Shattered Heels and a Shattered Past
Through the carriage window, the Imperial Capital was always a breathtaking sight. Gleaming magical lights twinkled between towering skyscrapers that clashed wildly with the medieval backdrop. The city's nightly spectacle never failed to impress, no matter how many times I saw it. It felt like being a country bumpkin dropped smack in the middle of London. I was reminded yet again of this world’s contrived setup—a so-called “technologically overdeveloped romance fantasy setting” riddled with the author’s lazy conveniences.
The pre-enrollment noble debutante ball at the academy—a crucial social event where heirs to future powerhouses networked ahead of time. Though I hailed from a lowly baronet family, our house desperately needed connections with the upper nobility, making attendance non-negotiable.
The carriage wheels glided smoothly around the corner, jolting far less than usual.
“Whoa, Uncle! Feeling good today, huh? Your driving’s leveled up.”
I tossed the joke out while peering outside. The jovial, bearded coachman with his balding pate gleaming under the moonlight scratched his head and chuckled heartily. A villager from our estate, he was always easy to talk to.
“Young Miss Kaire threw such a fit, my ears were about to blister off. Thanks to her, I even cracked open some books and trained the horses more than usual, hehe.”
Kaire. My little sister.
“My sis threw another tantrum, huh.”
Sigh. Wonder who’ll take her off our hands… The coachman just grinned good-naturedly at my tsking.
Before long, we pulled up to the ballroom entrance, where chandelier light spilled out lavishly. I straightened my attire and hopped down.
“Hey! Don’t be late next time, young master!”
Leaving the carriage behind, I headed toward the venue. In a dim corner of the red-carpeted stairs, a peculiar scuffle was unfolding.
Voluminous blonde drill curls. A classic drill-haired lady, her voice dripping with irritation. Her tightly corseted chest heaved dramatically above the swells, threatening to burst free. Beneath the hem of her red dress, slender ankles and smooth, pale calves demanded attention.
“Hah, what am I supposed to do about this?! Go fetch another pair of shoes right now!”
“Miss, where am I supposed to find shoes at this hour? Please don’t ask the impossible.”
The old butler, uncharacteristically pushing back, had sweat beading on his forehead. A spoiled young miss clutching her broken heel—the picture of petulance.
Opportunity.
I approached with a natural smile. “Need a hand, my lady?”
Her blue eyes flicked to my face. For a split second, flawless features flushed at my looks.
“Oh my… And who might you be? From which house?”
“Karn. Embarrassingly enough, from the baronet house of von Mercier.”
Mercier. The name dropped, and her gaze iced over instantly.
“Mercier… That lingerie merchant guild? What can a title-bought commoner merchant even do?”
“Phew, wasted hope.”
Noble society’s cold reality. Baronets without pedigree were treated like commoners before true nobles.
Her sharp insult met my sly grin. “Since you took a loss, wanna try again?”
I snatched the broken shoe and heel from her hand without waiting. Focus. Eyes narrowed. Time to adapt.
This quirky ability I’d discovered after possessing this world: no clue on principles or theory. Whether riding or swordplay, once I saw and felt it, intuition struck like lightning, my body grasping the essence. Overwhelming adaptability piercing to the core.
In my mind, the heel’s cross-section and fracture angle reconstructed in 3D. Fingers tensed. Twist and press at a precise micro-angle. Click. A crisp, eerie friction sound. With one motion, the broken heel meshed perfectly, as if never severed.
This power had me delusionally thinking I was a genius. Versatile in everything, mastering riding and fencing in no time… Experiments revealed its limit: supreme at adaptation, useless for innovation. No creation, no advancement. It spat optimal answers like an AI, but zero theory or process.
I dunno why it works. It just… intuitively clicks.
“Good call trusting me, my lady.”
I handed back the shoe. Her eyes quaked like an earthquake.
“A… wizard?!”
I sealed my lips in a subtle smile, letting the misunderstanding linger. No harm denying it.
Her haughty tone trembled faintly. Soon, she accepted my escort without protest, walking side-by-side to the entrance. Thanks to the mix-up, she pegged me as a magic faculty freshman. Even in this romance-fantasy world, wizard status was prime—magic towers like megacorps, academy entry a yearly hell, the title a golden ticket to elite circles.
Of course, I knew zilch about magic. If I adapted to it, maybe…
We passed the entrance. She halted, not entering the hall proper. Fan with ornate feathers snapped open, pointing to the center.
“The brightly lit central floor under that chandelier? Implicitly reserved for count-rank nobles and above. And…”
Her blue gaze shifted to the hall’s edge, a shadowy table piled with food. “Lowly baronet brats like you huddle in the corner. Stray out of place, and you’ll just embarrass yourself. Watch it.”
Cold and aloof, yet laced with kindness for a newbie. She tilted her sharp chin, cheeks pinkening. “Oho-ho! Well… if you insist. You fixed my shoe, after all.”
“I could make you my partner today and let you stand center.”
Villainess lady’s tsundere laugh, hiding bashfulness. Obvious ploy, cute as hell. Internally, I cheered. In a romance-fantasy world, the right reply here is…
I stepped back, bowing with a smirk. “Sadly, I’ll humbly decline, my lady. Country bumpkin like me gets blinded by the central dazzle.”
Firm rejection. Her brows furrowed. Angry exhale heaved her corset-bound breasts in a massive bounce. Pouting, she snorted. “Hmph, suit yourself! You’re the one rejecting my kindness.”
No status screen, but I swear I saw her affinity drop. Maybe I had that romance-fantasy male lead charm hidden away.
“My turn for intros, then. Farewell. May you find fine connections at the ball.”
She gracefully gathered her dress, curtsied perfectly. A soft smile toward me—devastating on her haughty face.
Turning, her ample hips swayed rhythmically in the red gown, receding. The grand doors reopened. The herald boomed.
“The lady of House von Carsio, countess’s daughter, enters!”
Carsio? Eh, mentally noted. She’d ice me out if we crossed in the knight faculty.
As the party heated up, the finale bloomed: dance partnering to music, the ball’s flower.
True nobles romanced centrally. Meanwhile, us baronet heirs scarfed corner grub.
“What’s a country noble to do, sigh… Better off commoner for peace.”
“Scraped into academy, and ladies won’t even glance.”
I nodded at the nameless extras’ whining, devouring the spread. Been there. All my prep lines bombed.
But damn, this lobster dumpling slaps. What even is it?
Then, the herald boomed again.
“The lady of House von Bloomhart, countess’s daughter, enters!”
The hall buzzed. Ladies gossiped: “Oh my, Bloomhart swordsmanship blooms flowers from blades…”
“Bloomhart? No way! That frail one who can barely hold a spoon?!”
“The count dotes on her so. Rare sight.”
“Her social debut, right?”
Heirs chimed: “They say she’s too beautiful to go out?”
“Nah, hideous fat pig devouring macarons by the dozen.”
“Even rotten noble blood gets dieted.”
“Idiot, the count’s a total daughter-con!”
Gossip swirled. All eyes locked on the sealed doors.
They creaked open. She emerged, commanding attention.
She stepped forward. “Whoa…”
Like lilac petals on spring breeze. Chandelier light kissed her pale pink hair, shimmering like dewy cherry blossoms, cascading demurely over shoulders. Long lashes framed inert golden eyes. Soft, moist pink lips like rain-kissed petals. An exquisitely lovely, heartbreakingly perfect beauty.
What quaked my pupils was below. Lavender dress boldly baring half her upper chest, a violently erotic body straight from my favorite netorare trashy eroge.
Literally. Massive tits, easily two or three of her dainty heads combined, thrust arrogantly skyward—sagging not an inch despite the heft. Each step sent them swaying heavily. Porcelain-smooth pale skin. Waist cinched freakishly thin, corset near-snapping. Then exploded hips and ass—vulgar perfection.
Her breaths wafted rose-scented air. Breasts rose and fell explosively. Ethereal fragility met utter depravity. Like a succubus incarnate, a pervert’s dream body pouring every male urge. Crotch-tingling allure.
Male nobles fake-coughed away, eyes glued slime-like to her tits and thighs.
Yet her aura clashed bizarrely. Lethargic. Eyes void of worldly attachment. As if a doctor declaring “You die tomorrow” would prompt a casual “Yeah, knew that” while forking cake. Death-resigned chill cloaked her.
Enthralled by her tragic violence, the hall hushed. I nearly dropped my lobster leg.
“Holy shit, she’s exactly my type.”
The awe slipped out. Imagining her as my harem core, ruined filthy by trash… My old habit kicked in unconsciously: stroking chin twice on intrigue or thought, smirking right lip only. Ingrained from past life, unbreakable.
That instant. Her vacant golden gaze, fixed ahead, snapped to me.
“……?”
A split-second. Lightning flashed in her eyes. Pupils quivered wildly, like dead flowers reviving. Her steps veered—straight to my corner table.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Elegance gone. Heels hammered marble viciously. Cool resignation shattered; demonic fury emerged. Irritation, rage, injustice twisted her face. Nearby baronet heirs parted like the Red Sea in terror.
What the—? Coming at me? Why?!
I backpedaled in panic. As distance closed, her expression crumbled live: murderous glare softening to turmoil, then deep bitterness. By the time she reached me…
“…….”
Tears welled hugely in golden eyes. Overwhelming sex appeal vanished; only a wronged, devastated face remained—like losing the world, or facing a scummy ex.
Plip, plop. Fat teardrops trailed her cheeks.
Slender hands lunged, pounding my chest. Thwack! Thwack! Thud-thud!
“Ow! Hey, miss! What the—…!”
No finishing. Punches weak for a noble lady’s. But what shocked me wasn’t power.
Two hard, one soft. Followed by flurry of light taps. This rhythm. This amateur angle.
“……Eh?”
Mind blanked white. This was her pattern—past life, visiting her hospital room for teasing pranks, her pouting tantrum punches.
Rhythm known only to one: my ex, the girl I’d sacrificed everything to save.
Trembling, I gazed down. She bit her lip, bursting into sobs, ruining that flawless face.
“Hic…! Sniff, heup…! Why… why the hell did you do that to meee!!”
Music halted. Hundreds of eyes stabbed us. But my ears rang deaf.
After my death. After you uncovered my cruel lie spun to save you. Why follow me here, to this absurd world, dragging that vulgar body?
Chaos knotted my brain. Glancing around—cold, jealous noble stares. Meaning clear: my quiet debut was utterly, spectacularly fucked.