Alya was officially done.She had successfully cracked a mana orb, performed a suspicious magical feat, and was now back in her ridiculously luxurious dorm room, pacing a rut into the plush carpet, having successfully been appointed to the exclusive Experimental Arcana Class with the three men who wanted to dissect her.
"This is my fault," she muttered, kicking the decorative armor she had meant to use as a barricade. "I should have stayed a ghost. I should have accepted my fate on Earth—a peaceful, mediocre death! Why did I have to respawn as a villainess with an exploding internal core and the ability to materialize garden produce?!"
She glanced at the silver ring on her hand where the initial golden flash of her chaotic magic had come from. The magic itself felt like a ticking clock, still warm and vibrating, deep in her chest.
I just wanted to chill, she lamented. I wanted minimal effort, maximum peace, and zero handsome people asking me profound, suspicious questions.
She threw her hands up in frustration. She had just run away from the three men who collectively decided she was their new "anomaly project." Damon was already suspicious of her motives, Elias thought she was a secret military threat, and Cyril—Cyril looked at her like she was the key to an academic Nobel Prize, which was arguably the most terrifying outcome of all.
"If I could just get a warning, a tutorial, a hint as to why I'm suddenly the main event—"
Just as the thought finished, the golden energy in her chest surged. It wasn't a gentle thrum this time. It felt like her heart had suddenly been replaced with a miniature sun.
A wave of dizzying heat washed over her. The room spun. Her vision tunneled into a blinding, golden light.
"Oh no, not again! I'm going to make a cabbage!" Alya gasped, grabbing the edge of the bed.
But before she could create any more embarrassing, low-fiber vegetables, her knees buckled.
BAM!
Anya hit the floor for the second time in two days.
Alya cracked an eye open.
Ow. Okay, that's déjà vu. Did I seriously die again? Did I glitch out of this body too?
She lay on a floor that felt like finely powdered moonlight. Slowly, she pushed herself up.
This wasn't her dorm room. She was in a space that defied physics—it was simultaneously a vast, starlit void and a highly ornate celestial palace made of polished jade and gold.
And then she saw him.
He was sitting on a throne that looked like it was woven from constellations. He had long, dark, silky hair that cascaded over his imperial robes, and his eyes, amber and startling, seemed to hold the weight of a thousand sunrises. He was impossibly handsome, radiating an air of untouchable, sublime authority.
Alya immediately scrambled backward. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Am I dead? Are you God? Because if you are, I'm putting in a complaint about the instant transmigration process. Zero warning, poor landing, and chaotic magic. Two out of ten stars!"
The celestial man smiled—a slow, world-stopping gesture that did nothing to reassure Alya.
"My dearest Alya," he intoned, his voice deep and resonant, like a chord struck on a giant harp. "Or should I say, Stellaria. Do not fear. I am Lumina, the Weaver of Destinies, and you are far from dead. This is simply the space between realities, where I manage your delightfully complex predicament."
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "And I am thrilled you are here! Because this, my little sprout, is your chance! Your glorious, life-affirming, romance-packed chance!"
"Romance-packed?" Alya stood up, crossing her arms stubbornly. "Hold it right there, Mr. Weaver of Destinies. I did not ask for romance! I asked for peace! For naps! For not having three gorgeous, hostile men looking at me like I'm a science experiment!"
Lumina completely ignored her. "I have observed your past life. Such a pity! Always yearning, always hoping for that grand, passionate connection, that epic love story written in the stars, yet always settling for stale pizza and reruns. But now? Now you are placed right into the center of a beautiful narrative with three stunningly devoted male leads!"
"Devoted to Lunessa, not me!" Alya shouted, waving her hands. "And I was perfectly happy with the pizza! It was supreme, okay? I am denying, right here and now, any desire for 'epic love'! I want out! Send me back to my nice, boring old life!"
"Nonsense!" Lumina flicked his wrist, and a holographic image of the three male leads—Damon, Elias, and Cyril—flashed in the air, framed by glittering hearts. "Look at them! They are the pinnacle of romantic potential! A cold prince who secretly craves warmth! A brooding knight dedicated to protecting his true love! A genius mage whose obsession will turn into fiery passion!"
"Their obsession is currently 'Will she explode, and if so, how much damage will the explosion do to my research paper?'" Alya deadpanned. "They hate me! They literally watched Stellaria try to ruin their lives last year! Did you even read the book?"
Lumina merely chuckled, the sound echoing like chimes. "Ah, the old Stellaria. Yes, a tedious villainess, wasn't she? Which brings us to the core dilemma."
He finally looked serious, the gold in his eyes deepening. "Listen closely, Stellaria. The previous fate of this body—the original Stellaria Vaelion—was to be found guilty of numerous frame-ups and sabotage, ultimately leading to her execution at the hands of one of the three Male Leads as they protected Lunessa."
Alya went pale. "Execu—what?!"
"A tragic, if somewhat necessary, end for a villainess. However," Lumina continued, leaning closer, "since your soul is currently occupying the body, the thread of destiny has become highly unstable. You are a glitch in the system, which is why your magic is so volatile and unclassified."
He pointed a slender finger at her. "The rule is simple: If you wish to escape this mortal coil safely—if you wish to earn the permanent, peaceful retirement you desperately crave—you must, within one year, win the genuine, unquestionable loyalty of at least one of those three Male Leads."
"Loyalty? You mean forced love!" Alya choked out.
"Ah, semantics! Loyalty is a very strong foundation for the deep, sensual love story I am writing for you," he winked, a gesture that was far too charming for a God of Destiny. "If you can manage to switch the fate thread—to make one of them protect you instead of condemning you—then your destiny is rewritten, and you are free."
"This is insane! That's harder than solving world hunger!"
"Perhaps," Lumina conceded cheerfully. "But think of the potential ecchi scenarios! The accidental proximity! The intense training montages leading to shared, sweaty tension! It's all necessary character development, my dear."
Alya felt a blush crawl up her neck. "Stop saying ecchi! I'm going to stick to the neutral, peace-loving path, thank you very much!"
"You may try," Lumina sang. "But your destiny now requires interaction. Also, one final piece of admin: The memories of the original Stellaria—her full history, her true desires, and what actually happened to her—I shall transmit them to you in small, manageable packets over the next few weeks."
Alya seized the crucial question. "What did happen to the real Stellaria? Where did she go?"
Lumina paused, a shadow briefly crossing his divine face. "That, little sprout, is not for me to say. But be warned: Stellaria was not quite the fool the novel depicted. Some secrets are best discovered at the climax."
He smiled one last, devastatingly handsome, utterly annoying smile. "Now go! Your love story awaits! And remember, at least one male lead, or the clock ticks toward a very sharp, very final conclusion."
A sudden, sharp pain flared in Alya's head, and the starlight in the chamber dissolved into a dizzying white flash.
Alya's eyes snapped open.
She was back on the plush carpet of her dorm room. The decorative armor still stood crookedly near the door. The tomato seed she had materialized earlier was still clutched tightly in her hand.
Breathe, she told herself. Breathe.
She sat up, hyperventilating. The sheer absurdity of the last few minutes hit her like a spiritual truck.
"I met a God! I saw a God! He was ridiculously attractive and gave me a love-quest or I die!" Alya scrambled onto the bed, pulling her knees to her chest, her voice high and shaky. "I have to make a hostile prince, a brooding knight, or a terrifying genius mage fall for me, and I only have a year!"
She began her strategic analysis, ticking off the male leads on her fingers.
Damon: Too political, too cold. Instant execution risk. Rejected. Elias: Too focused on Lunessa and justice. Too much genuine effort required to overcome his past resentment. Rejected. Cyril: His core drive is knowledge. He's already seen her anomaly and is obsessed with solving it.
"Cyril is the key!" Alya decided, her voice gaining frantic determination. "He just wants to study me! I'll seduce him with data! I'll become his most fascinating research subject! He said I'm an enigma to be solved—I'll make the solving process irresistible."
She threw her legs over the side of the bed, her face set in a grim mask. The death clock was ticking, and the Male Leads were already suspicious.
"Operation: Become the Irresistible Research Anomaly—Go!"