melia’s eyes. Oh, she understood very well where Claire’s reluctance lay. And who it circled around.

“My dear daughter, the nobles will start introducing themselves with the intention of escorting you to the royal party. I am aware that some relatives,” Dole frowned at thought, “are leaning to certain factions and would not hesitate to invoke the family charter and expedite the engagement. And that’s why –”

“That’s why we are back to ensure that they would not act out of turn,” Melia interjected, her eyes softened seeing Claire has lost all appetite at Dole’s speech. She quickly nudged Dole who looked at his daughter with heartfelt concern.

Claire smiled weakly and forced herself to eat, her heart hammering far too loud for the strained silence of dinner.

---

That night, Claire shut her bedroom door with deliberate care.

The corridors outside were hushed; her parents had retired, and the staff moved like whispers, putting the estate to sleep. Claire leaned against the door and drew a long breath, willing her heart to calm.

Dinner had left her rattled. The way her father had spoken of “expectations.” The way her mother’s eyes had sparkled with far too much knowing. The way her own pulse had betrayed her, jumping at the mere mention of marriage.

But worst of all—the hunger.

She had gone the entire day without a single moment to breathe beside Rae. For one who prided herself on self-control, it was humiliating how deeply the absence burned.

“Idiot…” Claire muttered, hugging Ralaire tightly. “You overthink everything. You’ll twist yourself into knots and never even notice how much I—”

She cut herself off, pressing a hand to her lips. She dared not finish that thought. Not here, not when her mother seemed to peer straight through her soul every time their eyes met.

Still… the ache of wanting gnawed at her, slow and relentless. She sat at her dressing table, fingers tracing idle patterns against the petals of the Everblooms. Her imagination betrayed her: Rae standing behind her, brushing a stray lock from her face, leaning down until breath warmed her ear—

The soft click of the door snapped her upright.

“Lene’s impossible,” a familiar voice muttered, low and tired. “Overtime, she said, just because someone’s parents are home—oh.”

Rae froze in the doorway, tray in hand, tea steaming faintly in the lamplight. Her hair was mussed from long hours, her uniform sleeves rolled up, collar loose at the throat. She looked—ordinary. Frustrated. Too tired to be careful.

And yet Claire’s pulse leapt as if she had conjured Rae from her own yearning.

“Wh-what,” Claire demanded, standing far too quickly, “are you doing in my room at this hour?”

Rae blinked at her, then glanced at the tray. “…Delivering tea?”

Claire’s cheeks burned. Of course. It was the most mundane explanation in the world. And yet the sight of Rae here, in the quiet of her bedroom, felt anything but mundane.

“Tea,” Claire repeated flatly.

“Yes. Tea. You know, hot water, leaves—”

“I am aware what tea is, Rae!”

Her voice cracked a little sharper than she meant. Silence followed, broken only by the faint clink of porcelain as Rae set the tray on the bedside table.

“…I can leave, if you prefer,” Rae offered after a beat, too carefully.

Claire’s throat tightened. Leave. The word scraped like glass. All day she had been aching for Rae’s presence, for something—anything—of her warmth. And now that she stood here, exhausted and disheveled and wholly herself, Claire could not bear to let her slip away.

“No,” Claire said quickly, before pride could interfere. Her fingers curled against her skirt, nails biting into fabric. “Stay. Just—” Her voice softened, almost breaking. “Stay.”

Rae turned then, really turned, and the weariness in her face melted into something gentler, startled and unbearably tender.

The moment stretched, heavy with everything they hadn’t been able to say all day.

Claire’s heart thundered. She wanted to scold Rae, to demand why she always appeared at the exact moment she was most vulnerable. She wanted to drag her close, to confess the ache that had been clawing at her ribs since morning. She wanted—

“Idiot,” she whispered instead, softer than a sigh.

Rae smiled faintly, the kind of tired, crooked smile that undid her completely.

And Claire realized with something between dread and relief: she would not sleep tonight, not with Rae standing here, not with her own longing clawing so close to the surface.

“Come here,” Claire whispered, the command slipping past her lips before she even thought it through.

Rae blinked, caught off guard, but she obeyed. Always too ready to obey where Claire was concerned. She stepped closer, the lamplight glancing off her features, shadow pooling in the hollow of her collarbone where her shirt lay undone.

Claire rose from her chair slowly, deliberately, each step closing the distance until Rae’s scent, soap and faint tea leaves, wrapped around her.

She reached out, fingers catching Rae’s sleeve, tugging her down just enough that their faces were level.

“You’re impossible,” Claire breathed, her words brushing Rae’s lips. “You make me…”

She couldn’t finish. She didn’t have to. Rae’s hands found her waist in the same breath, hesitant, as though seeking permission. Claire gave it in the only way she could: she kissed her fiercely, releasing days’ worth of pent-up longing. Rae answered with a muffled sound against her mouth, one hand tightening at her hip, the other rising instinctively to cup her jaw.

When they broke apart for breath, Claire’s cheeks were flushed, her chest heaving. Rae looked no better, eyes dark and stormy, lips reddened from her insistence.

“You’re tired,” Rae murmured, though her grip hadn’t loosened.

“And you’re an idiot if you think I’ll let you go now,” Claire shot back, her voice husky, trembling with conviction. She tugged Rae toward the bed, each step a declaration.

Rae’s protest died in her throat. She followed, as if bound by something stronger than duty, stronger than reason.

Claire sat on the edge of the mattress, pulling Rae down with her until she could straddle her lap, hands braced against her shoulders. The sight of Rae — wide-eyed, breath unsteady, undone — sent a rush of satisfaction and hunger through her veins.

She bent close, whispering against her ear: “Stay with me tonight. Not as my maid. Not as some overthinking fool. Stay as you.”

Rae trembled beneath her, caught between hesitation and want. “Claire”

“Don’t you dare say no.” Claire’s voice was sharp, but her hands softened, sliding from Rae’s shoulders down her arms, coaxing, claiming. “You gave me a taste and now you expect me to starve? I won’t. Not for you.”

Rae’s restraint cracked then, shattering in her eyes like glass. She surged forward, capturing Claire’s mouth again, this time with a desperate hunger that matched her own. Claire gasped, triumphant, tangling herself against Rae as though the night itself belonged to them.

The tray of tea went cold on the bedside table, forgotten.

---

Claire lingered against Rae, her head still resting near Rae’s shoulder when a thought rose unbidden. Melia’s teasing words from earlier that day echoed in her mind: “You held yourself in a way that reminded me of myself when I first met your father.”

She pulled back just enough to look at Rae, her blue eyes sharp with something between curiosity and challenge.

“My mother said we remind her of when she and Father first met. They were each other first love,” Claire began, her tone deceptively casual. “Isn’t it sweet? That we’re each other’s… first?”

Rae blinked, a faint pink rising in her cheeks. “Ah… well… statistically speaking, the probability of one’s first love becoming their lifelong partner is actually rather low.” She gave a little shrug, half distracted, as though she were presenting a line of trivia instead of answering Claire’s heart. “I read once that less than 10%—”

She didn’t get to finish.

Claire narrowed her eyes dangerously and, before Rae could retreat behind data, pressed her back against the mattress, caging her in with both arms. Rae stared up at her, startled.

“…And who,” Claire asked, voice velvet but edged, “was your first love, Rae Taylor?”

Rae’s mind went white. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no. This was not a pop quiz she had prepared for. Faces and moments flickered through her thoughts — then halted. If she said the truth from her old world, Claire would never understand. If she tried to dodge, she’d only stoke suspicion.

Her analytical mind ran though the various multiple choices. Choose the words that the game’s protagonist would say. Or say nothing at all.

She swallowed, forcing her voice steady. “…In this world…” Rae hesitated, and then managed, “…you. You are my first love, Lady Claire.”

There was a beat of silence. Rae thought she’d chosen well. Safe. Correct.

But then Claire’s eyes sharpened further, gleaming with dangerous amusement and curiosity. She leaned closer, lips brushing Rae’s ear as she whispered: “In this world?”

Rae’s stomach dropped. Ah, I said the quiet part too loud.

Claire drew back just enough to search her face, clearly savoring Rae’s panic, her cheeks flushed but her smirk triumphant. “Explain, Rae,” she murmured, her voice low and insistent.

Pinned under Claire’s gaze, Rae could only fumble, words tangling in her throat as she scrambled for a way out.

Rae’s pulse hammered in her throat. Idiot! You could’ve just said “you.” Why did you add “in this world”?

Claire’s smirk was the kind that could topple empires or one poor scholarship student who’d gotten in far too deep. She leaned in, close enough Rae could feel her breath against her cheek.

“In this world,” Claire repeated, softly, like she was tasting the words, weighing them. “What an odd way to phrase it.”

Rae forced a nervous laugh, her mind spinning. “Ah well, you know me. I tend to think in… categories.” She pinched her nose to hide her nervousness. “Different worlds, different contexts, purely theoretical! Just semantics, really.”

Claire’s eyes narrowed, her tone deceptively mild. “Semantics?”

“Yes! Yes. I just mean… you are my first love, Claire. Full stop. End of sentence. Exclamation point, even!” Rae’s hands fluttered helplessly before she pressed them flat against the blanket, as though that might anchor her.

Claire didn’t move. If anything, she loomed closer, until Rae could see the gold flecks in her blue eyes. “Then why qualify it?” she pressed, her voice a silken snare. “Why add that strange little phrase unless there is some other?”

Rae’s brain scrambled. Abort, abort, abort!

She gave another weak laugh. “Ah, well, you know me. I read too much. Fairy tales, epics… they always talk about past lives and parallel realms, don’t they? So romantic! Like… destined love across worlds. That sort of thing.”

Claire’s gaze sharpened at the word destined. “So you think us destined?” she asked quietly.

Rae froze. “…Well, statistically speaking—”

“Do not,” Claire warned, her tone icy-sweet, “give me a number right now, Rae Taylor.”

Rae shut her mouth so fast her teeth clicked.

Claire studied her, searching for cracks in her composure. Rae fought to keep her face neutral, but she knew her ears were flaming red, and Claire noticed everything. Slowly, deliberately, Claire leaned down until her lips hovered just above Rae’s.

“You say I am your first love,” she murmured. “Then prove it.”

Rae’s breath caught. “P-prove it?”

“Yes,” Claire whispered, her voice breaking soft and dangerous, the kind that made Rae’s heart ache and her head spin. “Because if I find out you are hiding something from me… Rae Taylor…” She paused, letting her weight press Rae further into the mattress. “…I will not forgive you.”

Rae swallowed hard, caught between terror and desire. Her hands twitched uselessly at her sides. “Claire… you are my first love. I swear it.” She tried to make her voice steady and sincere.

And it was.

Because however tangled her origins, that much was true.

Claire’s eyes lingered on hers, searching, searching, as if she could strip Rae down to her soul and find the hidden truth. Rae held her breath, praying her half-lie would hold.

Finally, Claire pulled back just enough to let Rae breathe again. But her eyes remained sharp, suspicious, even as a faint blush touched her cheeks. “Then don’t ever make me doubt it again,” she said firmly.

Rae nodded so fast she nearly bumped their noses. “Y-yes, Lady Claire.”

Claire shifted off her, rolling gracefully back onto her side of the bed. But Rae could feel the heat lingering in the space between them, heavy and unresolved.

And Claire, staring at the canopy above, whispered only to herself: ‘In this world.’ What on earth are you hiding from me, Rae Taylor…

---

The room was quiet, save for the steady rhythm of Claire’s breathing and the faint rustle of curtains swaying in the night breeze. Rae sat in the chair by her bedside, trying—and failing—to shake the weight of everything pressing down on her chest. She had promised herself she would only stay until Claire drifted off, but hours had passed, and she remained, unable to step away.

Her eyes wandered, settling on the burgundy book, aka the developer’s guidebook as Rae mentally labelled, sitting innocuously on the nightstand. Its spine was worn, its cover frayed in the way of a book often handled, often returned to. She reached out carefully, as though she might disturb Claire even in sleep, and slid it into her lap.

Then, just as her nerves began to settle, a soft voice broke the silence.

“…An interesting choice of gift, don’t you think?”

Rae’s head snapped up. Claire’s eyes were half-open, heavy with drowsiness but lucid enough to have noticed. Her hand slid toward the book as though it were something precious, and her fingers brushed the cover.

“The bookseller mentioned it is from you. This story,” Claire murmured, her voice threaded with nostalgia, “about an author who falls into her own world she creates and loses herself in the love of a character.” She traced the embossed letters with a languid grace, stopping at the author’s name. “…‘R.T. Oohashi.’”

Rae’s throat went dry.

“Curious,” Claire went on softly, almost to herself. “Those initials… they aren’t so different from yours. Rae Taylor.”

The words sent Rae’s heart hammering against her ribs. She forced a shaky laugh, scratching her cheek in a futile effort to appear casual. “Ah—what a coincidence, right? A world full of names, and some are bound to overlap. Statistical inevitability, I’d say.”

Claire’s lips curved faintly, not quite buying it, but too tired to press further. She leaned back into her pillows, letting her gaze linger on Rae a moment longer before turning back to the book. “My favorite part,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “is the farewell.”

Rae blinked, startled by the wistfulness in her tone. “…Farewell?”

Claire nodded, lashes lowering as though the memory itself pained her. “There’s a scene where the author’s stand-in is about to be torn away from the character she loves. It is the cruelest, tenderest moment. And just before the parting, her love tells her, ‘If you choose to stay, I will anchor myself next to you. If you must leave, leave knowing that I will be grateful to have you in my life.’”

Her voice quivered, and she pressed her palm against the cover as though holding the words there, close to her. “I thought it unbearably beautiful the first time I read it. Still do.”

Rae swallowed hard, the ache in her chest nearly unbearable. She could feel her own margin notes pressing back against her palm from the pages below, like echoes of a past life mocking her.

After a long silence, Rae managed to ask, “…And what if the main character wasn’t given a choice? What if the main character was forced to leave? Or—” her voice cracked despite her best efforts—“erased, after the story ended?”

For a moment Claire didn’t answer. The candlelight flickered over her features, casting shadows across her sharp cheekbones, softening her expression into something unbearably tender. Then she turned her gaze back to Rae, steady and unflinching.

“Then,” Claire said, “the one left behind suffers. That is always the way of it. No anchor, no gratitude. Only an ache that never truly heals.” She lifted her chin, proud even in sorrow. “But if she is erased, then I suppose her lover would choose to carry her memory alone. Because erasure cannot touch the heart, Rae. Not if it was real.”

The words struck Rae harder than any blow. She sat frozen, the book heavy in her lap, her lungs struggling to remember how to draw breath. Claire spoke with such conviction, such certainty, that Rae wondered if she already knew, if she was only waiting for Rae to confess.

But Claire’s gaze softened again, her lids growing heavy. She shifted, pulling her blanket higher, and whispered almost absently, “Perhaps it’s foolish… but I could understand the feeling of one choosing to bear the suffering than live untouched.”

Rae could only sit there, hands clenched tight around the book, her heart screaming with truths she could never speak. She wanted to tell Claire everything. That her deepest fears written in those words, that she had never expected to live them, that she feared with every breath how soon they would come true.

When the final arc end and the credits roll, the game should reset.

And Rae Taylor would be no more.

 

“…And what if,” she said slowly, her voice unsteady, “the main character, the author, was me?”

The question hung between them like a crack of thunder in a clear sky. Claire’s drowsiness evaporated in an instant. Her eyes, half-lidded and softened moments ago, sharpened with startling clarity as they fixed on Rae.

For a long, breathless silence, Claire simply looked at her. Studied her. Rae felt exposed under that gaze, stripped bare of every defense she had ever tried to weave.

Finally, Claire leaned forward slightly, her golden hair spilling over her shoulder as though to bridge the distance between them. Her voice, when it came, was low and trembling with something Rae could not mistake.

“Then I,” Claire said, “would be the one to tear the last page out.”

Rae’s breath caught.

“If it meant keeping you here,” Claire whispered fiercely, her hand tightening against the sheets, “I would destroy every ending they tried to write for you. I would never allow a story to take you away from me.”

Rae tried to force a laugh, though it sounded hollow in her own ears. She tipped the book slightly, as though hiding behind its cover might soften the intensity of Claire’s words.

“Well,” she managed, aiming for levity but missing by a mile, “why the special treatment? You don’t see the author’s heroine getting all this indulgence. She had to claw her way through angst and heartbreak while you’re…” Rae gestured vaguely between them, “…threatening to rip pages out for my sake.”

The humor landed weak, her smile wavering at the edges.

Claire didn’t smile back. If anything, her gaze sharpened further, glacial and unblinking. She leaned forward, closer than she had been a heartbeat ago, and Rae felt her breath catch in her throat.

“That’s because she isn’t you. And the love interest isn’t me,” Claire said, each word heavy with conviction.

Rae froze.

Claire reached out, her fingertips brushing against the edge of the book before sliding, deliberate and slow, until they nearly grazed Rae’s hand. “I would never waste my devotion on a story’s phantom. But you…” Her lips curved into something fiercer, hungrier. “You’re real. You’re here. And every time I think of losing you, it feels like—” She broke off, catching herself, but her hand didn’t move away.

Rae swallowed hard, her heartbeat hammering so violently she was sure Claire could hear it.

“Claire…”

“Don’t,” Claire cut in softly. “Don’t joke about why I treat you differently. You know the answer. You’ve always known.”

She leaned forward, cupping Rae’s cheek, her thumb brushing the faint blush there. “Do you understand me?”

“I… think so,” Rae stuttered.

“That’s not enough.” Claire’s voice dipped lower. “Understand this, Rae Taylor. If you disappear, I will come after you. And when I find you, I’ll be very cross.”

Rae’s lips curved faintly. “Cross?”

“Unbearably,” Claire breathed, until their foreheads touched. “And I’ll make you regret leaving me in ways I can’t say politely.”

That startled Rae enough to break her composure with the tiniest, almost shy intake of breath.

Claire didn’t give her time to recover. She kissed her.

Claire shifted closer, not breaking the kiss, letting her weight press Rae back against the pillows.

“Still planning to disappear?” Claire murmured against her lips.

Rae shook her head, her breath uneven. “Not… tonight.”

“Good,” Claire said, and this time there was nothing polite about her tone.

---

The corridor to the dining hall was quiet, morning light pouring through tall windows and pooling on the polished floor. Claire walked a step ahead, posture immaculate as always, but Rae noticed the faint stiffness in her stride. The pressure of suitors and expectations hadn’t let up especially since her parents are around.

Trying to lighten the mood, Rae ambled alongside her, hands behind her back. “You know,” she said casually, “if those gentlemen are lining up to escort you to the royal event, maybe I should toss my name into the pile. Even the odds.”

Claire froze mid-step, whipping her head toward her. “You cannot be serious.”

“Why not?” Rae replied, grinning. “Seems only fair. Everyone else gets a chance to make a fool of themselves. Why shouldn’t I?”

Claire exhaled sharply through her nose, resuming her pace. “Because it’s not a game. There are rules.”

Rae perked up immediately. “Customs? Oh, now I’m curious. What sort of hoops do I have to jump through to ‘properly’ ask you to the royal event?”

Claire shot her a sideways look, already regretting speaking. But Rae’s expectant and earnest gaze dissolved her resistance. “…First, you share a meal together. Get to know each other and intention.”

Rae nodded solemnly, as though taking notes. “Meal. Got it. We do that all the time, though.”

Claire ignored her. “Second, you exchange gifts. Something personal. A token of regard.”

“Like Ralaire?” Rae deadpanned.

Claire nearly stumbled. “Rae!”

“What? It’s romantic. And you loved it,” Rae said innocently, her grin widening.

Claire’s cheeks heated, but she pressed on. “…Third, you dance together. To show… harmony.”

Rae winced. “Ah. That one might be a problem. My coordination is more… theoretical.”

Claire sniffed, hiding her amusement. “Then you had best practice.”

They had reached the end of the corridor, the dining doors just ahead. Rae leaned closer, lowering her voice as though sharing a secret. “And what’s the final step, then? The grand finale?”

Claire hesitated, pulse skipping. “…Meeting the parents. Securing their blessing.”

Rae’s brows rose. “Ah, of course. The boss battle.”

Claire groaned softly. “You make everything sound ridiculous.”

Rae, without missing a beat, gave an exaggerated bow right there in the hallway, one arm sweeping dramatically. “Then, Lady Claire François, will you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to breakfast? That is step one in this perilous custom quest.”

Claire’s face went crimson. “R-Rae! That’s not how it works!”

“And then, for the gift—” Rae looked around wildly, plucked a rose from the flower display, and presented it with exaggerated ceremony. “A token of my everlasting affection. May it remind you of our shared breakfasts.”

Claire sputtered, caught between outrage and the hysterical urge to laugh. “You are insufferable!”

But Rae wasn’t done. She leaned closer, voice dropping, suddenly softer—almost too real. “…And for the intention—”

Her hand brushed Claire’s knuckles, lingering there, warmth seeping into Claire’s skin. Rae’s eyes, bright with mischief only a moment ago, softened into something dangerously earnest. “If you choose to stay, I’ll anchor myself next to you. If you must leave…I’ll be grateful to have been in your life.”

Claire’s breath caught. The words weren’t a joke anymore. They were too close to the ones from her beloved book. Too close to her heart.

She opened her mouth, something fierce and irrevocable on the tip of her tongue.

And the door swung open.

Both turned to see Melia François gliding toward them, regal in her morning gown, her eyes sharp with amusement.

“Well,” Melia said smoothly, taking in Rae’s awkward bow, Claire’s flushed cheeks, and the tension thick in the air, “it seems I’ve arrived just in time for step four.”

Claire nearly dropped her fan. “M-Mother!”

Rae straightened hastily, heart hammering. Of all the times, this has to happen 

But Melia only smiled, the kind of smile that said she saw everything. “Go on, then. Let’s see how serious this little… custom really is.”

Chapter 19: Game Over...Or Not?

 

Rae’s mouth went dry.
Claire looked as though the floor might swallow her whole. “Mother, this is—it’s not—”

“Oh, it looked very much like something to me,” Melia interrupted smoothly, folding her hands as she stopped just short of them. Her gaze slid from Claire’s crimson cheeks to Rae’s frozen posture, sharp and knowing. “How curious to find the two of you halfway through what appears to be… a courtship ritual.”

Rae almost choked. “C–Courtship? Oh, no, I was just—”

“Following the customs,” Claire snapped, shooting Rae a glare that could melt steel. If she had to suffer, Rae would suffer with her.

Rae nodded furiously. “…Right. Customs. Of course.”

Melia’s brows lifted, amusement glinting like a cat watching a trapped bird. “Then you must be aware of the final step, child.”

“Yes,” Rae said weakly. “The, um. Boss battle.”

Claire closed her eyes in despair.

“Boss battle?” Melia echoed, tilting her head.

Rae coughed into her fist, scrambling. “That is, uh… the toughest challenge. Meeting the parents. And, um… earning their blessings.”

Melia’s smile widened. “How convenient, then, that one of them stands before you now.”

Rae’s heart lurched. If Melia François was the test, Rae was woefully under-leveled.

Still, she drew a slow breath and bowed, forcing her voice to steady. “Lady François, it would be… my honor… if you’d allow me to accompany your daughter to the upcoming royal event. Not as her attendant—” her throat tightened, “—but as her escort.”

Claire made a faint sound that could have been a strangled laugh or a plea for mercy.

Melia studied Rae for a long, measured moment. “You speak as though you understand the weight of such a promise. Do you?”

Rae straightened, rubbing the back of her neck. “I—probably not. Not fully. But I know I don’t take it lightly. And I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

Melia’s gaze sharpened. “And why? What makes you think you are fit to stand beside my daughter—under every eye that matters in this kingdom?”

A dozen clever evasions flickered through Rae’s mind, but when she glanced at Claire—her lips pressed tight, her eyes flickering between fury, fear, and something heartbreakingly soft—her heart betrayed her.

“…Because I can’t imagine anyone else doing it with pure intentions,” Rae said quietly. “I’d rather they look at me and scoff… than look at her and think she stands alone. Or that she’s just another pawn in someone’s game.”

The hallway went still.

Claire’s breath caught.

Melia’s lips curved, faintly approving—and faintly testing. “Hm. A bold answer.” Her gaze shifted to Claire, who looked ready to self-destruct. “But perhaps boldness is not the worst trait for someone who dares to stand at your side, daughter.”

“Mother,” Claire hissed, scandalized.

Melia ignored her, eyes returning to Rae. “We shall see. For now… breakfast waits. And, perhaps, your only chance to convince both Dole and me of this mad idea.”

With that, she swept past them, the faint scent of rosewater and victory trailing behind her.

Rae exhaled shakily. “Mom-Boss battle… cleared. For now.”

Claire spun on her, face aflame. “Rae Taylor, you are insufferable!”

“And yet,” Rae said, grinning weakly, “still in the running?”

Claire smacked her arm with lethal precision. “Do not push your luck.”

---

The François dining hall was not meant for comfort. Its ceilings soared, frescoes gleaming gold under the morning light. The long table stretched almost absurdly far, polished to a mirror sheen that reflected chandeliers like stars caught in glass. Everything about the room whispered of prestige, tradition.

And danger.

Which was why Rae Taylor felt entirely out of place sliding into a chair, at Melia François’s insistence no less, beside Claire.

Dole François’s fork clattered the moment Melia guided Rae forward. “Melia,” he began, voice tight with confusion and restrained outrage. “What is the meaning of this?” His gaze flicked to Rae, thunder gathering in his eyes.

“Rae is here as a candidate of sorts,” Melia cut in smoothly, settling herself across from them as if nothing were amiss. “Surely, you would not have her stand in the hall while we eat?”

Dole’s brows snapped together. “Candidate? Candidate for what, pray tell?”

Claire’s face met her teacup with the weary resignation of someone bracing for impact. Rae considered doing the same.

Melia gave a small, innocent smile. “For our daughter’s attention, of course.”

The silence that followed was catastrophic.

Rae’s hands clenched. Claire sputtered into her tea.

“Melia!” Dole’s voice boomed through the room. “Are you insane? This is utterly inappropriate!”

“On the contrary,” Melia said mildly, patting his hand before he could spiral into a tirade. “It is practical. Better to test the girl now than to be caught unprepared later.”

Rae raised a hand weakly. “Um. I don’t actually—”

“Sit up straight, Rae,” Melia murmured, not even glancing her way.

Rae instantly obeyed, spine snapping rigid. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Melia,” Dole growled, “you cannot be serious. Pitting this… commoner against noble heirs?”

“Why not?” Melia’s smile didn’t falter. “If Rae is unworthy, she will falter on her own. And if she is not…” her eyes flicked toward Claire, “then perhaps she will surprise us all.”

Claire’s cheeks burned scarlet. “Mother, you cannot simply assume that.”

“I can,” Melia replied serenely, “and I have.”

Rae was sweating bullets. “Just to clarify, is this… an official competition, or am I about to be chased out of here with torches?”

“Both remain options,” Dole muttered into his plate.

“Father! Don’t you dare!” Claire snapped, horrified.

Melia, however, merely leaned back, tapping her chin, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. Her gaze darted between her husband’s fury, her daughter’s embarrassment, and Rae’s steady but doomed expression.

So, Melia thought, hiding her amusement behind her teacup, your move, my clever little girl.

Dole exhaled through his nose, stabbing at his breakfast with a knife. “The noble houses have already written me this week,” he said at last, voice clipped. “Each presenting their son as a suitable escort for Claire to the royal ball. In fact, they’ve requested her presence within the week.”

Melia’s smile turned feline. “How fortunate. The timing could not be more perfect.” She looked from her husband to the uneasy girls. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Rae flinched. She knew exactly how this would turn out. Meet the rival suitors, enter into a battle of wits and, hopefully, get out of it unscathed. She took a steady breath to stay grounded while her mind churred at the various unpleasant scenarios and names that Louis provided.

While Rae began to form her battle plan mentally and noting down the names Dole mentioned, Claire’s gaze flicked to Rae just for a heartbeat and softened. Rae’s jaw was set, her posture rigid but proud, as if bracing for a blow she couldn’t dodge.

When Melia raised about the point of Rae’s worthy to the table, her words were directed to Claire, challenging Claire’s resolve to defy the noble customs and fight for Rae. Images of Rae’s reaction to her engagement flashed through her mind.

Rae’s daring midnight escapade to seek information from her old friend

Rae’s brittle laughter when Claire chose to defend the noble customs

Rae’s tired eyes after days of researching about customs and marriage.

Rae’s fears about living on borrowed time by Claire’s side.

Clenching her fists, Claire made up her mind.

When she finally spoke, her tone was smooth and composed.
“Very well,” she said. “I will meet the suitors.”

Dole inclined his head, visibly relieved. “Prudent.”

Rae’s heart dropped a little at the ease of that agreement.

And dropped further when Claire added, delicately, “Rae’s presence will not be required. Lene will accompany me to each meeting.”

“What!?” Rae whirled her head around, surprised at Claire’s request. But Claire chose not to elaborate further.

Ah. So that’s it, she thought, a faint sting blooming somewhere behind her ribs. Disqualified before the competition even begins.

Even Melia blinked, clearly caught off guard by the calm deflection and the easy dismissal.

Before Rae could protest—or worse, beg for an explanation—Claire’s hand slipped over hers beneath the table, warm and steady.

“Rae,” Claire said quietly, meeting Rae’s startled pained look with a steady gaze, “will accompany me as I finalize preparations for the royal event.”

Rae blinked at her, unsure if this was mercy or strategy. “Preparations,” she echoed faintly. “Right. Of course.”

Dole sighed, clearly ready to take whatever compromise he could get. “Fine,” he grumbled, waving his fork. “So long as you actually attend those meetings.”

“An acceptable arrangement,” Melia said lightly, setting down her cup. “Though I expect results from both fronts.”

Rae glanced between them, half-expecting to be ejected from the estate any second. Instead, Melia merely gave Claire and Rae a slow, considering look. Not bad, little soldiers, that look seemed to say. Let’s see what you will do.

Rae forced a shaky smile. “Right. So… breakfast cleared?”

---

For the next two days, Rae could do nothing but watch.

Every morning, Claire left the François estate at dawn, polished and perfect beside Lene. Every evening, she returned with that same composure cracked around the edges. Rae would wait outside her room until Lene appeared, sometimes long past midnight, to quietly recount the day’s ordeal.

“She’s rejecting them all,” Lene whispered tiredly one night, setting a steaming cup between them. “Every single one. Some politely. Some… not so politely.”

Rae almost smiled at that. It sounded like Claire. But Lene’s tone didn’t carry pride. It carried worry.

“She won’t bend,” Lene continued. “But the pressure is pushing her to the limits. They keep sending new names, new invitations, new rumors. And she refuses to rest. I’ve seen her hands shaking before each meeting. She hides it well, but…”

Her voice trailed off.

Rae looked down at her untouched tea. The faint tremor of the cup mirrored the tightening in her chest.

A lesser person might have yielded already. But Claire François never yielded; she endured until it broke her.

By the third morning, Rae had had enough.

She waited by the door, watching as Claire fastened her earrings with trembling hands. The faint shadows beneath her eyes betrayed sleepless nights; her voice, when she greeted Rae, was polite but frayed thin.

Lene held the day’s itinerary like it weighed a hundred pounds. “The carriage will be ready shortly, milady.”

“Thank you, Lene,” Claire said softly, gathering her composure like armor. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”

She turned to leave.

And Rae’s hand shot out, catching her wrist before she could take another step.

Claire blinked, startled. “Rae?”

Rae didn’t speak at first. She only looked at her — the exhaustion, the forced calm, the spark of fire barely flickering under all that weight.

Then Rae exhaled slowly. “No more.”

Claire frowned. “Rae, I don’t understand.”

“No more,” Rae repeated quietly. “You’re not doing this again.”

“Rae, I have to do this.”

“No,” Rae interrupted, voice calm but unyielding. “You don’t. Not like this.”

She glanced at Lene, who froze halfway through adjusting her mistress’s cloak. Then Rae squared her shoulders and said the words that would change everything:

“Lene, please cancel today’s engagements. Milady, please come with me.”

Claire frowned. “Where?”

Rae turned toward the corridor. Her voice was steady, deliberate.

“To your father’s study.”

Lene nearly dropped the cloak. “Rae, that’s not advisable.”

“It’s time,” Rae said simply, and her eyes left no room for protest. “Time to end this charade.”

Claire hesitated, torn between fear, defiance, and the faintest spark of hope. Then, without another word, she followed Rae down the hall. Lene trailing after them, whispering prayers under her breath.

The corridors of the François estate were long and echoing, the portraits of ancestors seeming to watch their trespass. The air grew heavier as they neared the study, where Dole François spent his mornings buried in state correspondence.

Rae’s heartbeat thundered in her ears, but her steps never faltered.

She had no illusions — this was madness. But watching Claire shrink beneath the weight of others’ expectations was worse.

And if madness was the price of her conviction, then so be it.

When they reached the study door, Rae lifted her hand and knocked, firm and clear.

Inside, a voice rumbled — deep, composed, and faintly irritated.
“Enter.”

Rae glanced at Claire once, just long enough to see confusion flicker in those blue eyes.

Then she opened the door.

And walked straight into the lion’s den.

---

“Explain the terms again, Miss Taylor.”

Dole François’s voice carried the weight of a gavel — calm, but absolute.

Rae stood opposite him, posture precise, every inch of her training straining to hold steady. Her hands were clasped neatly behind her back, knuckles white. Across from her, the Duke leaned in his leather chair, gaze cool and assessing the resolve of a servant who had dared to step out of her station.

Claire sat beside her mother, her back ramrod straight, eyes wide with restrained panic. Her fingers twisted into the folds of her skirt until the fabric threatened to tear.

Melia, by contrast, looked far too amused for anyone’s comfort. Reclined gracefully on her chaise, chin resting on the curve of her palm, she watched the scene unfold with the calm delight of someone about to witness an excellent play.

Rae drew a slow breath and began, her voice soft but clear.
“A poker match. Ten rounds.”

Dole’s eyes narrowed with curiosity. Rae pressed on.
“For every hand I win, I will name one suitor. That suitor will be removed from Lady Claire’s list.”

A flicker of something intrigue crossed the Duke’s face. “And when you lose?”

Rae’s throat tightened. “Then I will reveal one fact — honest and verifiable — about one of the suitors. Their connections. Scandals. Ambitions. Family dealings.” She met his gaze head-on. “Whatever I know.”

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

Then Dole exhaled. “You presume quite a bit of knowledge for a girl your age.”

Rae’s lips curved, faint and humorless. “I read reports. And I listen when others don’t.”

That, at least, earned her a raised brow. “How industrious.”

But Rae could see it for afar.

The dismissal forming behind his eyes. She needed more. Something that would force his hand.

So she took one last breath and said, quietly but firmly,
“If I lose the overall match — if I win fewer than half the rounds — I will resign from my position as Lady Claire’s attendant. Effective immediately.”

The silence that followed cracked through the air like a whip.

Claire’s chair scraped sharply against the floor as she half-rose, color flooding her cheeks. “Rae!”

Melia’s hand brushed her daughter’s arm. A silent signal. Sit. Watch.

The Duchess’s tone was deceptively light as she spoke. “How… novel.” She turned her gaze to her husband, a small, knowing smile touching her lips. “My dear, you’ve heard the girl. It would be rude to refuse a challenge made in earnest.”

Dole’s frown deepened. “You find this amusing?”

“I find it revealing,” Melia murmured, sipping her tea.

The Duke turned his attention back to Rae, eyes sharp as a hawk’s. “You realize, girl, that you are also wagering your own future. With a word, I could also revoke your scholarship.”

Rae’s pulse thundered in her ears, but she didn’t falter. “I’m aware, Your Grace.”

The room hung in heavy stillness. Even the ticking of the mantel clock seemed to hesitate.

Then Dole inclined his head slightly with the smallest concession. “Sit.”

Rae obeyed.

He gestured toward a nearby sideboard, and a servant appeared almost instantly with a lacquered box of cards — clearly not the first time games of chance had been played in this room, though perhaps never under such terms.

The soft shff of the cards being shuffled filled the air. Melia leaned forward just a touch, smiling faintly behind her teacup. Claire’s nails dug crescents into her palms, her throat tight with unspoken protest.

Rae’s face betrayed nothing.

When Dole dealt the first hand, his tone was casual, almost conversational.
“You play a dangerous game, Miss Taylor. Most people who challenge me regret it.”

Rae lifted her cards and met his gaze over their edge. Her reply came steady and even:
“With respect, Your Grace… I’m not most people.”

A faint sound escaped Melia. Somewhere between a hum and a laugh.

Dole’s lips twitched, though it wasn’t quite a smile.

The first round began.

And for the next ten hands, the air in the François study would become a battlefield of wit, instinct, and courage.

---

Rae didn’t argue as she folded her final hand in the tenth round.
Her fingers lingered on the cards for a moment, tracing the edges before setting them down. She’d known this would happen — had accepted it the moment she made the challenge.

A deal was a deal.

She lifted her head and found Claire’s eyes across the table. There was no triumph in her expression. Just a quiet, bone-deep exhaustion wrapped in a small, resigned smile.

“Milady…” Rae’s voice was steady, but the tremor in her fingers betrayed her. “I’ll pack my things and inform the staff before dinner.”

The words hit Claire like a slap.
Her lips parted soundlessly, as if her body refused to believe what her ears had heard. “Rae, you don’t have to do this,” she said at last, her voice breaking at the edges. “We can talk to Father. He—he’ll listen—”

Rae shook her head gently, her composure slipping into something soft and apologetic. “I lost six out of ten, my lady. And I meant what I promised.”

Claire’s throat tightened. “But that was a game! It’s absurd— you can’t—”

Rae hesitated only a heartbeat before bowing, low and deliberate. “Thank you for allowing me to serve you, Lady Claire.”

And then she turned.
The door shut behind her with a quiet, final click that echoed far too loudly in the still air.

Claire was on her feet in an instant. “Father!” she burst out, voice shaking. “Mother! This is absurd! Rae’s the most capable attendant I’ve ever had—she’s mine, I mean—she belongs with—”

Her words came in uneven rushes, raw and desperate, tripping over themselves as she tried to make sense of the panic clawing at her chest.

“Father, please,” she begged, eyes shining, “she did all this for me! You can’t just—”

Melia rose, calm and unhurried, crossing the room to her daughter’s side. She placed a hand gently over Claire’s clenched fists — small, trembling things that had turned bone white.

“Claire,” she murmured, voice low but firm.

Her daughter looked up at her, eyes glassy with the beginnings of tears.

Melia gave the smallest shake of her head. Not unkind, but absolute.

Not now.

Claire froze, trembling, her jaw tight as she bit down on everything else she wanted to scream.

Across the table, Dole François sat motionless, his eyes fixed on the discarded cards before him. There was no satisfaction in his face, no gloating victory. Only a grim, brooding stillness.

The match had not gone the way he’d expected. 

And  his precious, proud daughter was breaking before his eyes because of it.

Claire’s voice cracked again. “Please, Father,” she whispered, all her polish gone, replaced with trembling honesty. “Please don’t send her away. She… she matters.”

Dole looked up, and for a fleeting moment, his gaze softened. But only slightly. His thoughts were elsewhere — turning, assessing.

Outside, Rae walked the corridor alone. Her footsteps echoed against the marble, steady and quiet. The same kind of quiet one uses when holding something fragile together by sheer will.

At the far end, she stopped by the tall window where afternoon light spilled across the floor. Her shoulders dropped, and the breath she’d been holding escaped her in a small, uneven sigh.

For the first time all day, her composure cracked. 

She let herself feel it. Just once.

Then she straightened again.

She had done what she could.

Now all that was left was to wait.

==

The dormitory was silent at that hour, save for the faint hum of cicadas outside the window. Rae lay flat on her bed, one arm draped across her forehead, staring at the ceiling as moonlight pooled in thin ribbons across her desk.

Sleep wouldn’t come. Not tonight.

Her thoughts refused to still.

It wasn’t the sting of losing that haunted her. She could have won. She knew she could have. Dole François was sharp, but predictable in certain ways. And Rae, who had spent days reviewing logs and observing the intricate dance of noble politics from the sidelines, had learned to read men like him: deliberate, prideful, anchored by principle.

And, beneath it all, helplessly devoted to his daughter.

She turned onto her side, gazing at the small lamp by her bedside. 

Ten rounds.
Six losses.

She’d let those losses fall exactly where she needed them.
Every time she folded, she’d dropped a piece of information about one of Claire’s suitors.
Not too damning, never baseless gossip. Just enough to turn a father’s mind.

A hidden loan, a whispered scandal, a family’s quiet desperation for power.
The kinds of truths that noble families buried under courtesy and charm.

Dole wasn’t a fool. He’d recognized her pattern before the fifth hand. By the eighth, she’d seen it in his eyes. That subtle tightening around the mouth, that grim understanding dawning behind his composure.

Rae exhaled softly, fingers curling into the bedsheet.

She’d bet her position, her future, and maybe even her last chance to stay by Claire’s side — all on the hope that the Duke’s love for his daughter would outweigh his pride.

If it didn’t… well. Then she would have to think of a backup.

Rae pressed her palm against her heart, as if to steady it.

“I’m sorry, Claire,” she whispered into the quiet. “This was the only way.”

Because if she had won all ten rounds, Dole might have dismissed it as luck and held her with little regards.

Her eyelids grew heavy, finally, though her thoughts still turned in quiet spirals.

Knock, knock, KNOCK.

The sharp pounding rattled the thin dorm door, snapping her eyes open.

Rae exhaled a long, miserable breath into her pillow.

Of course.

Because the universe never once granted her a quiet dramatic exit.

She pushed herself upright slowly, steeling her face back into neutrality.

Another loud knock.

“Coming,” she muttered, voice barely loud enough to hear.

Rae opened the door. And immediately blinked.

Claire François stood in the hallway, breathing like she’d just sprinted through half the estate, red coat still half-buttoned, hair slightly wind-tossed with fury and panic. Lene hovered at her side, looking like she deeply regretted every life choice that led her to this exact moment.

Before Rae could form a single word, Claire stormed past her and into the room.

The door swung wider as Lene followed, expression apologetic and arms straining around… Rae squinted.

An overnight bag.
A very suspiciously stuffed overnight bag.

Rae stared at the bag, then at Lene.

“Is there,” she asked slowly, “a reason my room is being invaded and provisioned like a hostage bunker?”

Lene cleared her throat softly. “The lady… insisted.”

With the defeated grace of someone who’d tried and failed to stop an avalanche, she dropped the bag just inside the door and murmured, “Good luck,” before retreating and shutting it behind her.

Silence.

Then—

“How dare you!”

Rae blinked, startled as Claire marched straight to her. “How dare you make such a reckless wager without telling me! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!”

Rae’s mouth opened, then closed again. “…Uh. Played a card game?”

“Exactly!” Claire snapped, hands balling into fists at her sides. “A card game that cost you your position, your reputation, your future!”

“You gambled your position! Your future! On a card game!” Claire’s voice pitched higher with every word. “Do you have any idea how reckless that was?!”

“I had an idea, yes,” Rae said carefully, trying for calm, but her voice came out tired instead. “It was a calculated risk—”

“Calculated?!” Claire repeated, incredulous. “You call throwing your life away calculated?”

Rae inhaled slowly. “You were being cornered, Claire. And you were exhausted. I thought if I could—”

“If you could what?” Claire snapped, stepping closer. “Play the hero? Win back my freedom like a prize at the gaming table?”

Her words stung, though they weren’t entirely unfair. Rae looked down, hands clasped behind her back. “If it meant you could rest, even one day—then yes.”

Claire froze, just long enough for the truth in those words to register—before she shook her head sharply. “That’s not your choice to make!”

Her voice broke then, trembling on the edge of tears. “You’re supposed to stay! Not… throw yourself away on my behalf like some—some tragic fool!”

“I made the bet. I lost. That’s all there is to it.”

Claire’s eyes widened, her anger dimming into disbelief. “You’re just accepting it? Like it’s nothing?”

Rae rubbed the back of her neck, watching Claire stubbornly occupy the middle of her small bed like a queen in exile. Her heart still thudded too fast — from the argument, from the sight of Claire standing there with tears she refused to shed.

She sighed softly. “You know,” she said, voice low but steady, “this isn’t goodbye. We’ll still see each other when the new term starts. You can… have a different attendant.”

Claire’s head snapped up, disbelief flashing across her face. “A different—”

Rae hurried on before the explosion hit. “And besides,” she added, forcing a crooked grin, “if I ever decided to pursue you as a suitor, it’d be terribly improper for me to still serve you, wouldn’t it? A servant pining after her lady? Scandalous.”

For a beat, there was silence.

Then, in one swift, completely unladylike motion, Claire pounced.

“Wha—!?” Rae yelped, half toppling back as Claire shoved her down onto the mattress, glaring at her with a mixture of outrage, mortification, and something far too close to panic.

“You—you idiot!” Claire hissed, her face inches from Rae’s. “Do you think this is a joke? That you can just say things like that after what you’ve done?!”

“I was trying to lighten the mood!” Rae blurted, utterly bewildered, trapped between the wall and a very furious noble girl whose hair smelled faintly of roses and defiance.

Claire’s grip tightened on Rae’s sleeve. “You can’t just talk about pursuing me like it’s a casual remark over tea! You can’t—” She faltered, cheeks burning crimson, voice dropping. “You can’t say things like that if you don’t mean them.”

Rae froze. The words lodged somewhere deep in her chest.

For a moment, they just stared at each other — breath tangled, eyes searching.

Then Rae, because she was Rae, smiled. A small, gentle, heartbreakingly calm one. “You’d be surprised what I mean, milady.”

Claire blinked, startled, her anger faltering into confusion. “Rae…”

But Rae was already sitting up, carefully untangling herself, her voice returning to its careful evenness. “You should rest. Tomorrow will be another long day.”

Claire wanted to argue. To scream, to demand, to make Rae say it again. But all she could do was sit there, fists clenched in the sheets, heart pounding like she’d run miles.

Rae stood, turned down the lamp, and murmured over her shoulder, “Goodnight, Lady Claire.”

Claire stared at her for a long time, her lips trembling between fury and something softer.

Finally, she muttered under her breath, “You’re not allowed to call me that if you’re going to talk about courting me.”

Rae blinked. “Pardon?”

“Nothing,” Claire said quickly, turning her back to hide her blush. “Go to sleep before I rescind your invitation to live.”

Rae chuckled quietly. “Yes, milady.”

She didn’t see Claire’s small, secret smile in the dark. Or the way her hand lingered just inches from where Rae’s rested, as though she couldn’t quite let go.

---

Melia stood by the tall window, curtain lifted just enough to see the two girls in the courtyard. Claire — skirts bunched in her fist, temper blazing — dragging poor Lene straight toward the gate. Lene cast one last hopeless glance at the mansion, silently begging for mercy from gods long deaf to François drama.

Melia’s lips curved into a knowing smirk.

Ah, youth.

The balcony had been a dead giveaway — the lace curtains still swaying, one slipper abandoned like a breadcrumb. Subtlety had never been Claire’s talent when emotions were involved.

Interesting, indeed.

With a soft sigh, she let the curtain fall and turned.

Dole stared into the crackling fireplace, fingers drumming once against the armrest. His pride hadn’t enjoyed being toyed with.

But it wasn’t wounded vanity Melia saw now.

It was realization.

And the faintest edge of grudging admiration.

“You know she’ll stay with that girl tonight,” Melia murmured, crossing the room with unhurried grace. She poured tea and set it beside him without needing to be asked.

Dole huffed, gaze still fixed forward. “I am aware.”

“And you won’t send guards to retrieve her.”

“That would only make her dig in her heels.” He rubbed his temple. “Stubborn child.”

“She comes by it honestly,” Melia teased lightly.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “She tested me.”

“She presented you with an earnest young woman willing to sacrifice her own position rather than gamble Claire’s dignity.” Melia’s tone was gentle, but firm. “Claire could do far worse.”

Silence stretched, punctuated only by the soft crackle of fire.

Dole’s eyes narrowed slightly. “The girl plays deeper games than she lets on.”

“Yes,” Melia agreed. “But not to climb.”

She rested a hand on his shoulder.

“She wanted you to see Claire the way she does. Honestly, some of the information surrounding the suitors are concerning.”

Dole breathed out slowly. “Dangerous sentiment.”

“Loyal sentiment,” Melia corrected softly. “Rare.”

Dole leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, eyes dark with thought. The study was quiet except for the faint rustle of papers and the soft crackle of the fire. Rae’s words from the card game replayed in his mind — each revelation about the suitors, each hint of danger or ambition. He still didn’t entirely trust the girl, yet he could not dismiss her entirely.

“Melia,” he said finally, voice low, cautious, “… she knows more than I expected. Some of it, I admit, is unsettlingly accurate.”

Melia’s smile was slow, deliberate, never betraying more than she wished.

Dole’s eyes narrowed as he continued. “Even so… she and Claire — their positions, their status… they are not the same. Bringing her into the fold like this will raise eyebrows, if not outright resistance. I cannot ignore that. It could jeopardize everything Claire has been groomed for.”

Melia leaned forward, elbows on the polished desk, gaze unflinching. “The old nobility system,” she said softly, “may not hold sway much longer. His Majesty is determined to reduce the power among a selected few, elevate the influence of the many, and reshape the court. The rules are shifting, Dole. What was once forbidden or reckless may now be… essential.”

Dole’s jaw tightened. “You suggest that this… girl, Rae, could serve as some kind of… dark horse?”

Melia’s lips curved in a faint, knowing smile. “Precisely. Claire has the intellect, the charm, and the instincts to navigate the court when the time comes. But she needs someone capable of seeing the currents before they form. Someone unencumbered by tradition or rank. That girl — Rae Taylor — may be exactly what Claire needs in the coming struggles. You know it as well as I do.”

Dole’s hands flexed, betraying his inner conflict. “I understand your point, and I suppose I have no real choice after her… unusual approach. But mark my words, Melia: if she missteps, if she exposes Claire to even a fraction of danger, there will be consequences. Severe ones. And the court will not forgive it lightly.”

Melia chuckled softly, reclined in her chair with effortless grace. “I know, Dole. But you already see it, do you not?”

Dole glanced down at the neatly folded piece of silk resting where he had absentmindedly placed it after the game. He exhaled, shoulders heavy, yet tinged with reluctant concession. “Very well. But I will be watching.”

Melia allowed the tiniest curl of her lips. “Of course. That is exactly as it should be. Now, let us see what these two girls make of this game we have set in motion.”

She moved to leave, but paused by the door, glancing back once.

“You know,” she murmured, amusement slipping through, “if you truly wanted Claire to give up on that girl… you shouldn’t have admired her.”

Dole didn’t look up.

“…I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you don’t.” She opened the door, her voice warm and wicked with affection. “And I certainly didn’t see you look disappointed when she walked out with her dignity intact.”

The door closed behind her with a quiet click.

Dole stared into the fire a long moment. And let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like reluctant acceptance.

---

“Milady, for the last time, you need to go home!” Rae’s voice, usually patient to a fault, was fraying. “Your parents will have my head if they find out you spent the night here!”

The first light of dawn crept through the narrow dorm window, spilling pale gold across the cramped room. And illuminating the warzone within.

“I told you, I refuse!” Claire shot back, arms crossed, chin raised in perfect aristocratic defiance. “If Father wants me home so badly, he can come fetch me himself.”

“Claire—”

Before Claire could retort, the door creaked open.

Lene froze in the doorway, a basket of pastries in one hand, a parcel in the other. And a very complicated expression on her face.

“…Good morning?” she ventured.

Both girls turned to her in unison.

Rae looked as if she’d aged a decade overnight. Claire looked like she’d slept zero hours and was ready to start a revolution.

“Lene!” Rae exclaimed, seizing the moment. “Please, tell Lady Claire she needs to go home before I’m publicly executed.”

Lene set down the basket carefully, scanning the room — the rumpled bedsheets, Rae’s flustered expression, Claire’s defensive stance. A faint, knowing smile tugged at her lips.

“I see,” she said delicately. “So, you’ve been… having a productive discussion.”

Claire sniffed. “If you mean an argument, then yes. And I am not going home.”

Rae groaned. “She’s been saying that for an hour.”

Lene sighed and walked in, placing the parcel neatly atop Rae’s desk. “Then perhaps this will help change your mind.”

Rae blinked in confusion as she unwrapped it. “A tie?”

“Your tie,” Lene corrected gently. “For the upcoming royal event.”

Claire’s breath hitched. Rae just frowned, tilting her head.

“It’s… nice,” Rae said slowly, confusion knitting her brow. “That’s… kind, I suppose, but it won’t match the event attire.”

Claire made a strangled sound halfway between a gasp and a laugh, hands flying to her mouth. “Rae, you— you idiot!”

Rae blinked at her, utterly lost. “What? It clashes with navy—”

Claire whirled on Lene, eyes bright with disbelief and dawning joy. “He approved it, didn’t he?”

Lene smiled, that quiet, composed expression that meant yes, but I won’t say it outright. “The Duke said nothing aloud,” she replied smoothly, “but he did instruct that this be delivered before breakfast.”

Claire let out a laugh — a startled, giddy sound that startled even Rae. “Oh, Rae, you— you have no idea what this means!”

Rae tilted her head again. “That I’ll need new clothes?”

Claire grabbed her hand, eyes sparkling with renewed fire. “It means,” she declared, “we’re going shopping.”

Rae blinked. “Shopping?”

“Of course! I’ll need proper attire for the ball — and I suppose you will need training to look like an appropriate companion. Starting,” she said, voice turning wicked, “with undergarments.”

“Wh—what—undergarments?!” Rae sputtered, face instantly turning crimson. “M-milady, please—!”

Lene sighed fondly and turned toward the door. “I’ll have the carriage prepared,” she said dryly.

Behind her, Rae was still protesting while Claire, delighted and finally smiling again, took full advantage of Rae’s flustered state.

Outside, the morning sun caught on the tie resting across Rae’s desk — the François crest gleaming faintly in gold thread.

A silent, wordless approval.

Chapter 20: The Royal Ball: The Beginning of the End

Rae tugged at the strip of silk around her neck like it was a noose rather than an accessory. She squinted into the mirror, attempting once again to wrestle it into something that might resemble a knot. All she achieved was a lump that looked more like a strangled bow.

“Honestly, Rae.”

Misha, lounging on the sofa in her green dress, finally stood with an exasperated sigh. She crossed the room, deft fingers pushing Rae’s fumbling hands aside.

“Stand still, would you?”

“I am standing still,” Rae protested weakly. “The tie is the one fighting back.”

“Mmhm.” Misha rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the faint smile curling her lips. She tugged at the stubborn fabric, smoothing it with a practiced touch. “You’re about as useful at this as you are at dancing.”

Rae winced at the jab. She then adjusted her cuffs for the fifth time, staring grimly at her reflection.
The red and gold François tie gleamed mockingly against her collar.

A symbol of her “promotion,” as Misha so graciously put it.

Misha chuckled under her breath and stepped back, hands on her hips. “Nervous?”

Rae gave her a flat look. “Why would I be nervous?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Misha smirked. “Maybe because word on the grapevine is that you gambled your entire career to protect the Duke’s daughter and somehow walked away promoted to personal companion. Quite the rise, Rae.”

Rae sighed. “Lene talks too much.”

“She does,” Misha agreed cheerfully, “but I’m grateful she does. Now tell me. Is it true you faced down Duke François in a poker match?”

“It was a strategic miscalculation.”

“Ah, the sacrifices of love.”

“Of employment,” Rae corrected again.

Misha arched a brow. “And what about the undergarment expedition I heard about?”

Rae froze. “The—what?”

“Oh, come on.” Misha leaned closer. “Lene said she caught you in a boutique that sells only the delicate stuff. So? Lace? Ribbons? Silk?”

Rae blinked. “I don’t know.”

Misha’s grin sharpened. “You don’t know?”

“It’s not like I was paying attention!” Rae protested. “I was guarding the door!”

“Ribbons?” Misha pressed.

“I don’t know.”

“Lace?”

“I don’t know!”

“Silk, maybe—”

“Misha!” Rae hissed. “It’s none of my or your business!”

There was a long, gleeful pause. Then—smack!

Rae yelped. “Ow! What was that for?!”

Misha crossed her arms. “For being terminally oblivious! A girl doesn’t bring her suitor along to shop for undergarments unless she’s trying to make a point.”

Rae blinked. “A point?”

“Yes,” Misha said, enunciating each word. “The kind that involves intentions.”

Rae frowned, processing that. “…Intentions?”

“Oh gods above, she’s hopeless,” Misha muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re a lost cause.”

Before Rae could answer, a soft cough cut through the air.

Both women turned sharply.

At the doorway stood Meila François, elegant as ever, with Dole a step behind, arms crossed like an immovable wall.

Meila’s smile was refined, pleasant, but her eyes were assessing. “So, this is how you look before the event. Very fitting.”

Rae scrambled upright, nearly tripping over her own shoes as she bowed. “M-Madam François—”

Meila waved a hand gracefully, stopping her. “You need not be so stiff. You’ll draw more eyes tonight than you realize, Miss Taylor. Confidence is as important as polish.”

Dole, on the other hand, remained unsmiling. His gaze swept Rae from head to toe with the weight of a judge considering a case. “Do you understand what you’re about to walk into?”

Rae swallowed. “The… royal event?”

“The royal event,” Dole echoed, voice edged with skepticism. “Where noble houses are circling like hawks. Where alliances are weighed by the tilt of a head and the choice of a single partner.” His arms crossed tighter. “This is not a ‘temporary measure,’ girl. This is politics carved into the bones of ceremony.”

Rae’s face burned. “I—I only meant to… support Lady Claire François—”

Meila’s hand came down lightly on Dole’s arm before he could cut further. Her smile was softer now. “Support, yes. That much is clear.” Her gaze lingered on Rae’s tie, then on Rae’s hands, which still twitched nervously at her sides. “It’s sweet, in its own way.”

Misha’s lips twitched with barely contained laughter. Rae shot her a glare, which only earned a wider grin in return.

Before the silence stretched further, the sharp click of heels echoed from the hallway.

Every head turned.

And then Claire François appeared.

She swept into view like a vision painted for the occasion, her gown a deep crimson threaded with gold embroidery that caught the light with every step. The bodice hugged her figure with restrained elegance, the skirts flowing like liquid fire. Her hair, swept up with jeweled pins, framed her face in perfect harmony with her poise.

Rae forgot how to breathe.

Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again without a sound.

Misha smirked. “Matching outfit, huh? Subtle.”

Lene followed Claire close behind, carrying herself with the serene look of a woman who knew chaos when she saw it and had long since stopped resisting.

Misha leaned toward Lene the instant they crossed the threshold and whispered furiously. The two exchanged sly smiles and conspiratorial looks that screamed gossip to be continued later.

Claire’s eyes flicked to Rae at once, catching the red tie—her red, their red—and a faint flush spread across her cheeks before she hid it with practiced dignity.

“You look presentable, Rae,” she said, though her voice carried a thread of warmth that belied her formality.

Rae nodded faintly, still trying not to gape.

Dole harrumphed. “We’ll see if she remains presentable after ten dances without stepping on your toes.”

Claire only smiled, serene and self-assured, but her gaze lingered on Rae a moment longer than necessary. Without a word, she reached up and straightened Rae’s tie with deft, practiced fingers, and smoothed the fabric against her chest.

Meila, watching the exchange, allowed herself a quiet, satisfied sigh.

“Shall we?” Claire asked, offering her gloved hand, the picture of composure.

Rae, belatedly realizing it was meant for her, reached out—still flustered, still blushing, but unable to stop the shy smile tugging at her lips.

And with that, the group moved toward the waiting carriages, the weight of the night ahead pressing down on every step.

---

The carriage rocked gently as it rolled down the lantern-lit streets toward the royal estate. Velvet curtains framed the night, moonlight spilling faintly through the glass. Inside, the air was thick with awareness.

Rae tugged at her gloves nervously. The dark formal suit tailored by her parents fit her better than she’d like to admit. Van and Mel had taken great pleasure in making sure of it. Now, sitting stiffly across from Claire, Rae couldn’t shake the sense that she’d wandered into an event she wasn’t supposed to be part of.

Was the royal ball in the game’s main storyline or just a side quest? she wondered silently. If it’s a side event, maybe I can keep my head down. No flags. No political disasters. No—

“Rae,” Misha said beside her, interrupting her mental spiral as she adjusted a loose fold of her own green gown. “Relax. You look like you’re preparing for trial, not a dance.”

“Feels about the same,” she muttered.

Rae glanced at Claire, who had taken the window seat beside Lene. Every so often, the soft brush of Claire’s gown or the glint of her jewelry caught Rae’s eye like a spark she couldn’t ignore.

She tried to focus on anything else — the passing lights, the sound of horses, the faint scent of perfume and polished leather. But it was no use. Every time she looked up, Claire was already looking at her.

And then both of them would look away.

Misha, wedged uncomfortably between the storm fronts of unspoken emotion, cleared her throat.

“So!” she began with the enthusiasm of someone determined not to suffocate between two people in denial. “To think Rae and I have the honour of attending the royal ball. The grand finale to our precious summer holidays! Exciting, isn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Claire said smoothly, her tone practiced. “It’s tradition for every young noble to attend at least once before their debut in court.”

Rae nodded, grateful for any subject that wasn’t them. “It must be quite the experience.”

“Oh, it is,” Claire replied, though her eyes flickered toward Rae for a fraction of a second. “The music, the etiquette, the formality of it all…”

“Not to mention,” Misha cut in, smirking slightly, “the dancing. I heard there would be at least ten rounds.”

Claire smiled politely. “Naturally. It’s customary to accept a few invitations during the night — to be polite.”

“Invitations?” Rae asked before she could stop herself.

“Dances,” Claire clarified, tilting her head. “It would be rude to refuse too many.”

Rae blinked. “Oh. Of course.”

Her tone was even. Too even.

Claire caught a flicker of something in Rae’s eyes, there and gone before she could name it.

Misha caught it too and tried to stir the conversation to safer waters. Or so she thought.

“So,” Misha said curiously, “Given that we are closely acquainted with the princes since the last school term, I suppose it would not be far-fetched that at least one will ask for a dance. Or two.”

Claire’s expression remained composed, but a faint color touched her cheeks. “If he asks, it would be improper to decline.”

Rae looked away, jaw tightening before she could stop it. Although the name was not mentioned, it was clear who the ‘he’ in Claire’s response was.

The image came unbidden — Claire, radiant and laughing, spinning in Thane’s arms beneath the chandeliers.

Something in her chest gave a tiny, traitorous twist. Rae shook her head slightly and swallowed it down. “Of course,” she said lightly. “I am sure they will be the stars of the floor.” And she internally winced at her words.

Claire blinked. The words were polite. Measured. And utterly wrong.

Lene, who has been observing the interactions quietly, decided to speak up. “And what about you, Rae? Surely Lady Claire’s companion won’t just stand in a corner all evening.”

Rae gave a strained chuckle. “I might have the stamina and the skills to complete a dance or two. Then, I will blend into the walls.”

Claire frowned. “You’ll do no such thing. You’re accompanying me, not serving as part of the décor.”

Rae met her eyes — startled, flustered, and entirely lost. “...Yes, milady.”

“Claire,” Claire corrected softly, without looking away.

The name hung between them like a spark.

Misha bit her lip to keep from grinning. Oh, the tension could light a chandelier.

Rae blinked again, her voice almost a whisper. “...Claire.”

The carriage jolted slightly, snapping them both back to themselves. Claire turned back toward the window, cheeks faintly pink. Rae stared at her gloved hands like they’d personally betrayed her.

Outside, the royal palace loomed ahead, glowing gold and white in the night.

 

---

The carriage slowed to a halt before the palace steps, the golden light from chandeliers spilling through the grand entryway. The air outside was cool and perfumed with roses — an almost cruel contrast to the heavy atmosphere that had hung in the carriage.

When the door opened, the four stepped out in a practiced order: Lene first, scanning the surroundings with efficient grace; then Misha, adjusting her gloves with visible excitement; Claire, resplendent in crimson; and finally Rae, who blinked at the sudden brightness.

Before Rae could properly take in the crowd of nobles gathering on the marble stairs, Claire turned to Misha and Lene.

“Would you both wait here a moment?” she said, her tone calm but leaving no room for argument.

Lene arched a brow but merely inclined her head. “Of course, milady.”

Misha glanced between them, suspicion dawning, but Lene caught her sleeve and subtly tugged her back. “Let’s give them a moment,” she murmured.

Claire didn’t wait for questions. She took Rae’s wrist, gently but firmly, and led her along a side path lined with ivy and marble statues, far enough that the sound of the carriages became a distant hum.

Rae followed wordlessly, too startled to protest, until they stopped under a canopy of lamplight.

“Mi - Claire?” Rae ventured, confused. “Is something wrong?”

Claire turned to face her, the sharp edges of formality slipping away. “You’ve been distant since the carriage,” she said softly. “And don’t tell me it’s nothing. I can see it written all over your face.”

Rae was taken aback by Claire’s astute observation and tried to shrug it off. “I’m fine,” she insisted, smiling in that polite, nervous way that was somehow worse than silence. “It’s just… a bit overwhelming, that’s all. First royal ball, you know? So many nobles. So much etiquette. I just don’t want to trip into a Duke or something.”

Claire’s eyes narrowed slightly in that way she always did when Rae thought she could bluff through emotion with humor. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m a nervous liar,” Rae corrected, half-laughing, half-deflecting.

Claire didn’t blink. “You were nervous and fine until Misha mentioned the dances and princes.”

Rae stiffened.

Claire caught it immediately. The flicker of discomfort on Rae’s face, the way she shifted her weight, the way her eyes darted anywhere but at Claire.

“So it was indeed that,” Claire murmured, stepping closer. “You grew distant the moment the topic was raised.”

Rae shook her head quickly. “No, that wasn’t— I mean, I’m not— It’s nothing.”

“It is something,” Claire countered, voice low. “And I don’t like when you pretend otherwise.”

Rae opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “…It was silly. Just a thought. It doesn’t matter.”

But Claire wasn’t amused. She studied Rae’s face for a long moment, watching the flicker of her gaze, the way her gloved fingers twisted behind her back. And then she seemed to make a decision.

She stepped closer.

Rae froze as the scent of Claire’s perfume brushed against her senses.

“Claire?”

Claire tilted her head, her voice almost a whisper. “If you’re truly nervous…”

And before Rae could find another excuse, Claire leaned in to press the faintest kiss against the hollow of Rae’s neck.

Rae’s breath caught. The warmth of it sank through her skin like fire through paper.

“C–Claire?” she stammered, half a plea, half disbelief.

Claire drew back only an inch, her expression maddeningly serene. “There,” she said softly. “Now you’re blushing for a better reason.”

Rae, still stunned, managed, “That’s— that’s not helping, you know.”

Claire smirked, a soft curve of satisfaction. “Then take it as reassurance. No noble or prince will unsettle me tonight.”

Rae blinked. “Milady…”

“Especially not compared to you.”

Rae’s heart did something traitorous and loud.

Claire stepped back just enough to meet her eyes. “Now stop worrying about imaginary partners. If I dance with anyone tonight, it is out of obligation — nothing more.”

She straightened, her composure slipping back into place like a well-tailored glove. “Now,” Claire said, voice calm again, “try to remember to breathe before we enter. I’d rather not have my escort faint before the first waltz.”

Rae swallowed hard. Something emboldening rose in her chest — maybe adrenaline, maybe yearning, maybe the ghost of the kiss still burning on her skin.

“Well,” Rae said lightly, voice steadier than she felt, “if you really want to put me at ease…”

Claire raised a brow. “Yes?”

Rae’s grin was nervous, shy, and reckless all at once. “Save the last dance for me.”

Claire froze, only for a heartbeat, before her expression melted into something incandescent.

“…You never fail to surprise me,” she whispered. “Every time.”

“Good,” Rae murmured.

When they returned, Misha and Lene were pretending very hard not to stare. Though Lene’s sly grin had only gotten sharper, and Misha looked like she wanted to burst into sparkles.

And Rae?
She couldn’t stop smiling.

---

The moment the François party crossed the threshold, conversation shifted, like ripples radiating from a stone tossed into still water. Heads turned. Curious eyes lingered. Whispers trailed though not kindly at first.

A soft murmur rippled through the crowd, thinly veiled behind fans and crystal glasses.

“A commoner?”
“Walking beside Lady Claire?”
“Has the François household lowered its standards—”

Rae felt each whisper like a cold draft brushing her collar. Nobles made no effort to hide the disdain; some gazes slid over her as if she were a misplaced servant who had wandered in. Others watched Claire with judgment sharpened to a blade.

Claire did not falter. Her poise was impeccable, every inch the noble daughter, crimson gown blazing against the sea of silks and velvets. Rae tried to hold herself like the professional she told herself she was. But the weight of countless gazes pressed heavy, each one asking the same silent question: Who is she, to walk at Claire François’ side?

“Ah, at last!”

A warm, teasing voice cut through the tension.

From the top of the sweeping staircase, Rod descended with practiced ease, Thane trailing behind in his composed, princely way. Yu smiled gently at the group, his eyes lighting up at the side of Misha. Rod’s grin was wide, eyes alight with mischief as though he had been waiting all evening for this exact entrance.

“It’s about time we entered back into your lives,” he declared, spreading his arms in a flourish. “Must have been boring without us, eh?”

The hall chuckled politely, but Rae caught the spark of genuine delight in his tone. Whether she liked it or not, Rod had forced himself into her orbit from day one. And somehow along the way, she no longer minded.

When Rod reached Rae’s side, beaming like an overjoyed puppy finally reunited with a favorite toy, the murmurs shifted in an instant.

“Are they… familiar?”
“The prince is greeting her quite warmly—”
“Who is she…?”

Curiosity overtook disdain. Fans lowered. Eyes sharpened. No one wanted to miss a detail now.

Clasping at Rae’s shoulder with a dramatic sigh of relief, Rod grinned lazily. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me! You have no idea how dull it’s been without your expressions of perpetual exasperation.”

Rae inclined her head in with a resigned acknowledgment. “On the contrary, Your Highness. We managed just fine. Though I suppose the court could use the… liveliness you bring.”

“Liveliness,” Rod repeated with a mock-wounded look, placing a hand over his chest. “I was expecting ‘indispensable charm’ or at least ‘peerless wit.’”

Yu gave a sigh that was fonder than disapproving. “Brother, must you dramatize every reintroduction?”

“Of course!” Rod shot back without hesitation. “It’s the only proper way to make an impression.”

He leaned closer to Claire, lowering his voice just enough to make Rae bristle. “And judging by how radiant you look tonight, Lady Claire François, I’d say your summer holiday has been delightful.”

Claire’s answering smile was polite, but her hand brushed Rae’s sleeve ever so slightly, a quiet tether that steadied them both. Rae’s pulse jumped at the simple contact.

Rod noticed, of course. He was far too sharp to miss such things. His eyes flicked down to the matching crimson accents, and a slow grin spread across his face.

“Well, well. I see there have been… developments.”

Rae coughed into her hand, flustered. “Ah, no—it’s not—well, I mean, yes, but—”

“—But it’s a long story,” Misha cut in smoothly, rescuing Rae with a smile that suggested she was thoroughly enjoying the show.

“Mmhm,” Rod hummed, clearly unconvinced but willing to let the mystery dangle.

Thane, however, inclined his head to Rae with that quiet steadiness that al            ways carried more weight than his brother’s playfulness. “It seems you’ve been busy, Miss Taylor.”

Rae forced a smile. “Just… keeping the peace, Your Highness.”

Before Thane could enquire further, another group arrived behind Claire. Mariana swept forward in her emerald gown, her eyes taking into account of the sight, Loretta gliding at her shoulder with practiced elegance, and Pepi trailing just a step behind, eyes wide as saucers at the spectacle.

“Well, well, well…” Mariana’s gaze flicked from Claire’s crimson gown to Rae’s tie. Her smirk widened. “Matching, are we? That’s bold.”

Claire’s ears went pink, though her expression didn’t falter. “It is nothing of the sort.”

“Oh, it’s exactly of the sort,” Marianne purred, voice dripping with mischief. “How quaint. I didn’t realize you’d grown so sentimental.”

Loretta sniffed in Rae’s direction, eyes catching on the François crest pinned discreetly against Rae’s chest. “I suppose even the commoner has learned to dress appropriately for such events.”

Pepi bobbed her head fervently, whispering, “You look decent, Rae!”

Claire shot her friends a withering glare, but Rae was too busy tugging nervously at her cuffs to defend herself.

Rod’s grin widened at the chorus of commentary. “See? I’m not the only one who notices these things.”

The group began drifting deeper into the glittering hall—navigating between shimmering gowns, polished medals, and the hum of politics simmering beneath every greeting. Rae tried to stay half a step behind Claire, but the atmosphere pressed tight, suffocating her thoughts.

As she scanned the hall, something hit her with sudden, startling clarity.

They were all here.

Claire’s parents, already drawing a crowd. Mariana, queen of quiet manipulation. Loretta and Pepi—loyal in their own flavors. Misha and Lene, alert and observant. The princes, each representing a path from the game. Every figure, every rival, every ally. Every name that had shaped Claire’s early arcs.

The whole board was assembled.

Rae exhaled. And the breath cut short.

A chill licked at the back of her neck.

Her eyes swept past the chandeliers, past the jewels, past the endless glitter of wealth and beauty—and froze.

Behind the heavy curtains draped along the far wall, a figure stood perfectly still. Too still. The shadows clung unnaturally in the golden light, as though swallowing more than they should. Though the face was obscured, Rae felt the weight of its gaze pinning her in place, cold and watchful.

Her stomach tightened.

The laughter and banter around her dulled to a murmur, as though she’d been pushed underwater. Instinct screamed, honed not through combat but through years of designing stories that bent toward climax. This—whatever that was—was no ordinary guest.

Something unnatural had slipped into the heart of the court.

And for the first time, Rae knew with a certainty that made her blood run cold.

The story had just crossed into its final lap.

---

The shadow at the edge of the hall did not move, yet Rae felt its gaze burn into her back like a brand. She wanted to linger on it, analyze it, but at that exact moment the orchestra struck the first chords of the opening waltz.

The great hall stirred. Couples began stepping onto the polished floor. Every noble head turned toward the center of the floor.

Toward Claire.

Right.
Companion.
Duty.

Rae exhaled, letting the shadows recede behind her. Whatever waited there would have to wait longer. For now, she belonged at Claire François’s side.

She moved toward her, offering her hand with a composure that felt far older than her years as a scholarship student. “Lady Claire.”

“...You may.”

Claire’s lips curved faintly as she accepted, allowing Rae to guide her onto the floor.

---

Claire expected Rae to stumble, to fumble at least once in front of so many watchful eyes. But Rae’s hand at her waist was steady, her step precise, her composure… unshaken.

They moved together in smooth arcs across the floor, skirts and coats brushing as the music swelled.

“You surprise me,” Claire teased, tilting her head just enough for Rae to catch the gleam in her eyes. “Where is the nervous fumbling? The flustered apologies? I thought I might need to scold you halfway through.”

Rae’s laugh was soft, steady, perfectly timed with the music. “I had a good teacher.”

Claire blinked, caught off guard. She’d meant it as a jab, a way to keep the upper hand, but Rae’s steadiness wasn’t only in her steps—it was in her tone, in the warmth beneath her careful restraint. There was no desperate clinging, no awkwardness. Only… tenderness.

It unsettled her.

“Claire,” Rae asked quietly, almost swallowed by the swell of violins, “are you happy right now?”

The question slipped between her defenses, piercing her at once.

Claire inhaled, steadying herself. She could have answered with something lofty, something detached, but the truth rose unbidden. “…Yes. I am.”

Rae’s smile bloomed at her words, small but genuine, and it struck Claire harder than she wished to admit.

The dance drew toward its close, the final turns carrying them across the gleaming floor. When the music faded, Rae bowed lightly, her hand slipping from Claire’s as though the contact had been carved too short.

“I need to step away for a moment,” Rae murmured.

Claire’s fingers twitched before she forced them to remain at her side. Her voice came low, laced with something she wasn’t sure she could name. “Just… come back to me for the last dance.”

Rae’s eyes softened. “I promise.”

And then she turned, weaving past the crowd, steps quiet but purposeful.

Claire’s gaze followed her, unease curling in her chest. Rae’s shoulders stiffened as she approached the far edge of the hall, slipping between gilded curtains into the dim space beyond.

The shadow was waiting.

Chapter 21: The (Potential) Creation of the Villainess

The curtains fell closed behind her, muting the music of the ballroom. Rae’s breath steadied, the cool dimness wrapping around her like a second skin. She opened her mouth, unsure even of what she meant to say.

Who are you?

Why are you watching me?

What are your motives?

 

But before a single word could form, the shadow turned toward her and bowed deeply. Its face remained obscured beneath the fall of shadow, but the outline was unmistakably human.

And unsettlingly familiar.

A voice, low and strangely layered, slipped through the quiet.

“Your gaming instincts are still as sharp as ever,” it said, tone somewhere between amusement and approval. “Even after being trapped in this world.”

Rae’s heartbeat slammed into her ribs.

The words hit too precisely to be coincidence.

Her eyes narrowed, breath tightening. “Who are you?” she demanded, sharper than she intended.

The figure tilted its head, the movement too fluid, almost mechanical.
“Merely what remains of your code. A safeguard. An error handler. Call me what you will.”

“Show yourself!”

The figure obeyed. It stepped forward, leaving the safety of the shadows and walking straight into the thin line of lamplight spilling from the ballroom.

Rae’s breath caught.

Because the face before her was her own.

No, it was the face of Rae Oohashi, the woman she once was, before waking in this world. Same sharp eyes, same weary smile, same hair cropped in that unflattering way she used to keep for work. Seeing it here, in this place, made Rae’s stomach churn.

“W-What!?” Rae choked, the shock stealing the rest of her words.

The entity, her double, smiled with a knowing tilt, folding its hands neatly behind its back.

“We meet at last,” it said smoothly. “Developer Rae Oohashi.”

Rae froze. Her original name and title.

“And,” the entity continued, inclining its head with mocking politeness, “may I extend my congratulations to you…”

Its smile sharpened.

“…for successfully debugging the villainess romance route.”

---

Rae’s pulse hammered in her ears, her mind still reeling from the sight of herself standing only a few steps away. Before she could gather even a fragment of her wits and demand answers, the entity tilted its head again.

“Let’s go somewhere we won’t be interrupted,” it said lightly, as if suggesting a casual stroll.

Rae’s instinct screamed NO!

But the snap of its fingers was faster than her breath.

CRACK.

The ballroom dissolved.

Gilt pillars fractured into shards of light.
Velvet curtains unraveled into threads of color.
The orchestra’s distant music smeared into silence.

In the space of a blink, the world emptied.

And Rae stood in a room that was nothing.

Rae staggered back, clutching her chest. “What… what is this place?”

“A staging area,” the older version of herself answered calmly, strolling across the blank expanse as if it were a familiar workspace. “A developer’s room. A debugging void. Call it whatever you like.”

Rae swallowed hard, forcing her voice to steady. “Why show yourself here now? Why drag me into… this?”

The entity stopped, turning to face her fully. Its eyes gleamed with something like amusement.

“Isn’t it obvious?” it said, clasping its hands behind its back. “This is the final act that you so desperately seek. And final acts exist to tie up loose ends.”

Rae felt a chill trace her spine. “What loose ends?”

A slow smile curved the entity’s lips.

“The ones you created,” it said. “When you decided to tamper with the game world’s mechanics.”

Rae’s heart lurched. “I didn’t tamper with the game. I only—”

“—built a secret project to implement a villainess romance route.” It cut her off smoothly, like someone reciting patch notes.

Rae couldn’t deny the accusation.

When she was brought to the team to continue developing the game, she saw the potential in romance storyline for the villainess and fight for it. Unfortunately, the rest of the team veto against it due to (no surprise) budget and timeline constraints. Unhappy with the outcome, she had spent her free time building in the route in silence, tweaking flags, adjusting affection points, writing new event triggers.

“You destabilized the world,” the entity continued, interrupting Rae’s thoughts. “Your code caused inconsistencies, broken scenes, and branching errors. And the system couldn’t correct them from outside.”

Its gaze sharpened.

“So it pulled you in.”

Rae’s breath caught. “Pulled… into the game?”

“You were transported into the game,” it said, lowering its voice almost kindly, “because the only way to fix the route was from within.”

Her pulse hammered. “Wait! You’re telling me the only reason I’m here is because I tried to implement Claire’s romance route? That’s why everything keeps breaking?”

“Correct.”

Rae’s shock collapsed into sharp frustration. “Then answer this.” She stepped closer, anger edging her voice. “Why did Claire’s route keep crashing in the first place? I checked the code. I triple-checked the flags. The affection variables, the event triggers—everything was clean. There was nothing that should have destabilized the main branching.”

The entity blinked, as if processing her emotion rather than the content.

Rae continued, voice rising, “If the route crashed during testing, that’s on the system, not the code. So tell me—why did every Claire romance path reject integration?”

For the first time, the entity hesitated.

“…Uncertain.”

Rae’s breath stalled. “…What?”

“Instability began the moment the Claire romance parameters were introduced,” it said, tone still monotone but somehow… troubled. “The system architecture could not assimilate them. The path was repeatedly rejected. The cause remains unidentified.”

Rae stared, stunned. “In short, you don’t know?”

“Not with precision.”

Her frustration shifted into confusion. “That makes no sense. NPC parameters don’t reject routes. They don’t have agency. They’re… data.”

The entity shook its head. “And yet Claire François exhibits behavioral irregularities exceeding expected variance. Her parameters are unique.”

Rae felt a chill race down her spine. “Unique how?”

“Emotional trajectory deviation. Unpredictable adaptive responses. Resistance to predetermined outcome states.” A pause. “Claire François is operating outside optimal constraints.”

Rae swallowed, suddenly dizzy. “Claire… resisted the route?”

“Correct. No romance route, especially one not originally assigned to her, should have been capable of such resistance.”

Her mind reeled.

Claire had rejected the romance path that she wrote for.

Until…

The entity added, almost softly, “Rejection ended when you appeared in the world.”

The words landed like a thunderclap.

Rae’s mouth went dry. “What… what does that mean?”

“Interpretation: Claire’s stability increased only with your presence. Her route aligned only with your involvement. You are the sole variable capable of resolving the anomalies.”

Rae staggered back a step, pulse racing. “So Claire’s route didn’t crash because of bad code. It crashed because she refused anyone else.”

The entity didn’t confirm, but its silence was answer enough.

And Rae’s heart twisted in a way she wasn’t ready to understand. “That’s impossible. If I caused instability to this world, why is the route working? Why is Claire and the game responding to my cues?”

The entity smiled.

“Because you’ve been fixing the villainess route, of course.”

It stepped closer.

“Every smile. Every choice. Every time you reached for Claire—or stepped away—you were stabilizing the role you created for her. And the world accepts it.”

Rae felt the floor sway beneath her, even though there was no floor.

“And now,” the entity said, raising a hand as if about to adjust the final setting, “we’re here to determine the endgame…after your exit from this world.”

---

The entity lifted its hand again, almost lazily, and snapped.

A soundless ripple spread across the white void like the world exhaled.

Then the branches appeared.

Lines of light split the air, forming diagrams Rae recognized too well: flowcharts, route pathways, affection-gated events… Except here, they floated in three dimensions, glowing softly as they drifted around her like constellations. Some were clean and bright; others flickered with warning-red nodes.

CGs and full illustrations flashed alongside them like projections torn straight from a screen.

Even knowing they were only images, Rae’s stomach twisted.

The entity glanced at them with something like boredom.

“The system is stable enough now,” it said, voice flat and monotone, like a narrator reading old patch notes aloud. “There are… occasional tremors, but nothing major.”

Rae barely heard it. Her eyes were locked on a particular cluster of glowing nodes.

Each node pulsed with a probability percentage.

The “good ending” nodes—Claire smiling in a sunlit garden, Claire crowned with dignity restored, Claire reaching out for someone—
all hovered at near-zero.

The “neutral” endings flickered weakly.

And the “bad endings”—the CGs of a cold-eyed Claire, a wounded Claire, a Claire collapsing under political ruin—pulsed with overwhelming likelihood.

The entity stood beside Rae, examining the information with detached curiosity. “Most common clear states: Bad Ending A and Bad Ending C.”

“Bad…?” Rae’s voice caught.

Without hesitation, the branches rearranged and the CGs appear.

Claire kneeling in a shattered hall, her hands red.
Claire bound in judgment chains, chin lifted but eyes hollow.
Claire walking away into darkness, alone.

The entity offered a nonchalant shrug. “It is the current projected outcome.”

The CG branches rotated slowly in the white void, like a grotesque mobile of futures Rae never wanted to see.

“Why…” Rae’s voice cracked as she gripped one of the floating nodes, fingers trembling. “Why are Claire’s good endings almost zero? I’ve been doing everything right. I’ve been fixing things!”

The entity blinked, as if mildly confused by the intensity of her reaction. “The probabilities reflect the projected outcomes.”

“That’s not an explanation!” Rae shouted, her voice echoing sharply through the blank expanse. “I’ve been trying to steer her toward a better ending. Better than the game ever gave her!”

The nodes flickered in response, projecting more CGs of Claire’s sorrow, Claire’s downfall, Claire’s loneliness.

Rae stumbled back as if slapped.

“No… No,” Her breathing hitched. “I changed things. I changed everything.”

The entity tilted its head as if amused by her urgency, then made a dismissive gesture.
A new panel of data unfurled—timelines collapsing, affection bars skewed into impossible ranges.

“Rae Taylor,” it said, tone flattening into something clinical. “Your exit from this world is imminent. When the system boots the anomaly, meaning you, out of the game, Claire François will experience severe instability.”

Her breath hitched. “Boot… me out?”

“You were never meant to remain. You were inserted as a corrective measure. When the issue is resolved, the anomaly must be removed.”

“And Claire?” Rae whispered.

CGs flickered in response.

Claire standing alone in a ballroom, looking at an empty space where someone should be.
Claire clutching a letter with trembling hands.
Claire staring hollow-eyed at a setting sun.
Claire smiling with practiced politeness but no warmth.

“Claire François,” the entity continued, “will retain the scars of your disappearance. These will shape her emotional descent.”

Rae felt something in her chest fracture. Her mind flashed, unbidden, to Claire’s face the night she brought up the hypothetical question of her erasure.
How Claire’s smile had broken.
How her voice had trembled beneath the mask.

 “…What if the main character was forced to leave? Or erased, after the story ended?”

“Then, the one left behind suffers … Only an ache that never truly heals.”

“If it meant keeping you here, I would destroy every ending they tried to write for you. I would never allow a story to take you away from me.”

The entity concluded softly, “This is the foundation of her villainess role. The role she was always meant to play.”

It took Rae a moment to process what she was hearing.
Then another.

And then another.

Until her knees gave out, hitting the white floor with a dull, echoing thud.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no…”

Her eyes blurred as she stared up at the branching futures. Every one of them damning Claire.

“You’re telling me Claire becomes the villainess because of me? Because she cared for me!?”

Her voice broke entirely.

“That affection…” the entity replied, “is the anomaly. It was never coded for. Never meant to exist. And when it is gone, the void it leaves will turn her into what the original narrative required.”

Rae pressed her palm against her mouth, smothering a sob.

The entity watched her quietly, then spoke in a tone that was eerily childlike, almost innocent:

“Wasn’t Claire François assigned to be the villainess in the first place? And you have quite beautifully shaped her toward that role through a tragic arc. A poetic and fitting origin.”

Rae felt fury rise like fire in her throat.

“You think this is beautiful?” she hissed. “A tragic arc? This is her life! Her pain!”

The entity only tilted its head, unfazed.

“I can fix this!” Rae yelled. “If I return to the real world, I’ll rewrite the code! I’ll rebuild the whole damn system! I’ll fix Claire’s route properly, from the outside!”

The void fell silent.

Then:

“Oh,” the entity said, blinking slowly. “That will not alter the current iteration.”

Rae froze.

“What?”

“This iteration,” it explained with an airy, detached tone, “will continue exactly as it is. Any resets you perform in your world will not retroactively modify this timeline. The moment you were pulled in, this route was sealed.”

Rae’s anger shattered into a deeper, more suffocating dread.

“So you’re telling me…” She swallowed hard. “No matter what I do back home… Claire is stuck like this? Destined to fall apart when I’m gone?”

The entity nodded.

Rae’s knees gave way again. This time from something hollow and breaking.

A strangled sound tore from her throat.
“I wanted to give her a good ending,” she whispered, each word a tremor. “I wanted her to be happy. I thought I was saving her.”

“But,” the entity replied softly, almost sympathetic “your influence increased her attachment so drastically that your removal becomes catastrophic. A clean villainess origin.”

Rae looked up with a raw, furious grief that could devour the world.

“I didn’t save her,” she choked out. “I doomed her.”

And Claire’s projected bad endings pulsed brighter, as if answering.

---

Rae wiped her face with the back of her hand. Her breath felt scraped raw. But she forced herself upright.

Breaking down wouldn’t save Claire.
Thinking might.

Her gaze snapped back to the constellation of branching routes. She combed through them with a feverish intensity. Her heartbeat loud in the empty white void, her fingers trembling as she opened node after node. Every time a path ended in tragedy, her frustration sharpened into something desperate, feral.

“There has to be a fix,” Rae muttered. “There has to be.”

The entity only watched curiously.

She flipped to another cluster of routes. Only to freeze.

A shocking number of branches depicted Claire used as a bargaining chip: marriage alliances, political trades, pawn statuses.
Claire’s eyes, empty and resigned, stared out from CG after CG.

“No.” Rae’s voice trembled with fury. “Why is she being dragged into the marriage game?!”

“That is the typical path,” the entity replied matter-of-factly. “Without your interference, Claire is merely a puppet to her relatives’ schemes. Villainess or pawn. It is efficient.”

Rae’s nails dug into her palms. Another memory flared. Of Claire’s favourite book describing a legendary artifact that would allow Claire to choose her own partner. A way to bypass political constraints.

She spun toward the entity.

“The artifact of binding,” Rae demanded, “the one mentioned in the romance book by R.T.Oohashi —where is it?”

The entity blinked.

“No. That feature was never implemented.”

Rae’s blood ran cold.
“But it’s in the game lore. It’s in the codex.”

“Yes. Because you wrote it there. According to your developer notebook, it was slated for later implementation. But you were transported inside the system before the feature’s creation. The slot exists, an empty line of code, but nothing fills it.”

Rae’s eyes sharpened. She stared again at the branching map.
Her mind spun through likelihoods, algorithms, progression flags—her developer instincts roaring to life despite her emotional turmoil.

After what felt like hours, though time had no meaning in this place, she stopped breathing entirely.

A solution had formed.

A horrifying one.
A bitter one.
But a solution.

“…Entity,” Rae whispered, voice hoarse. “I need you to rerun the branching.”

“Specify parameters.”

Rae stepped close and whispered her instructions low, rapid, technical. Too soft for even the CGs flickering nearby to catch. The entity listened, its expression unreadable.

“Processing,” it said.

The branches shifted.
Recompiled.
Recalculated.

Bad ending. Bad ending. Villainess turn. Political marriage.

She adjusted flags.
Tweaked affection algorithms.
Reweighted event triggers.
Reassigned outcome variables.

“Entity—rerun the branching again.”

The constellation of CG nodes rippled, recomputing.

Bad ending. Netural ending. Villainess turn. Revolution Incited.

Rae clenched her jaw.

“Again.”

Another cascade of recalculated paths.
More tragedy.
More Claire locked into roles that weren’t hers.

Rae’s breath hitched.
She wiped her face, refusing to let tears blur the code-like glyphs floating before her.

“Again. Please.”

The entity actually sighed with exaggerated boredom.
“You are remarkably stubborn for a non-native instance.”

“Rerun it!”

This time, Rae adjusted the branching prerequisites herself—toggling hidden flags, adjusting invisible morality modifiers, forcing rare variables to interact.

“Again!”

The entity obeyed.

Rae exhaled shakily as new outcomes blossomed in shimmering arcs before her eyes.

Claire in winter finery at the academy gates.
Claire dancing with Thane, cheeks flushed..
Claire smiling at twin girls boring similar features as her.

It wasn’t perfect.
But it was enough.

Rae let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“Good. That’s good.”

She turned to the entity, resolve crystallizing.

“I need access to the developer console.”

The entity blinked. “For what purpose?”

“To finish what I started,” Rae said. “To create the artifact. The one I should’ve programmed before any of this began.”

She squared her shoulders.

“In return, I’ll debug whatever instability brought me here. I’ll fix the system from the inside.”

The entity considered her for a long moment.

“Access… granted.”

A developer desk setup materialized before Rae. Sleek, familiar, devastatingly nostalgic. She stared at it with a mix of dread and determination.

“You may use the developer console,” the entity said “Until the final round of the ballroom dance.”

A floating screen shimmered into existence. It showed the ballroom in real time like a live CG panel.

Guests were milling.
Musicians were preparing for the next set.

The second waltz was about to start.

 

And there, framed in gold light, stood Claire François.

Her smile was poised, delicate, perfect.

But her eyes flicked around the ballroom with unmistakable urgency.
Searching.
Scanning every face.
Looking for someone who wasn’t there.

 

Rae lifted a hand toward the image, her fingers brushing the cold projection.

“…Claire…”

The entity said nothing.
It didn’t need to.

“One more thing,” Rae whispered, fingers hovering above the keyboard and entered a few commands.

Around her, the air erupted in a kaleidoscope of light. Millions of images floated and flickered: moments frozen in crystalline shards. Claire smiling faintly over tea. Misha’s mock-scolding pout. Lene’s careful glance. Rod’s rare laugh. Every interaction, every glance, every scrap of memory Rae had imprinted on these people.

“These are not your memories,” the entity said, her voice echoing through the vastness. “They belong to the world. To the characters. The record of Rae Taylor in their lives.”

“The world must not remember me. Not the NPCs. Not the nobles. Not the students.”
Rae’s voice cracked.
“Not Claire.”

The entity showed no surprise. Only a calm, quiet nod.

“Memory erasure will be executed upon the creation of the artifact.”

Rae’s hand trembled. But she did not pull back.

“For Claire’s good ending,” she murmured.

Her fingers touched the console, and the shards began to dim, one by one, as if the countdown had already started.

Chapter 22: Final Patch Release...And UnInstall Commence..

Rae’s hands shook as they hovered above the console’s spectral keyboard. The keys glowed faintly, waiting for her touch. Months. Months without touching code, without stringing commands, without the rhythm of debugging. Her fingers felt clumsy, sluggish, but she forced them to move.

if (artifact.exists == false) { create(artifactBinding); }

Her vision blurred with strain as lines of code crawled across the screen. Syntax slipped. She had to backspace, correct, try again. There was no time for polish, only function.

A flicker in the corner of her vision made her glance up—another shard dimming, dissolving. And beyond it, a projection, a cruel window into the hall as reality carried on without her. The music swelled, and Rae saw the audience taking the floor once again.

The second dance had begun.

And in that projection, Claire was framed, graceful as ever. Rae’s chest constricted. Of course, the system would zoom in on her—mocking her, reminding her of what she was sacrificing. Claire’s laugh, Claire’s sweep of her gown, Claire’s hand raised to her partner.

“Focus,” Rae hissed to herself, forcing her eyes back down to the code.

Error messages flared across the console like warning sirens.

> ERROR: binding null reference
> ERROR: destabilization detected
> ERROR: excess interference [TAYLOR_1127]

She ploughed through them, rewriting lines, shoving in quick patches, anything to hold the world steady long enough for the artifact to exist. Her heart thudded in her ears. Her hands ached.

The projection shifted again.

Claire, in another noble’s arms this time, was moving with practiced ease. But Rae saw it—every few seconds, Claire’s eyes darted across the room. Searching. Always searching. The sight made Rae’s fingers falter, a tiny pause before she forced herself forward.

“Don’t look at me. Don’t waste that gaze.” Her voice cracked.

Lines of code. Endless brackets. She was losing track of where she’d closed functions, but she pressed on. Her pace was a frantic rhythm, faster than her heart could keep.

A chime rang in the console. Rae glanced up, breath catching.

The shard projection now showed Claire in Prince Rod’s arms as the seventh dance commenced. Rae stiffened. The prince was grinning, speaking, and Claire’s lips moved with polite replies. But Rae noticed something devastatingly painful. Claire’s gaze no longer wandered. Her eyes stayed on Rod, steady, composed.

No searching. No hesitation.

Something inside Rae went cold.

“Focus,” she murmured, though her throat tightened around the word.

 

Her fingers moved mechanically now, autopilot carrying her through loops and conditions. The system barked more errors, but she silenced them, patch after patch.

The console’s glow flickered against Rae’s face as she coded faster than she thought her hands could move. Logic chains, fail-safes, memory checks—they all blurred into one frantic stream. Every time she finalized a sequence, another shard dissolved from the corner of the screen: scenes, routes, the small-but-crucial variables that had once made the world feel so full.

A soft “ping” signaled another lost memory fragment. She had stopped looking. It hurt too much.

It’s fine, she told herself as she compiled the last script. It’s okay. It’s supposed to disappear. It’s just… data.

But she could feel it—the way her chest tightened each time another sliver of the world quietly vanished like it had never been.

The entity hovered near the code window, its voice calm in contrast to everything she felt.

“You are stabilizing the route,” it said. “The corruption level is decreasing.”

“Yeah,” Rae muttered, breath uneven as she finalized the artifact’s trigger conditions. “Great. Good. That’s what we want. A stable… path.”

The entity paused. “You are grieving.”

Rae’s fingers froze over the keys. “…These memories—they actually matter to me. They’re not just flags.”

The entity didn’t deny it.

Rae swallowed hard and turned back to the console. One last command. One last binding.

When she hit ENTER, the final brackets fell into place, the music outside swelled again. Rae’s vision blurred as the console flared. Her creation was done.

The artifact materialized in her palm with a nearly invisible line of text hovered above it:

> Artifact of Binding: Inserted into Inventory.

> Synchronisation Complete

 

And with that message, the memory shards accelerated their collapse. Dozens blinked out. Dozens more dimmed. By the time she lifted her head, only a handful glowed faintly.

Her gaze rose to the projection.

The last dance.

Claire was in Prince Thane’s arms.

And this time, there was no mistaking the look in her eyes. Starry. Bright. That familiar, dangerous glow of someone entranced, someone lovestruck. Rae’s breath hitched, breaking into a ragged laugh that wasn’t laughter at all.

Her chest hurt. It hurt so much.

But she steeled herself in time. This was the price. The punishment for interfering, for twisting fate into something that could never be stable. She had broken the rules for her own selfish reasons, for Claire. And even as the shards winked out, even as her name was erased from Claire’s memory with each step of that dance, Rae closed her eyes and whispered the truth to herself.

“I’d do it again. As many times as it takes. Just to give her a beautiful ending.”

The console glowed brighter, swallowing her reflection, while the sound of the waltz filled the air like a requiem.

---

The entity drifted closer like a shadow made conscious, its presence bending the light around them. It studied the locket resting in Rae’s palm, its gaze unreadable, before glancing toward the fading memory shards suspended in the air. Claire’s laughter, the warmth in her eyes, the soft glow of the final dance that would never come again. One by one, each fragment dissolved into light.

“This is your final allowed intervention,” the entity said. Its voice carried the calm inevitability of a verdict long decided. “Once you hand her the artifact, the system will shift into autonomous execution.”

“I know.” Rae’s response was barely a whisper.

She stared at the last memory shard left floating before her. Claire, radiant in her gown, turning toward her with an earnest smile that seemed to reach across lifetimes. It was a moment that had once meant everything. A moment she could no longer keep.

Just come back to me for the last dance.

Her fingers trembled. She lifted the locket, pressed a soft, trembling kiss to the gemstone, and watched as the final shard flickered once… then vanished.

The console dissolved in a burst of brilliant white. Rae felt her body tear through something vast and weightless, as if she were being dragged through fire and water all at once. Her heart lurched—and then she was no longer in the void.

She was standing in the glittering ballroom.

The chandeliers cast warm light across polished marble floors. Music swelled like a tide rolling over her, rich and full, as if the world itself was celebrating. People laughed, moving in elegant circles, their gowns and uniforms shining like scattered jewels.

It would have been beautiful, if not for the dread curling in Rae’s chest.

Her arrival was not subtle. She stumbled forward just as Prince Thane bowed over Claire’s hand, lips poised to brush the back of her knuckles. The crowd had closed in to witness the moment, eyes glittering with excitement. Nobles whispered expectantly. The scene was perfect, a storybook image of romance.

And Rae shattered it.

Claire whirled toward the disturbance, her expression shifting from surprise to mild irritation. And then… nothing. No softening of her gaze. No glimmer of recognition. No spark of anything that belonged to Rae.

She looked at her as though she were looking at a stranger.

The blow struck quick and deep. Rae felt something sharp drive beneath her ribs, and her breath escaped her in a quiet gasp. She stumbled back, clutching her chest as if she could hold herself together through sheer force of will.

Claire’s entourage reacted instantly. Pepi and Loretta stepped protectively beside her. Manaria snapped her fan shut, eyes narrowing in swift judgment. Lene shifted subtly, angling herself to block Rae’s path. Even Prince Rod took half a step forward, a silent warning.

“Who are you?” Claire asked. Her voice was cool, formal, edged with caution.

Rae swallowed hard. Her hands shook. If she let the pain show, she would collapse. She forced herself upright, forced the breath back into her lungs.

“I am no one,” Rae managed. Her voice was hoarse. “Just a commoner who wanted to wish you a happy ending.”

A ripple of confusion passed through the onlookers. Rae reached into her pocket and withdrew the artifact she had crafted from the console’s white void. A simple necklace. The pendant glowed faintly against her skin, warm like a heartbeat.

“This is my only gift,” she said softly, holding it out with both hands. “May it guard you. May it remind you that you are cherished.”

Claire hesitated. Her eyes narrowed in uncertainty. She did not lift her hand. The silence stretched, thin and painful, threatening to tear Rae apart.

“Please,” Rae murmured, barely audible. “Just accept it. Just this once.”

At last, Claire reached out, slow and cautious. The chain slipped into her hand, gleaming like liquid silver. Rae exhaled shakily, relief flooding through her so intensely her knees nearly buckled. She bowed her head low.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I wish you nothing but the best, milady. With all my heart. And now… I will take my leave.”

She turned away. Every step felt like walking through water. Her chest ached with each breath. She wanted to run. She wanted to scream. But she forced herself onward, disappearing into the blur of gowns and uniforms.

Before she reached the doorway, Claire’s voice cut through the murmur of the ballroom.

“Wait.”

Rae stopped instantly. Her shoulders stiffened.

“What is your name?” Claire asked. Her tone had softened, though her eyes still held wariness.

The question hung between them like a fragile thread. Rae felt the system tightening around her again, the script settling into place. Her name would mean nothing here. It would not anchor her to Claire. Not this time.

She allowed a faint smile to touch her lips—sad, wry, almost mocking herself.

“It does not matter,” Rae said. “I am only someone who wanted to help.”

Claire nodded with gracious politeness. “Then I am grateful.”

And just like that she turned back to Prince Thane, the locket glinting faintly in her hand. Rae watched her, felt something inside her hollow out, and stepped back.

She slipped quietly out of the ballroom.

“It does not matter,” Rae repeated under her breath.

She paused near a polished glass window. Claire’s reflection shimmered in it, distant and unattainable. Rae lifted a hand as if she could touch it, but the cold surface met her fingers instead.

Softly, she whispered the line she had written weeks before. “I am just someone who would cross the stage. The entire world. If it meant you would look at me like that again.”

I am just someone who dreamed of your perfection.

And the shadows of the night swallowed Rae whole.

---

The lanterns trembled in the night breeze, casting wavering halos of gold across the garden walls. Music and laughter spilled faintly from the ballroom behind her, but Claire stepped away from the noise with practiced elegance, as though she had merely needed a breath of air. In truth, the moment she crossed the threshold, her pulse had not quite felt like her own. Something inside her had shifted—unsettled, expectant. She could not name why.

Thane followed at a polite distance, his curiosity so mild it almost masked his concern. “Claire,” he ventured, tone light but edged with inquisitiveness, “that girl who approached you just now—the one who looked as though she recognized you. Do you… know her?”

Claire’s brows knit before she even realized it. Her gaze swept the garden path the woman had taken, as though the answer might still be there, lingering in the air she disturbed. “No,” she said finally.

The word tasted wrong.

She looked down at her hand. In her palm lay a simple, plain locket—unremarkable in design, nothing like the refined gifts she was accustomed to receiving. And yet its weight felt strangely intimate, as though it belonged somewhere against her skin. Her pulse stuttered when her fingers closed around it. A soft flutter bloomed beneath her ribs—too fleeting to be pain, too sharp to dismiss.

Thane leaned closer to inspect it, and without conscious thought, Claire shifted away. The movement was subtle but unmistakable. She didn’t register it; Thane did not comment. Still, something skittered down her spine.

“It doesn’t look familiar,” he murmured. “Is it a token of some kind?”

“I’m… not sure,” Claire replied, her voice tightening.

Her thumb drifted over the gem set in the center. A tremor went through her. On impulse—compulsion—she brought the gem close to her lips. The moment her breath brushed its surface, the stone warmed, a faint pulse radiating beneath her touch. A warmth that felt frighteningly like recognition.

Then the air shimmered.

A translucent shard of light rose from the locket like a fragile petal caught in a breeze. It hovered for a single heartbeat before sinking directly into her chest.

Claire inhaled sharply and staggered. Thane reached toward her, alarm flaring across his features. “Claire! What’s wrong?”

But his voice sounded far away.

Sadness unfurled inside her like smoke. A raw, aching yearning followed, wrapping around her ribs until her breath turned thin. And threaded between them—barely audible, barely real—was a voice forming her name with impossible familiarity. A smile she had never seen. A touch she had never felt, yet mourned.

Her chest tightened until it hurt.

Her fingers curled around the locket, white-knuckled. “I—I need to find her,” she whispered, as though the words had risen from someplace far deeper than thought.

Without waiting for Thane’s protest, she ran.

Her skirts snapped around her legs as she sprinted down the garden path, guided by nothing but the fierce, irrational certainty pounding against her ribs. She didn’t know the woman’s name. She didn’t know why her throat burned. She didn’t know why it felt like grief.

But she ran anyway.

At the edge of the lantern light, she glimpsed a silhouette.

“Wait!” Claire called, reaching out—

But the figure dissolved into the darkness like mist.

She skidded to a halt, breath shuddering. The night held its silence, indifferent, unyielding.

The locket pressed warm against her palm, a cruel echo of a touch she couldn’t remember yet already missed.

“…Why?” she breathed, voice breaking despite her will. “Why does it feel like I’ve already lost you?”

For a single heartbeat, the locket pulsed—soft, mournful.

Then faded into stillness.

---

Claire’s knees gave out, and she sank onto the grass. The world tilted as her vision blurred, the soft blades beneath her hands the only thing grounding her. All she could feel was the sharp, aching throb in her chest and the cold, stubborn weight of the locket pressed into her palm. It pulsed faintly, as if something trapped inside it was trying to reach her. Or escape.

It felt like a memory beating against the confines of her heart.

A voice cut through the haze. “Milady!”

The sound snapped her head up.

The mysterious commoner appeared beside her far too quickly, as if the night had delivered her directly into Claire’s path. She dropped to her knees with a look of raw concern that was so intense Claire almost recoiled from it. The girl’s hands hovered in the air, trembling, inches from Claire’s shoulders. She looked like she wanted to touch her but feared she might break her.

“Milady, are you hurt? You should not be out here like this.”

Claire acted before she could think. Her hand shot out and grabbed the girl’s wrist, holding on with a desperate strength that startled them both.

The girl inhaled sharply, her eyes widening in shock.

“Who are you?” Claire demanded. The words escaped her in a voice tight with confusion and something deeper, something frightening. “Why did you approach me earlier? Why does it feel like I know you when I do not remember anything at all?”

The last sentence nearly cracked apart in her throat. Her heart clenched painfully, and she could not understand why.

The girl’s gaze dropped. Her shoulders curled inward as if she wanted to make herself smaller, invisible. “I should not be here,” she whispered. “Please let go, milady.”

“It is Claire,” she said sharply. The correction came without thought, pulled from somewhere beneath the surface of her mind.

The girl froze. Then, slowly, she raised her eyes again. They shone with something Claire could not name, something that made her chest tighten. It looked like grief mixed with recognition.

“Claire.” The girl said her name so softly it felt like the night itself paused to listen.

The sound of it stole Claire’s breath. Her grip on the girl’s wrist tightened.

“Tell me who you are,” she whispered. She leaned closer, searching the girl’s face as if the answer might be written in the way her lips trembled. “Why does my heart ache when I look at you?”

The girl flinched. Her breath hitched as though Claire’s words had struck something tender.

“Something is not right,” she murmured. “You were not meant to notice me. Not after everything.”

“After what?” Claire asked, her voice rising in panic. “You followed me out here. You acted like a stranger. You looked at me as if you knew me. What happened?”

As the girl shifted uneasily, her coat slipped slightly. Moonlight touched a flash of gold at her collar. Claire’s eyes fixed on it. A tie with her family’s crest gleamed in the center, unmistakable.

Her breath hitched painfully. Something inside her lurched, fear and recognition and loss clashing so abruptly she felt dizzy.

The girl followed her gaze and looked horrified. “I should have removed it. I forgot. Rae, you idiot…what were you thinking?”

She slapped a hand over her mouth, realizing too late she had spoken her name.

Claire trembled and her fingers slid from the girl’s wrist only to clutch the fabric at her collar, pulling her closer.

“Rae. Is that your name?”

Rae shook her head, looking anguished. “Please, milday, let go.”

“Say my name.”

Rae’s eyes filled with tears. “Claire.”

Something inside Claire seemed to splinter. Images flickered behind her eyes. A steady hand guiding her. A warm voice speaking her name like a promise she had once believed in.

They vanished as quickly as they appeared, leaving only a hollow ache.

“Why,” Claire whispered shakily. “Why does it feel like losing you would destroy me?”

Rae squeezed her eyes shut. Her shoulders shook.

“Because,” she breathed, the word breaking in her throat. “It already has.”

---

Claire’s grip on the girl tightened as if holding her could anchor the truth she did not yet understand. The girl, who had called herself Rae by accident only moments before, shook her head. Her entire body trembled even though she remained kneeling in front of Claire.

“You should let me go now,” Rae whispered. Her voice shook so violently it almost fell apart. “If you don’t, everything will become worse. Please. Let me go.”

“No.” Claire’s voice cracked like thin ice. “I do not understand any of this, but I know something.”

Her fingertips traced the edge of the tie with the François crest shining beneath Rae’s collar.

“You matter to me. And I am not letting you run without an explanation.”

Rae’s breath caught at the touch, a quiet sound that felt too familiar, too intimate.

Claire did not know what possessed her next action. Perhaps instinct. Perhaps longing. Or perhaps a memory buried too deep to reach. She pressed a kiss against the hollow of Rae’s neck.

The very same spot she has placed her lips on before they entered into the ballroom.

Rae went utterly still.

The moment Claire’s lips brushed her skin, the locket clenched in Claire’s other hand glowed with sudden, fierce heat. Light spilled from it, bright enough to stain the air with silver. Rae flinched and shielded her eyes, expecting the glow to fade, expecting the world to return to the strange emptiness that had kept them apart.

Instead, the light intensified.

Warmth flooded through Claire’s palm, racing up her arm and into her chest. It felt like fire blooming behind her eyes. She gasped and staggered forward, clutching the necklace in a frantic attempt to steady herself.

And then the world cracked.

Something splintered inside her with the sharpness of glass breaking. Memories burst into her mind with violent force. Laughter in a sunlit corridor. Arguments in the rain. Whispered confessions in the shared quarters.  Rae’s hand guiding hers in a clumsy waltz. Rae scooping her into her arms as they cleared the haunted house. Rae presenting the plush otter with awkward sincerity. Rae smiling at her like she was the only thing in the world worth looking at.

The images collided in her skull until she cried out.

“Claire? Claire!” Rae reached for her, but Claire’s mind was already falling into the flood.

A name slipped from her lips. “Rae Taylor.”

Rae’s mouth parted in shock. Not because of the name itself, but because Claire said it with warmth, frustration, tenderness. All the colors she had carried before the erasure.

Claire lifted her head. Her teary eyes burned with recognition. “Rae Taylor, you foolish woman. How dare you leave me alone like that?”

She surged forward and seized the astonished girl by the lapels. Her hands shook with fury and gratitude and grief. “How many times are you planning to disappear before I finally yell at you properly?”

Rae let out a sound that was half laugh and half sob. “The system should erase everything by now. You were never meant to know me.”

“I do not care what it was meant to do,” Claire said. Her voice trembled yet refused to break. “You think a spell could make me forget you?”

Rae blinked as if the idea itself stunned her.

Claire’s forehead rested against Rae’s. Her entire body shook. “You left me. Even without memories, I could feel it. The emptiness. The wrongness. The piece of my life that had been torn away.”

Rae’s hands lifted, almost on instinct, to hold Claire’s arms. “You remembered me,” she whispered in wonderment and disbelief.

“Of course I did. You made yourself impossible to forget.”

The air around them shimmered, as if the world strained to undo what had returned. However, Claire clutched Rae’s wrist with burning determination and pulled her closer until their foreheads touched once more.

“If you must leave, then leave knowing I was grateful to have had you in my life.”

“Claire”, Rae’s breath broke. “Y-you knew I do not belong here. In fact, I am not from this world.”

Claire’s hands framed Rae’s face. Her entire body trembled.

“All I know is,” she whispered with conviction, “If you choose to stay, then I will rip the final page out of this world before I let it end without you.”

Rae collapsed into her, unable to hold back anymore, and pressed her lips to Claire’s in front of the watching garden.

 

---

The kiss deepened, tasting of fear, longing, and the kind of grief Rae had tried to bury so far inside herself that it was never meant to surface again. For one impossible moment, the world steadied. Claire’s hands framed her face as if anchoring her to a reality that finally felt right. Rae let herself fall into it, let herself believe that if she held Claire tightly enough, the universe might stay still.

Then the ground trembled.

Rae’s eyes flew open. The garden wavered at the edges, its colors running like wet paint. Trees dissolved into streaks of white. Lanterns flickered in unnatural rhythms, stuttering like corrupted pixels. A sickening lurch twisted her stomach.

“No. Claire, stop,” Rae choked, pulling back. Her breath caught on a rising tide of panic. This was wrong.

The system’s pull slammed into her like a tidal wave, dragging her toward the sterile void she’d hoped she had escaped forever. The world buckled. Her knees nearly gave out as she felt herself being wrenched away, torn from the warmth in front of her.

Claire’s arms locked around her instantly, fierce and unwavering. “Rae,” she whispered, voice urgent and cracking. “I’m here.”

“Let go,” Rae gasped, trying to push her back. “If you stay near me, it will take you too.”

“Never.” Claire’s breath brushed her ear, trembling with fury and devotion. “You think I will let you vanish into nothingness? I would walk into the abyss before I let it take you again.”

The garden convulsed once more and collapsed into white.

Rae hit cold marble. She staggered, blinking against the endless light of the system chamber. White stretched infinitely around them, sterile and silent. In the distance, rivers of code fell like starlight. Claire clutched Rae’s sleeve, eyes blown wide, fear shimmering beneath her anger.

“What is this place?” Claire whispered. “Rae, what is happening to us?”

Before Rae could answer, the entity materialized.

It appeared with the quiet inevitability of a nightmare, standing with its hands clasped neatly behind its back. It wore Rae’s adult face, sharpened by age and stripped of warmth, regarding them like a pair of children who had wandered where they did not belong.

“Well,” it said, tone almost bored. “This is certainly one way to expedite matters.”

Claire stiffened against Rae, her breath hitching as she stared at the older, colder reflection.

“She should not remember you,” the entity mused, tilting its head as if studying a glitch. “The wipe was comprehensive. And yet here she stands, clinging to you as if the reset never touched her.”

Rae stepped in front of Claire without hesitation, shielding her with her entire body. Her voice was low and shaking with fury. “If you touch her, I will dismantle this entire system. Do not test me.”

The entity’s lips twitched with faint amusement. “And yet, Rae Taylor, one must ask whether allowing Claire to remember you truly serves her. Your past simulations strongly suggest the opposite.”

The words struck deeper than Rae wanted to admit, but the entity continued.

“You have completed your task. The system is stable. Your purpose is fulfilled. And when an agent’s purpose ends, so does the agent. You will be erased.”

Claire’s hand shot forward, gripping Rae’s sleeve with desperate strength. Her voice quivered but still rang with furious clarity. “You will not erase her. I will not allow it.”

Rae’s breath faltered. She wanted to push Claire behind her, to protect her, to deny everything—but she couldn’t. Not when Claire was holding onto her as if letting go would break the world itself.

The entity exhaled softly.

“How troublesome,” it murmured.

And the chamber trembled in agreement.

Chapter 23: Shut Down and Release Patch

Rae stepped forward before she even realized she was moving, slipping into the space between Claire and the entity wearing her face. Her jaw locked so tightly it throbbed, each word scraped out from behind clenched teeth.

“Explain,” she demanded, her voice low, rough. “I told you to erase her memories of me. Permanently. Cleanly. So she could live without—”

Her breath hitched as she struggled the right words to convey the seriousness of its crime.

“—without this happening.”

The entity sighed—a sound so weary and human it sent a chill up Rae’s spine. It sounded annoyed with her, as if she’d asked it to debug an overly complicated spreadsheet.

“Correct,” it said. “I executed your request precisely.”

“Clearly you did a sloppy job,” Rae hissed.

Before the entity could retort sharply to the accusation, Claire seized Rae’s hand in defiance. Rae turned in confusion just in time for the sharp crack of Claire’s palm against her cheek.

“Explain to me. Properly. Why did you choose to erase my memories of you? What about my fate that both of you discussing about? More importantly, why did she - ?” Claire pointed to the entity “- mentioned about erasing you?”

Rae pressed a hand to her stinging cheek, heart plummeting. She reached for Claire’s hand again, her voice raw with apology. “Claire, please…just know that I am doing this with your interest at heart. If you hold on to these – “ she choked “- painful memories, your future would have been bleak. And dangerous.”

“W-what are you are saying, Rae?”

“It’s my fault. I didn’t fight hard enough at the start. I let you be led into this mess. And I intend to fix it before… I go.”

“No,” Claire said, sharp as an oath. “You can scream, you can fight me, but I will not let this abomination remove my memories of you.”

She pulled Rae into her arms with a force that surprised even Rae. Claire’s tears soaked into her jacket, warm against the cold hum of the room.

“And I will never allow the system to take what belongs to me. I command you to remain by my side and answer for this mistake. Or what threatens my future.”

Rae’s heart twisted painfully and she couldn’t help but smiled at Claire fondly. The entity’s expression twitched, caught somewhere between annoyance and a kind of exhausted admiration at Claire’s outburst.

“Lady Claire’s attachment to Rae is structurally anomalous,” the entity mused. “This may explain the failure of standard commands.”

“Do not blame Claire for the failed command,” Rae growled protectively, stepping closer, her fury bending into something desperate. Claire’s grip tightened on her arm.

“I am not assigning blame. I accessed the logs. I initiated the pruning. The erasure protocol was executed flawlessly.” It paused, eyes flicking toward Claire. “But Lady Claire forcibly reconnected the severed pathways. It was… not anticipated.”

Rae stared, throat tightening. Her mind sprinted backward, searching for the moment Claire first looked at her with that flicker of recognition. She spun back to the entity, accusation sharp as a whip.

“Liar! You didn’t delete the memory shards. You stored them in the locket.”

The entity looked mildly offended at Rae’s accusation. “Compression and containment were optimal solutions under temporal constraints. The locket possessed compatible binding properties. Fragment decay would have occurred naturally.”

Rae’s pulse stuttered.

“…So if I understand it correctly, you used the locket to store the memories. And Claire somehow manage to release them?” she whispered in disbelief.

“The information was secured. And password-protected. A mere human would not be able to re-process the memory shard even when released.” For the first time, frustration flickered across its face—her face. “Under normal conditions.”

Claire stepped out from behind Rae trembling, but with the rigid posture of someone who refused to yield even to her own fear. Her chin lifted in defiance.

“You’re telling me I regained what you tried to lock away,” she said, voice cold and precise, “and you don’t even know how I did it?”

The entity regarded her with mild fascination, as if observing a strange phenomenon.

“You should not have been able to. Humans who undergo memory excision cannot reconstruct entire sequences. Yet you restored everything—including emotional anchors.”

A beat of silence as Rae and Claire struggled to process it words.

“Your bond with Rae created interference. Your mind recognized the data signature of the shards and rebuilt the pathways from residual fragments. It was… a forceful process.”

Rae whirled toward Claire. “You forced your memories back?”

Claire’s voice cracked on the answer. “I didn’t know what I was doing. When I held the locket, something called out to me. Something vital.” She pressed a trembling hand to her chest. “It hurt.”

Rae’s breath left her in a shudder as she wrapped her arms round Claire’s trembling figure, trying to offer her whatever small comfort she could give.

The entity added with a dry tinge of amusement, or admiration, that Rae didn’t know it possess, “She brute-forced the restoration through emotional persistence. Highly improbable. Had I known she possessed such resilience, I would have strengthened the lock.”

Claire sent it a glare that could have scorched stone.

Then she turned back to Rae, her eyes blazing with a fierce, terrifying tenderness.

“Let me repeat clearly once again. I don’t care what any of this is,” she said. “I will not have my memories altered. Even though it would spare me from the pain and suffering, I will not have it any other way.”

The white room flickered in response to Claire’s declaration. Lines of light pulsed through the walls—an alarm, a warning, a heartbeat.

The entity straightened, expression flattening. “This resistance will not change the fact that Rae would eventually have to leave this world. Your emotional output to this outcome will only tie your fate closer to the intended route.”

Another tremor jolted the three back to the situation a hand. It rattled the space, sending a shiver through the glowing walls.

---

The room trembled again, harder than before. A ripple tore through the endless white expanse, making the air vibrate. Claire stumbled with a sharp gasp, and Rae caught her instantly, arms steadying her before she struck the shimmering floor.

The entity did not move. Yet the light surrounding it flickered, as though the system itself strained to maintain its shape.

Claire rounded on it, fury bleeding into fear. “You said erase. Are you telling me she will disappear?” Her voice broke on the final word.

The entity blinked, slow and mechanical.

“Perhaps the term erasure was misinterpreted. Rae’s consciousness,” the entity said, “was never meant to remain in this plane indefinitely.”

It clasped its hands behind its back, mirroring Rae’s posture in a way that now felt disturbingly hollow. “Your physical body remains in your original world. It is intact, but uninhabited. Prolonged absence produces irreversible deterioration.”

Claire blinked rapidly. “What do you mean by deterioration? Speak plainly.”

“It will die.”

The words landed with brutal finality. Claire flinched, breath catching, while Rae stood perfectly still, her hands curling into fists.

“And Rae’s consciousness here,” the entity continued, voice even and merciless, “is tethered to that body. If the vessel fails, the consciousness in this plane will dissolve. Not immediately, but without exception.”

A thin sound escaped Claire, half sob and half breath. She grabbed Rae’s wrist with both hands, gripping as if trying to tether Rae herself. “Then we will send her back and bring her here again. I will follow her. I will find a way.”

“It is not possible,” the entity said. “Once her consciousness returns to its original body, the path will collapse. She cannot reenter this plane. And if we force her to return now, the strain of the transfer will cause her to disintegrate. She will cease to exist in every plane.”

“Claire.” Rae’s voice wavered with quiet resignation.

Claire shook her head violently. “Do not say my name like that. Do not speak as though you have accepted this.”

Another tremor ripped through the room. Cracks of bright light snaked across the walls, thin as glass fractures, threatening to shatter.

Rae pulled Claire close before she lost her footing, holding her tightly, anchoring both of them against the trembling world.

Claire clutched the front of Rae’s shirt, voice trembling. “You promised me. You said you would court me properly. Win my parents over. And…”

Rae buried her face in Claire’s hair, breath breaking. “I know. And I am so sorry.”

“No.” Claire pushed back just enough to see her. Her expression buckled with anguish. “You cannot just say sorry. You cannot leave me like this. Not without…” Her voice cracked. “Not without knowing how I feel about you.”

Rae touched a finger to her lips, gentle and desperate. “Do not say something you will regret once I am gone.”

“Regret? Gone?” Claire’s voice shattered. “Rae, do not speak as if you are already—”

But Rae stiffened.

A faint shimmer rose from her shoulders.

Her arms flickered, edges dissolving like sand swept by invisible wind.

Claire’s eyes widened in horror. “No. No, no, no. Stop. Make it stop.” She whirled toward the entity, voice breaking. “Fix this. Fix her.”

“I cannot modify the tether parameters,” the entity said. “Collapse has begun.”

Claire screamed, raw and helpless, and wrapped both arms around Rae as if force alone could hold her together.

Rae’s voice thinned, barely audible. “Claire. Look at me.”

Claire did, tears streaming down her face.

Rae cupped her cheeks with hands already turning translucent. “I wanted… I wanted to tell you earlier. I should have said it before any of this.”

“No.” Claire’s voice trembled. “Please do not take her away.”

Rae’s mouth curved in a fragile, broken smile.

Light cracked through her form.

“I…”

The final word never formed.

Rae dissolved into a cascade of shimmering particles, sliding through Claire’s arms like falling snow, like warm breath fading into cold air.

Claire remained frozen, hands outstretched, staring at the empty space where Rae had been. Her face crumpled as the last flicker of Rae’s presence vanished.

The silence that followed swallowed everything.

---

The last of Rae’s light dissolved into the air.

For a long, breathless moment, Claire did not move. Her hands remained frozen in front of her, palms open as if Rae might still be resting in them. The white room hummed faintly, cracks spiderwebbing along the walls like the world itself was grieving.

The entity exhaled and lifted a hand.

“Collection protocol,” it murmured, and the remnants of Rae’s consciousness—the glittering fragments drifting like stardust—responded. They trembled, gathering, drifting toward the entity’s outstretched palm.

But just before they reached its fingers—

They swerved.

Like metal dragged by an invisible magnet, the fragments veered sharply, spinning past the entity’s hand and streaking toward Claire.

The entity’s eyes widened.

The locket against Claire’s chest glowed suddenly— violently—pulling the shards into itself in a spiral of light. Claire clutched it instinctively as the last particle was absorbed.

A bright pulse flared.

Then silence.

The entity lowered its hand slowly. “That… was not expected.”

Claire’s head snapped up. The devastation carved across her face was no longer silent.
It was fury—crackling, wild, and lethal.

“Don’t you dare touch her.”

The entity stilled. “Lady Claire.”

“You forced her here,” Claire screamed, the sound ripping from her throat with such anguish the air itself shuddered. “You dragged Rae into this broken world because you needed her to fix it!”

The entity blinked, processing. “Rae’s involvement was necessary. She created several bugs during the initial integration of your romance route. She—”

“Shut up.” Claire’s voice cracked like a whip. “Do not blame her.”

The entity’s jaw snapped shut.

Claire stalked toward it, every step a tremor in the dissolving room. “She saved your world. She saved this entire realm. You used her, squeezed her dry, and the moment she was done— the moment she stopped being convenient—”

Her voice collapsed into a rasp.
“You threw her away.”

The entity actually flinched.

Claire didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“She endured more pain than anyone should. And you refused to offer her a place in this world. You didn’t give her choice to stay here. Instead—” Her hands shook around the glowing locket. “—you let her disappear in my arms.”

“She needs to return to her world,” the entity said quietly. “Her physical vessel—”

“Stop calling her a vessel!”

The entity recoiled again, eyes widening slightly in genuine confusion—or was it fear?—as Claire advanced with a fury of a woman who watched her lover die.

“She is a person,” Claire hissed. “She is my person.”

The entity blinked, stunned, because nothing in its database prepared it for the force of those words.

Claire’s breathing hitched, grief scorching every syllable. “You said her body will deteriorate. Fine. Then tell me—how long?”

The entity hesitated.

Claire’s eyes sharpened into something dangerous. “I said. How long.”

A flicker of unreadable static crossed the entity’s face.

“…Within the next two system hours,” it finally whispered.

Claire went cold.

Two hours.

Two hours until Rae’s real body began to shut down. Two hours until the consciousness inside the locket had no home left to return to. Two hours until Rae was truly, irreversibly gone.

Claire’s grief sharpened into deadly resolve.

“Then you have five minutes.”

The entity blinked. “…Five?”

“Five minutes,” Claire repeated through clenched teeth, “to give me every possible solution. Every loophole. Every protocol. Every forbidden command. I don’t care what you have to break.”

“Lady Claire—”

“If Rae dies in the process,” Claire snarled, “I will tear your entire place apart. With or without you.”

The entity, for the first time in its existence, felt something jolt through it—something cold and unfamiliar roaring through its circuits.

Fear.

Because Claire François, trembling and hollow-eyed, was no longer the frightened girl screaming at the universe.

She was the villainess of the story.

And even systems were not safe from her.

The entity swallowed—another unnecessary, human gesture—and took an involuntary step back.

“I… I will compile the options.”

“You will do more than that,” Claire whispered, locket glowing fiercely against her chest. “You will help me bring her back. Or bring me to her. Give her a choice to choose.”

The room trembled again, light flickering like a heartbeat struggling against collapse.

Claire didn’t look away.

“Five minutes,” she repeated. “For Rae, I will break your world. Now choose if you want to break with it.”

---

The entity’s form rippled, its outline wavering with lines of cascading symbols as it finished scanning the fragments clutched inside Claire’s trembling hand. When it finally spoke, its voice carried an unusual heaviness—almost reluctant.

“Rae’s emotional signature was what led to the system identifying her as an anomaly and tagged her accordingly. Without your intervention, she would have been returned back to her world in its entirety by now.”

Claire’s grip on the locket tightened until her knuckles blanched. The fragments inside pulsed faintly in response, as though trying to sooth her fear.

The entity continued, its tone clinical but not unkind.

“Her memories, choices, and emotional residues gained during her time here are compatible with my core architecture. If I integrate her fragments into myself, the system will recognize Rae as an authorized presence—one protected under my clearance level.”

Claire’s jaw clenched. “So you merge with her,” she said, each word trembling with fury, “and Rae returns because you say she can? And I am meant to trust that whatever comes back is truly her?”

The entity studied her for a long moment, unreadable. “This is not the complete solution,” it admitted. “It will only bring her back here temporarily and grants her time—time she can use to decide the fate of her dual-state existence. Only Rae herself can resolve and stabilize the final incompatibilities.”

Claire’s breath hitched. “And if she fails?”

“It is indeed a risk to allow Rae to manipulate the system. Any misstep and the fragments will deteriorate with immediate effect. She would not even be able to go back to her physical body.” The entity did not soften the truth.

Claire’s fingers curled around the locket, pulling it protectively against her chest. The metal warmed beneath her touch, glowing softly with Rae’s remnants. Claire could feel it—like a heartbeat that wasn’t hers.

She swallowed hard. “How do I know,” she whispered, voice cracking, “that the Rae who comes back will be Rae at all? Not some constructed illusion? Not a puppet you’ve pieced together from data?”

The entity tilted its head, almost contemplative. “Existence within this system is built from data, memory, and emotional imprints. Even you, Lady Claire, are shaped from the architecture of narrative and code. There is no formula to distinguish what is real from what is meaningful.”

Claire glared through tears. “That is not an answer.”

“Because the answer is yours to determine,” the entity replied quietly. “Identity cannot be verified by protocol. Only by recognition. When Rae returns, it will not be the system—or myself—that confirms who she is.”

Its eyes flickered, the faintest echo of something human passing through them.

“It will be you. If you look at her and know it is Rae, then she is Rae.”

Claire shut her eyes. Pain rippled through her, sharp and consuming. She pressed the warm locket to her heart, breathing through the burn in her chest.

She opened her eyes again—clear, resolute, burning with fierce devotion.

“Then bring her back,” she whispered. “Even if it’s only buying time. Even if the rest is up to her.”

The entity nodded once.

“As you wish, Lady Claire.”

---

Rae woke to the soft sound of her name, spoken as if someone had been calling it for a long time. Her eyelids fluttered open and for a moment she thought she was suspended in a dream. White stretched endlessly in every direction, glowing like a world not yet drawn.

The familiar weight of her glasses pressed against her nose. She exhaled shakily. This was her body again. Rae Oohashi’s.

A shadow hovered in front of her. When her vision cleared, the shadow resolved into Claire François.

Claire’s face was far too close. Her expression trembled between hope and fear, as though she was terrified that touching Rae. Her fingers hovered inches above Rae’s cheek, but she did not close the distance.

Rae blinked slowly, disoriented. “Claire…? What… happened?”

Before Rae could ask anything more, Claire abruptly cut her off. “Say something Rae-like.”

Still dazed, Rae stared at her bewilderedly. “I am not sure what that means.”

“Please,” Claire pleaded. Her voice finally betrayed the depth of her fear. “Say something only you would say.”

Rae opened her mouth to ask why she needed to prove herself, but Claire surged ahead, her words tumbling out as if pushed by desperation.

“Prince Thane proposed to me.”

The shock hit Rae like a plunge into cold water. “Wait...what!? Am I in an alternate universe? Is this a test?”

Claire pressed on, desperate. “He proposed to me while we were dancing. I have not answered. Tell me what I should do.”

Rae took a slow breath, mind reeling. She turned toward Claire, who watched her with a tension that suggested the answer mattered more than anything.

“If you had asked me months ago, I would have advised you to accept without hesitation, without asking what you truly wanted.” Rae inhaled, steadying herself. “But now… I must ask if you are happy at his side. If this is your true wish. If it is, then I will abide to your wish. As I always have.”

Claire froze. The response was soft, gentle, unbearably selfless. It pierced her harder than any declaration could have. A heartbeat later she threw herself forward and wrapped Rae in her arms.

“It is really you,” Claire whispered, her voice breaking into a small, relieved laugh. “But your answer hurts. It hurts so much that even now you think of my happiness before your own.”

Rae’s hands rose to cling to Claire’s back, still trying to understand the moment. “I did not want to assume anything before asking.”

Claire pulled back, cupping Rae’s face with trembling hands. “Do not say such things. Not when you almost disappeared.” She took a long, steadying breath. “You deserve to know why you are here.”

Rae listened as Claire explained everything. She spoke of the entity’s proposal, of Rae’s fragments and memories, of how the system had identified her as an anomaly and prepared to erase her. She explained that the entity had taken Rae’s fragments into itself, merging them so the system would accept her continued existence. The explanation was technical in some parts and devastating in others, yet Claire soldiered through it with a determined, trembling voice.

Rae’s chest tightened as she absorbed the truth. “So I am incomplete. Because part of my ‘data’ is incompatible with the current system.”

“Not incomplete,” Claire insisted. She reached for Rae’s hand, holding it tightly. “Just not entirely stable yet. The entity said your fragments in the real world have not fully resynced. But it also said you are clever enough to decide your existence within two worlds and fix it.” Her voice softened. “It trusts you.”

Rae blinked, stunned. “Why would it trust me so much?”

“Because it granted you root access or whatever it means to the engine,” Claire explained. “It said that only you could stabilize yourself. Only you could resolve the remaining inconsistencies.”

Something warm and overwhelming washed through Rae. She had never expected to regain control here. She had never expected to be given a second chance, much less with Claire holding her like she was something precious.

Claire brushed a stray hair from Rae’s forehead. “I needed to know it was truly you. Not the fragments. Not the system. You.”

Rae lifted Claire’s hand and pressed her lips to her knuckles. “Thank you for bringing me back. For allowing me to decide my place.”

Claire’s breath caught, her eyes glistening again. “I will do it all over again. Just to see you even for a minute longer”

A faint shift in the air made both of them glance around. The room brightened, as if responding to Rae’s presence. The white walls rippled like unfinished code waiting for instructions.

Rae exhaled slowly. “Let me test my new powers.”

Claire stepped back slightly but still kept Rae within reach, her expression a mixture of awe and apprehension.

Rae raised a hand, allowing instinct to guide her. “Open engine interface,” she said quietly.

The white walls instantly shimmered and lines of code unfurled across them like cascading rivers of light. They shifted, reorganized, then settled into a pulsing grid that filled the entire space.

Claire stared, wide-eyed. “What… is this…?”

“The engine that I help to develop,” Rae murmured.

A flick of her wrist summoned the slate she had used throughout her time in the game. It appeared in her palm in a burst of static-blue light. A second command brought the familiar guidebook into existence. It materialized with a soft thump against Rae’s hand.

Claire blinked at the guidebook, which appeared exactly like her cherished favorite novel. “Why did you summon that?”

“The system hid my notes inside it,” Rae replied. “Encrypted them. It seems only I can read them. One more mystery of this world.”

Claire watched her with an expression that blended adoration, wonder, and a touch of helplessness. She could not read the codes. She did not understand engines or systems. But she understood Rae—her confidence, her determination, the subtle change in her posture when she was in her element. The Rae in front of her looked alive in a way Claire had never seen before. She looked like someone stepping into her true world.

Rae flipped the slate open, fingers dancing across its surface with instinctive precision. Code responded instantly, rearranging itself in elegant arcs across the walls. For every command Rae spoke or typed, the system reacted like a creature awakening from slumber.

Claire continued to watch her, mesmerized.

Rae spared her a small smile, soft and reassuring. “This is the final puzzle,” she said. “Once I fix the inconsistencies, the system will copy and convert my data properly. I will be fully anchored again. No more blackouts. No more instability.”

“And after that?” Claire asked quietly.

Rae reached out and intertwined Claire’s fingers with her own.

“After that,” she said softly, “I will exist in two worlds. As Rae Oohashi in mine. And as Rae Taylor in this one. From then on, Rae Oohashi and Rae Taylor will walk their own paths. As two individuals.”

---

Rae turned back to the floating console, the shimmering lattice of code waiting like an unfinished sentence suspended in the air. She exhaled once, steadying herself. “This is it. The final execution. When this patch runs, the system should stabilize… and so should we.”

“Wait!”

Claire did not move at first. She only stared at the game developer Rae, taking in the soft sadness in her smile. Then she stepped closer and reached out, gripping Rae’s hand with a firmness that made Rae pause.

“Before you do this,” Claire whispered, “I need to know… is this truly what you want?”

Rae swallowed hard, unable to speak.

Claire let out a thin, fragile laugh. “If your heart chooses to leave, I will endure it. I will let you go.”

Her grip tightened slightly, trembling.

“But if you choose to stay… I will fight for the future we have left. No matter what it costs.”

“I… I—”

“Before you answer,” Claire breathed quietly, pressing her fingers against Rae’s lips, “there’s something I need to say.” Rae stilled at the wavering tension in her voice.

“I don’t know Rae Oohashi,” Claire admitted quietly. “Not completely. I don’t know your world. Your burdens. What waits for you once you return to a life I’ve never seen. And I don’t want you to stay because I wished it.”

Her fingers trembled, but she didn’t let go.

“Everything you have done… every sacrifice… it has always been for my sake. I cannot ask you for more.”

Rae stared at her, stunned into stillness.

Claire forced herself to continue. “So before you decide—please don’t choose me out of obligation. Or pity. Or because I’m afraid of losing you.”

Rae’s heart clenched. She hesitated, choosing her words carefully.

“When I first got pulled into this world,” Rae began slowly, “everything I did was dictated by one thing: finding a way out. I thought the only exit was completing the game. Fixing your romance route.” She gave a small, almost embarrassed smile. “That’s why I kept trying to push you toward Thane and Manaria.”

She gave a small, rueful smile. “I thought it was the only way home.”

Claire’s jaw tightened, a flicker of hurt crossing her eyes. “I see.”

“But,” Rae continued gently, “when you confronted me… when you demanded to know why I kept interfering… that’s when I realized something had changed. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being about escaping.”

Claire’s breath hitched, not daring to hope.

“I didn’t want to force you into any route,” Rae said softly. “I didn’t want you to ‘choose’ the ending the system assigned you. I just… wanted to do things that made you smile. That made you happy. That’s all.”

Claire shook her head, tears threatening. “You’re telling me you stayed… because of me?”

Rae nodded, her voice almost a whisper. “Because you mattered more than the exit.”

Claire exhaled shakily and stepped closer, her forehead almost resting against Rae’s.

“Then if that is true,” she murmured, “why do I sense the sadness in your smile? What are you hiding from me?”

Rae squeezed her fingers gently. Her tone was calm, but something in her eyes wavered.

“Once the patch releases,” Rae said quietly, “Rae Oohashi—the version of me in my original world—will wake up. Without you.” Her voice shooked. “And she’ll remember you. All of you. It… it will hurt.”

Claire stiffened as she took in the weight of those words. She studied Rae’s face—the exhaustion in her eyes, the shadows beneath them, the quiet ache she never put into words.

Rae lifted her free hand and touched her own chest. “We’re cut from the same root, only split across worlds. She’ll understand why I did this. Even if she wakes up confused or exhausted or hurting… she’ll understand.”

She stepped close enough that her breath brushed Rae’s cheek. Then she whispered her request—barely a sound, just the ghost of a plea against Rae’s skin.

Rae froze.

Her eyes flew wide, stunned. “Claire… are you sure? That’s what you want?”

Claire nodded once. A small, fierce motion.

Rae swallowed hard. “All right… then I’ll adjust the configuration. We do not have much time left.”

Her fingers trembled only slightly as she turned back to the console. She typed several new commands—delicate, risky changes to the patch’s rules, the kind that would ripple through both worlds. Claire watched the way Rae’s posture shifted into absolute focus, watched her expression turn sharp and confident, watched the screen reflect in her eyes like constellations only she knew how to navigate.

Rae typed one final line, hesitated… then pressed her thumb to the confirmation sigil.

A soft glow pulsed through the air.

“Patch ready,” Rae whispered. “On your mark…”

Claire held her breath.

Rae closed her eyes, thought of Claire’s whispered plea, then exhaled and hit execute.

Chapter 24: The Director's Cut

Rae Oohashi woke with her heart pounding so violently she thought it might split her ribs. For one terrified second she expected to see the blank white void—that room, that impossible world—but instead her vision swam into something far more mundane: the dim fluorescent hum of the office, her cluttered desk, her crooked glasses digging into her cheek. Her neck throbbed from sleeping in an awful angle.

Someone shook her shoulder.

“R-Rae? Are you awake?”

Lily stood beside her, a steaming mug clutched between both hands as though it were a fragile animal. Her cheeks were tinted pink, as they always were when she spoke to Rae. A few strands of her hair stuck to her forehead in nervous disarray.

“You… um…” Lily’s voice dipped to a shy whisper. “You pulled another all-nighter. I brought you coffee.”

Rae blinked, trying to pull herself out of dream residue and into the real world. Before she could muster a thank-you, a familiar voice cut in.

“For real, Oohashi?” Kenta leaned against the cubicle wall, arms crossed. “You’re hopeless. Couldn’t let go of your game crush long enough to sleep, huh?”

Her spine snapped straight. “Wh—no! That’s not—”

Kenta just laughed, smug and loud. “C’mon. Admit it. You’re obsessed with that villainess creation of yours.”

The word villainess punched a bruise she didn’t know she’d formed. Claire’s face rose behind her eyes, crisp as a memory she shouldn’t possess.

Before the ache could settle, Lily cleared her throat. “Um… Rae? Your necklace. It’s beautiful. Where’d you get it?”

“My… necklace?” Rae echoed.

Her hand drifted to her collarbone. Cold metal brushed her fingertips.

When she pulled it out from beneath her hoodie, her breath hitched. The charm—the shape, the engraving, the tiny hinge on its side—looked exactly like the Artifact of Binding she had coded at the last minute. Pixel-perfect. Impossible.

A shout cut through the office.

“Everyone! Emergency meeting—NOW!”

The sudden panic jolted Rae into motion. She followed the rush toward the main console where Tomo hovered, ashen-faced, in front of a screen drowning in red errors.

“The villainess build is corrupt,” he said. “Files have been altered. Whole flag sets are gone. It’s like the system rewrote her classification from scratch.”

Lily’s eyes went wider. “Rewrote her as what?”

“We… don’t know,” Tomo murmured.

Rae stared at the error log until the red text blurred. Corrupted flags. Missing references. Null pointers where Claire François’s villainess profile should’ve been. Her stomach dropped with a strange, impossible revelation. Claire’s digital presence had simply vanished.

This is it… the ending I fought against the system. In another world, another life.

Her hand slipped to the necklace and thumbed open the tiny locket. Inside, nestled in the metal frame, was the disguised storage drive. The one Rae Taylor has created, on her request, to preserve Claire’s data. The one Claire had entrusted to Rae Oohashi.

She held it tightly to steady herself as the memories and emotions start rushing in.

“Rae!”

She jerked back to the present. Tomo looked ready to faint.

“We are in so much trouble,” he said. “The build won’t pass pre-approval, let alone beta certification. Whole event chains are broken—dialogue loops, missing sprites, the works.”

Rae forced her shoulders to square, even as something inside her sank with a quiet, unbearable grief. “Okay. Don’t panic. We can still figure this out.”

Everyone stared at her as though hope were a fragile thing balanced on her next words.

“How?” Lily asked. “Without Claire, every route collapses. We’re supposed to deliver the beta tonight. We can’t rebuild a full AI antagonist in twelve hours!”

Kenta ran a hand through his hair. “Without Claire’s routines initializing, the love interests just… freak out. Thane tries to flirt with empty space. Rod gets stuck in his intro loop so badly QA thought it was a new time-loop DLC.”

“And if this isn’t stable,” Lily whispered, “the publisher will pull us from the project.”

Rae closed her eyes. Beneath her hoodie, the locket warmed against her skin.

She could fix it. She knew she could restore Claire’s code in minutes.

But she didn’t want to. Not like this.

In her heart, Claire François was no longer a villainess. No longer a tool in a story someone else wrote. She deserved more than to be shoved back into a cage of flags and constraints.

But Rae couldn’t exactly explain that to her team.

A plan sparked.

“First,” she said, straightening, “we isolate what still functions.”

Tomo blinked. “Meaning…?”

“Break the beta into separate episodes,” Rae said. “Each prince gets his own mini-build. They’re already mostly siloed. We reduce cross-route dependencies and submit three stable vertical slices instead of one broken omnibus.”

Lily gasped softly. “That’s actually… doable.”

“Two days to repackage,” Kenta said, thinking aloud. “One day to debug. Might squeeze through.”

Rae nodded. “The romance routes are mostly intact. We center the beta around them.”

“But Claire…” Tomo hesitated. “Every route references her. The publisher expects a villainess arc. Without one, the game won’t sell.”

“We don’t restore her.”

A stunned silence fell.

Rae set her tablet down with careful finality. “We can’t rebuild a fully-voiced antagonist routine in time. But we can replace her with something flexible.”

Kenta raised a brow. “Flexible how?”

“A customizable antagonist builder,” Rae said, her voice falling into the steady cadence of someone who had solved a problem mid-crisis. “For the beta, we let players design the rival themselves—personality traits, hostility level, triggers, rival scenarios. Minimal art. Minimal scripting. Mostly slider-based behavior modeling.”

Lily looked at her like she had just sprouted angel wings. “That… that could satisfy the publisher. It technically covers the villainess requirement.”

“And,” Rae added, “we pitch it as a teaser feature. ‘Shape Your Rival.’ People will assume it’s an intentional preview of customization systems.”

Kenta barked a laugh. “You’ve put way too much thought into villainesses.”

Rae shot him a glare that didn’t quite land. Her ears warmed. “I’m thinking about what’s possible under a twelve-hour deadline.”

“Sure you are,” he said, smirking.

Tomo was already typing furiously. “This could work. This could actually work.”

Rae let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her hand fell away from the locket.

“Then let’s move,” she said, rolling up her sleeves. “We salvage what we can, rebuild what we can’t, and get this beta out the door.”

Lily nodded, energized. Kenta cracked his knuckles. Tomo dove into the first of the corrupted chains.

And Rae stepped back into the glow of the monitors, ready to rewrite the game without rewriting her.

---

The world settled around Claire in a swirl of gold light and muffled strings as she opened her eyes. For one breathless moment, she thought she was still in that white room with Rae beside her and the patch executing in a blaze of code. But then the scent of polished wood, perfume, and candle wax filled her lungs. A chandelier glittered overhead, dazzling and familiar.

Lene was staring at her, hovering far too close, her face pale with worry.

“Milady,” Lene whispered, her voice quivering. “You are back. You gave me quite a fright.”

Claire blinked rapidly. Her head felt strangely heavy, as if reality had been stitched together in a hurry and her senses were struggling to catch up. Through the haze, she searched instinctively and desperately for the only person who mattered.

Rae.

Her gaze swept across the ballroom behind Lene. She saw gleaming floors, dancers turning gracefully in a familiar pattern, ministers murmuring in conversation, and the orchestra playing the same waltz she remembered far too well. Yet Rae was nowhere in sight.

“Where is she?” Claire demanded, the words sharper than she intended. “Where is Rae Taylor?”

Lene stared at her with visible confusion and stunned by Claire’s panicked outburst. “Rae…? Milady, I do not know.”

A cold spike of panic pierced Claire’s chest so abruptly that her breath hitched.

Did the patch fail?

Before she could force out another question, Lene swallowed and cautiously signalled, “Milady… Prince Thane is heading your way.”

Claire turned to watch Prince Thane emerged from the crowd with that same gentle smile and the same polite tilt of his head. He was heading towards them in a determined fashion. Just like he did when he asked her for the last dance.

Claire felt her heart drop as a sense of déjà vu hit her.

Not again. She could not bear to repeat this. She could not lose Rae a second time.

Thane stopped before her, his eyes flickered with concern at Claire’s pale face.

And he stepped aside.

Behind him stood Rod, grinning with unholy delight.

And beside him… stood Rae.

Her hair was slightly mussed. Her cheeks were faintly flushed, as if she had been running. A sheepish smile tugged at her lips.

Rod threw an arm toward her with theatrical flourish. “Found her wandering around the garden like a lost sheep,” he announced loudly. “Mumbling something like ‘Claire is going to kill me for breaking the promise.’ Tragic, really.”

He nudged Rae forward with a wink.

Rae rubbed the back of her neck. “Sorry, Lady Claire. I was…a little out of it.”

Relief struck Claire so hard she nearly swayed. It crashed into her with such overwhelming force that her eyes burned.

Claire did not remember moving. Suddenly she was standing right in front of Rae, far closer than etiquette allowed. The world narrowed until only Rae remained.

“Rae,” Claire whispered, voice shaking. Her fingers found Rae’s hand without thought, curling around it like something precious returned. “Milady?” Rae blinked, startled.

“Claire,” she corrected softly for the umpteenth time. And she will do it again as many as she need to. “Just… Claire.”

Rae’s lips quirked apologetically. “Sorry. Hard to kick the habit.”

A laugh almost escaped Claire—half-sob, half-disbelief. She wanted to scold her, cling to her, collapse into her arms until the terror drained out of her bones. Instead, what came out was a fragile truth, cracked open at the edges.

“You came back,” she breathed.

Rae’s smile was weary, crooked, undeniably hers.

“I promised, did I not?”

And with those simple words, something inside Claire finally clicked back into place. Her heart, for the first time since the world had fallen apart, began to beat again.

---

Thane inclined his head apologetically, his gaze flicking between Claire and Rae. “I wasn’t aware that Lady Claire was waiting for Rae to dance in the last round,” he said, voice measured but sincere. “I should have asked sooner.”

Rae shook her head, cheeks coloring faintly. “No, it’s my fault. I wandered too far and lost track of time. I didn’t mean to—”

Thane held up a hand, interrupting gently. “Then allow us to rectify it. Tonight should not end without it.”

“W-wait! there is no need to…”

Rod stepped forward, grinning with unmistakable theatricality. He raised his arms toward the assembled guests and announced in a booming voice, “Ladies and gentlemen! A special surprise to conclude this enchanting evening. To those who witnessed this year’s magnificent school play—yes, yes, I see your tears of remembrance—tonight, we present something even better!”

The ballroom erupted into delighted murmurs as a ripple of thrilled anticipation swept through the hall. Conversations died mid-sentence. Fans of the play were practically glowing.

Rod seized Rae by the wrist and pulled her beside him like a bewildered actor shoved onstage. “I have invited the director herself for a one-night revival. With our full cast assembled—” he swept a hand toward Thane, Yu, Claire, and an increasingly alarmed Rae, “—behold! The true ending. The director’s cut!”

Yu straightened immediately, coat tails swishing as he nodded with solemn commitment. Rod clapped his hands sharply. The room reacted as if a literal cut and cue had been called.

“All right, everyone. Let’s start with the rooftop scene. Yu, take it away.”

Yu stepped forward with a magnificent, sweeping bow, his coat tails flaring dramatically. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he declared, eyes sparkling with mischief, “we now arrive at the pivotal confession.”
He paused, tipped his chin, and delivered his lines with actorly gravitas.

“On this moonlit rooftop, with the city glittering below us like a thousand secrets, I ask you—where does your heart truly lie?”

A collective sigh rose from the audience at the words. Someone actually swooned.

Rae twitched painfully, unsure where this was heading to.

Yu stepped aside with a flourish. “Claire François,” he intoned at his stunned cast member, “your line.”

Claire blinked in confusion, momentarily thrown off by turn of events. However, when her eyes met Rae, she made a decision and stepped forward to the captivated audience.

She straightened and drew a careful breath, her presence commanding the room instantly. “Once, I believed my heart belonged to duty,” she began, voice soft but clear. “To the path laid before me, to expectations, to everything I was told I should choose.”

Whispers fluttered as everyone leaned in, eager to hear the next words and actions.

Her eyes swept across the three princes in waiting. Yu clutched his heart in an exaggerated fashion. Rod winked at her and threw his arms wide open in waiting. Thane merely bowed formally at her, a smile tugging his lips.

“—But perhaps,” Claire continued, her tone warming, deepening, “my heart belongs somewhere else.”

And then her gaze landed unerringly, unwaveringly, directly on Rae.

The audience gasped in disbelief and wonder. Fans who speculated this moment started to shriek in surprise and happiness as their secret fantasy come to live.

Loretta and Pepi clutched each other and wailed for their friend’s happiness.
Manaria folded her arms with a knowing nod.
Melia smiled like this had been inevitable while Dole sighed at the absurdity of it all.
Misha mouthed to Lene excitedly: I knew it. The line is meant for Rae.

Yu bowed gallantly, offering his last line. “Then may the one you choose treasure it always.”

Claire didn’t look away from Rae. Not even for a heartbeat.

Rod, vibrating with triumph, turned to Rae with a wicked grin.

“Director,” he purred,” Time to hit your mark.”

---

Rae felt heat crawl mercilessly up her neck. “This is absolutely ridiculous, Your Highness,” she muttered, mortified beyond endurance.

Rod only lifted a finger and pointed at the space before Claire, his expression the very picture of tyrannical glee. “Your mark,” he repeated slowly, savoring every syllable. “Do not keep your lead actress waiting.”

Rae’s breath snagged.

Claire stood at the center of the ballroom like she belonged there—composed, elegant, impossibly luminous. But it was the look in her eyes that undid Rae. Soft. Brave. Trembling with something dangerously close to hope. A hope that reached for Rae alone.

And suddenly the absurdity melted.

Rae stepped forward as if someone else had taken hold of her legs and moved them for her. Her palms were sweating. Her heart hammered. Her brain had stopped filing complaints out of sheer exhaustion.

But Claire was watching her with a quiet, unwavering faith.

So Rae opened her mouth—and the words came.

“On that night,” Rae began, voice softer than the orchestra’s opening notes, “I thought I understood exactly who I was. A background character. Someone meant to stay in the wings while others shone under the spotlight.”

A hum rippled through the crowd. Lene whispered in belief, “Oh my god she’s monologuing.”

Rae continued, because stopping was no longer an option.

“But then… someone stepped into my world with a smile so bright it rewrote the script. Someone infuriating. Someone terrifyingly brilliant. Someone I could never look away from—no matter how hard I tried.”

A collective gasp echoed through the ballroom. A few young nobles openly clung to each other. One older councilwoman dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief already damp with tears.

Yu leaned into Misha’s shoulder and mouthed, She’s killing it.
Rod fanned himself like he was moments from swooning.

Rae swallowed, gathering the last bit of courage she possessed, and turned fully toward Claire.

“You changed everything.” Her voice trembled from too many feelings compressed into too few words. “You made me want to be more than a background character. You made me want to stay. To fight. To… to belong.”

Claire’s breath caught—audible even above the music. Her eyes shone with tears and affection.

“And if this is the final scene,” Rae whispered, taking a hesitant step closer, “then I want to spend it with you.”

The orchestra swelled like it had been waiting for this confession since the beginning of time.

Claire stepped toward Rae, her entire expression breaking into a radiant, disbelieving smile. She reached out and took Rae’s hand, her fingers threading through Rae’s with a certainty that stole Rae’s breath clean from her lungs.

“Then show me,” Claire murmured, voice trembling, luminous. “Show me that the ending belongs only to the two of us… and no one else.”

For a heartbeat, silence reigned over the ballroom.

And then—

 

The ballroom exploded with cheers and whistles that rattled the chandeliers.
“The Director x Lead Actress is real! I told you so!”
“Bring it to the theatres!”

 No way, the whole play is seriously a love letter to the lead actress!?”

Rae stood frozen, feeling as though the floor had dissolved beneath her and she was suspended in pure light and terror and joy. Her whole being felt too small to hold the emotion surging through her.

But Claire…

Claire looked like the world had finally tilted back into place. Like she’d found something she thought she’d never hold again.

Which is, of course, when Rod decided the world needed more chaos.

He leapt to the center of the ballroom, throwing an arm into the air with theatrical extravagance. “Ladies! Gentlemen! Connoisseurs of the dramatic arts!” he roared. “Behold the true ending of our academy’s greatest production!”

A thunderous cheer answered him, and he basked in it shamelessly.

“And what,” Rod continued, eyes sparkling with wicked delight, “is a finale without an encore?”

---

The orchestra swelled triumphantly at Thane’s signal, the first crashing notes rolling through the ballroom like a tidal wave. Laughter and excitement rippled outward; couples surged eagerly toward the dance floor, silk and jewels flashing beneath the chandelier’s glow. The air buzzed with anticipation of an encore they all demanded.

Rae felt her stomach drop.

The music climbed higher, Rod’s voice boomed across the hall, and suddenly the pressure of a hundred eyes seemed to converge on her at once. Her pulse spiked so sharply it almost hurt.

Absolutely not.

Before the next verse of the waltz could even begin, Rae’s hand found Claire’s. She tugged with half instinct and half desperation.

“Rae—?” Claire’s voice was startled, but she didn’t resist.

Rae didn’t slow. She slipped between couples and startled nobles, narrowly avoiding a server carrying an entire tray of champagne flutes. The server yelped; Rae murmured a breathless apology. Claire’s skirts brushed against Rae’s boots in a whisper of satin, following her without hesitation.

Applause erupted behind them. Someone cheered. Someone else called Claire’s name.

Rae didn’t dare look back.

She pushed past a marble column and into the shadows of a velvet-draped alcove—secluded, dim, and blissfully empty. The music dulled to a throbbing hum beyond the curtain.

Only then did Rae stop moving.

Her back hit the wall, cool stone pressing between her shoulder blades. She sucked in a shaky breath that did nothing to steady her racing heart.

Claire stumbled to a halt directly in front of her, breath coming in quick, uneven bursts. One hand braced against the wall beside Rae’s shoulder—so close Rae could feel the warmth of her through the air. Their other hands were still joined, Claire’s grip tight, as though letting go would undo everything that had just happened.

For a moment, neither spoke. The muffled roar of applause continued on the other side of the curtain, along with Rod’s unmistakable voice calling for more chaos, more spectacle, more everything.

Here, though… here the world felt impossibly small.

Rae dragged a hand over her face. “I—I’m so sorry,” she blurted, words tumbling out before she could stop them. “That was— I didn’t mean to go along with it, I didn’t think they would— Rod kept pushing— I didn’t think—”

“Rae.”

Claire’s voice slid through her panic like silk.

Soft. Gentle. A little breathless. But steady in a way Rae wasn’t.

Rae forced herself to look up.

Claire was closer than she’d realized. Close enough that Rae could see the faint tremor in her lashes, the rosy flush along her cheekbones, the way her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. But her eyes…

Her eyes were shining with something tender and fragile Rae didn’t dare interpret too quickly.

“Thank you,” Claire whispered.

Rae blinked, thrown entirely off balance. “For the performance? I swear I wasn’t trying to be dramatic.”

“Not for the performance,” Claire murmured, shaking her head fondly.

She stepped closer. Enough for Rae to feel the brush of her skirts against her legs.

“For coming back to me.”

Rae’s breath caught, sharp and painful. The words sank deep, hitting every place she’d desperately kept sealed since the moment she’d woken alone.

Claire’s fingers rose, hesitant at first, brushing along the back of Rae’s hand. Slowly, she lifted that hand toward her lips.

She paused for a single, trembling moment—her eyes flickering up, searching Rae’s face, asking a silent question Rae didn’t yet know how to answer.

Then she lowered her head.

Her lips touched Rae’s knuckles in a kiss so soft Rae barely felt the pressure—yet it sent a shiver all the way to her spine. It wasn’t possessive. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even meant to be seen by anyone else.

It was gratitude, relief and a confession wrapped in silence.

“Welcome back,” Claire whispered against her skin, voice trembling with something unbearably raw.

The curtain rustled faintly behind them, the music swelled, and the ballroom roared with celebration… but Rae could no longer hear any of it.

Her entire world had narrowed to the girl holding her hand like a miracle she never expected to touch again.

---

They lingered in the private space as the music continued to drift from the ballroom, soft and warm like a memory refusing to fade. Rae let out a tired laugh, the kind that wavered unsteadily at the edges.

“Hah… it seems the world really wanted me back in time for that, did it not?”

Claire looked at her as though Rae were a miracle. Her eyes were wide, bright with unshed tears, full of life and disbelief and the fragile joy of someone who had been holding herself together for far too long.

“Rae,” she whispered. Her voice was thin, trembling with everything she had not been able to say.

Despite the ache in her limbs and the lingering disorientation swirling beneath her ribs, Rae stepped forward. She drew a steadying breath, placed a hand over her chest, and bowed. She bent far deeper than her exhausted body should have allowed, as if the gesture came from her heart rather than her strength.

“Lady Claire,” Rae said. Her voice was warm, gentle, touched with a soft humor that softened the edges of her exhaustion. “May I have the honor of keeping my promise?”

Claire gasped. It was small, nearly soundless, but it carried the weight of something breaking open inside her. Her hand flew to her lips, then slowly fell away as she stepped closer. Her whole body trembled, her eyes shining with relief and disbelief and an emotion so raw and fierce it made Rae’s breath falter.

“Yes,” Claire breathed. “Yes, Rae. You may.”

Rae straightened, startled by how vulnerable Claire sounded. She had imagined relief perhaps, or a bright smile, or even a teasing remark. She had not expected this trembling sincerity. She had not expected Claire’s heart to be so bare.

The world around them softened into near silence, as if even the night held its breath. From beyond the archway, the faint swell of strings carried in the air, but it no longer felt like music meant for dancers. It felt like music meant for them.

Claire’s hand lifted and rested lightly on Rae’s shoulder. Rae’s palm steadied itself at Claire’s waist. They began to move again, but only barely. Their steps slowed until they were hardly dancing at all, only swaying gently together in the hush of the corridor. The proximity was intimate, unguarded, the sort of closeness that required no choreography because it came from instinct rather than instruction.

Claire leaned in until her forehead brushed Rae’s temple. It was a soft, instinctive touch, so natural it felt as though her body had been waiting for it.

“Rae,” she murmured.

The way she spoke her name, so soft and fragile and reverent, nearly shattered Rae’s composure.

“Yes?” Rae whispered. Her breath caught, her heart stumbling over the closeness.

“I thought I had lost you tonight,” Claire said. Her voice wavered, thick with emotion.

Rae went completely still.

“When I opened my eyes,” Claire continued, “for a moment I believed you might have been only a dream. Something I imagined because I could not bear to let go. Something I reached for but could not hold.”

A sharp ache bloomed in Rae’s chest. She tightened her hold just slightly and brushed her thumb over Claire’s knuckles, trying to soothe the tremor beneath her skin.

“I am here now,” Rae whispered.

The music swelled faintly from the ballroom. Claire slipped both arms around Rae’s neck and pressed herself closer, her cheek warming against Rae’s. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, catching the lantern light.

“Rae… I think I…”

A sudden rustle of movement echoed from between the tall marble columns lining the corridor. Something clattered, as though a heel or a sword or an entire guard had slipped against polished stone. A startled yelp followed, then a muffled thump, and the faint sound of someone scrambling upright.

Rae and Claire both turned their heads sharply toward the noise. The tension in the air snapped like a taut string.

Rae exhaled in faint exasperation, her disappointment soft but unmistakable. “Should we go check on them?”

Before she could move, Claire cupped Rae’s face between both hands. Her grip was gentle, but her resolve was absolute. She guided Rae’s gaze back to her.

“No. Ignore them.”

Rae blinked in surprise. “Claire?”

Claire’s eyes were fierce, shining with a clarity and determination Rae had never seen directed at her so openly. It was the look of someone who had reached her limit, who had decided she would no longer allow fear or circumstance or fate to interrupt what her heart had already chosen.

She drew a breath, trembling yet steady.

“Rae Taylor,” Claire said, and her voice shook with certainty, “I love you.”

Time halted. The world fell away. Rae felt the words hit her like warmth spreading through her entire being, so sudden and overwhelming she almost could not breathe.

“Claire,” Rae whispered. Her voice cracked open completely. “I love you too.”

And Claire leaned in and kissed her.

Notes:

And so we’ve reached the end… or perhaps only the end for now. This experimental piece has been an absolute joy to create, and I’m genuinely grateful that you chose to spend your time with it. What started as a simple idea transformed into something far more emotional and intricate than I expected, and watching it grow alongside your reactions has been one of the most rewarding parts of the process.

To everyone who consistently left encouraging notes and comments, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your excitement, your insights, your gentle chaos in the tags—it all kept me writing on days when life was pulling me in a hundred different directions. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to respond lately; work commitments and travel have kept me away more than I’d like. But please know that I read everything, and every message meant something.

If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment. I treasure every single one.

And… who knows? There may be a something stirring in the wings—ideas that won’t quite leave me alone, scenes I keep imagining, and little threads that still want to be tied off. If you’d like to see more of these characters, keep an eye out.

Until next time. ♥

Chapter 25: Post Credit Scene

Rae Ohashi entered her apartment like someone trying not to think too hard. She dropped her keys somewhere near the couch and went straight to her desk. It was the only place that felt familiar after everything that had happened in the other world.

She slumped into her chair, every muscle trembling with overwork, grief, and the hollow ache that came from leaving a world that felt more like home than this quiet one-bedroom apartment ever had.

Her fingers drifted to the locket resting against her collarbone.

The metal was warm, warmer than it should have been. She swallowed around a tight knot in her throat as the memory of Claire surfaced once again.

Drawing what courage she had left, she unclasped the locket. Inside, the tiny data chip glimmered with a faint, pulsing light.

Rae exhaled shakily.

“Alright. Let’s… see what is inside.”

She plugged the locket’s drive into her PC.

And waited.

The screen remained blank.

Utterly, persistently blank.

No text. No flicker. No progress bar valiantly trying to convince her something—anything—was happening. The laptop simply stared back at her with the silent indifference of a closed door.

Rae sat there for a long moment, shoulders slowly deflating.

“…Alright,” she whispered, a tired sigh slipping out. “I get it.”

She closed her eyes and pressed the heels of her palms against them, willing the sting of tears away. When the darkness behind her lids deepened, she almost laughed. “What am I even doing…? It’s just code. Just a game.”

But the ache in her chest said otherwise. For a moment, she could almost feel the warmth of another hand in hers, the echo of laughter, the weight of unspoken words.

The quiet of her apartment folded around her as she shut the laptop lid, thin and fragile as a half-forgotten dream. Nothing had changed. Nothing had happened.

---

Across worlds, Rae Taylor stood before the everblooms arranged on the small table in Claire’s room, their soft glow reflecting in her eyes. She had been there awhile, her thoughts drifting far beyond the thick stone walls.

The door opened with a gentle click.

“Rae?” Claire stepped inside, her voice warm, her presence filling the room like sunlight. She approached slowly, sensing something fragile in the air. “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight. Is something troubling you?”

Rae didn’t turn immediately. She drew a slow breath, lips curving into a small, wistful smile before she finally met Claire’s gaze.

“I was… thinking about her,” Rae said softly. “Rae Ohashi. How much she must be hurting right now. How painful it is.”

Claire’s expression softened, her brows knitting with the rare, unguarded empathy she seemed to show only to Rae. She reached out and brushed her fingers against Rae’s hand.

“I see,” she murmured. “Even across worlds, you still worry for her.”

Rae huffed a faint laugh. “She and I are the same person, in a way. But… also not. She has her own heart. Her own path.”

Claire stepped closer, studying Rae with that quiet intensity she never disguised when it was just the two of them. “Rae Taylor,” she said gently, “since fate brought you to this world… to me… I believe fate will bring her to where she belongs as well.”

“It feels more like fate dragged me here to clean up the mess I caused,” Rae said with an uneasy smile. “Not that I’m complaining.”

She exhaled. “What if fate decides to punish her?”

Claire answered without hesitation.

“If Rae Ohashi carries even a fraction of your heart,” Claire said, touching her own chest, “then I trust someone will find her. I just… know it. It’s only a matter of time.”

Something in Rae’s chest eased, as if Claire’s words slipped through the very threads of reality to steady her.

“Claire…” she whispered.

Claire squeezed her hand. “She won’t be alone forever. Just as you aren’t.”

Rae looked at her gratefully and for the first time that evening, she allowed herself to breathe.

---

Rae’s head lolled onto the edge of her desk, eyelids heavy, a few stolen minutes of nap finally hers amidst the chaos of the office. The soft hum of fluorescent lights and the muted clatter of keyboards was a lullaby she didn’t know she needed.

Until a sharp shriek pierced through the quiet.

Her eyes snapped open in alarm.

Three figures hovered near her cubicle. Three. And far too close for comfort.

The first figure she recognized immediately. “Lilly?” Rae croaked, rubbing her eyes. Lilly’s wide smile and animated gestures confirmed it, though she seemed distracted. She was crouched slightly, trying to calm the first newcomer, a tall woman practically vibrating with excitement while clutching one of the prints Rae had scattered across her table.

Lilly, oblivious to Rae’s startled state, turned as Rae stirred. “I hope we’re not interrupting,” she began, stepping aside to reveal the two women following her.

The first stranger, bright-eyed and brimming with energy, immediately lit up. Her gaze shot to the prints, and she let out another piercing squeal that made Lilly flinch.

“Oh my goodness! Is that the villainess prototype for the new series? The rendering is gorgeous!” She clasped her hands, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Do you have more? Is this part of the alternate route? Wait, is this from the rumored ‘extra romance line’? I knew it! I knew it!”

Rae opened her mouth but a slight movement caused her gaze to shifted to the second stranger.

She had not spoken a word yet. She didn’t need to. Every inch of her radiated cool detachment, posture flawless, movements deliberate and precise, like someone performing a silent inspection of the world.

Rae’s chest tightened in disbelief as she watched the woman reach for the latest print with meticulous care and examined it.

Panicking internally, Rae pinched herself hard thrice, wishing for visage to disappear.

Lilly’s soft, tentative voice broke through Rae’s spiraling thoughts. “Uh… Rae? What’s—what’s going on? You look pale.”

“I—I think… I’m still in a dream!” Rae blurted, hands flying to her face. “This… this can’t be real. It’s—it’s a dream, right?”

The immaculate stranger lowered the print, fixing Rae with an icy stare sharp enough to slice through three layers of self-respect.

Rae waved her hands frantically. “No! You don’t understand. I—I met you in the metaverse. A younger version of you, I mean. And I had to fight the system to rewrite a happy ending for you and this sounds insane, oh god—”

The stranger blinked once. Slowly.

“Oh,” she said, voice gliding somewhere between curiosity and mockery. “Is this the latest pick-up line circulating in the gaming community?”

Rae covered her face with her hands. “I must be hallucinating!”

The excitable stranger nudged another print to the woman and whispered loudly, “Be gentle with her. You are her digital muse. No wonder she is freaking out now.”

The woman gave her a look that promised retribution, then returned her gaze to Rae. Silence stretched, making Rae feel like she could melt into the floor and disappear entirely.

Lilly, suddenly nervous at the awkward situation, stepped in. “I, um, should introduce our new hires before we discuss the localization schedule. This is—”

“I’m Lene Aurousseau from the QA department!” the fangirl declared before Lilly could finish. She thrust both hands out as if presenting herself to royalty. “And I am SUCH a huge fan of your work!”

Rae blinked in confusion. “…My work?”

“Yes!” Lene practically glittered. “You’re Rae Ohashi , the lead developer for the Build Your Villain mod, right?” She squealed, hands clasping dramatically. “You revolutionized custom villain routes! Do you know how many hours I lost designing morally ambiguous heartthrobs? TOO MANY, AND I REGRET NOTHING.”

Lilly, trying desperately to regain control of the spiraling chaos once more, clapped her hands once. “Okay! Rae, this is —”

“It is unnecessary. I am fully capable of introducing myself,” the second woman interrupted, her voice clear, imperious. “Although I have questions about the work professionalism your colleague here is currently displaying.”

Rae opened her mouth to explain but she was cut off as the woman stepped forward, spine straight, chin high, radiating effortless authority. Every inch of her was poised, immaculate—a queen before her court.

“I am Claire François,” she announced, tone calm but commanding. “Temporary translator for your upcoming titles. I have offered my services pro bono in exchange for a clear understanding of the internal processes of game development.”

Then she leaned in slowly, closing the distance until Rae forgot how lungs worked.

With one finger, Claire pushed Rae’s sliding glasses back up her nose.

“Tell me,” Claire murmured, voice dangerously amused, “do I look like your dream girl?”

Lene squealed.
Lilly choked on air.
And Rae, horrified, could only whisper—

“…Why is this my life?”

 

Notes:

Hello readers. This is my first posting in AO3 so please go easy on me.

In this AU, Rae's personality would be more subdued than her character in the anime/manage as she will be bringing her "adult" self to this game. Stay tune for more.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Debugging Love Series