Survival Probability: 0.3%

As soon as I opened my eyes, an unfamiliar ceiling filled my vision. Floating in the air above it was a sentence even more alien than the sight.

I stared blankly into space.

“……What?”

The low voice that slipped out didn’t belong to me. It was younger, still carrying the weight of someone who had only recently passed through puberty, yet strangely suppressed—like a servant in a noble household who had learned to keep his tone in check.

When I reflexively sat up, the old bed creaked with a sharp, protesting scream. The room was narrow and gloomy, its stone walls close enough to take in at a single glance. One small window. A stained wooden desk. A neatly hanging black butler’s uniform on the wall. And a single silver candlestick flickering precariously atop the desk.

This was no game graphic. No film set. The cold air brushing my nose, the rough texture of the worn blanket against my skin, and the faint trace of cheap detergent all proved this was harsh, unfiltered reality.

I slowly lifted a hand to touch my face. It felt foreign. The skin texture, the sharp jawline, the thick knuckles—none of it was mine.

Crackle—

The instant confusion swallowed me, another bluish status window flickered into existence.

My mind simply stopped working.

Kyle Lowell. From the far side of my memory archives, one familiar name shot to the surface.

The Radiant Golden Saintess.

It was the romance fantasy novel I had idly flipped through on the subway after work, just to kill time. The painfully generic story of a fallen noble lady named Seraphina who awakens as the Saintess, falls in love with Crown Prince Lucian, and saves the empire.

Within that massive text, the name “Kyle Lowell” had appeared exactly once.

In a single fleeting line.

Kyle Lowell, a low-ranking butler of the Rosenberg Ducal House, was executed after getting caught up in a treasonous plot.

That single sentence was this body’s entire future.

“……I’m so fucked.”

Of all people, a powerless servant. Of all places, the ducal house destined for total ruin. But the absolute worst part was that this Rosenberg Ducal House was home to the original novel’s greatest villainess.

Ivelin Rosenberg.

The arrogant ducal daughter who viciously torments the heroine Seraphina before being slaughtered alongside her entire family by the crown prince. A beautiful, cruel woman with neither blood nor tears in her veins.

And I had become her direct subordinate.

“If you’re going to transmigrate someone, at least make them a passing extra noble.”

The moment my feet touched the floor after climbing off the bed, a bone-chilling cold crawled up my spine. The sensation hammered home once again that this was no dream.

Then, from beyond the firmly closed door, a rough voice accompanied hurried footsteps.

“Kyle! Are you still sleeping?”

Bang!

The door flew open without mercy as a woman with brown hair tied back in a tight bun stormed inside. Sharp eyes, a perfectly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pressed maid uniform. The face was unfamiliar, but my brain automatically supplied the name.

Veronica. Head maid of the Rosenberg Ducal House and my immediate superior.

“Have you lost your mind? How many times have I told you the young lady is using the east wing drawing room today? Why haven’t you prepared the tea?”

Before I could even process the situation, my mouth moved on pure instinct. It must have been the previous owner’s survival reflexes kicking in.

“……My apologies. I will prepare it at once.”

Once I corrected my tone, Veronica’s fierce gaze finally softened a fraction. She let out a deep sigh and gripped the doorknob.

“Keep your wits about you. The young lady’s mood is at rock bottom today. If you slip up, even I won’t be able to protect you.”

The young lady. Ivelin Rosenberg.

I swallowed hard.

A bitter laugh escaped me. The final boss-tier villainess of the entire world, right from the moment I opened my eyes.

I hurriedly changed into the butler uniform and stood before the mirror. A boy with black hair, gray eyes, and deathly pale skin stared back at me. His features were neat, but appearance was the least of my concerns right now.

My only goal was survival.

According to the original plot, the Rosenberg Ducal House will be completely wiped out for treason.

I had to avoid the future where I got dragged into that mess and lost my head on the guillotine, no matter what it took. Just thinking about it sent a chill down my neck.

I tightened my necktie with grim determination. The plan was simple.

Never get deeply entangled with the original novel’s villainess. Before the family’s tragedy begins, quietly amass enough money without drawing attention and flee this mansion within three years.

A perfect escape scenario.

At least until I opened the drawing room door.

The Rosenberg Ducal House was a monstrous estate that overwhelmed people through sheer space alone. Ceilings so high they seemed to vanish into the sky, corridors that stretched endlessly. My footsteps carrying a silver tray over white marble floors that reflected even the color of one’s face continued with dangerous uncertainty.

The portraits of past dukes lining the walls gave the eerie impression that they were alive, watching every move the servants made.

My fingertips trembled faintly, causing the teacup on the tray to clatter lightly.

Calm down. She’s just a character from a novel.

Of course, she was a being who could bury a person’s life with a single word, but this was still the early stages of the story. Before Ivelin was fully consumed by madness. If I was careful, I should be able to get through this safely.

When I reached the east wing drawing room, the servant at the door bowed his head discreetly.

“The young lady is waiting.”

I desperately wished she wasn’t, but I had no choice. I steadied my breathing and knocked.

Knock, knock.

“Enter.”

The voice that flowed from within was cold, arrogant, and pierced my eardrums with unnatural clarity.

The moment I opened the door, blazing red hair flooded my vision. Beneath hair so vivid it seemed to have swallowed sunlight itself, sharp golden eyes slowly turned in my direction.

Ivelin Rosenberg.

Simply by sitting there, she reorganized the very flow of air in the room around herself—an overwhelming presence. This was the true form of a terrifyingly captivating villainess.

I kept my gaze fixed firmly on the floor and bowed deeply.

“I have brought the tea, my lady.”

“You’re late.”

“My deepest apologies.”

“Your reason?”

My tongue froze. I could hardly confess that I had overslept due to transmigrating into this body.

“……I was briefly delayed by a sudden chill.”

Ivelin’s golden eyes narrowed into thin arcs.

“You came to prepare my tea personally despite not feeling well?”

“It is not severe enough to neglect my duties.”

“You certainly have a silver tongue.”

Cold sweat slid down my back. She was even more intuitively sharp and perceptive than the novel had described—almost frighteningly so.

I quickly set down the teacup. Red-black tea poured smoothly from the pot, filling the study with bergamot’s distinctive sharp, fragrant aroma. My body moved with practiced skill, but I couldn’t conceal my tension.

“Hand.”

At Ivelin’s curt command, my movements froze.

“Pardon?”

“Your hand is shaking.”

I realized my mistake too late. Before I could hide my faintly trembling fingers, her gaze had already locked onto them.

Ivelin rested her chin on one hand, observing me with clear interest.

“Do I frighten you?”

It was the correct answer, but admitting it would likely cost me my life. The original Ivelin despised shallow flattery and any rudeness that crossed the line. The safest path was to mix sincerity with caution.

“……I simply did not wish to commit any discourtesy in your ladyship’s presence.”

I screamed internally. I wanted to beg her not to take any interest in me whatsoever.

Ivelin lifted the porcelain cup to her lips. After a brief silence filled the room, she set it down again.

Clink.

It was a tiny sound, yet my heart plummeted.

“The flavor passes. What was your name?”

“Kyle Lowell, my lady.”

“Kyle.”

The moment she murmured my name in that low voice, goosebumps erupted across the back of my neck.

“From today onward, you will be solely responsible for my morning tea.”

“……Pardon?”

“Do not make me repeat myself.”

The script had gone completely off the rails from day one. The low-ranking butler who was supposed to be nothing more than a single throwaway line in the original novel had just been locked on as the villainess’s personal attendant.

The closer I got to Ivelin, the more death flags would multiply exponentially. There was no doubt about it.

“My lady, I am still only a low-ranking butler with much to learn. My hands are rough. Perhaps it would be better if a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠senior—”

“When I say I like your tea, are you truly daring to defy my order?”

Her razor-sharp aura stole my breath. Further refusal would mean immediate destruction.

“……I shall obey your command.”

The probability was being shaved away in real time.

Even after leaving the drawing room, my violently pounding heart refused to calm. With my thoughts tangled in knots, I walked down the corridor holding the empty tray.

Getting caught in Ivelin’s radar was the absolute worst-case scenario. It seemed my neck would fly off due to her whims long before I ever got dragged into the family’s treason incident.

Only after reaching a quiet corridor near the kitchen did I finally lean against the wall and gasp for breath. I pulled up the status window once more.

The original novel’s heroine Seraphina and male lead, the crown prince. People I had not yet met—and desperately hoped to never meet. The moment I became entangled with that main cast, I would be forcibly sucked into the center of the story’s massive vortex.

I had to remain a complete outsider.

At that moment, a commotion erupted from around the corner of the corridor.

“I’m sorry… I’m truly sorry…”

It was a heavily cowed, fragile voice. When I looked up, I saw two senior maids blocking a girl and harshly berating her.

The instant I saw the girl’s silhouette at the center, my mind went numb with electric shock.

Elegant silver hair that seemed to flow with grace, and deep blue eyes like a tranquil lake.

Seraphina Estelle.

The future Saintess, the original novel’s heroine, and a secondary risk factor that would devour my survival probability.

“Why now, of all times…”

My instincts screamed at me to run. The moment I tried to turn away, Seraphina’s pitiful gaze met my gray eyes head-on. Her trembling eyes, unable to voice a plea for help, sent a silent cry for rescue.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

If I helped, I would become involved. If I became involved, I would die.

I was nothing more than a weak extra who simply wanted to survive. Pretending not to see and walking away was the only correct choice.

But while my mind resisted, the butler’s sense of duty engraved into the previous owner’s body moved my feet of its own accord.

“What seems to be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the matter?”

At my cold voice, the maids flinched and turned toward me.

“Ah, Kyle.”

“This person is an honored guest of the ducal house. Treating her with such rudeness in the middle of the corridor damages the family’s honor.”

“But this woman broke the rules first—!”

“The foundation of etiquette is proper respect toward guests. Any further misconduct will be reported directly to the head butler.”

At my firm tone, the maids retreated with frustrated clicks of their tongues. Once the disturbance died down, I slowly turned my gaze to Seraphina.

“Are you feeling quite well, my lady?”

Seraphina stared at me with wide blue eyes, as if beholding her savior.

“Ah… Thank you. You saved me.”

Her delicately trembling fingertips perfectly matched the fragile noble lady from the novel’s early chapters. I swallowed a quiet sigh and tucked the silver tray under my arm.

“Please follow me. I will escort you safely to your destination.”

“Thank you…”

The moment she offered a faint, relieved smile, the air flashed blue.

My jaw nearly hit the floor from pure shock. I couldn’t comprehend why such a minor act of kindness would cause her affinity to skyrocket.

0.1%. A number practically equivalent to a terminal diagnosis dyed my vision red.

In the dizzying shock, Seraphina—who had begun following me—whispered cautiously.

“Um… may I ask your name?”

I should have stayed silent and fled. Yet the lips wearing the mask of a courteous butler moved beyond my control.

“My name is Kyle Lowell.”

Seraphina quietly rolled the name around in her mouth.

“Kyle… Lowell.”

Then she smiled, bright as sunlight.

“I will remember it well, Mister Kyle.”

It was a gentle smile, but an icy chill raced down my spine.

I want to do exactly that, you insane system.

I shed bloody tears in my heart, but the Rubicon had already been crossed. In a single day, I had clearly engraved my name into the minds of both the original story’s main villainess and its main heroine.

And that night, in the status window of my narrow stone-walled room, a bizarre new category appeared that had not existed before.

I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at that catastrophic message for a long time. Eventually, I roughly yanked the blanket over my head until it covered me completely.

“……I’m really so fucked.”

The ordinary butler’s plan to live quietly, breathe softly, and escape had begun to shatter into pieces and derail completely from the very first day of transmigration.