The Perks of Being a Villainess

As soon as the name Isidore was mentioned, their faces flushed bright red. Just moments ago, they had been chatting politely and happily, but now they were like a herd of excited wild bulls.

It reminded me of how I get when I'm overly obsessed with my favorite character.

"Even if I have to sell my soul, I'll die happy as long as I can see Lord Isidore's face with my own eyes!"

"Every woman must see him. Once you lay eyes on that beautiful face, you can't forget it. He even appears in your dreams!"

"He shows up in your dreams? Oh my, I wouldn't want to wake up then."

"I slept like a bear all winter just to prepare myself to welcome him in my dreams."

Their chatter, which bordered on fangirl-level delusion, showed no sign of stopping. Glowing blond hair, a jawline sharp enough to cut, shoulders as broad as the sea—an endless stream of cliché praises flowed from their lips.

'He must be insanely handsome.'

But why isn't he mentioned in the novel?

Despite the flashy nickname "Golden Visconti," the son of that house never appeared in the story. Readers had secretly hoped he'd be the dashing romantic relief in an otherwise heavy, angst-filled plot.

'A handsome blond man is the epitome of romance. How strange.'

The noble ladies finally cooled down, fanning their flushed faces as the server brought over their cake and drinks.

Once they had eaten enough, they picked the conversation back up.

"Oh, have you heard about that story?"

"What story?"

"They say the Seymour dukedom won the bid for the Pink Diamond."

"Then the owner of that diamond is..."

Once everyone realized who the owner was, the atmosphere turned sour and awkward.

'That's me, huh.'

"Princess Deborah must be strutting around now. Her nose must be high up in the sky."

"Honestly, just thinking about it is irritating."

"A pearl necklace on a pig..."

Someone muttered under their breath, and everyone let out a snide laugh in agreement.

'Oof. That's harsh.'

It was the first time I'd heard such blunt words about the body I was now living in. Until now, I'd only been surrounded by sycophants.

"What's the point of having the most luxurious clothes and accessories in the empire if your character is rotten?"

"I heard Princess Deborah stole Helen, the designer who was supposed to be making Lady Seylin's dress."

"Because of Princess Deborah's tyranny, Lady Seylin had to scramble to get a dress made at a different boutique—right before her birthday, too."

So there was a backstory like that.

But Deborah herself had no idea. Helen had backed down out of fear, all on her own.

'It's true Deborah wouldn't have cared about Seylin's circumstances, but still, this feels kind of unfair.'

"Such a rude person."

"Rude is an understatement. Even if she's Duke Seymour's daughter, she's far too arrogant and self-centered. There's not an ounce of noble dignity in her."

"She's uncultured and incompetent to boot. Isn't Princess Deborah the only one in the Seymour bloodline who can't use mana at all?"

They all covered their mouths with fans and giggled as if that fact was delightful, but I couldn't bring myself to laugh.

'Was it really necessary to mock her by poking at her biggest insecurity?'

"And yet she struts around flaunting her family name like she owns the place. What an eyesore."

"Thanks to her, I get chills just seeing purple hair these days."

Listening to their cutting words left a bad taste in my mouth, and the next comment only made me feel worse.

"Why would Duke Seymour give… to Princess Deborah…?"

One of the ladies, speaking in a tone that implied she couldn't understand why Duke Seymour had gifted me the Pink Diamond, abruptly stopped mid-sentence and quietly sipped her tea.

'So they can't touch Duke Seymour, but they have no problem tearing down Deborah, who seems easier to target. Got it. What lovely hypocrisy.'

"Maybe… Princess Deborah is a sweet daughter at home?"

"Sweet?"

"As if!"

Thanks to the lady who almost slipped up, the awkward atmosphere quickly softened as the conversation shifted back to gossiping about me.

"Well, rumor has it that Lord Belec doesn't even want to mention Lady Deborah's name. Just how much of a mess is she at home that her own brother refuses to speak of her?"

"No matter how generous Lord Belec is, there's no way he'd see his sister—who tarnishes the family name—in a positive light."

"I doubt Lord Rozard feels any differently either."

They were clearly upset that I had gotten the Pink Diamond, dragging even the twins from my family into their petty attempts to degrade me.

To think that these supposedly refined nobles would spend their afternoon engaging in such low-level gossip.

'Disgusting. I should just go home.'

Crash—!

Just then, as I angrily pushed back my chair to stand up, the table wobbled from the force, and a coffee cup that had been sitting on the edge toppled to the floor.

The loud shattering sound drew everyone's eyes toward me.

Then, as if on cue, a strong gust of wind swept across the terrace, blowing back the hood I had pulled low over my head.

"Gasp."

"L-Lady Deborah…"

As my face—once hidden beneath the hood—was revealed, a suffocating silence fell over the terrace.

The noble ladies who had just been gleefully slandering me at point-blank range turned deathly pale. One of them was even trembling like she might faint on the spot.

I was just about to leave, but accidentally revealing my identity in front of everyone left me just as flustered.

I froze for a moment at the unexpected situation, then finally came to my senses—I couldn't just stand there like an idiot. I had just overheard all the gossip from noble ladies of lower rank. And now I was supposed to quietly let the insult slide?

That would make me look completely spineless.

'No way.'

Before I died, I had sworn: if I had another life, I would never let myself be a pushover again. It was a vow burning deep enough to summon frost in midsummer.

Clenching my teeth, I glared at them with as fierce a look as I could muster.

"Done talking? After all that pointless chatter, now you go quiet. How entertaining. Truly, I had a great laugh."

My voice came out rough and cracked from nerves. Thankfully, the hoarse tone made me sound threatening enough—faces that were already pale turned even more ashen.

I stared them down one by one, eyes narrowed with pressure. Then, deciding I needed a better angle—to look down on them with proper arrogance—I shot up to my feet.

And gasped.

Nerves made me stumble as my legs twisted awkwardly beneath me.

Bang!

The round table in front of me tipped over under my weight, falling in the direction of the gathered ladies. The flower vase that had been on the table hit the floor and shattered into pieces.

"Kyah!"

In an instant, chaos erupted. All eyes turned to me with shocked expressions. Judging by their looks, they were convinced I had flipped the table on purpose.

'I didn't mean to go as far as breaking things…'

It was embarrassing, yes, but what's done is done.

I figured going all in would be more intimidating anyway, so I slowly walked toward the pale, frozen noble ladies—buying myself a little time to think of my next lines.

With all the things I had seen and read before, I stood firmly in front of them, shifted my weight onto one hip, and tilted my head slowly.

"Now even dogs and cows think they can chatter about me however they like."

The mention of "dogs and cows" made their faces twitch with a flicker of humiliation.

"Why those faces? You had the guts to call me a pig, but now that I call you dogs and cows, suddenly you're offended?"

Like they say—pearls before swine.

"L-Lady Deborah, w-we didn't mean—"

"Why are you stammering now? You were gossiping so smoothly earlier. Did your tongues suddenly break?"

As I fired back, the oldest-looking of the ladies hurriedly stepped forward.

"P-please forgive us. We were foolish to be so disrespectful toward you. We sincerely apologize."

"You were bold enough to call me a pig, yet the moment you're faced with me, you tuck your tails like dogs facing a tiger. Disappointing. If you can't bark to my face, then you shouldn't yap behind my back either. For such cowardly, lowly people to talk about noble dignity—how amusing."

Even I was surprised at how well I was speaking.

"We're truly sorry."

"There's no excuse. We were completely out of line."

The other two ladies bowed repeatedly, trembling and ghostly pale.

"Watch your mouths. That's what I mean—don't flap your tongues so carelessly."

I had planned to end things after making them offer a proper apology. But just then, one of the ladies—biting her lip in resentment at being scolded so one-sidedly—stepped forward boldly.

"...But Lady, everyone agrees that forcing the boutique designer away from Lady Seylin, just before her birthday, was going too far."

Meaning, I was also in the wrong for ignoring the unspoken rules among noble ladies. Among them, it was an unwritten rule that even if they liked a dress, they wouldn't take it if it had already been claimed or was meant for an important event by another Lady.

I tilted my head even more crookedly.

"Is Lady Seylin also one of those who tucks her tail in front and barks loudly behind others, like you lot?"

"...Pardon?"

"If she has a problem with my actions, tell her to come to Seymour directly. We'll settle it between nobles, properly and face to face."

I picked up a cold glass of juice from the table.

"Do you know what truly crosses the line?"

"...!"

"It's that mouth of yours, speaking recklessly just because the person involved isn't present."

With that, I splashed the red cherry juice straight toward her mouth.

"And now, I'm going to show you what it really means to cross the line."

"H-Hurk!"

Soaked in bright red juice, the Lady gasped in shock. She stammered an apology through teary eyes before running out of the terrace.

The other Ladies quickly followed after her, using the excuse of consoling her—as if they weren't just escaping.

'This wasn't even crossing the line. If I were the real Deborah, you all would've been…'

Staring at the steaming cup of hot black tea left on the table, I shook my head to erase the terrible image that flashed through my mind.

***

"Master, have you made much progress?"

"Can't you see?"

Isidor replied curtly to Miguel's question.

He was sitting atop a large, flattened and tanned orc hide, drawing a magic circle. Creating the spatial magic pouch he had promised to give Lady Deborah required significant effort and time.

The system incorporated three simultaneous spells—spatial teleportation, expansion, and tracking—making the complexity of the magic circle extraordinary. Moreover, the magic circle was Isidor's own improved design—something that couldn't be bought, no matter the price.

'Honestly, I think our young master's ability to handle spatial magic might even surpass that of Duke Seymour.'

Just as Miguel thought that with pride, Cookie, who had been thumping his tail nearby, suddenly bit into the orc hide.

"Cookie! What are you doing?!"

"Grrrr… Kyak!"

"Damn it. I can't do this."

Ever since Lady Deborah's visit, Cookie—who used to be obedient—started acting rebellious, as if going through puberty. Swallowing his curse, Isidor threw down his quill and turned toward Miguel.

"What brings you here all of a sudden?"

"It seems Lady Deborah stopped by the Maison de."

At the mention of Deborah's name, Cookie's sharp ears perked up. His eyes began to sparkle, as if yearning for something.

"Could she have gone there to meet with the informant?"

At the mention of Deborah's name, Cookie's pointed ears perked up. His eyes began to sparkle, as if longing for something.

"Did she go there to meet an informant?"

"No. She flipped a table and smashed all the vases and teacups before leaving."

At Miguel's report, Isidor coughed lightly.

"That's not all. Apparently, she had a clash with Count Eighth's daughter on the terrace. Considering the status of both families, it didn't seem like a fair fight."

"Ha."

"In the end, she made Lady Eighth cry her eyes out."

Miguel recalled the report from a Maison de informant who had witnessed the whole thing. Since it happened on a terrace facing a busy alley, the argument between Deborah Seymour and Arin Eighth had become quite a popular gossip topic among the socialites.

'The nobility, especially high society, thrives on that kind of gossip.'

The conclusion was clear: Deborah Seymour remained a singular force of fear among noble ladies. In noble society, where invisible blades are exchanged through sweet words, Lady Deborah openly swung her sword for all to see.

'But with a backing that strong, no one dares to touch her.'

The nickname "Purple Viper." No one knows who coined it, but it certainly fit. Her mother, Marianne Seymour, was once known as the flower of high society—but Deborah walked a path completely unlike her mother.

"Lady Deborah… she's incredibly clever, isn't she?"

Isidor, who had been silent until now, murmured as he stroked his chin.