Emilia followed the butler through the grand halls of the Vilheim mansion, her steps measured and graceful. Her eyes, however, did not wander over the luxurious surroundings—she did not marvel at the glittering chandeliers or the grand paintings that lined the walls. To her, such displays of wealth were neither impressive nor intimidating.
After all, the original Emilia had built a business empire in her past life; she was no stranger to affluence. But in this life, it was different—the system that controlled her every move ensured that she maintained a noble posture, straight-backed and poised, whether she liked it or not.
The butler, an older man with sharp eyes and refined air, led her to her bedroom, announcing it with a soft gesture. "Miss Emilia, your room."
Emilia offered a small nod in acknowledgment, her lips curving slightly in what appeared to be a warm and gentle smile. She hadn't intended to smile—once again, the system was pulling strings, arranging her expressions as carefully as it did her actions.
Inside, Emilia felt a wave of weariness, knowing that her every step, every breath, was carefully controlled by the system's insistence on her appearing benevolent and holy.
She stepped into the room, and it was everything one would expect from the Vilheim family—a spacious chamber with polished wooden floors, velvet curtains draped elegantly over wide windows, and a large bed adorned with soft linens.
The furniture was intricately carved, and the room exuded both wealth and warmth. However, none of it moved Emilia. The system ensured her composure was flawless, her demeanor that of a noblewoman born to such luxuries, not a mere orphan raised in a cathedral.
Standing beside her was a maid, Casey—someone Emilia recognized from one of the darker routes in the game. Casey had betrayed her in the 34th route, stealing Adelaide's possessions and framing Emilia for the crime. She had done it not out of malice, but out of loyalty to Adelaide, her beloved mistress. In Casey's eyes, Emilia had been a threat, a usurper of Lady Adelaide's rightful place.
Emilia sighed inwardly, knowing full well what might be waiting for her with this maid, but the system refused to let her react naturally. She felt the curse forming on her lips, a sarcastic retort ready to spill out, but it was swiftly swallowed by the filter that twisted her words into something saintly and pure.
"You may leave," Emilia said, her voice smooth, kind, and unmistakably graceful. "God has granted me hands and feet, and I am more than capable of tending to myself."
Casey hesitated, clearly not expecting such a response. She glanced at Emilia, trying to gauge whether there was some hidden insult in the words, but Emilia's face—thanks to the system—remained soft, almost radiant in its kindness. With a deep bow, Casey murmured her obedience and quickly left the room.
Finally alone, Emilia exhaled deeply. The strain of constantly having to be something she wasn't weighed heavily on her. She moved to the bed, her steps careful and slow, and set her few belongings down on a small table beside it.
Unlike most noble daughters, her luggage was sparse—a couple of worn books and a small case containing only the necessities. Her wardrobe was unimpressive, and her white gown, though clean and respectable, was simple in comparison to the lavish dresses Adelaide often flaunted.
She glanced at the academy invitation that lay on the bedside table. It was a gilded envelope, elegantly sealed with the Vilheim crest, and inside it was her official acceptance as one of the 13 Saintess candidates. Normally, this would be an occasion of great joy, but for Emilia, it was just another step along a predestined path, one that seemed to lead only to death in every route she had seen.
A soft sigh escaped her lips as she sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers idly tracing the embroidery on the blanket. A few weeks remained until her enrollment at the academy, but she couldn't help but feel the weight of the events already in motion. Dealing with the emotions in this family, especially Adelaide's growing resentment and the Duke's suspicion, was going to be exhausting.
Still, perhaps it was better to face the family's cold glares now before heading to the academy, where the stakes would be higher, and the chances of her survival even slimmer.
She lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as thoughts swirled in her mind. The system kept pushing her to act noble, kind, and selfless, but in reality, Emilia's desires were far more complex.
She didn't care for the approval of this family or for being some holy figure. All she wanted was to live—freely, without being bound to anyone's expectations. A wish that felt impossibly far away.
For now, though, she had to play her part.
As she closed her eyes, the room seemed to settle into a quiet calm, but Emilia knew that this peace was only temporary. Beneath the surface, a storm was brewing, and she would have to navigate through it carefully, lest she become lost in the chaos of it all.
"Just a few more weeks," she whispered to herself. "Then I'll face whatever comes next."
*****
As the butler Evan knocked on the door once again, he felt a rising suspicion. The Duke had specifically instructed him to observe Emilia closely, and so far, every move she made was calm, composed—almost too perfect. When no response came, he hesitated only briefly before apologizing softly and entering the room.
What greeted him was a sight both serene and slightly unsettling. Emilia knelt in the center of the room, her hands clasped together, her eyes closed in what appeared to be deep prayer. Her aura was one of tranquility, her posture graceful as the faint murmur of holy scripture escaped her lips.
The butler, who had witnessed many noble daughters in his long service, had never seen someone so thoroughly embody the image of a saint. He stood there in awe, watching as the young girl continued her prayers, radiating a calmness that felt almost unnatural.
In reality, Emilia wasn't praying out of devotion—she was following the system's orders, trapped in a holy routine she had no control over. Internally, she was sighing in exasperation, feeling the overwhelming embarrassment of having to utter scriptures she barely believed in. After what felt like an eternity, she finally finished, opening her eyes and turning to Evan with an innocent, almost angelic smile.
The real Emilia, however, was dying inside. This is so humiliating! she thought to herself. But outwardly, the system forced her to maintain her serene expression, all grace and purity.
Evan, the butler, blinked a few times, taken aback by the innocence that seemed to shine on her face. For a moment, he found himself marveling at how impossible it was for this gentle child to be the offspring of the cold and calculating Duke, or the ruthless Rosalline. No, this girl reminded him more of someone else—someone from long ago.
As the memories surfaced, his gaze softened. The Duke's mother... The resemblance was uncanny, now that he thought about it. He had served the Vilheim family for over fifty years, and Emilia seemed to be a carbon copy of the Duke's mother—graceful, gentle, yet with an underlying strength that only a few would recognize.
Emilia tilted her head slightly, still smiling softly. "Is there something you need, Sir Evan?" she asked in a kind voice, though inwardly, she was cringing at the forced politeness.
The butler cleared his throat, snapping out of his reverie. "The Duke wishes for you to join the family for dinner tonight, Miss Emilia."
For a moment, the real Emilia's heart leaped at the thought of a proper meal. Finally, some real food! But just as quickly, the system hijacked her response, and instead, Emilia found herself saying, "I appreciate the Duke's kindness, but it would be more appropriate if I had my meal here in my room. A simple piece of bread and a cup of milk would suffice. I wouldn't want to impose on the family's gathering, considering my... unbefitting status."
Inside, the real Emilia was screaming in frustration. No! I want meat! MEAT!
Evan, however, was touched by her humility. He bowed slightly and smiled kindly at her. "You are too humble, Miss Emilia. You are the Duke's daughter, after all, and he wishes to make you feel welcome."
With that, he gave a quiet instruction to a nearby maid, who quickly fetched several dresses for Emilia to wear to dinner. Most of them were frilly, covered in ribbons, and adorned with delicate lace—the kind of dresses noble ladies often wore. Evan presented them to her with a respectful nod. "The Duke hopes these will be to your liking."
Emilia's eyes swept over the dresses, but the real Emilia was barely holding back a groan. Who even wears stuff like this? But, as usual, the system intervened, guiding her hand towards the simplest of the gowns—a plain yet elegant dress, free from excessive frills.
"I shall not reject the Duke's generosity," Emilia said in her calm, saintly voice. "I will attend dinner in this."
Evan nodded, clearly pleased with her choice. The servants quickly left the room, leaving Emilia to her thoughts.
With tired eyes, she glanced at the invitation to dinner once more. At least there'll be proper food, she thought bitterly, knowing she would have to keep up the act throughout the entire meal.
*****
Raphael stood before his father, the Duke, his expression calm and collected, though a trace of concern lingered in his eyes. "Father, Emilia lacks any real sense of self-preservation. She... prays for the very assassins who tried to kill her, enters dangerous dungeons without hesitation, and never misses a single prayer. Her devotion is extreme, far beyond what I've seen, even compared to Adelaide. She's a Saintess candidate, yes, but... there's something different about her."
The Duke, seated in his grand study, eyed his son carefully. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the arm of his chair, a habit that revealed his own growing wariness. "Do not let yourself be fooled, Raphael," he warned coldly.
"Remember her lineage. She carries Rosalline's blood, and her mother is no stranger to trickery. This may be all an elaborate act. After all, this girl only recently appeared in our lives, and her behavior could be a calculated performance."
Raphael nodded slowly, though his thoughts disagreed. "I understand your caution, Father. But I've seen it myself—her desperation, her sincerity. It doesn't feel like an act."
The Duke narrowed his eyes but didn't respond immediately. The room fell into a heavy silence, the only sound being the quiet flicker of the fire in the hearth. Eventually, the Duke rose from his chair. "We'll see tonight at the family dinner. Her actions will reveal more about her true nature."
As Raphael turned to leave, satisfied that he had done his duty in sharing his concerns, a soft rustle echoed from the far side of the hallway. Unseen by the men, Adelaide had been eavesdropping on the conversation. Every word between her father and brother had cut into her like a knife, deepening the well of anger and resentment bubbling within her. Raphael... defending her?
Her hands clenched tightly into fists, her nails digging into her palms as her heart raced with fury. That girl—Emilia—is a fraud! She must be. The thought of Raphael siding with Emilia over her, his beloved sister, was too much to bear. Without another word, Adelaide turned and fled down the corridor, her face contorted in rage.
This is her life, she thought bitterly. She won't let anyone take it from her—not even Emilia.
As she stormed through the grand halls of Vilheim Mansion, the carefully crafted mask of innocence she wore so effortlessly in front of others began to crack. Inside, her mind raced with plots of how she would deal with her newfound sister. If Raphael wouldn't stand by her, she would have to take matters into her own hands. And this time, she wouldn't allow anyone to interfere.