I wasn’t supposed to be here.
Correction: I wasn’t supposed to be her.
But here I am—trapped inside a fantasy novel, playing the part of the villainess. The one who torments the sweet younger princess, does unspeakable things, and gets banished in the end. You know, the classic Wicked Stepsister type.
According to the system in my head, the only way out was to “follow the storyline.”
So I did everything the plot demanded—sabotaged, schemed, slandered. I became public enemy number one. The kind of girl little kids throw rocks at in the streets.
And then?
The system crashed.
[WARNING: Storyline divergence detected.]
[Please locate narrative truth to continue.]
…What the hell does that mean?
“AHHH—!”
Freya’s shriek yanked me back to the present.
Our etiquette teacher froze mid-sentence, and the entire class turned to look at the scene: Freya standing on her chair, frantically swatting at her gown. Her sea-green eyes welled with tears, lips trembling.
Then came the punchline—an ugly, confused-looking toad plopped onto the marble floor from under her hem.
[Daily Task: Prank Freya √ 4/7]
A robotic voice rang in my head.
“Yes! Nailed it,” I whispered under my breath.
But my victory was short-lived. The etiquette teacher narrowed her eyes and snapped, “Princess Willow. Was this your doing?”
Busted.
I froze, my brain flipping through a thousand excuses like flashcards. Nothing sounded remotely believable. And from the look in her eyes, she wasn’t buying any of it anyway.
“I—”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Freya said softly, stepping forward. “I must’ve brought the toad in by mistake. Please punish me if you must.”
Wait, what?
I turned, shocked. She was still misty-eyed, still clutching the folds of her dress. But there was something steely beneath that doe-eyed shimmer. A quiet, determined sparkle.
There’s a saying at Evermist Academy:
“When Freya of House Lightwood looks at you, your heart forgets how to beat.”
No lie—no one could say no to her. Not even our father, the King himself.
She was everything a royal should be.
Kind. Gentle. Adored.
And me?
Willow, the Crown Princess. Cold. Calculating. Alone.
She had the signature silver-blonde hair and green eyes of our bloodline. I inherited our mother’s jet-black hair—an outsider queen from a neighboring realm. Even my emerald eyes were a shade too dark to feel like I belonged.
The teacher gave us a long, suspicious glance, then sighed. “Let this be a one-time incident. Now—back to class.”
“Willow, wait up!”
As soon as class ended, I bolted down the corridor. I didn’t even look back at Freya calling after me. My head was spinning.
“System? Hey, system! Where are you?”
Why the hell was Freya helping me? She wasn’t supposed to! That’s not how the story went.
I tore her exam scroll during the entrance test, ruined her ballgown with ink, and just now, traumatized her with a damn toad—her biggest childhood fear.
Yet every time, she’d cover for me. Smile at me like I hadn’t just publicly humiliated her. So sweet. So perfect.
[Access denied: Insufficient level. Unable to read subject’s mental state. Please continue executing target objectives.]
I clenched my fists and stomped to a stop in the courtyard.
“Stupid system!”
I wanted answers, not another vague command. And maybe—just maybe—I was starting to feel a little… guilty?
“Your Highness?”
The voice startled me.
I looked up and there he was—Thorne Drake. Right out of the original storyline. The second son of the Duke of Drake, polished, charming, and oh yeah—the novel’s leading man.
In the book, he exposes all of Willow’s crimes and helps Freya rise to power. And of course, he ends up marrying her. Because of course he does.
“Good afternoon, Princess Willow,” he said with a perfect courtly bow. A group of other well-bred nobles behind him echoed the greeting.
“Afternoon,” I murmured, nodding back. I could feel the awkward tension behind their politeness. Like I smelled bad and they were too rich to say it out loud.
Thorne looked mildly concerned. “You’re enrolled in the Advanced Magic Practicum, right? It starts in five minutes.”
Oh. Shit.
“Thanks,” I muttered, already hiking up my gown and sprinting.
Professor Thornfield was known across the academy as a terror with no filter. She didn’t care if your last name was King, Drake, or Dirtbag—if you were late, you got burned.
Literally.
“Princess Willow, please demonstrate the advanced fireball technique.”
Ugh.
I’d spent the first ten minutes of class trying to stay invisible. No luck. Professor Thornfield always picked me when it came to raw magic performance.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t wrong—Willow had power. Massive, stable power. It was the one thing I had going for me.
I stepped onto the stone platform, took a deep breath, and raised my hand.
A flame sparked to life in my palm. Then two. Then three. They twisted together, pulsing and growing into a compact fireball.
Everything was fine—until it wasn’t.
A strange sensation prickled down my spine. My concentration slipped. The fire flickered.
Something was wrong.
I tried to pull more magic, but the energy was barely a fraction of what it should’ve been.
“Princess?” the professor asked, frowning and stepping forward.
Panic hit hard.
She couldn’t find out. If she did, the storyline would derail even further—and I might never get home.
In the original narrative, Willow’s magic was her crown jewel. Unshakable. Legendary. The main reason she remained in contention for the throne.
This glitch? This weakness? Not part of the plot.
I was about to fake faint when a familiar drawl sliced through the silence.
“Professor, I think Her Highness just finds basic fireballs beneath her talents. Perhaps we should ask her to demonstrate a fusion spell?”
I whipped my head around.
Elias Vale leaned lazily against the back wall, his smile a little too smug.
Of course it was him.
“Well,” the professor said, tapping her chin. “That is our next unit. Very well. Elias, assist the princess.”
I barely had time to exhale before Elias was beside me, breath warm near my ear.
“Relax, Your Highness. I’ve got you.”
One hand wrapped around my shoulder. The other cupped beneath mine.
His magic flowed into me like liquid sunlight—steady, warm, grounding. Together, we released a surge of beautifully woven magic.
An elemental fusion—fire and wind. Bright. Controlled. Perfect.
The class burst into applause.
“Excellent work!” Professor Thornfield clapped. “Both of you have remarkable synergy.”
I forced a smile, my mind still reeling.
Elias bowed slightly beside me, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Need more help, Princess?”
BAM.
I slammed Elias against the wall, my fist clenching the collar of his uniform.
“What the hell do you know?” I snapped.
He winced like I’d actually hurt him, though his smirk never quite disappeared. “Easy, Princess. If you want my secrets, maybe try asking nicely?”
I didn’t answer. A shard of frost-blue energy crystallized in my other palm, sharp as a dagger, and I pressed it right against his throat.
His hands went up immediately. “Alright, alright. No need to get stabby.”
His eyes—deep ocean blue—met mine, and for a second, he looked… familiar. Not like I’d met him before, but like I was supposed to know him.
“The further you drift from your original path,” he said calmly, “the weaker the elements respond. Keep going like this… and one day, your magic just won’t answer anymore.”
My grip loosened. “What do you mean, ‘original path’?”
“That’s all I’m allowed to say,” he murmured, leaning in slightly. “But if I were you… I’d stop pretending to be someone I’m not.”
“Princess Willow. Princess Freya. Please come draw your internship assignment.”
Professor Morgan held out two folded slips of parchment, her voice echoing across the classroom.
A ripple of whispers followed instantly.
“Again? Those two paired up again?”
“Poor Freya. She always ends up with Willow… she’s basically a punching bag at this point.”
“I swear, it’s like the professors want Freya to suffer.”
I ignored them.
Because the second I handed our assignment slip back to the professor, the cold robotic voice rang in my head again:
[Main Quest: Ensure Freya is injured during internship – 0/1]
Wait, what?
Professor Morgan unfolded the slip. “S-Class assignment: Venture into the Forbidden Woods and retrieve the molted skin of a Golden-Ribbon Viper.”
“S-Class?!” the room exploded.
My eyes locked with Freya’s. She looked terrified. Honestly? So was I.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I hissed the words in my empty bedroom, pacing like a caged wolf. “That place is suicide!”
The Forbidden Woods weren’t just dangerous—they were cursed. Infested with magical beasts, ancient traps, and relic spells nobody even understood anymore. Hell, some unlucky idiots walked in and never walked out as people. There were documented cases of limbs gone missing, of minds corrupted beyond saving, of witches turning into literal monsters.
[Final Objective: Completion of this mission will fulfill return conditions. Current progress: 90%. One final task remains.]
The system’s voice was ice-cold. Not helpful.
My fingers trembled as I clenched them at my sides.
I was so close. One step from going home. My real life. My world.
But all it would take… was letting Freya get hurt.
She wasn’t just a character anymore. She’d been kind to me. Patient. Forgiving. Even when I pulled horrible pranks on her, she smiled like I was her sister, not her tormentor.
And now I was supposed to feed her to a cursed forest?
My gut twisted.
“Wait… the task just says she has to get hurt during the internship,” I said out loud. “What if she trips? Scrapes a knee? Paper cut?”
[Injury must be sustained from magical creature or Forbidden spell. Minor harm will not fulfill the requirement.]
“Damn it!”
I grabbed my hair in frustration, thoughts spiraling. I couldn’t do this.
And yet… I couldn’t stop thinking about home.
It felt like a dream—no, a nightmare.
Shouts, spells crackling, students screaming. Freya—bloody, limp—slipping from my arms as someone took her.
“We’ve got her! She’s going to the palace infirmary!”
I just stood there. Let them pull her away.
I couldn’t hear anything anymore. My lungs were tight. My vision blurry. My hands were shaking, and I didn’t even realize I wasn’t breathing until I choked on my next gasp of air.
“Princess Willow! Are you alright?!”
Someone caught me. A royal attendant, I think. His voice sounded like it was underwater.
I doubled over, coughing violently, tears stinging my eyes. Everything hurt. Not my body—my soul.
“Your Highness, the King requests your presence immediately.”
The words barely registered.
“The King… my father… yeah. Okay.” My voice cracked. It didn’t sound like me.
“Willow! What happened? Are you hurt?”
My father—yes, the actual King of Elaria—rushed toward me the second I stumbled into his study.
He looked more terrified than I’d ever seen him. And the moment I saw his face, everything crumbled.
I burst into tears.
“I… I’m sorry… I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t protect Freya…”
He pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me like he used to when I was a scared little girl.
“This wasn’t your fault,” he said softly. “The Forbidden Woods are dangerous. You both knew that.”
“But she—she got hit by that spell, and I just stood there, I froze—Dad, what if she doesn’t wake up? What if… what if she loses her magic forever?”
My words came out in sobs, messy and panicked.
He wiped my tears gently, voice low and steady. “Then we’ll face it. Together.”
“But if she never opens her eyes again…”
“If that happens,” he said, his gaze firm and full of pain, “then you and I, Willow, will face that future hand in hand. No matter what.”
After Freya was injured, the system went completely silent.
“What the hell happened?!” I screamed in my mind. “I was careful! Why did that spell still hit her?!”
No response.
I’d already made my decision—to stop blindly obeying that cursed voice in my head. I blocked every trap, every magical creature, every strange ripple of unstable energy. I shielded her at every turn. So how… how did some rogue spell still break through and knock her out?
For days now, I’d been asking the same question. No answer. Just a haze of uncertainty clouding the truth.
I stepped out of Freya’s room into the palace corridor. Two handmaidens were whispering just out of earshot—well, they thought it was out of earshot.
“Did you hear what people are saying? That Princess Freya was attacked on purpose?”
“Yeah… I mean, Princess Willow is ridiculously powerful. If she really wanted to protect her sister, no way Freya would’ve ended up like this.”
“I don’t know… she doesn’t seem like that kind of person.”
The second they saw me, they froze. Mouths shut. Eyes down. Perfect little court manners.
I didn’t flinch. Just walked right past them like I hadn’t heard a thing.
But I had. I’d heard it all. For days now. Whispers in the academy halls. Behind doors in the royal wing. Even among the nobles who came to check on Freya.
They all thought it was me. That I’d let it happen. Or worse… made it happen.
A week ago, I wouldn’t have cared. I just wanted to finish the mission and go home. But now?
Now, I’d trade every chance I had to return home if it meant Freya would open her eyes again.
The moment she collapsed—eyes wide, blood blooming through her dress—I wasn’t acting. I wasn’t following a script. I panicked. I felt it. Like she really was my little sister, the one I’d grown up with.
Before that… this world always felt like something behind glass. I could see it, move in it, but it never felt real.
That spell?
It shattered the glass.
I stood outside the King’s study, hand clenched into a fist.
“Father? May I come in?”
The door opened. My father looked up, startled, along with Duke Drake and Lord Blackwell—the royal chancellor.
“Willow? What brings you here?”
I didn’t wait for pleasantries. “I want your permission to travel to North Portlow.”
My father’s jaw tightened. “You know what that region is like. Treacherous terrain. Elves live deep in those woods. It’s too dangerous.”
“But that’s where the Frostshard Crystal grows. And the healers say that’s what Freya needs.”
Lord Blackwell, who’d known me and Freya since we were babies, folded his arms with visible worry.
“Willow, with Freya unconscious, you’re our only heir. I get that you’re hurting. I get that you want to save your sister. But if something happens to you—your father, this kingdom, we’re all at risk.”
“I understand that. I do,” I said firmly. “But I’m not just a princess—I’m her sister. And I can’t just sit here and watch her waste away in that bed.”
I turned toward my father. “And let’s be honest. Everyone thinks I did it. The whispers are everywhere. If I go—if I bring that crystal back—it won’t just save her. It’ll clear my name.”
The silence was thick.
Finally, Duke Drake spoke. “Your Majesty, the Princess is right. Public opinion is turning fast. We need to act—before the damage is permanent.”
“Father.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Please.”
He finally nodded, voice low. “Then go. But Willow… please come back to me. I can’t lose another daughter.”
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