Chapter 1
Everyone has their own story.
A child stealing to save his sick younger sister.
A pure noble lady who, due to cruel twists of fate, had no choice but to become a villainess.
No matter how terrible someone might be—so detestable you wouldn’t want to be associated with them—there’s usually a hidden tragedy behind it all.
So I figured the same rule applied to me, now that I had suddenly transmigrated into the body of the infamous villainess, Yuria Benestra, from a dark, R-rated romance game.
Why?
Because there’s no such thing as pure evil in this world.
But now…
My firm belief is starting to waver a little.
“…Looks cheap.”
My tongue moved on its own again.
Sighing softly and flicking at my twitching brow, I looked down at the trembling tailor kneeling before me.
His greying scalp was packed with strands of white hair.
If I remembered correctly, he had just turned forty this year.
“Raise your head.”
No sooner had I spoken than he lifted his face.
They say when people are extremely nervous, they stare at the floor or at nothing at all—and right now, that was exactly what he was doing.
Not knowing where to look, his ashen-gray eyes trembled helplessly.
Yuria had money.
And not just a little—so much that if you dug under the well behind the mansion, you’d hit gold coins instead of water.
Rumor had it that if the royal family ever fell, Yuria’s family would be next in line to establish a new kingdom. That’s how obscenely wealthy her life had been.
She was born with the three keys to success.
First, her stunning looks, inherited from her famously beautiful mother.
Second, the colossal wealth passed down by her late grandfather—enough for three generations to live carefree, singing songs and picking their noses.
Since she already had beauty and wealth, power followed as naturally as a buy-one-get-one-free sale.
The three things most people could never attain, no matter how hard they tried, were to her as natural as breathing.
All thanks to her parents.
Thanks to being born with a silver spoon, she was raised like a pampered flower in a greenhouse with not a care in the world. And once she became a lady, she gained another set of “three traits”—only these ones were the exact opposite of success.
First: a crooked personality.
Second: abusive behavior.
Third: violent tendencies.
If something displeased her, she’d throw forks at the dinner table without hesitation, and she even struck innocent servants.
Surely, when our so-called fair God created Yuria, He must’ve thought giving her everything would be too much, a violation of heavenly balance. So He gave her a beautiful face and unimaginable wealth—and dumped her personality down the nearest sewer.
The ridiculous part was, she was so damn pretty that she was popular anyway.
The more thorns a rose has, the more people want it—something like that.
Of course, that didn’t last long. One by one, the young men around her fell away, unable to handle her awful temper.
Yuria was constantly the subject of gossip in high society.
She changed men more often than handbags. People even started wondering, “Who will she bring with her today?”
They called her names like:
“A living doll,” “A flower without fragrance.”
Those might sound nice at first, but think again.
Beautiful on the outside, hollow on the inside.
Oh, and by the way, this might sound like someone else’s story—but it’s mine now.
You don’t believe me?
Well, I am that rumored villainess, Yuria Benestra.
It’s been a month since I transmigrated into Yuria’s body.
Since living in this body, there have only been two things that really bothered me.
First, the needlessly large and expansive mansion.
Second, the Choice Windows that popped up at every critical moment.
If I didn’t make a choice within the time limit, penalties would follow—usually a major drop in reputation or likability.
Other times, I’d take minor injuries—or if things went really wrong, something life-threatening could happen.
Of course, I hadn’t known about the penalties at first.
I learned the hard way—on the day I ignored my first choice option and ended up with a sudden nosebleed.
Ever since, I’ve diligently selected an option every single time one appeared.
Fortunately, I’d transmigrated before the male leads even met the female lead.
And this world… oh, this beautiful world was from a reverse harem game full of gorgeous men.
Even the tenant farmers were handsome. The shepherds’ sheep were good-looking. The stable boys were handsome. Even the horse’s poop looked hot.
For the first three days, life here was amazing.
I remember being too excited to sleep just thinking about meeting those pretty boys.
But now? Something keeps interfering with my harmless fantasies.
{Please choose an option.}
A cute little notification pinged as the system window popped up in front of me again. I frowned at the choices listed inside the glowing square.
{1. Step on the tailor’s hand with your heel.
2. Grab his chin and slap his cheek.}
This.
This was why I couldn’t live a peaceful life.
Ah… farewell, my dream of serenity.
“……”
Once a choice window appears, you can’t say a word—it’s like someone glued your lips shut.
So even if I wanted to speak, I physically couldn’t.
The tailor must’ve sensed my cold expression because he flattened himself on the ground and began rubbing his hands together desperately.
“Please… just three more days—no, even two! I can make the dress perfect…”
I couldn’t speak, but I could move.
So I tilted my chin up slightly, and my eyes landed on what he’d called his masterpiece—the “Tears of a Swan.”
Even to someone with no sense of aesthetics, the ivory-colored dress was beautiful.
Tiny jewels cascaded down the fabric like a chandelier—elegant and luminous.
But this damn game didn’t give you even five seconds to admire things. It threw away the concept of patience altogether.
Before I could even finish appreciating it, the countdown began.
{If no option is selected within the time limit, a penalty will be applied and an option will be chosen automatically. …5…4…}
Same voice as always, but today it sounded especially annoying.
Taking into account that the man in question was a tailor who relied on his hands, I reluctantly chose the second option.
SLAP.
My left hand moved by itself and a sharp, loud smack rang out in the empty room.
His head snapped to the side with a dramatic jerk.
The maids cleaning nearby gasped in shock.
The room fell deadly silent, like someone had dumped cold water on it.
Sure, getting slapped probably hurt him—but slapping someone hurt me, too.
My palm stung like crazy.
‘…Wow. That actually hurts a lot.’
In dramas, it always looked so effortless. Just a clean “smack.”
Apparently, being a villainess isn’t for just anyone.
Respect.
To all the villainesses out there—how are your palms doing?
Because mine? Not okay.
Let me take this moment to say:
“…Huuuuhh!”
The man let out a strangled, pitiful cry.
His face turned ghostly pale, like he’d just seen a demon.
“……”
See that?
I can’t do this villainess gig.
Though I felt guilty seeing him collapse to the floor, the system didn’t wait.
Another choice window popped up immediately.
{1. “Rather than give money to someone as useless as you, I’d rather throw it in the trash.”
2. “I’m sick of the sight of you. Leave this mansion at once.”}
You immoral game developers!
If I could see the person who created this game right now, I’d probably kick him in the face.
Swallowing my fury, I chose the first option.
My trembling finger tapped the transparent screen.
He was retiring this year—there was nowhere else for him to go.
Especially in the noble world, which is small and tightly knit. Being fired, rather than resigning voluntarily, could be career-ending.
As cruel as my words sounded, letting him stay was the best I could do.
Still, the irony was almost funny.
What others saw as cold-hearted cruelty was, in reality, my reluctant attempt at kindness.
I stood there, trembling in frustration, knowing my reflection must look eerily composed.
Straightening my posture, my golden wavy hair cascaded down to my hips.
My sky-blue eyes were serene, like a frozen lake.
My crimson lips, stark against my pale skin, glistened softly—proof that I was a living woman, not a doll.
Those lips parted slightly, a delicate line curving upward.
If I had to describe my expression—it would be slightly twisted. Deeply displeased.
Arms crossed, I leaned forward slightly toward the kneeling man.
The scent of roses wafted from the nape of my neck.
My golden locks swayed.
Maybe the hair tickling his neck startled him, because when he looked up, raw fear shone in his eyes.
“Rather than give money to someone as useless as you, I’d rather throw it in the trash.”
From this beautiful face, words colder and sharper than ice poured out like a storm.
Ha… I’m really going to lose it.
