The Price of Plausibility

Cliche.

It's a device meant to guarantee a certain degree of entertainment, and at the same time an amplifier for the readers' expectations.

Take this, for example.

If a childhood-friend bully girl torments the protagonist early on under the classic "she'll regret it later" banner, readers immediately think:

Ah, this childhood-friend bully girl is going to regret everything someday and cling desperately to the protagonist.

That expectation takes root.

Even though they already know the outcome, readers start looking forward to the process.

How will she crumble?

What kind of catharsis will the protagonist deliver?

Why did she bully him in the first place, and how will the two of them finally confirm each other's true feelings?

They keep reading with those questions in mind.

And then there's the opposite technique: cliche subversion.

You smash those very expectations to pieces and create fun that way.

For instance:

Tada~ Actually this bully girl was a ridiculously jacked guy with a dick the whole time! Surprised? Haha!

Or:

Actually the one who regrets everything isn't the bully girl—it's the protagonist who never noticed her true feelings and got NTR'd by the golden-sun male lead with his own childhood-friend bully girl! Amazing, right?

Of course those are extreme, "oh fuck no, nightmare fuel" level examples that should never actually happen.

The point is, cliche subversion isn't automatically good.

Misuse it and nothing tanks a story faster.

"Hmm…"

And I was the one getting hit with that cliche subversion.

More precisely, I had to start doing it myself right now.

Transmigrating as a villainess meant living kindly was the expected cliche—but I had to twist that cliche and act like a proper villainess instead.

My first attempt was the maid standing right in front of me.

The one currently pressed flat to the floor, too terrified to move a muscle.

Should I just slap her across the face for no reason?

But I really didn't want to.

My moral compass, forged by a perfectly normal life in the twenty-first century, refused to accept that so easily.

Then… could I just ignore it?

A little uneasy, sure, but maybe ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠once wouldn't hurt.

"Forget it. I don't care. Just get out."

I handed down no punishment at all.

The moment I simply ordered her to leave, the maid stared up at me with an expression of pure disbelief.

"R-really… I can just go?"

She asked again, afraid she had misheard. I gave a light nod, crossed my arms, and spoke with a deliberately venomous edge.

"Are you deaf? Why can't you understand words the first time? Want me to treat you the usual way? I'm only letting you off ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠because I'm tired, and already you're losing your mind over it."

"Ah—no! I'll leave at once! Please rest well, Young Lady!"

The maid snatched up her cleaning tools and bolted from the room.

Once she was gone I quietly checked my body. No particular pain.

Just a meaningless warning, then? Or some change I don't know about yet. Anyway, glad nothing's wrong for now.

The moment I tried to relax—

Thud!

My heart slammed violently inside my chest.

It wasn't just the sound.

"Kueup?!"

It felt exactly like someone had punched me hard in the sternum.

Breath locked in my throat. My heart constricted with a sickening pressure, forcing the beat to slow against my will.

"Heuk! Kkeuheuk… heueuk…"

I couldn't draw a proper breath. My mind went pure white.

If this kept up I was going to die.

Two small hands crushed the blanket until the fabric nearly tore; my fingertips turned bone-white.

Consciousness slipped further and further away.

"Th-this… fuck…"

In the end the pain won. Everything cut out.

As a result I spent an entire week wracked by a brutal fever.

It became an unwanted lesson in just how sick a human body can get.

I fainted, woke up.

Fainted again, woke again.

Mentally I was a guy well past thirty, yet I cried and whined like a child.

I sobbed while calling Lucy's father, Otto, "Dad."

That was how much it hurt.

…A warning, then? The kind that says if you don't behave properly, I'll kill you.

Nothing else explained collapsing the instant I let the maid go free.

The duke family's personal physician had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠initially called it a severe fever and told everyone to prepare for the worst.

Fortunately I didn't die. I came back healthy.

If this is how it works, then I have no choice but to become a villainess. From the rumors I heard, even the way I dismissed that maid got twisted into something completely different.

I had simply sent her away without a word of punishment.

Yet the rumors that spread bore no resemblance to the truth.

Learning that felt absurd even to me.

Was this some form of Plausibility?

Or a warning not to defy the system?

I heard the gossip while I was still lying sick in bed—still cycling between blackouts and brief moments of clarity—when I happened to surface for a few lucid seconds.

Fucking hurts…

My skull rang as if someone were beating a sheet of paper inside it; the headache felt ready to split my head open.

I was barely clinging to consciousness when voices drifted in.

"No way—so even being this sick right now is on purpose?"

It was the maids nursing me, gossiping freely.

I thought it was insane to talk like that right in front of the young lady, but I had no strength left to call them out.

I simply listened.

"Yeah. I heard that at the end she didn't treat her the usual way and just sent her off. Said something like, 'Looking at how she's not getting a grip, I should just throw her away.'"

"Seriously? So she's putting herself through all this just to get rid of one maid?"

"Pretty much."

Did that make any sense?

One word to Dad the duke would have been enough.

I wasn't the only one thinking it.

"But does she really need to go this far? She could just tell His Grace normally."

"She's pretending she did nothing wrong. Playing the victim. Becoming the pitiful young lady who got sick because a careless maid failed to take care of her. That's why the maid who got kicked out this time didn't even receive a recommendation letter."

"Really? No wonder His Grace was so furious…"

"Exactly! That was the whole plan! She's sick so she can look like the only victim. And the young lady may be little, but she can use magic. A few days of fever is nothing to her."

"True, magic can do anything. Poor Hani, though."

A girl who looked maybe ten years old calculating that thoroughly?

Just to fire one maid?

The conversation was completely incomprehensible, yet the maids had already accepted it as fact.

Only then did I understand.

It was a mechanism designed to force me into becoming a villainess no matter what.

Good deeds were forbidden. Ambiguous actions automatically became evil ones.

I wish I'd figured this out sooner. One innocent maid lost her job for nothing.

With things like this, I had to change my plan.

If I simply became the villainess as the story demanded, I would end up as a breeding vessel for monsters and spend the rest of my life giving birth.

That was too horrific to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠accept.

So the best option left to me was good deeds that looked like evil deeds.

Luckily this web novel was a work I had scraped together every last coin I didn't even have just to fan over.

The parts where the protagonist saved the heroines were pure deliciousness.

The narrative of a broken heroine being saved by the protagonist—and the protagonist being saved in turn—had been wonderful.

Plus the carefully mixed R-19 scenes.

Ugh.

Even my vanished lower half felt like it was standing at attention.

"First I need to recall the entire story. The main plot really only kicks off after academy admission… but if I want to save them, I'll have to start intervening before that."

In practice every heroine arrived at the academy already broken.

Then the protagonist saved them.

But even that felt insufficient.

Ideally they shouldn't have to suffer at all.

It wasn't the kind of pain that led to awakening—just pain manufactured for the salvation arc.

I can just supply the missing anger myself.

Give the heroines no more suffering than necessary, and take all the hatred onto myself.

A necessary evil, of sorts.

Like in that famous ninja manga.

Plant enough rage and resentment that they can't live without killing you, then with your dying breath say:

Forgive me, Giselle. This is the last time.

And if the truth came out after you were dead…

Wouldn't that be delicious in its own way?

At the very least it would be a happier ending than being thrown to the monsters as a breeding sow and raped for the rest of your life so you could birth more of them.

"Then I should organize the contents of the novel first. Who knows when I'll start forgetting."

Humming under my breath, I pulled out a notebook and began writing everything down.

Even while drafting a plan that ended with my own death, my mood was strangely buoyant.

Was it because I would get to see my favorite characters reach happy endings?

Or had transmigration simply driven me insane?

Or maybe a fragment of Lucy's soul still lingered inside this body.

Otherwise there's no way I would have whined and clung to Otto like that. I acted completely differently from my original personality.

In my previous life, even when my mother hugged me I preferred to stay quiet and still.

This time I had whined without shame.

Hug me, stroke my hair, kiss me—on and on.

I had demanded affection from Otto like a daughter desperate to be loved.

And Otto had given me every single thing I asked for.

The way he treated it as completely natural makes me think that was Lucy's original personality. And Otto already knew it.

That gentle behavior confirmed something else for me once more.

Lucy's mother was still alive.

She hadn't left for America yet.

Which meant Otto could still be saved as well.

Even if I ended up a villain, as long as his wife was safe he would remain a kind parent to the end.

"Alright… time to organize what I need to do."

With small hands I began filling the page with scribbled notes.

My two feet kicked happily at the empty air.

After roughly a month I had finished adapting and reading the atmosphere of the household.

I had also learned my age.

A full twelve years old.

Having lived as an adult and then suddenly becoming a child again made the reverse culture shock hit even harder; I felt even younger than I actually was.

And the plan was more or less complete.

"Time to start moving."

I closed the notebook I had roughly finished organizing and stood up.

Walking felt natural now.

I crossed the room with practiced ease and pulled the cord hanging beside the bed. The connected bell jingled.

The bell was enchanted so that every maid in the mansion could hear it no matter where they were.

"You called, Young Lady?"

A maid who had sprinted at full speed appeared. I didn't offer a single word of thanks for the effort.

"I'm going out. Prepare everything quickly and have a carriage ready for the industrial district. You have five minutes. Be finished by then."

I glanced at the clock and added,

"I'll dock a little of this month's salary for every minute you're late."

Well, I planned to make up for it with extra allowance later.

The maid, who had no way of knowing that, took off at a dead run.

"Then shall I start by saving the nearest heroine?"