Miyandrel Celeste and I sit across from each other, an ornate table dividing us in the dimly lit room. The morning light spills through the open window, casting a gentle glow on the intricately carved wooden furniture and the tapestries that adorn the stone walls. The air carries the scent of fresh air, blending with the faint flicker of candlelight.

The room, though vast and imposing, feels suffused with an air of anticipation in the morning sunlight. I can't help but wonder what business has brought me to this medieval equivalent of an office, where the affairs of the lord unfold. The high-backed chair I occupy is both comfortable and formidable, echoing the authority that permeates this chamber.

How nice of Miyandrel to let me sit here, while she sits in the guest chair… It is a good distraction, but I am not in any way distracted…

Miyandrel Celeste, adorned in regal attire, gazes at me with a keen intensity as the morning sun paints her face with warmth. She's 27, with hair the color of sun-kissed gold, eyes as deep and elusive as the cerulean sea, and a figure that effortlessly captivates any onlooker.

She doesn't know that she exists within a novel, but I do.

I also know Miyandrel's story of the war crimes she has committed, and how unfair she thinks her life has turned out. The only reason she is pretending to be my cousin, and why she is here in the backwaters territory of my household is because she is on the run and she needs a refuge. I am a side character who has graduated to the epilogue of the story, and that's why I know… There is no way in hell I am gonna get pulled into some trouble.

That's why, with intent, I must get away from her, and most importantly discourage her from what she plans to do with me.

Mia leans in, her voice carrying a subtle, teasing tone. "You're a fascinating creature, Randel."

"I want you out of my Estate," I retort, my tone firm and resolute.

Mia chuckles softly. "You cannot. I've done the paperwork. The people also love me… You sure don't want them to set loose, don't you? That will be troublesome even with someone whose Destiny is as thick as yours." She adds, implicitly flirting, "Get it? Thick?"

I sigh inwardly, knowing Miyandrel's tendency for odd humor. Miyandrel in the novel always has a weird sense of humor. "I don't know this talk about destiny, but I am aware that Fatemancers are well-known schemers, liars, and profiteers. That's why in this time and age, no one ever goes big in doing business in Fortune Telling."

"Ouch…" Mia's tone softens as she seductively poses, her gaze fixed on me in a way that makes it clear she's not ready to give up her pursuit just yet.

Miyandrel, Mia, or whatever… Sigh…

I find myself growing increasingly annoyed by Miyandrel's persistent attempts at seduction. It's as if she's orchestrated everything, even the arrangements from last night, with the intention of getting me into her bed. The guilt gnaws at me because, according to the epilogue of the novel this world is based on, Miyandrel is supposed to remain a virgin. I'm just a side character, and the last thing I want is to be entangled in the romantic escapades of the main cast.

Her alluring gestures and suggestive comments create an uncomfortable tension in the air, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm being dragged into a plotline that isn't mine to explore. As she continues her advances, I resist the temptation, reminding myself that my role in this story is not to play a part in Miyandrel's romantic subplot. "And here I thought the epilogue is the end of it… I forgot the possibility of side stories…" I murmur to myself.

Mia's voice takes on a seductive tone, "I will be obedient… Make me your wife. I will do anything you want." Her eyes flirtatiously meet mine.

"Are you that desperate?" I question, trying to maintain a level-headed demeanor.

"Yes," she admits without hesitation.

"That's very honest of you," I remark, inwardly noting just how desperate she truly is. Almost the rest of the world wants her dead, so I think I understand her, but no! "How can I even help you? I am just some distant baron heir in the boonies."

Mia smirks, a sly smile playing on her lips. "It's because you are the best camouflage I can ask for." She leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I cannot read your Destiny because it is quite strong, but I saw glimpses… though only glimpses, there is quite a sustainable amount of information. For example, I am aware that you have an insane obsession over normality to the point that it is scary." She adds, awkwardly embarrassed, her admission hanging in the air between us.

In the world of Magnus, where magic saturates every corner and people called Sorcerers command mystical forces at their fingertips, Miyandrel Celeste stands as a top graduate of the prestigious Sorcerer Academy. Her proficiency in wielding magic is renowned, and her name echoes through the corridors of power.

I, too, was once a student at the same academy, but the allure of magical prowess quickly lost its charm for me. I dropped out swiftly, unwilling to be drawn into the convoluted plotlines that seemed to define the lives of those around me. My reluctance to embrace the magical destiny— the transmigration— is quite evident for all to see.

I also went to the same Academy, but I quickly dropped out after I realized what was happening— I really didn't want to get involved in the plot! In a sense, Miyandrel is right that I have an obsession with normality.

I lean forward, my tone cold and calculated. "Camouflage? Me? Elaborate," I demand, suppressing any hint of warmth in my words. Emulating Randel's demeanor is essential, even if it makes me come across as abrasive—an unfortunate but necessary resemblance to my own tendencies.

Mia, slightly taken aback by my coldness, gathers herself and responds, her voice tinged with melancholy. "My ambition of coming here in the boonies is to fade into obscurity," she admits. "It seems that our goals align somehow. You wish to lead a normal life, detached from the conflicts of the world. But conflict will always follow you," she observes keenly, her eyes assessing.

I narrow my eyes at Mia, wary of the tempting offer she presents. "What partnership do you have in mind?" I press, my skepticism cutting through the air.

Mia, wearing a conspiratorial grin, begins to outline her proposal. "I can see that you are strong through my Fate Eyes, strong as me even. Thus, I can acknowledge you as my equal," she says, her words carrying a certain weight. "I can do a lot of things for you. Besides warming your bed, I can also serve as your decoy, your tool. When trouble comes your way, I will stand in the spotlight to deal with it while you remain behind the scenes. You will never be disturbed living your normal life. If it really comes to the worst-case scenario, you can just flee for yourself and leave me."

My skepticism deepens at the seemingly generous offer. "And how do you become obscure when you stand in the spotlight? And your offer sounds too good to be true… You are begging me to freeload off your hard work."

Mia dismisses my concerns with a casual wave of her hand. "Well, it is your house," she says nonchalantly. "Though I have dealt with the paperwork and bribed the correct people, it is still your house."

"Why not just kill me?" I pose the question, a hint of challenge in my voice, ready to confront the darker possibilities that might lurk beneath Mia's proposal.

She's momentarily speechless, caught off guard by the bluntness of my inquiry. "That didn't cross your mind. Wow, unexpected," I note, a wry smile playing on my lips. "Or… Hmmm… Let me guess, you simulated the future using your Fate Magic, and there are many instances where you come out 'losing' from meeting me."

Mia's silence confirms my suspicion, and I continue, revealing my own plans. "I will be honest, I don't mind leaving you the Estate. For a fact, I am planning to just move on, find a village, and start farming."

She pleads with me not to leave. "No, don't go away… I will be losing lots… Do you know how merchants think, right? When they get five gold pieces instead of ten, they will think they lost five gold pieces, instead of being satisfied with just five… You leaving will have the same results for me."

I frown, my skepticism deepening. "What do you want me for, exactly?"

Mia drops a bombshell, her words hanging in the air. "I want to bear your child!"

My frustration boils over, and I respond with unfiltered honesty. "You are thirsty, lady! I don't want to get involved with you in any way, so fuck no, I don't want you to bear my child. I want a normal wife!"

Mia, undeterred, insists, "I can be normal!"

"You are not convincing," I retort, my patience waning.

"We are going to create a Hero-Class offspring!" she declares with enthusiasm.

"Fuuuck… You used prophecy magic to see how you could produce a powerful offspring. You monstrous freaky ambitious bitch!" My filter is off, and my real persona begins to surface. "You are a villainess through and through… That's why you are here, right? To ambush me? Fuck nuts. I don't even know you on a personal level! You stalker pervert!"

Mia vehemently denies the accusation, but I'm not buying it. "I am not a stalker!" she protests.

"Sure, that's what a stalker would say," I scoff, the tension in the room escalating as the true nature of our interaction becomes increasingly clear.

The revelation hits me like a bolt of lightning – Mia's intention is to bear my child, not for the sake of a normal family but with the ambition of creating a Hero-Class offspring. The theory, well-known in sorcerer circles, suggests that the union of two uniquely powerful sorcerers can produce a child with illogical, monstrous abilities, a Hero-Class. It's the kind of legacy that leaves an indelible mark on history.

Aware of this theory, I recoil at the realization that Mia has used her formidable powers in prophecy magic to peer into the future, attempting to engineer the birth of a child with extraordinary potential. It's a manipulative move, one that bypasses the randomness of such occurrences, and it dawns on me that Miyandrel is capable of stalking me through time. The thought is both embarrassing and undeniably creepy.

Basically what Mia did is to peer through time and check a future where she produces a powerful offspring… That requires insane hard work! I cannot believe it!

Mia insists, "I can be normal!"

"Your scheming ain't normal, miss! You crazy psycho!" I retort, frustration and anger bubbling to the surface.

"Yeah, I admit it, I used prophecy magic, and I have ambitions, but fuck you!" she snaps back defiantly.

"Yeah, fuck me! I am going!" I declare, standing up with the intention of storming off, frustration propelling me forward.

"You can't!" Mia protests, her tone desperate.

"Of course I can! I am freaking free, bitch!" I exclaim, flipping her the bird as I assert my independence.

Mia, however, drops a bombshell. "You abusive bastard! I am already pregnant!" She stands up, her cheeks flushed with anger and tears streaming down her face, a volatile mix of emotions filling the room. The revelation freezes me in my tracks, the weight of the situation hitting me with an unexpected force.

What the fuck!? The revelation hangs in the air like an ominous storm cloud—Mia is pregnant. We did it only one time, and she's pregnant! The weight of the situation crashes over me, and I curse the effects of that one night of drunken folly. If only I weren't intoxicated, and if only I had been more cautious. I hate being drunk, fuuuck!

My mind races, contemplating my options. If I were a villain, a true monster, I might opt for an abortion. But I'm not that heartless, and the thought of taking such a drastic step repulses me. How about I leave now? I can abandon her, and sever ties, but I know 'Destiny' will screw me sideways if I did that. The concept of destiny, time, and the divines is not foreign to me—I am a Phantomancer, dealing in illusions and powered by the ethereal substance of 'Thoughts'. I may not be as diverse as time-dabbling sorcerers, but I possess a unique knowledge of the intricacies of fate.

My paranoia of getting involved in the 'story' is so strong that I dipped into the magic of stories. It's a complicated affair, but apparently, 'Tropes' hold a mystical nature that forces people in a certain direction of their destiny. I have prolonged my destiny as much as possible, and it is quickly firing back at me the instance I left my tower. Damn, I just wanted to return to civilization!

I don't know exactly what my 'Destiny' is, but as a 'Transmigrator,' an ominous awareness gnaws at the edges of my consciousness. Something out there is waiting to pounce on me—a character development, more tropes, and conflicts, undoubtedly. I don't want to get involved in a 'story,' and I want to be real. Only by being normal can I be real.

Since transmigrating into this world, something in my mind broke. The idea of living within a novel, being a mere puppet in someone else's narrative, has always filled me with a deep-seated hatred. I am a nihilist, a pessimist, and a total conspiracy whackjob. How do I deal with this mess I've found myself in? I got Miyandrel pregnant! Ugh…

It leaves me no choice. I have to Minato Namikaze my way out of this—sever ties by dying, disappear, play dead for the rest of my life. I just hope there is no Great Ninja War or its equivalent waiting for me in the future.

I approach Miyandrel with an air of arrogance, my gaze locked with hers. "I have decided," I declare, my tone firm. "I will allow you to be my wife. You and the child… I will allow both of you in my life. I will die protecting you both until I die…" The declaration hangs in the air, a commitment uttered with a sense of duty. "Do you understand?"

The woman in front of me, Mia, meekly nods.

My mind, however, is already racing with plans to play dead for the following years (after dying of course to a miserable battle), perhaps even returning to my tower. Selfish as it may be, the desire for a normal life still tugs at the edges of my consciousness. "You better make good work on your end, because I still want a normal wife, and a normal life," I add, my selfishness laid bare. It's a proclamation that serves my interests, and in this convoluted world of magic and destiny, I'm determined to grasp onto whatever shreds of normality I can salvage.

.....

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Miyandrel Celeste is no more. As she finishes her manipulation of the paperwork, her quill scratching against the parchment, she realizes how far gone she has plunged. The grandeur of her past life, where she was once a mighty princess slated to be the next ruler of the Empire, now feels like a fading dream.

She ought to be the first Empress in the history of the realm, a destiny foretold by blood and lineage. Yet, because of betrayals and the unpredictable twists in her life, she has ended up the loser in this grand game of Thrones. The taste of bitterness clings to every thought as she contemplates the stark contrast between what should have been and what is.

Due to her own ambitions, she has been dragged to the backwaters territory of the Dromastus Household—a realm far removed from the splendor of the imperial court. Now, she is Mia Dromastus, the normal wife of Baron Randel Eir Dromastus. The weight of her title is a far cry from the regal one she was destined for. Her fingers trace the edges of the forged documents, sealing her fate as a woman tied to the whims of a lesser lord.

The background story she has crafted is her armor, shielding her true identity from the prying eyes of those who might remember the once-mighty princess. A merchant's daughter who supposedly found her way into Randel's arms, a tale spun to veil the intricate threads of her past. She can make do with this façade, the mask she wears as Mia Dromastus, concealing the shadows of Miyandrel Celeste.

As she looks around the modest chamber that is now her domain, the walls whispering stories of a life she never chose, she takes a moment to reflect. The soft rustle of the papers she has just manipulated is the echo of her downfall, the proof of her adaptability in the face of adversity. The quill she now holds is not a symbol of authority but a tool for survival, rewriting her narrative in ink.

Taking a moment to reflect, she inhales deeply, the air heavy with the scent of dust and faded dreams… but there is still something in her. The Celeste blood in her is yet to completely give up for their rest a great ambition hidden within the layers of her heart.

The memory from this morning suddenly flashes in her mind as Mia sits alone, the weight of the agreement with Randel settling over her. The words echo in her ears like an indelible melody.

"I will allow you to be my wife. You and the child… I will allow the both of you in my life. I will die protecting you both until I die…" Randel's solemn pledge reverberates, sending an unexpected flush to Mia's cheeks. The sincerity in his words pierces through her defenses.

"Do you understand?" Randel's question follows, a firm affirmation of the gravity concealed within his promise. There's a weightiness to the moment, a silent contract binding their fates. But Randel, in his typical fashion, is not done yet. He selfishly appends, in a tone that cuts through the tenderness like a blade, "You better make good work on your end because I still want a normal wife, and a normal life."

Mia grits her teeth, the sharp edges of his selfishness scraping against her pride. The bitterness of the truth in his words stings, and yet, there's a small taste of success that she can't deny. In the complex dance of power and compromise, she has carved out a space for herself.

The room is silent, and Mia is left alone with the echoes of Randel's words. She, who was once Miyandrel Celeste, a princess destined for greatness, has maneuvered herself into a role that, if nothing else, guarantees her a semblance of security. The price, however, is high – the sacrifice of her true identity, the submission to the whims of a man who demands normalcy.

In this fleeting moment of reflection, Mia can't help but acknowledge that, in her own way, she has managed to assert control over the narrative of her life.

Mia strides through the Dromastus Territory with purpose, her mind a tapestry of divinations woven with threads of fate. As a Fatemancer, she possesses the extraordinary ability to peer through time, and in her quest for a partner to bear the seed of power she seeks, she has navigated through precisely 6,012,500 realities.

Of these divergent pathways, Randel Eir Dromastus emerges as a pivotal figure, a man seemingly ordinary, hiding his strength beneath the veneer of a normal life. In half of the realities she's explored, he is but a humble individual, a facade that conceals the potential for greatness.

Yet, in the other half, Randel takes on the guise of a madman, a force of rage capable of nearly unraveling the fabric of the world. The stark duality of his existence perplexes Mia, as she grapples with the uncertainty of which version of Randel she has brought into her life.

Among the myriad threads of destiny, there exists one particular reality that captures her attention—an outcome where she has borne Randel's child. This offspring, a beacon of unparalleled power, disrupts the natural order and challenges the boundaries of reason. Mia can feel the weight of the potential within her, a destiny entwined with the very fabric of the universe.

As she traverses the Dromastus Territory, Mia is aware of her allure as the guards and maid secretly glance her way in awe. Beauty has always been her ally, turning heads since her Academy days. However, the anomaly lies not in her appearance but in the subject of her search. Randel Eir Dromastus, despite the potential for greatness within him, is fixated on the ordinary, the mundane. Mia understands his preference – an average girl, perhaps with freckles and brown hair, someone resembling the prim and proper villagers he idealizes.

The clash between her extraordinary nature and Randel's obsession with normalcy poses a challenge. Mia, a creature of extraordinary abilities, is tasked with navigating the intricacies of Randel's desires

Mia's ambition is a flame burning within her, a desire to reclaim the Imperial Throne and rewrite the narrative of her destiny. Yet, in the intricate dance of power, there exists an enigmatic figure—Randel Eir Dromastus. Mia, with all her precognitive dives, cannot decipher the true depths of this man.

In the tapestry of futures she has glimpsed, Mia has attempted countless times to woo Randel, only to meet failure at every turn. Frustration simmers beneath the surface as she grapples with the mystery that shrouds him. Desperation, however, takes root, and Mia resorts to drastic measures—intoxicating Randel, blurring the lines between desire and manipulation.

Mia remembers last night clearly.

The hazy atmosphere of the night becomes her ally as she lures him into her bed, a calculated move to bind their fates in the most intimate of connections. The consequence is swift, as Mia finds herself carrying the seed of power within her womb. The child, the key to her grand plan, begins its journey toward existence.

Mia's plans unfold with a simplicity that belies their audacity. She knows the path she must tread—satisfy the other person until the child is old enough to enter the Academy. From there, the wheels of her machinations will set in motion, and she will pave the way to reclaim the Empire. The importance of Randal's protection looms large in her strategy, for the Fatemancer pathway she treads lacks offensive might. Survival is its forte, but even in that, she recognizes the superiority of Randal's class—the Phantomancer.

In the corridors of her mind, Mia recalls precognitive memories of Randel, glimpses of a toughness that lies hidden beneath the surface. The Phantomancer's resilience, his ability to endure and escape, poses a formidable superiority. As she charts her course, Mia is acutely aware that her success hinges on his protection, on his unwitting role in safeguarding her and the child until the time is ripe for her ascent.

The crackling flames cast dancing shadows over the dimly lit room as Mia extends a document toward Randel. "Sign here," she instructs, her voice steady as she presents a contract of marriage—a relic of a bygone era when priests officiated such unions.

Randel, comfortably settled in front of the fireplace, takes the document and begins to read. "As I said, I want a normal wife," he declares, his gaze fixed on the words. "From now on, no more public practice of magic. I will do the same. I am aware that you have some sinister purpose for wanting me to father your child, but keep me out of it," he adds, penning his signature with a practiced hand.

Mia, standing beside him, nods in agreement. "Just to get our story straight," she begins, her eyes fixed on Randel. "I am a merchant's daughter. My mother passed away long before I was born. My father, Kjorn, died in the war, attacked by bandits. The name of my father is not a fabrication; there was a real 'Mia' with a father called Kjorn out there. The only lie I'll be perpetuating is that I am now Mia."

Randel, still reading between the lines, raises an eyebrow. "Let me guess, the real Mia is already dead," he remarks, his tone edged with skepticism.

Mia meets his gaze unflinchingly. "Correct," she confirms, a hint of solemnity underlying her admission. The firelight flickers, casting a momentary glow on the orchestrated deception that binds them together, setting the stage for a tale of fabricated identities and hidden motives.

Well, Randel Eir Dromastus has none. That's clear even to Mia. The guy just wants a perfectly normal and average life… of course, with occasional luxuries, the normal and average kind of luxuries.

Randel smirks, a condescending edge to his tone. "Identity theft, neat," he remarks, acknowledging the intricacies of the web Mia is weaving.

Mia, undeterred, responds with a solemn promise. "I will do my best to satisfy your demands," she declares, her commitment evident in her unwavering gaze.

Randel leans comfortably in his chair, his expression unyielding. "I really mean it when I said I want a normal life. As long as you are my 'normal wife,' I will at least try my best to secure your safety," he asserts, contemplating the complexities of the arrangement. "For child support, let me think of something."

Mia, grateful for the semblance of generosity, offers her thanks. "I am thankful for your generosity," she replies, her words laced with diplomatic courtesy.

Randel, still reclining, clarifies his own narrative. "Just to get my story straight too… I am Randal Eir Dromastus. I dropped out of the Sorcery Academy a decade ago. I have been lost in the Whispering Woods ever since and have miraculously come back."

Mia nods, acknowledging the details of his fabricated past. "Understood," she affirms, sealing their agreement in the firelit room.

Randel furrows his brow, a hint of concern coloring his expression. "Also, is this really okay? Won't the people be confused? You did forcefully become baroness by claiming you are a distant cousin of mine, which is obviously a lie. If someone gets a good look from the two of us, you'll be found out immediately, blondie… My hair is dark as coal."

Mia, undeterred, responds with a confident assurance. "We will be fine. I dye my hair black when I appear as the 'cousin' Baroness," she says, twirling a strand between her fingers. "My new identity should serve our purpose well enough."

Randel remains skeptical, his gaze unwavering. "I am serious… I am watching over you… I only want to lead a 'normal life' and fade into the background like a random extra…"

Mia, unable to contain her curiosity, presses further. "Your eccentricity continues to baffle me. Can you please tell me why you are so obsessed with normalness?"

Randel, his expression turning somber, responds with a frown. "You won't understand," he declares, a hint of finality in his words. "And it is better that you don't understand."

Undeterred by his cryptic response, Mia offers a wild guess with a playful tone. "Hmmm… perhaps, is it a very tragic past you wish to remain undisclosed?"

Randel falls into silence, his features tight-lipped and revealing nothing.

Mia, sensing the weight of his silence, decides to leave the conversation hanging. Without another word, she turns and exits the room, leaving the enigma of Randel's obsession with normalcy to linger in the air between them, like an unanswered question.

As she withdraws from the spotlight, the embers of her ambitions smolder. Mia contemplates the lessons learned from her failures, each setback a stepping stone toward a more sinister return. The 'Has Been' Villainess, once vanquished, seeks the shadows to rebuild, to plot her resurgence, and perhaps, in the next iteration of the story, to cast a darker shadow over the protagonists.

The narrative may have moved on, but Mia remains a force in the periphery, biding her time, waiting for the perfect moment to emerge once more—a phoenix rising from the ashes of her own downfall. The story may have ended for now, but Mia's tale is far from over.