I stood there for a second, just blinking.
Adjusting to a new body is like trying to use a brand-new smartphone with a completely different OS and a cracked screen.
Everything was too loud, too bright, and smelled faintly of… old damp stone and desperation.
Mostly desperation, coming in waves from the girl sobbing on the floor.
Elysia. How pathetic she is.
According to the fragmented "Life and Times of Clarisse von Fahrmann" files currently downloading into my subconscious, this girl was the loyal-to-a-fault maid. The only friend. The tragic companion.
I looked down at her, tilting Clarisse's head—my head now, I guess—to the side. Honestly, the theatricality of it all was a bit much.
The sobbing, the "I did it for you" speech, the trembling hands. It was like watching a low-budget soap opera where the actors are paid in exposure.
[Elysia... oh, poor Elysia!]
The voice rang inside my skull like a persistent notification I couldn't swipe away. It was high, thready, and dripping with enough sentimentality to give me a literal headache. The original Clarisse. The "parasite" in my new hardware.
[She was going to save me! She was going to give me peace! You're so cruel, Yui! How can you look at her like that after everything she's sacrificed?]
Shut up, you parasite.
I didn't even say it out loud. I just thought it with the same forceful mental "delete" I used to use for spam emails.
The voice recoiled, whimpering, and finally retreated into a dark corner of my frontal lobe. Thank god. I can handle a magical apocalypse, but I cannot handle a ghost whinging about the power of friendship.
I turned my attention back to the "loyal" maid of villainess.
"So," I started, my voice smooth, light, and carrying that specific tone of snark I usually reserved for rookie officers who forgot to secure a crime scene.
"That's the story we're going with? The 'Mercy Kill' angle? It's classic, I'll give you that. Very 'Of Mice and Men.' Very tragic. I almost want to give you a standing ovation."
I started walking in a slow circle around her.
My steps were precise, elegant—the kind of gait that comes from years of wearing heels and pretending to be an influencer while actually tracking a serial killer.
"But here's the thing about being a detective, Elysia—or whatever your real name is. We have this annoying habit of looking at the details. And the details are currently screaming that you're a terrible actress."
Elysia flinched, her eyes darting toward the cavern exit.
"I... I don't know what you mean, My Lady! I was only trying to spare you the Duke's—"
"Possibility one," I interrupted, raising a finger.
"You're actually a saint who was going to murder her mistress out of the goodness of her heart. Unlikely, considering the 'goodness of one's heart' rarely involves a concealed blade coated in a paralytic agent. I caught the scent of it when I leaned down. Belladonna derivative? Or maybe something more local to this fantasy world? It's a bit sweet, isn't it?"
I leaned in, smirking as she turned pale.
"Possibility two: You were scared. You wanted to run, and she was a liability. You kill her, you're free. Plausible, but doesn't quite fit the 'mercy' narrative you just tried to sell."
"My Lady, please—"
"Possibility three," I continued, ignoring her. "And this is the one I find most interesting. Because, you see, I'm currently inhabiting this body. And this body? It's been talking to me. Not in words—well, the parasite does that—but in symptoms."
I held up my left hand, flexing the fingers.
"Have you noticed the slight tremor in the ring finger? The way the vision in the right eye blurs every thirty seconds? The metallic taste in the back of the throat?" I let out a dry, sarcastic chuckle. "I've spent ten years investigating homicides. I know what a poisoned vessel feels like. You haven't been 'serving' Clarisse, Elysia. You've been seasoning her."
The girl's breath hitched. The "innocent maid" facade was cracking, revealing the jagged edges of a professional underneath.
"Every morning tea. Every 'healing' tonic. Small, incremental doses of a slow-acting toxin designed to weaken the neurological pathways. It wasn't the ritual that was turning her into a monster, was it? It was the poison. You were prepping the hardware for a crash."
I took a step closer, my shadow looming over her.
"But why go through all that trouble? Why not just do it quickly?" I hummed, tapping my chin.
"Ah, of course. The payout. In most of the novels I read back home—purely for research, obviously—a 'fallen heir' usually has a price on her head. But the bounty is only valid if the death looks 'natural' or 'accidental' during a trial. Or, even better, if someone can provide proof of her 'instability.'"
I reached out, my movement lightning-fast. Before she could move, my hand was in the hidden pocket of her apron. I pulled out a small, crumpled piece of parchment.
"Let's see... 'Target: Clarisse von Fahrmann. Status: To be terminated. Payout: 5,000 Gold Crowns upon confirmation of failure.'"
I looked at the parchment, then back at her. I gave her a devious, snarky smile.
"Wow. Only 5,000? I'm hurt. Objectively speaking, I should be worth at least 10,000! I mean, the paperwork alone for a Duke's daughter is a nightmare."
Elysia's entire demeanor changed. The crying stopped. Her posture straightened, and the submissive slumping vanished. She looked at me with cold, calculating eyes.
"You aren't Clarisse," she stated, her voice dropping the high-pitched squeak.
"Ten points to Gryffindor!" I quipped. "No, I'm the one who just inherited your mess. And I have to say, I'm not a fan of the previous management's hiring choices."
Inside, the parasite was howling.
[She betrayed me! She was killing me! I trusted her! I gave her my mother's ribbon!]
I told you to shut up. Go play with some blocks in the subconscious or something. Adults are talking.
I turned my focus back to the bounty hunter in the maid outfit.
"So, here's the deal. And my dear. I really love a good deal, especially when I'm the one holding all the leverage. So, you have two options. Option one: You try to finish the job. You have that little blade hidden in your boot, and you think you're faster than a girl who just woke up from a magical coma."
I leaned in, my eyes narrowing until they were like chips of ice.
"But you should know—I died once already today. I'm currently in a very, very bad mood, and I can see the muscle tension in your right calf. You move, and I'll use this power I just inherited to slice your internal organs into a slushie. It sounds messy, and I really don't want to ruin this dress any more than it already is."
Elysia stayed perfectly still.
She was a professional; she knew when she was outmatched by a superior intellect.
"Option two," I said, my voice returning to a light, conversational lilt.
"You work for me. You know the players, you know the layout of the estate, and you know who signed that little bounty slip. You become my double-agent. My informant. My personal 'Watson,' except without the mustache and the medical degree."
I tucked the bounty parchment into my own bodice.
"You help me dismantle the people who put this hit on me, and maybe—just maybe—I won't turn you over to the authorities. Or, you know, kill you myself. I hear I'm a villainess, after all. It would be very 'on brand' for me to be ruthless."
I let out a snarky smirk, walking toward the exit of the cave and gesturing for her to follow.
"So? What's it going to be? Do we go for the push-and-pull approach where I have to beat the information out of you, or do we have a professional understanding? I really hope it's the latter. Negotiating while covered in blood is so... unrefined."
I stopped at the edge of the cavern, the sunlight hitting Clarisse's silver hair. I looked like a goddess of victory, but inside, I was already calculating the tax implications of seizing the Duke's assets.
"Well?" I propped my chin on my hand, looking back at her with a sharp, expectant glare. "Don't waste my time, Elysia. I have a very busy schedule of revenge and political upheaval to get to. And I'd really like to get some tea that doesn't taste like arsenic."
Elysia stood up slowly, her face a mask of reluctant submission. She bowed, though this time, it wasn't the bow of a servant. It was the bow of a prisoner of war.
"Yes, I will assist. So, what will be your first command... My Lady?"
I let out a satisfied hum.
"First? We're going back to the estate. I want to see the look on the Duke's face when his 'failure' walks through the front door. It's going to be a masterpiece of dramatic irony."
I started walking, the wind whipping my hair around.
"And Elysia?"
"Yes?"
"If you even think about touching a teapot without my supervision...
You're dead. Is that clear?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now, tell me... does this kingdom have a good lawyer? I have a feeling I'm going to need to file a lot of lawsuits."
As we stepped out into the world, I felt the parasite's quiet grief fading into the background, replaced by my own cold, bright ambition.
The System was dead. Long live Yui Katagiri.
Or should I say... Long live the new Clarisse? Hahaha... hah.
Whatever.
As long as I get to be the one holding, I don't care what they would call me.