The Perks of Being a Villainess

'What's she suddenly up to? Don't tell me… she's trying to get my attention this way?'

Because Deborah wasn't acting within the bounds of what he expected, Pilaf grew even more suspicious.

She was a woman who never lost when it came to vanity and showing off. It was the perfect moment to flaunt something—so why was she staying quiet?

Pilaf unknowingly stared at Deborah's back, then scowled and looked away. Somehow, he felt like he was being dragged into something.

"Wow…"

At that moment, Miya, who was standing next to him, suddenly let out an exclamation.

"What is it?"

"That lady with the purple hair—she's really beautiful. There are so many elegant and graceful women here in the capital."

Elegant? If she knew what Deborah was really like, she'd never say that. Maybe because she came from a humble family, Miya clearly had no clue about how the world worked.

Well, if judging just by appearance, Deborah did look refined. Maybe it was the outfit that matched her hair color, but she definitely drew attention. The black pearl necklace made her long, pale neck stand out even more, and her figure was definitely…

'Damn it. What the hell am I thinking? Have I gone mad?'

No matter how visually weak men were supposed to be, this was too much. Pilaf wanted to gouge out his own eyes and quickly turned to Miya.

"Miya, you are far more beautiful and graceful. A woman like that doesn't even compare."

"Please don't say things like that."

Miya flailed her hand, flustered.

"Unlike someone else, you're even humble."

Pilaf laughed more brightly than usual, almost as if showing off.

***

'Time is really dragging. My neck's going to cramp at this rate.'

After staring out the window for too long, my trapezius muscles were starting to stiffen.

'By now, he must have lost interest in me, right?'

After enough time had passed, I stole a glance to the side. Pilaf and Miya were lost in their own little world, chatting away.

'How sweet—almost sickeningly so.'

I hoped they'd date blissfully like roasted sesame and salt—and more than anything, not drag me into their mess. With that silent wish, I turned my gaze to the professor at the podium.

The first class was Political Science. I took out a book titled Understanding Politics and a feather pen from my bag.

'What's with this princess-style quill?'

A pink quill adorned with gemstones? I couldn't help but question why I ever bought such pretty stationery when I never even studied.

'Oh? But this is actually kind of amazing.'

Maybe it's because this quill is expensive? The way it glides across the paper feels absolutely exquisite. Unlike the quills placed in the study, this one is light, just the right length, and fits perfectly in my hand—it was almost artistic in itself.

With a writing tool that suited my hand for once, my old college doodling habit resurfaced, and I accidentally discovered another talent of Deborah's.

'I have golden hands.'

In my previous life, I had hopelessly clumsy hands, so I could really feel how skillful Deborah's hands were.

With these hands, I managed to draw the distant academy building seen through the window with even more detail than I ever could as a student. If I'd had this kind of talent back then, maybe I could have studied architecture.

After completing a little masterpiece in the corner of the page, I let my thoughts drift blankly and rubbed the corners of my tired eyes.

'So sleepy...'

Maybe it was because I couldn't sleep last night, nervous about the start of the semester. The words in the book were starting to split into threes and fours. The professor's voice had no variation, sounding more like a lullaby, and this seat of mine was far too well-lit.

'Ah, whatever. I'm the kind of character who doesn't study anyway.'

That was as far as my thoughts went. Collapsing forward onto the desk, I fell asleep as if I had fainted—and began to dream of my previous life.

***

Even in the dream, I was sitting in a lecture hall.

Now that I think about it, I've spent most of my 24 years of life in classrooms. Twelve years combined in elementary to high school, four years in university. And now, right after graduation, I end up in an academy in another world?

What is this, some kind of never-ending story?

While I was lamenting—wondering if I'd been possessed by the ghost of someone who died bitter because they couldn't study properly—I heard the sound of the classroom doorknob turning.

"Yoon Dohee."

I clenched my teeth hard. Because the person who walked in through that door was Kim Hanjun.

He had a decent-looking face, sure, but his behavior was nothing short of pure thug.

"Senior Hanjun. What brings you here?"

I should've started by cursing him out thoroughly, but in the dream, I ended up speaking like some enchanted fool with a sweet voice, saying dumb things.

"Did you eat yet?"

"Ah, no."

"Let's eat together. This time, it's my treat."

"Thanks. I was just getting hungry."

Are you kidding me?! You always mooched off expensive food from me, and now you act like a saint just because you're taking me to the school cafeteria?

And why the hell am I touched by a cheap five-thousand-won pork cutlet in the dream?

"Dohee, now that I've eaten, I'm craving coffee."

"Oppa, let me treat you to coffee!"

Shut up! Stop it already!

"Can I try the new seasonal drink from Starbeans Coffee?"

"Of course."

"But if I collect just two more stamps, I can get the limited-edition diary."

"Oh, then I'll give you all of my stamps."

You even gave him your stamp cards? Wow, you really went all out.

As I watched this rapidly flashing scene from my embarrassing past with utter shame, I suddenly felt a light tap on my shoulder and jolted upright.

'What is this? Am I still dreaming?'

The moment I opened my eyes, the first thing that entered my view was a breathtakingly handsome blond man.

As I looked at his face, I furrowed my brows. How could someone be that ridiculously good-looking? I must've pitied myself so much for having nightmares about Kim Hanjun that an angel appeared in my dream to comfort me.

I stared at the angel who had suddenly barged into my dream, overwhelmed with reverence. The way sunlight scattered across his golden hair—like molten gold—was utterly divine.

If his hair resembled the sun, then beneath his striking brows, his eyes were like a sea tinged with the green of emeralds. His sharply sculpted nose looked as though it had been carved with care by a master artisan, and his soft lips seemed to be shaped by a goddess who molded them lovingly for three days and nights.

His facial features were both refined and striking, and his long neck with a prominent Adam's apple gave him an unmistakable masculinity.

He was so breathtakingly handsome that I couldn't look away. It felt as if time itself was moving slower around him.

And then—it happened. The man who looked like an angel slowly approached me and spoke.

"Class is over, Lady Deborah."

The low voice that brushed against my eardrums snapped me back to reality in an instant.

'This… wasn't a dream?'

Even after rubbing my dry eyes, the surreal-looking man was still standing right in front of me.

"...Who are you?"

I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep.

"You don't recognize me?"

A flicker of confusion crossed his emerald-like eyes.

"Am I supposed to?"

That's what I said, but truth be told, I was just as thrown off. How could Deborah not remember someone this stunning? This... this felt like a serious offense.

The fragments of memory left in Deborah's mind usually only contained things that left a strong impression. So this blond man must have made absolutely none.

Is that even possible?

At this point, I probably had to accept Deborah's "true love" for Pilaf. Just how obsessed was she with that bastard, to not even notice a man like this?

While I was lost in that ridiculous thought, the breathtaking man in front of me regained his composure and gave a gentle smile. The moment that soft smile curled on his perfectly shaped lips, I—who was barely maintaining my composure—suddenly felt a sense of danger.

So this… is what they call a face attack?

"Haha, it's understandable if you don't know me. Isidore Visconti. That's my name."

He spoke coolly, introducing himself with effortless charm.

Isidore Visconti.

The name rang a bell. Searching through my memories, I realized it was the most frequently mentioned name in the gossip of the noble ladies at Maison de.

Everyone's favorite, right.

Looking at his face, I could absolutely see why. If he were in Korea, he could probably build several skyscrapers just by breathing in front of a camera.

"So... what brings you here?"

At my question, he extended something toward me with his gloved hand clad in white leather.

This is…

What he handed over was a handout for Political Science.

Did he set this aside just for me?

He must've prepared the handout in advance and waited for me to wake up.

But this is weird. Anyone with ears should know that I'm the local crazy girl—so why is he suddenly talking to me and going out of his way to look after me?

I stared at the blond beauty suspiciously. I was already doubtful to begin with, but after that nightmare featuring Kim Hanjun, my mind couldn't help but recall how I first met that jerk.

Back then, Kim Hanjun had also waited until I woke up from a nap and handed me the handout the TA had distributed. After that, he kept pretending to care, only to bleed me dry like some corrupt leech.

"I don't need this."

I coldly rejected the handout he gave me. Political Science classes at this academy were so easy they were sleep-inducing. Compared to my senior-year university textbooks, this was a walk in the park. The handout probably just summarized the introduction anyway—and if I wanted, I could just memorize the book.

"Still, no harm in keeping it, right?"

"...Why are you acting all concerned?"

"You had a nightmare, didn't you?"

"What?"

"I saw your face frowning in your sleep. It made me want to meddle a little. Oh, are you hungry by any chance? It's lunchtime now."

His natural change of subject caught me off guard.

What the hell? Who talks like this—like some smooth-talking snake?

"I'm not hungry."

"Perfect. I'm not that hungry either. So how about we just go for some light tea?"

"I don't have time. I'll be going now."

With just four words, I firmly turned him down and quickly put distance between us. I could feel his confused gaze stabbing into the back of my head, but I kept walking like something was chasing me.

That's because ever since a moment ago, a warning siren had been blaring in my mind.

Danger.

If I kept staring at that face any longer, no matter what that man's intentions were, I might just hand everything over without a second thought.

To put it simply, that blond man awakened the dormant pushover instincts deep inside me.

I was a hopeless sucker for good looks—especially when the guy matched my exact type, like Kim Hanjun once did. But this Isidore guy? He had a face that completely shattered all standards and preferences.

There are way too many people I need to keep my guard up against around here.

As expected of a bleak, angst-filled novel world, I couldn't afford to let my guard down. With that realization, I anxiously chewed on my nail, tension creeping in again.

***

The young master, who confidently approached Lady Deborah relying solely on his looks, ended up returning alone with no success. Was it just Miguel's imagination? That usually relaxed and confident face now seemed oddly dejected.

For some reason, Miguel began to feel a bit of admiration toward Lady Deborah.

Struggling to keep his rising grin in check, Miguel asked with eyes as innocent as possible.

"My lord… Didn't you say you had a lunch appointment and told me to head back first?"

At Miguel's sly question, Isidore narrowed his eyes.

"Are you asking because you know or because you don't? Either way, it's a problem. It means my right-hand man is either cheeky or stupid."

"My lord… Looks like your charm offensive didn't quite land this time. Is that why you're a bit touchy?"

"Your mouth is getting bolder by the day."

Isidore gave Miguel a hard kick in the shin, making him cry out and hop in pain. After venting his frustration on the wrong person, Isidore glanced at his reflection in the window, sinking into brooding silence.

"There's no way this face wouldn't work. It makes no sense."

"Maybe you're just not Lady Deborah's type."

"This face isn't about type. It's golden ratio perfection. Don't you get it?"

"There's always an exception to everything. Looks like, in Lady Deborah's eyes, Lord Pilaf fits her taste much more than you."

The moment Pilaf's name was mentioned, a faint crease formed between Isidore's brows.