Cosplay Knowledge Proven Useful

What the actual f**k was that supposed to mean?!

I'd just taken a marble block to the head, practically on death's door, and this chick called that "elegant"? That's seriously messed up. Like, clinical-level of messed up.

Imagine saying that while the person in-question was about to die. Insane.

Shoving down the raw, guttural scream trying to escape, I somehow clicked into the auto-pilot mode for the pose. My muscle memory for those "I'm a powerful baddie" cosplay poses kicked in: chin high, shoulders just so, fan flicked open with a silent snap. 

Similarly akin to the one of a pretentious, narcissistic smuggler. Perhaps, smuggler wasn't the proper term to portray this current situation happened to me but never mind.

We ball.

"Oh my, that indeed was close, my dearest servant,"

I purred, my insides doing a full-body cringe and I myself cringed by it.

No. What in the actual f**k did I just say?!

That sounded straight out of some historical drama, not "most wanted criminal" material.

Let alone some kind of worthy villainess feared and respected by everyone.

Wait a minute...

My detective brain, against my will, started cross-referencing. Villainesses.

In these types of stories, they're almost always and most likely high-ranking nobles. Which means... yeah. Pretentious. Narcissistic. All that obnoxious, entitled garbage.

My brain was, like, actively short-circuiting. Messing around to find out and figure it out.
Meanwhile, this poor servant—with a classic total NPC vibes, by the way—bowed so low her forehead almost kissed the grass. Her cheeks went full tomato.

 Hold up. Did I just rizz her? Unknowingly? Is that a thing in this world?

Well, I guess cosplay knowledge proven useful here. Somehow.

"A-ah! Milady! Of course not! You're far too graceful to falter!" she gushed.

Way too polite. Like I was, what, some kind of kingdom's royalty?
Okay, what was her name again? Is there, like, a user manual for this gig? Or...

And just like that, the translucent panel popped for the second time by far.

[Elysia von Schmidt]

Oh. So that's how this actually works... I see.

My detective brain, against all logic, filed the info then stamped it into my mind.

 "Certainly, my dearest servant, Elysia."

Her head actually tilted, a question mark etched all over her face.

"Milady, I hereby shall plea not to address my name for I haven't earned the privilege to do so. Wasn't that the one message you always told me?"

My jaw actually went slack. A freaking name hierarchy? You're kidding me.

No s**t Sherlock!  The internal alarm bells in my head shrieked.

 That ain't gonna work! 

My brain then all of a sudden, and almost instantly, processed the red flags strayed all over the path: what if we were never 'close'? What if this 'Villainess Clarisse' had always been a total ice queen? And what even ARE the rules for 'earning privilege' in this goddamn noble nonsense?

 My detective instincts were screaming for a dossier I didn't have in-store.

Elysia, however, just looked even more confused, her question mark-etched face deepening her facial feature, as if begrudging a demand.

"Milady, I hereby shall plea not to address my name for I haven't earned the privilege to do so. Wasn't that the one message you always told me?"

Okay, okay, let's take some deep breaths. Fuuh~ Haa~

If she wasn't that mad, then what exactly was she feeling right now? 

Elysia's eyes, wide and earnest, seemed to be pleading in front of me.

She was worried, maybe? Scared? Anxious? Or perhaps threatened?

I was puzzled by her reaction, and my detective brain, despite being fried, had to solve it.

I scanned her face, her stance, searching for any tell. The memory of some vague webtoon trope told by my sis flickered: an overly devoted servant, a strict master... and a secret.

Suddenly, a flicker of something clicked into place, like a piece of intel finally slotting into a larger case file. Not a memory of my past life, but a flash of this body's.

A fragmented image: a grand hall, hushed whispers, and Elysia's terrified face, younger, paler.

And me, or rather, Clarisse, standing over her, a dark cloak swirling, a single, decisive command. 

No... way. This is not gonna happen. Impossible.

My carefully constructed noble façade nearly shattered, but I forced it back into place.

My voice, when it came out, was deeper, laced with a gravitas that even surprised me. "Yes, Elysia," I stated, the fan snapping shut in my hand with a sharp thwack. "And I remember another message, one I delivered the day I got you out of there."

Elysia visibly flinched. Her eyes, which had been fixed on my face, darted away, then snapped back, wide with a mixture of terror and dawning recognition. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

Oh. My. God.
Another panel, shimmering gleefully like a glitch in the Matrix, slammed into my view.

[Clarisse von Fahrmann: Disowned Royal Princess of the Gevurah Kingdom, former Crown Heir. Status: Fugitive. Current Objective: To dismantle the corrupt Royal Families.]
[Elysia von Schmidt: Hidden Royal Princess of the Yehwach Kingdom, Clarisse's former ward. Status: Fugitive. Current Objective: To serve Clarisse and reclaim her throne.]

My mind blanked.
WAIT A MINUTE... A ROYAL PRINCESS?!
I stared at the panels, then at the stunned Elysia, then back at the panels again.

Not only am I the most wanted criminal running a mafia, but I'm also... royalty? And apparently, I rescued Elysia, who's also royalty? From her own kingdom? And now she's my 'ward'? What in the actual manhwa plot twist is this?!

The sheer audacity of it made me want to throw the fan. A detective turned into a villainess princess who trafficked illegal goods, girlbossed male leads, AND was secretly a fugitive who rescued another princess? My brain couldn't even process the layers of ridiculous. This wasn't just a story; this was a meta-textual, genre-bending, logic-defying nightmare.

This is going to be a long, malding life.
What fresh hell was this new "chapter" about me about to throw at me?