The Protagonist and the First Quest

The next morning, I “woke up”—though honestly, it’s more accurate to say I simply stopped staring at the ceiling. Sleep? That didn’t happen… My thoughts were full of images: blades, hot blood sliding down my neck, and the broken, confused faces of my parents when they discovered their daughter wouldn’t come back.

So no, sleep wasn’t really an option.

With tired eyes and a parched throat, I forced myself to get up. There were things to do, priorities to set. First: stay far away from any hero, no matter how handsome, stupid, or radiant. Second: do whatever it takes not to draw the attention of their clingy villainesses—those lunatics with serious “Imperial Yandere” complex. And third (equally important): fix up this charming “Kathryn.”

My plan for now was simple: revise this depressing outfit and do something about this hair that looks like it lost all its willpower.

Because yes, I may be trapped in this body… but I am NOT Kathryn. And since I got stuck with this avatar, I might as well make it look more like me.

Though when I checked the time on that floating digital clock—one of those weird, steampunk-ish tech details scattered throughout the academy—I figured deep changes could wait.

With that in mind, I left the room, giving zero remorse to the mess I’d left behind last night. Let the magical cleaning elves or whatever handle it here. As I walked down those halls—baroque columns blended with dim digital panels—I felt eyes boring into my back like tiny pins.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” I murmured. Or maybe that was just the usual protagonist effect… you know, the infamous “main character aura” that everyone notices before you even speak.

But it wasn’t either of those. The answer arrived instantly: an elegant blonde lady approaching, hair in soft waves that seemed almost independently graceful. Each strand looked like it knew how to dance—even without permission from the wind. The front was carefully pulled into two loops framing her face with porcelain precision, giving off a doll-like vibe—but a dangerous one.

Her hairstyle spoke volumes even before she opened her mouth, like each lock was shouting “I matter,” and yet when she did speak, her voice was sweeter than honey but sharper than a dagger.

The queen of pain herself: the prince’s fiancée.

“Can someone tell me why you look so terribly pathetic? Even a commoner like you should know at least basic decency,” she spat. Her voice was that treacherous dagger in honey. “I order you to fix your uniform. Now.”

Her eyes—cold, blue, crystal-like—showed zero mercy. And honestly? I couldn’t entirely blame her. I’d gone to sleep in my uniform, woken up unkempt, and looked like someone who remembered they were murdered last night. Clearly not peak form.

“Ok, got it… sorry. I had, uh… a crazy night. You could almost say I got murdered,” I replied, raising my brows. Maybe that way I feel less trashy.

“Honestly, I don’t care. Don’t disgrace Libelling Academy with your pitiful presence. You should be grateful to the principal for even letting someone like you be among us.”

Someone like me? I wondered—and felt it all over. My tail, wrapped instinctively around my left thigh, twitched. Right—how could I forget? I am a Nen. And here, that’s almost like being a cockroach in fancy clothes. A twisted brand of “noble racism”—how original.

If I didn’t know she could banish me to another Otome world in a heartbeat, I’d’ve knocked her out. But that’d be suicidal, so no thanks.

The blonde crossed her arms, face bitter—paradoxically making her look extra adorable. Yeah, that’s beauty for you!

Clearly she expected me to respond.

“Okay. I’ll step away. Could you—umm—tell the teacher I’ll be late?”

I decided to comply just to get away. Less contact with her meant fewer chances to get hurt.

“When did I become your messenger? And mind your tone. You should show us respect.”

“Just do it, okay? Or I can go in exactly like this. I doubt it’ll change how people see me,” I said with a resigned smile, fully aware that was the quickest way to piss her off.

Not clever if what I want is to live in harmony.

Maybe I was halfway to suicidal? Don´t now… My mind is fucked up…

Carlotta’s glare got ice-cold. Yup… I’d definitely pissed her off.

What a stupid… Fine. Second life, so long.

I closed my eyes, bracing for her to launch some kind of bloody attack. But instead, a male voice cut through the tension with a sickeningly sweet tone… one I definitely didn’t appreciate.

“Ah ah—Miss Wiebke, you shouldn’t be so harsh, my dear.”

Perfect. Just who I didn’t want to see.

The prince—I think his name was Mikha? No… Kael? Kaelvarion! Yes, Kaelvarion Lysandre von Something-Snobby—appeared with that golden-boy smile and that “everything works out because I’m hot” swagger.

He was the hero from the “Bandit Prince” route—and Carlotta’s long-time fiancé.

“Your Majesty,” Carlotta said, bowing in perfect form despite her venom. “If I don’t correct her behavior, I’d be condoning disorder. And that would be a failure in my duties as nobility.”

“And? Chill, will you? The poor girl already had enough with your performance yesterday. Right, Kathryn?” he winked at me. Ugh, total cringe.

Who made him think he could call me by my first name?! Plus—why are the girls around us squealing like that over some romantic scene?

Also—I do not want to talk to him! Can’t you see Carlotta’s giving me life-threatening vibes?

“Thanks, but I don’t need any help. And my last name is Adelheid—don’t use my first name.”

“How dare you!” Carlotta raised her hand like she was ready to slap me—the last thing I wanted after the slap I gave myself last night.
My sensitivity? Maxed.
So I literally peed a little from fear. Awesome.

Luckily—or maybe not—the prince laughed and held Carlotta’s wrist.

“I like your attitude. How about I tell the teacher?”

Oh right. We’re in their class. Thanks, lazy slapstick convenience of Otome plots.

“Sure. I’d appreciate that… bye-bye.”

I decided to go with the flow and fade away like garbage in the sea.

Then—Pop!
A shiny notification popped up in front of my eyes.

[Protagonist Quest: Have a pervert-fall on top of one of the main characters. Time left: 00:01:00.]

That damn menu again.

…Pervert-fall?

Hold up…. that cliché scene where someone trips and lands on another person, face in boobs, hands who-knows-where?

I used to laugh at that kind of scene when I was fourteen.

Much less now, when I’m seventeen—or technically twenty, now that I´m Kathryn.

Wait… how is that even supposed to work if I’m a woman? Do I have to allow the heroes to grope me?

Just thinking about it makes my stomach churn.

Or worse: am I the one who has to grope them?

No. No, no, no. That’s even worse. I’m not a degenerate.

Also… one minute? That means only the prince is an option.

“Noooo!” I hissed quietly, swallowing panic.

The timer at the top counted down like a death sentence:
00:45… 00:44… 00:43…

What do I do? What am I supposed to do?

… Maybe I… I just have to let it go.

It´s not so bad if I think so.

Live hear, where my family is not. Just don't feel good.

… But, if I died again… that's it. No live. No nothing.

If I let that stupid thing kill me I will not go back to my live.

And… I kinda feel… like… scary.

I died already and that doesn't feel good.

… I-I don't wanna go to a void!

Thinking twice, I WILL NOT FUCKING GET KILL BY THIS SHIT!

I re-read the message… once, twice, three times—ignoring the curious stares settling on me like flies on rotting fruit.

“Miss Kathryn…” Kaelvarion’s voice echoed from the background.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay, commoner?” Carlotta’s sugary-poison voice snapped me back.

For a second—a fleeting second—her glare softened. Like under all that venom and condescension, there was a tiny flicker of something human. But of course, not enough to make her forget her “divine princess of moral superiority” role.

Then… I had an idea. And yep, it proved I’m stubbornly not in self-preservation mode.

The quest only said:
“Have a pervert-fall on top of one of the main characters.”

It didn’t specify the hero. Technically… Carlotta is a main character. Heroine or anti-heroine, whatever. Otome needs villainess too, right?

So… yep. This is gonna go very badly for me… Please… don´t died...

Timer read 00:18. Fine.

Time to trust my summer-class acting skills from that one day I actually went. Skills basically limited to pretending a stomach ache to skip class.

I inhaled deeply, closed my eyes for a moment, and plastered a trembling, hurt face.

“Erm. I'm okay, just… maybe not so okay,” I stammered, stepping forward slowly, robot-like, walking straight toward them. Specifically—toward her.

Carlotta stepped back, visibly alarmed.

“W-What are you doing?” she asked, uneasy.

“Sorry—sorry—sorry…” I repeated like a mantra, bracing for what I was about to do.

I knew I was crossing a line. A very questionable line. I was about to become a disgusting waste of a person… well, a Nen. You get it.

“Oops!” I squeaked in a high voice, exactly as the timer hit 00:01.

I plowed toward her as if the floor would swallow me. And my face… landed right in her chest. Soft. Too warm. My face bounced a couple times, like I’d found the world’s best trampoline.

She smelled amazing—like some heady citrus perfume. But anyway—I snapped back into reality remembering I’d just executed a VERY dumb, poorly-acted stunt.

The hallway went completely silent.
Not even the hum of holograms or distant footsteps.
Just the soft impact. Her body shaking. And my soul abandoning my embarrassment.

Great. Just great.

I became the cliché of clichés.

And on top of the most socially powerful villainess in the game.

You know… I changed my mind. I wanted to die again. Preferably quickly. And with no witnesses.

But the worst part hadn’t come yet. The worst part… was what she was going to say.

For one eternal moment, the only thing in my world was the soft texture of Carlotta’s dress and the expensive scent: a blend of violets and verbal stabs.

Then she screamed—

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, TRASH?!"