In the dimly lit tavern, the midday sun streams through the small, grimy windows, casting a hazy glow upon the rough wooden tables and worn-out chairs. The air is thick with the scent of ale and the muffled hum of distant conversations. At a corner table, a weary estate servant, clad in faded livery, shares a moment of respite with a weathered farmer, who looks as if he's spent more time tilling the earth than sitting in taverns.

The servant, with sunken eyes and a threadbare uniform, leans forward, his tone conspiratorial as he shares the latest gossip. "Hey, have you heard?" he whispers, glancing around cautiously. "We have a new lord again, apparently the lady Baroness has been deposed by the new lord…"

The farmer, his calloused hands nervously fidgeting with the edge of his patched-up cloak, responds in a small voice, "Is that true? I've heard the real lord, the son of the late Dromastus, has returned, so it must be true… The poor Baroness… It has not yet been two months since she began…"

The servant nods knowingly, his eyes reflecting a hint of bitterness. "Well, that's nobles for you. They will kill even their own kin if that is what it takes to be lord," he remarks, taking a sip from his mug as the murmurs of other patrons mix with the creaking sounds of the tavern.

As the low hum of conversation continues in the tavern, the door swings open, and a stout merchant strides in, his robes adorned with embroidered patterns that hint at wealth and prosperity. His eyes scan the room before settling on the table where the servant and farmer sit, deep in their discussion.

The merchant, with a wide grin that suggests both confidence and curiosity, approaches them. "If you don't mind," he says, pulling out a chair, "I've heard the lord of this territory has a very beautiful wife…"

The servant, looking up at the newcomer with a mixture of surprise and amusement, responds eagerly, "She is! Blonde hair, and blue eyes. She is almost like royalty, but clearly, a lord from the backwaters like this cannot have such a good wife! The lord must have hit the lottery!"

The farmer, his skepticism evident, takes a sip of his booze and interjects, "Lottery? They are all rigged…" He leans back, eyeing the merchant with a hint of cynicism. "No one has seen yet the mysterious wife, but only glimpses."

The merchant leans in, absorbing the details with keen interest, a smirk playing on his lips.

The servant leans in, a glint of excitement in his tired eyes as he continues the tale. "It is because the lord's wife is so beautiful people will momentarily forget their own mind!"

The farmer scoffs at the notion, his roughened hands gesturing dismissively. "Sorcery! Bah~! I don't believe it. You know most lords are sorcerers, aren't they?"

The servant counters with a shake of his head, "But from what I have heard, the lord's wife was a commoner, a merchant's daughter! It can't be that she's a sorceress. If she is, she won't end up a wife to some poor baron."

The merchant, undeterred by the farmer's dismissive tone, takes a seat at the table with an air of business. "I have a question," he says, eyeing the servant and farmer intently. "Does the lord dote on his wife? I have a few accessories that might interest your lord."

The farmer waves a hand dismissively. "Give up, this place is poor… And heck, for a time, we aren't paying taxes because of the lack of a lord. I hope things change now that we have someone to lord over us."

The servant, however, sees a glimmer of hope in the prospect of change. "Isn't that good? No taxes?"

The merchant chuckles wryly, shaking his head. "As if… War just ended, and bandits are on the prowl, not to mention all kinds of unsavory people. If the lord doesn't collect taxes, then his coffers must be empty. And if it is empty, he won't have any capital to invest in the guards!"

The farmer, swirling the last dregs of his drink in his mug, offers a grizzled nod. "You heard the merchant, boy… Taxes are not necessarily evil. If used in the right way, it can invigorate the city. When this place still had a lord, I used to earn good money because all of my crops got sold to the military."

The merchant, now seemingly more at ease with his company, chimes in, "You, dear sir, are right! Just knowing this place has not been collecting taxes for years clues me in on how much of a failed estate this is… I am sorry if that sounded offensive, but this place is actually very lucky for not being a criminally infested territory yet."

The farmer shrugs off the apology with a resigned smile. "It is because this place is the boonies of the boonies…"

The servant, still contemplating the implications of their discussion, poses a question, "If the lord has nothing in his coffers, then how can they still hire a servant like me?"

The merchant strokes his beard thoughtfully. "I reckon the new lords have brought money with them. One thing I learned about nobles is that they cannot live without their servants."

In a shadowy corner of the tavern, a solitary figure sits hunched over a mug of ale, his weathered face barely visible beneath the hood of loose, tattered robes. Despite the bustling activity around him, the old man seems isolated, lost in his own world.

Unbeknownst to the other patrons, this seemingly unassuming figure is none other than me, the new lord himself, cloaked in a meticulously crafted illusion that conceals my true identity. Behind the façade of the old man lies a careful weave of magic, allowing me to eavesdrop on the myriad conversations that echo throughout the tavern.

With a subtle flicker of focus, I hone in on the trio engaged in conversation—the farmer, the servant, and the merchant. Their voices blend into the symphony of murmurs and revelations that fill the air. I listen intently, drawing upon the threads of their dialogue as they discuss taxes, my 'accidental' wife, and the state of the territory.

I have a confession to make as to why I have returned here to the Dromastus Territory and taken the baron title for myself… It is because I want to live at least in luxury… If I want to live a normal life, then I will do it with a normal amount of luxury. Being a noble, I thought I might be able to have at least some luxury if I got to inherit the barony. I am its rightful heir, anyway. 

However, after drunkenly impregnating Mia and a bit more poking around, I realize how poor this territory actually is. The luxury that I am able to enjoy in the Estate Mansion is actually only possible because Mia still has lots of money in her.

Amidst the ambiance of the tavern, I rise from my seat, settling the tab for my drink with a flick of coins upon the counter. Exiting into the cool embrace of the evening, I find myself enshrouded in contemplation, the weight of newfound responsibilities pressing upon my thoughts.

As Baron Dromastus, the expanse of my territory unfurls before me—a domain comprising the Estate and its encircling tapestry of twelve satellite villages. It is a modest expanse, one that would suffice for the aspirations of a 'normal' baron. Yet, within this canvas lies the canvas of potential—a canvas that demands attention, innovation, and guidance.

The journey from the tavern to the Estate Mansion becomes a voyage of introspection. Contemplating the methods to breathe life into these lands, thoughts swirl like eddies in a restless stream. "Hmmm… I should govern this territory just enough for it to be self-sufficient," I murmur to myself, mapping out a strategy in the theater of my mind.

However, a peculiar notion arises, threading its way through the back of my mind. "I cannot be too incompetent or too competent if I want my life to remain normal." The realization hangs in the air, a delicate balance between striving for prosperity and yet not attracting undue attention or responsibilities.

The grand silhouette of the Estate Mansion looms ahead, a beacon in the darkness. As I approach the imposing structure, a sense of purpose accompanies me. The door creaks open, and I step into the quiet halls. Govern? How a 'normal' baron does even govern? The lazy part in me just wants to wing it, but I know better than not to mess up. Nobles are like pigs, right? They sleep, eat, shit, and fuck… Well, at least I have somewhat of a template…

The brisk morning air carries a sense of anticipation as I make my way towards the office. It's only been a week since Mia and I formalized our marriage contract—a union borne of unexpected circumstances. As I approach the doorway, the hustle and bustle of the Estate Mansion grows palpable.

Entering the office, I'm greeted by the sight of Mia, deeply engrossed in her work. Parchment after parchment sprawls across the desk, her quill dancing across the pages with a fervor that speaks volumes of her dedication. In this world, it's customary for the wife to take an active role in her husband's affairs, and Mia seems to have fully embraced this tradition.

However, what catches my eye is the change in her appearance. Mia, once adorned with regal and luscious blonde hair, has opted for a more unassuming style. Her hair, now fashioned into a humble bob-cut, frames her face with a newfound simplicity. It's a departure from the luxurious appearance she had before, yet it radiates a sense of purpose and adaptability.

Approaching her desk, I offer a warm smile, taking in the transformation. "You've changed your hair," I remark, noting the shift in her demeanor.

Mia glances up, a flicker of surprise followed by a gentle smile. "Yes, I thought a change might be suitable," she replies, her tone composed yet warm.

The bob cut, a departure from the extravagance she once bore, seems to echo a different aspect of Mia's character—a willingness to adapt and embrace the responsibilities thrust upon her. The shift in appearance reflects a deliberate choice, perhaps a symbol of her dedication to this newfound role as my very 'normal' wife.

The lord's office is a stately room adorned with rich mahogany furniture, intricate tapestries, and the soft glow of strategically placed candles. The air is imbued with a mix of aged parchment and the faint trace of magic, creating an atmosphere both regal and mysterious.

Seated on a plush sofa, I glance curiously at Mia, who is immersed in her work at a grand wooden desk. "But really," I inquire, "What's up with your hair?"

Mia looks up from her parchment, her expression serene. "I am a powerful Fatemancer, dear. I have seen many versions of yourself through my precognition alone, and all of them obsess about normality. That means I also know your preferences. This bob-cut hair makes me look more villager-like, isn't it?" She continues writing, seemingly unfazed.

"Is that so?" I mull it over, rubbing my chin. "Do you use magic on your face? I wandered around a bit, and I realize people who have seen you have a tendency to forget your face. We have a deal not to publicly practice magic."

Mia glances at me, her eyes shimmering with a subtle amusement. "It is fine as long as I am not caught… And save yourself the trouble, I know you have rigged your territory with your magic… If that's not publicly practicing it, then which?"

I lean back, acknowledging her astuteness with a wry smile. "I guess it is 'private practice' as long as no one catches on to it."

Standing up, I survey the contents of the parchment spread across Mia's desk. Requests for stonemasons, carpenters, and various laborers suggest a meticulous approach to territory management. "What are you doing?" I question, a hint of teasing in my voice. "You are a control freak… My very 'normal' wife is already usurping my authority, and it's not even a day since we are married."

Mia, undeterred, meets my gaze with a composed smile. "You will be thankful. I am very good at territory management… I am a former princess, mind you."

I chuckle, unable to resist a playful jab. "Yep, a princess on the run from the authorities."

Her eyes glint with a touch of defiance. "A princess that you promised to protect."

I interject, correcting her with a smirk. "Correction. A promise to my normal wife and normal child."

Mia raises an eyebrow, a playful challenge in her tone. "So tyrannical. So when I stop being 'normal,' will you readily abandon me?"

I flash a grin, unapologetic. "Yes." The words hang in the air, and I can't help but sigh inwardly. Is this how a side character should act?

As the days unfold in the Estate Mansion, I find myself leaving my 'normal' wife alone, trusting her capabilities and occasionally checking in on her endeavors. Mia, once the enigmatic villainess in the novel of <Hero Ender>, has seamlessly taken the role of protagonist, immersing herself in the intricacies of territory management. I've come to understand her character well through the pages of the narrative, and her affinity for governance aligns perfectly with the responsibilities she's taken on.

In this peculiar twist of fate, I've willingly embraced the role of the side character—a departure from the conventional narrative. I let Mia busy herself with the demands of the estate, aware that she revels in the challenges of overseeing stonemasons, carpenters, and the myriad tasks that come with managing the territory. It's a dynamic shift, and I can't help but marvel at how seamlessly Mia has stepped into the limelight.

I leave my 'normal' wife alone for some time, occasionally checking on her if she has done anything crazy. I let Mia busy herself. I know her character well in the novel, and that's why I know that she likes managing territories and stuff. If my life is a novel, then I reckon Mia is now the protagonist, and I am her side character. Is this how a side character normally governs? I think it is! I love it! I can loaf around as much as I like!

.....

....

...

..

.

Four months have passed since Mia and I signed our marriage contract, and a palpable change has settled over the Estate Mansion. My wife's once-flat belly now carries a noticeable swell—a telltale sign of impending motherhood. She is really pregnant! And here I am hoping at the back of my mind that she is not! I cannot believe she just raped me and is now conceiving my child. Yeah, I know how weird it sounds... A knot of mixed emotions tightens within me at the realization—she really and truly is undeniably pregnant.

As I observe the physical transformation in Mia, a complex array of sentiments unravels within. Hope and trepidation coalesce, creating a dissonance that I grapple with privately. Deep down, an inconceivable part of me wishes it were not true. The concept of fatherhood, conceived in circumstances that blur the lines of consent, feels like an unfathomable twist in this unpredictable tale.

The memories of that night—the night she seemingly took advantage of me, the night that turned consensual intimacy into something far more complex—still linger in the recesses of my mind. This barbaric world really has lost me. 

Wistful thoughts linger at the back of my mind—a desire to return to the familiar comforts of the 21st century, to escape this barbaric reality that now ensnares me. Yet, life, as unpredictable as it is, demands adaptation. In this world where the present moment holds sway, I reconcile with the fact that one must deal with the cards they are dealt.

The night completely settles in, casting a warm glow from the fireplace that flickers in the quiet room. Mia, perched in a rocking chair, hums a soft tune while her skilled hands rhythmically move, knitting needles clinking together in a rather 'normal' wife activity.

"Hey, husband," she calls out, her voice carrying a playful undertone. "Do you want to play a bet? Guessing the gender of the child?"

I pause in my task, tinkering with the wood to build a crib for the impending arrival. Glancing over, I chuckle at her suggestion. "Nah, you are a Fatemancer… You can see the future, duh? It is a losing game, so it is pointless."

The fire in the fireplace crackles, casting a dancing play of shadows in the room as Mia, still in her rocking chair, continues with her knitting. The playful banter between us unfolds, the warmth of the fire contrasting with the cool exchanges.

"Why? Afraid that you're gonna lose?" Mia teases, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

I respond with a nonchalant shrug, my tone carrying a bored air. "Yeah. A person as normal as me won't stand a chance against your might."

A playful scoff escapes Mia's lips. "Do you have no pride? I cannot believe I am married to such a prideless man."

I shoot back, my voice laced with a bitterness that lingers. "Prideless? Look at the mirror, and ask yourself, rapist."

Mia winces at the retort, but her pride prevails. "You are still sour about that, huh? Move on. You won the lottery by having me. I am beautiful, sexy, and powerful… I am the 'perfect' wife."

I stand my ground, resolute. "And as I said… I want a normal wife."

Mia, with a proud grin, delivers her verdict. "Suck it up, you get a normal wife in the daylight, and a perfect wife at night. Now, that's a done deal!"

With a resigned sigh, I finally finish building the crib, the completion signaling the end of our banter—for the moment. 

The flickering flames in the fireplace lend a soft glow to the room, where Mia and I engage in a more serious discussion. She, still nestled in her rocking chair, raises a pertinent question.

"So, how's the building of the militia? Our finances might not be able to cover it," Mia inquires, her eyes reflecting a genuine concern.

I reassure her, my hands brushing off wood shavings as I finish a piece for the crib, trying to 'perfect' it in a sense. "We will be fine… I just dumped all of the money I have in the vault. We should be able to last a year being liquid."

Her brow furrows slightly as she questions the necessity of a militia. "Do we really need a militia? We have two mighty sorcerers here, you and me…"

I pause, considering her words, and then respond with a pragmatic tone. "A normal baron will have a normal militia, not two OP sorcerers."

The ambient glow of the fireplace remains a constant witness to our exchanges, and this time, the conversation takes an unexpected turn. Mia, still in her rocking chair, voices her disdain.

"You and your obsession with normalness is disgusting… If we are inside a novel, the readers must be pretty disgusted too…"

A pang of discomfort settles within me, and I instinctively interrupt. "You are not allowed to do that!"

Mia, unfazed, toys with the notion of fourth-wall breaks. "What? Fourth wall breaks? I am a Fatemancer; I can see through dimensions. What you perceive as the readers are just the agglomeration of the universe manifesting the subconscious, and…"

I cut her off, my tone tinged with a sense of despair. "Please stop…" The weight of the revelation and the blurring of the boundaries between reality and fiction hang heavily in the air. I feel a sense of glumness, not wanting to meet her gaze. To regain composure, I focus on my breathing, inhaling and exhaling until I am as calm as ice.

Mia, perceptive to the unease she stirred, offers an apology.

"I am sorry, I didn't mean to…"

I meet her gaze with a measured expression. "It is fine, since you have seen me through your precognition a lot, then you must know a lot about me."

Mia, her eyes reflecting a genuine regret, ventures into deeper territory. "Are you curious? Of what you are? Of what you can become?"

A resolute response slips from my lips. "Never."

The ambiance in the room shifts to a more casual tone as I steer the conversation toward lightheartedness. "To a more lighthearted topic, you are perfectly doing well as my normal wife… The people love me for governing them so successfully when in fact, it is all your work." With a playful grin, I pop a bottle of wine and pour it into a single glass. My gaze shifts to the cabinet, and I retrieve another glass, this time filling it with orange juice.

Mia, inquisitive yet demure, questions, "It is fine if I drink a bit of liquor, right? But orange juice, really?"

I chuckle, offering a rationale. "Better safe than risk it… Orange juice has vitamin C; it will be good for you! Anyway…" With a snap of my fingers, the color of the orange juice undergoes a magical transformation, turning crimson with the unmistakable aroma of alcohol. "I used my Phantasm Magic on it. Chemically, it is still orange juice. But with my magic, I made it so that you will have the illusion that you are actually drinking wine! Moreover, you can also get drunk with it, without having any hangovers!"

Mia, initially skeptical, responds with an incredulous tone. "What? That's ridiculous! Impossible!" Despite her protest, she takes a sip and then nods cutely in appreciation. "I love it."

The room takes on an air of anticipation as I unveil a surprise for Mia, my 'perfectly normal wife.' "Since my perfectly normal wife has done me good, I should reward you!" I announce with a flourish, wheeling in the covered reward.

Mia looks at the covered object with curiosity. "What is that?" she asks as I push a sofa into a comfortable position and usher her to it, revealing the mystery object. "Is it something like a magic crate?"

With a grin, I confirm, "Yeah, something like that. Let me show you how it is used." I reveal the remote, and with a series of clicks, the television screen flickers to life, showing Mr. Bean in all his comedic glory. I take a moment to guide Mia through the workings of the remote, showcasing the channels and features.

Mia, enchanted by the novel device, plays with the remote, changing channels with a delighted expression. "This is amazing," she exclaims, cycling through channels from HBO to the Discovery Channel, embracing the magic of this technological wonder.

As the glow of the television screen illuminates the room, Mia and I settle into the newfound entertainment. I take a moment to explain, "The show… er… the 'theater plays' that the TV had was based on my memories, so you might see some repeating stuff, but it is quite assorted and varied, so you won't get bored with it."

Mia, intrigued, queries, "Memories?"

"In my past life. Not a big deal," I respond casually, downplaying the significance.

Her eyes widen with realization. "This isn't… normal… This thing is not ordinary… This thing is extraordinary!"

I shift uncomfortably, feeling a touch embarrassed. "No. It is a perfectly normal TV." I lay down a few rules, a hint of authority in my tone. "We'll have rules on using it… Watch only past 7:00 PM to 10:00 PM. Do you understand?"

Mia, with a jesting tone, playfully acknowledges, "Yes, patriarch."

I press, a hint of doubt in my voice, "Do you like it?"

Her response is immediate and genuine. "I love it." The acknowledgment brings a sense of relief, and the room is filled with the soft glow of the television, casting a warmth of 'normality' to this strange life of mine.

The night unfolds in the Estate Mansion, and Mia and I find ourselves engrossed in the wonders of the television. After some playful exploration with the remote, Mia finally settles on a surprising choice—Frozen, but not in its typical cartoon form. Instead, the scenes unfold in a remarkably realistic manner, a product of my reconfigured memories enhancing the show's presentation.

As the story progresses, Mia leans comfortably against my shoulder, the warmth of companionship palpable in the quiet of the room. In a playful display of my abilities, I conjure a box of popcorn through my illusion, meticulously replicating its taste, texture, and appearance to perfection.

The aroma of freshly popped corn fills the air, and the two of us delve into the feast of popcorn, savoring each bite as the scenes from Frozen play out on the screen.

Mia, perched comfortably next to me, watches the screen with a quizzical expression. "This Elsa is such a powerful Cryomancer. She can give sentience to a mere snow golem… And why are they all singing?"

I chuckle softly at her curiosity. "It is all fiction, none of it is real."

"Meh~!" Mia dismisses with a wave of her hand. "I doubt it."

I shrug in response, a hint of amusement in my tone. "Whatever suits you…"

As the scenes of Frozen continue to unfold on the TV, Mia, focused and engrossed, enjoys the popcorn in her hands. "This is delicious…" she remarks, savoring the taste.

I, taking on the role of the attentive host, offer, "If you get tired of it, I'll replace it with other snacks." With a quick refill of the popcorn, I keep the snack supply steady.

Mia's attention momentarily shifts, a flash of realization crossing her features. "Hmmm… I just saw you leave like five seconds in the future…"

Perplexed, I glance at her. "Huh?" Simultaneously, I feel the Phantasm Barrier I placed in my mansion warning me of intruders. A frown creases on my forehead. "We have visitors… Ugh… This is annoying."

Mia, ever ready, offers her assistance. "Do you want me to deal with them?"

I shake my head, a hint of frustration evident. "No, stay here."

I remain seated in the comfort of the room, a sense of frustration building within me as I cast my magic around the mansion. The intrusion of unwanted visitors disrupts the tranquility of my otherwise normal life. The realization dawns on me that perhaps I should have expedited the construction of my militia to deal with unforeseen situations like this.

Through my Phantasm Barrier, a protective shield I meticulously placed around the mansion, I sense their number— a total of 27 individuals.

Outside, the night envelops the estate, casting shadows that dance in the glow of lanterns scattered around. By the east side, where the windows stand witness to the intrusion, two figures emerge.

"Shush… you amateur… Don't be noisy, close the window properly," the first intruder hisses, a note of irritation in his voice.

The second intruder fumbles, admitting, "My bad… So we really are here to kidnap the lord's wife?"

The first intruder, skittering around with purpose, replies with a calculating tone, "It will be good money… My contact testified to me that she'll be worth lots of gold!"

"Are you sure it is not an exaggerated lie…" The second intruder, cautious and skeptical, scans the shadows lurking in the corners. "The lord of this place might be the boastful kind… Moreover, no one has really seen his wife outside his mansion!"

The first intruder, undeterred, offers another theory. "Or maybe his wife is so beautiful he doesn't want others to look at her…"

A sudden and unsettling transformation occurs as the second intruder's eyes turn red. Swiftly, he draws his dagger and stabs his unsuspecting partner. The first intruder, bewildered and betrayed, gasps in pain.

"Why?" he manages to croak, but there's no answer from the assailant.

In a surreal twist, my voice cuts through the tension. "It is because you messed with me." The words resonate through the intruder's mouth, and I take control, dragging the quickly dying body toward the exterior of the mansion. The eerie spectacle unfolds against the backdrop of the night.

Outside the mansion, an eerie scene unfolds as lifeless bodies are dragged across the grounds.

I've employed a sinister form of manipulation, a method that goes beyond the boundaries of traditional magic. There's no such thing as a 'mind control' spell at play here; instead, the process is more convoluted and demands a meticulous unraveling of the intruders' psyches.

To usurp their minds, I first must break them. It's a disturbing journey into the recesses of their consciousness, where I dismantle their mental fortitude. Once their minds lie in tatters, the next step is to take control manually, exerting my willpower and mental strength to manipulate their bodies like puppets on invisible strings.

This form of mind control is frowned upon even among sorcerers. The act of breaking and controlling another's mind is considered taboo, a power that delves into morally ambiguous territory. Phantomancers, practitioners of this dark art, are often looked down upon. It's not only because of the ethical implications but also due to the perception that Phantomancers are typically weaklings, lacking the definitive power that other sorcerers wield. I, however, stand as an exception to this stereotype.

Amidst the grim choreography of death and control, I take care not to disturb the estate's remaining servants. With a subtle weaving of magic, I lull them into a deep slumber, adorning their minds with pleasant dreams that shield them from the horrors that transpire just beyond the walls of the mansion.

 I am a side character, just an extra, so I cannot have my servants see me as some powerful dark lord in hiding.

"Are you done already?" Mia questions, her gaze not leaving the captivating scenes playing on the TV.

"Yep, nice and tidy... I have them bury themselves in the backyard… I am too lazy to bring them further outside," I respond, a casual tone masking the unsettling nature of the task.

"Refill the popcorn," Mia instructs, her attention momentarily diverted from the unfolding drama on the screen.

"Okidoki." I comply, refilling the popcorn and maintaining the façade of normalcy.

Curiosity seeping into her voice, Mia queries, "Who are they? Robbers?" Her eyes remain fixed on the TV.

"I left one alive in the dungeons; you can deal with him tomorrow… From now on, I have decided I am a normal househusband… It is annoying to deal with governing stuff…" I confess, an air of nonchalance accompanying the declaration.

"That's extremely lazy of you…" Mia remarks, her tone tinged with amusement and perhaps a hint of disbelief.

"One thing I learned from the past four months on how to govern like a side character is to let your wife do it," I explain, offering a rationale for my newfound approach.