Villains Are Destined to Die

Chapter 8

I raced up the stairs and returned to my room. Shutting my door, I jumped onto the bed.

“Phew...”

My body melted into the soft touch of the sheets. It was still morning, approaching lunchtime, but I felt drained like I’d spent a full day running around. I took several deep breaths to try and calm my pounding heart, which had gone crazy after the encounter with Derrick. Suddenly, I burst out laughing.

“Ha! Somehow, I’m still alive.” I guess my repeated efforts to make at least some progress in the game hadn’t been completely wasted. I’d actually had the presence of mind to address Derrick as “Lord Derrick” despite how flustered I was.

As the tension left my body, I began to remember snippets of information about the game. When I’d first started the game, Derrick’s affection score had fluctuated heavily, unlike the other male protagonists. I’d manage to select the right dialogue and increase his affection score with some difficulty, but one little mistake was often enough to undo all my hard work. I simply hadn’t been able to figure out what triggered the drop in affection.

Does he have some sort of personality disorder? I wondered. Why the roller coaster ride?

I only found the reason after multiple deaths. Derrick hated Penelope so much that he even hated hearing her call him “brother.” Whenever I chose a dialogue option with the word “brother” in it, the affection score would drop, puzzling me.

“He’s so finicky. Even worse than my own older half-brother,” I said, frowning and clucking my tongue. In any case, it was only because I’d remembered this about him at the last moment that I was still alive.

I’ll never call him brother ever again.

I repeated this to myself multiple times so I wouldn’t forget. I would avoid him completely if I could, of course, but I had to be ready for details in the story I didn’t know about. My eyes began to close as I lay in bed, thinking.

I need to eat something.

Food would provide much-needed energy. It was nearly lunchtime already, but because of the shock of this morning, I didn’t really feel hungry.

Oh, whatever.

Feeling too tired to do anything, I simply closed my eyes. Sleep before food.

Maybe I just wanted to forget the horrible reality I had found myself in. I was deep asleep not long after I closed my eyes.

* * *

“Why is this in your room?” said a cold voice, surprisingly close to my ear.

A different voice shouted from beside me, “Answer him, you rat! You’re the one who stole it!”

“Reynold,” the duke warned his cursing second son.

Reynold shut up but stamped his foot angrily.

What the hell is this?

I looked around before lowering my head. I seemed to be shorter, my hands smaller. The realization hit me immediately. I was in Penelope’s dream.

“Tell me, Penelope. Why do you have my daughter’s necklace? I seem to remember telling you that her room was off limits.”

“Father! What need is there to ask? That girl stole it!” Reynold said accusingly, despite the duke’s warning.

Penelope glared at Reynold.

“I didn’t steal it! I haven’t stolen anything!”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Why was Father’s birthday present to Ivonne inside a drawer in your room, then?” Reynold shouted, shoving the necklace in her face.

I’d never seen it before. As was expected of her personality, Penelope shook her head and argued, “I don’t know! I was never in that room!”

“I saw her,” someone said, stepping through the crowd of people that had gathered.

The duke, who’d been groaning as Reynold and Penelope screamed at each other, turned to look.

“Pennel.” It was the butler.

“I noticed Lady Penelope going up to the third floor often these past few weeks. I checked Lady Ivonne’s room just in case and found the door unlocked.”

Everyone now turned to Penelope again, dozens of eyes all focusing on the little girl. Even the arrogant Penelope could not ignore the accusation in all those eyes.

“It... it wasn’t me,” she said, backing away.

It was true she’d gone up to the third floor often. It was the least frequented of all the places in the manor and also led to the attic. But she’d only done so because she didn’t want to be alone with the maid who harassed her, not to steal anything—especially not something that had once belonged to the duke’s real daughter.

“It really wasn’t me, Father! I never went into that room!” Penelope shouted at the count desperately. This was a display of trust and affection for the man who’d adopted her. The duke was cold to her desperate cries, however.

“Pennel. Lock all the doors on the third floor and nail the door to Ivonne’s room shut.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Summon the jeweler tomorrow.”

“F-father...” faltered Penelope.

The incident, which had happened not long after Penelope was adopted, was concluded without any regard for what she had to say. Penelope, frozen and pale, simply gazed at the duke, but he said nothing to her as he left.

“You should have gotten the hell out of our house when I asked you nicely, stupid b*tch,” Reynold whispered nastily when his father was gone. Then he shoved Penelope to the floor before following after the duke.

“Scum,” Derrick spat coldly at the girl slumped on the floor.

The scene shifted.

After that, Penelope purchased an immense number of jewels and valuables from the merchants that visited the house. The servants nearly passed out at the amount of money that changed hands, and Derrick and Reynold had blustered that she had no right to spend so lavishly. And Penelope had never called the duke “Father” again.

Knock. Knock.

The quiet knocking pulled me out of my deep slumber. I opened my eyes wearily.

Knock, knock.

The knocking came again when I didn’t respond. The rapping on the door was sharp, almost irritable. I pulled myself up slowly.

“Who’s—”

Click. The door swung open before I could even ask who it was.

“My lady. It’s me.”

Bright light poured into the room. The sun seemed to have set, as my room was dark. I found the sudden light blinding. Squinting, I stared at the person who’d opened the door.

“The butler?” I muttered.

“I have come regarding an urgent matter.”

It wasn’t a commonplace occurrence for the butler to seek out Penelope so urgently, so my stomach plummeted. The dream I’d just woken from probably heightened my anxiety.

“What would that be?”

Had the stepbrothers maligned me again? Was I being accused of something? My voice trembled, making me feel like a fool. The butler finally provided an explanation for why he had rudely thrown open the door.

“I believe we need to pick a new personal maid for you before dinner—”

I felt my mind go blank.

“Wait,” I said, holding up a hand.

The butler stopped speaking. He seemed offended that I’d interrupted him, judging from the frown lining his forehead.

That’s it? Sadly enough, the first feeling I experienced was relief, though it was quickly replaced with rage.

He threw open my door without permission over the selection of a stupid maid? The more I thought about it, the more incredulous I felt.

“Look here, butler,” I said in a low voice.

“Yes, my lady?”

“What is your name?”

“I’m sorry?” he said stupidly, not having expected the question at all.

I generously repeated myself.

“I asked you for your name?”

“Pennel... my lady.”

“And what is my name?”

“My lady. Why these questions?” he asked, looking displeased that I was changing the subject. The creases in his brow deepened.

“Answer my question. What is my name?”

“Penelope Eckhart... my lady,” he finally said unwillingly.

“Yes. Penelope Eckhart. I am a noble,” I said, nodding and emphasizing my name. I continued quietly. “I have never heard of a commoner, let alone a servant, just throwing open the door of a noblewoman, and in her own home, no less. Is that perhaps a new form of etiquette I haven’t heard about, butler?”

Penelope was a stupid girl. If this kind of treatment had made her angry, she shouldn’t have thrown screaming fits but instead should have brandished her social status as a weapon to make sure the servants knew their place. She was an officially adopted member of the duke’s family. It was the perfect weapon to use against the butler. Penelope’s position was much stronger than mine in the real world; that of some wealthy family’s illegitimate daughter.

“You know, if a male servant keeps frequenting the room of a young girl of the aristocracy... Why, that sounds like far-fetched gossip popular among the common folk.”

“...”

“Isn’t that right?” I asked, smiling innocently. Social status proved an amazingly effective deterrent.

“M-my lady!” The butler blanched in fear. Such a rumor would certainly have disastrous consequences for him.