…And somewhere in the distance, beyond the walls of the estate, the world waited for the villainess’s first appearance at the banquet.
The bell rang again.
Louder this time.
Evelina flinched so hard she nearly stumbled into the wardrobe again.
“Nope. No. I refuse to accept that bell means what I think it means.”
She grabbed the edge of the table beside her and steadied herself, eyes darting around the room like the furniture might suddenly start judging her.
The cat—Mochi—was already sitting on the vanity table.
Calm.
Composed.
Annoyingly comfortable.
“You are slow,” Mochi thought. “Banquet departure timing is suboptimal.”
Evelina pointed at him.
“I am having a mental crisis. I think that takes priority over ‘timing.’”
Mochi blinked.
“Mental crisis is expected. Villainess preparation phase includes instability.”
“That is not a phase!”
He tilted his head slightly.
“It is now.”
Evelina groaned and walked toward the wardrobe.
Inside were dresses she didn’t recognize—layers of dark silk, elegant gloves, jewelry that looked like it could buy a small village.
All of it screamed one thing:
You are the villainess. Please proceed to your downfall politely.
“I need a disguise,” she muttered.
Mochi hopped down and followed her like a shadow.
“Disguise is unnecessary. Your reputation already does that.”
“That is not reassuring!”
A knock came at the door.
Sharp. Controlled.
Before Evelina could respond, the door opened anyway.
A maid stepped in.
Perfect posture. Expression unreadable.
“Lady Evelina,” she said, “the carriage is prepared.”
Evelina froze.
“…Carriage?”
The maid nodded once.
“Yes. For the royal banquet.”
Evelina’s soul left her body for a moment.
Behind her, Mochi yawned.
“Good. Transport efficiency confirmed.”
Evelina turned slowly toward him.
“Why are you acting like this is normal?”
“Because it is happening.”
“That is not— that is not how reality works!”
The maid blinked slightly, watching Evelina argue with empty air.
“…Is everything alright, my lady?”
Evelina straightened instantly.
“Yes. Perfect. Everything is extremely normal.”
Mochi added:
“She is lying.”
Evelina whispered through her teeth:
“I will throw you out a window.”
Mochi replied calmly:
“You require me for strategic stability.”
Within minutes, she was dressed.
Dark noble gown. Elegant gloves. Hair carefully arranged by trembling maids who looked like they were preparing a sacred ritual rather than styling hair.
Evelina stared at herself in the mirror again.
The villainess looked back.
Perfect. Elegant. Dangerous-looking.
“…I look like I’m about to ruin someone’s life,” she muttered.
Mochi nodded approvingly.
“Yes. Successful appearance.”
“I did not try to succeed!”
“Yet you did.”
Evelina covered her face with both hands.
“This is the worst talent I have ever had.”
The carriage waited outside.
Black lacquered wood. Royal insignia. Guards standing like statues.
Everything screamed importance.
And danger.
And plot relevance.
Evelina stepped outside slowly, like walking might activate a trap.
The moment her foot touched the carriage step—
A guard straightened instantly.
“Lady Evelina Vexmoor,” he said respectfully, almost nervously.
She froze mid-step.
“…Yes?”
The guard hesitated.
“His Majesty expects your… presence to be… impactful.”
Evelina blinked.
“…Impactful?”
Mochi leaned forward from inside her mind:
“They respect you.”
“No they don’t.”
“They fear you.”
“I haven’t done anything!”
“Exactly.”
Evelina climbed into the carriage like she was being sentenced.
The doors closed.
The carriage began moving.
And for the first time since waking up in this world—
Lady Evelina Vexmoor was heading toward the royal banquet.
Not as a background noble.
Not as a maid.
But as the villainess whose name was already quietly shaping fear, admiration, and confusion across the empire.
Evelina sat rigidly in her seat.
“…I’m going to die socially before I even get there,” she whispered.
Mochi curled up beside her like a victorious strategist.
“Relax. We begin Phase One: misunderstanding escalation.”
Evelina stared at him.
“I hate Phase One.”
The carriage rolled forward into the city lights.
And toward the first moment where fate would try—and fail—to correct itself.
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