The last thing Aizen remembered was the blare of a horn, the sickening crunch of metal, and the surreal sight of his own body sprawled on the asphalt like a discarded marionette. Ah, classic Truck-kun. Couldn't even let me finish my konbini coffee. His final thought dripped with the dry cynicism that had carried him through 21 years of mediocrity.
He hadn't expected the afterlife to smell like roses.
Literally.
Aizen's nostrils flared as the cloying sweetness of peonies and bergamot assaulted him. His eyes snapped open to a vaulted ceiling adorned with gilded frescoes of winged serpents. The air hummed with magic—a sensation like static electricity pricking his skin. Fantastic. Not even death lets me catch a break.
"Rise, commoner."
The voice was cold, sharp, and dripping with enough aristocratic disdain to curdle milk. Aizen turned his head—slowly, because every muscle screamed as though he'd been stuffed into a too-small crate—and found himself staring at a pair of polished black boots. His gaze traveled upward: silk stockings, a ruffled crimson gown cinched to torture-device tightness, and finally, a face that could launch a thousand toxic Twitter threads.
The woman was obscenely beautiful. Porcelain skin, eyes like frozen amethysts, lips a perfect sneer. Her platinum hair cascaded in artful waves, crowned by a diadem of obsidian and rubies. Aizen's brain supplied the label automatically: Villainess.
"Your gawking is unbecoming, insect," she said, tapping her ivory-handled fan against her palm. "You will address me as Lady Seraphina von Eldoria, or not at all."
Yep. Definitely the villainess. Aizen pushed himself onto his elbows, wincing at the throbbing in his skull. Memories that weren't his own flooded in—a kaleidoscope of a nameless servant's life in a world straight out of a luxury-brand otome game. Magic academies. Nobles with more titles than sense. And him, reborn not as the protagonist or even a love interest, but as…
"The von Eldoria family's newest butler," Seraphina drawled, as though reading his mind. "Congratulations. Your predecessor expired after I caught him daring to glance at my tea set without permission. Do try to last longer."
Aizen's mouth moved before his brain could engage. "Expired? Like a yogurt?"
The room froze. A maid dusting a porcelain unicorn in the corner dropped her rag. Seraphina's fan halted mid-tap.
Then, with glacial slowness, the villainess smiled. It was the kind of smile a shark might give a guppy. "Oh. You're amusing. How… quaint." She snapped her fingers. "Clara. Equip him."
The maid—a petite girl with chestnut curls and eyes too wide for her face—scurried forward, nearly tripping over her starched apron. She thrust a bundle of black fabric into Aizen's arms. "Y-you'll need to change, sir. The gala begins in an hour, and Lady Seraphina's enemies mustn't see a speck of dust on her entourage!"
"Enemies?" Aizen muttered, fingering the butler uniform's absurdly intricate lace cuffs.
Clara leaned in, her whisper trembling. "The Crown Prince's faction. The Student Council. The third-year alchemy club. The—the gardener who over-pruned her roses last Tuesday…"
Right. Standard villainess checklist. Aizen stood, ignoring the way his knees popped. The movement sent a fresh wave of foreign memories crashing through him—this world's rules, its magic system, the invisible "Mob Aura" that made people overlook extras like him. Perfect. I've gone from NPC to… a slightly fancier NPC.
Seraphina watched him dress with the dispassionate interest of a cat observing a beetle. "You'll attend me at the Arcane Academy's Autumn Gala. Should you embarrass me…" Her fan flicked toward a mounted painting across the room. The canvas erupted into flames.
"Noted," Aizen said. "No pressure."
The von Eldoria manor was a gothic monstrosity straight out of a Tim Burton daydream. Towering spires clawed at a lavender sky as clockwork ravens cawed ominously from parapets. Aizen trailed behind Seraphina, his new Oxfords already pinching. Clara trotted beside him, clutching a clipboard of schedules.
"Y-you're handling this remarkably well, Mr. Aizen," she peeped. "Most servants faint when Her Ladyship demonstrates her pyromancy."
"I've had practice dealing with fiery women," he deadpanned. Thanks, ex-girlfriend who keyed my car.
Clara blinked. "Oh! Are you perhaps a noble incognito? Or a spy?"
"Worse. A realist."
They passed a stained-glass window depicting a battle between dragons and knights. Aizen caught his reflection—same jet-black hair and tired gray eyes as his old life, but younger, sharper. Eighteen again. Great. Do I get to redo high school too?
Seraphina paused before a pair of double doors engraved with glowing runes. "The gala," she said, without turning. "You will stand at my left shoulder. You will not speak. You will not breathe too loudly. When I lift my pinky, you will fetch champagne. When I drop my handkerchief, you will set it aflame before it touches the ground."
"Any particular vintage for the arson?"
The villainess's shoulder twitched. "...Remy de Lune, 1423. It pairs well with humiliation."
The doors swung open.
A wave of sound and light crashed over them—a ballroom glittering with floating chandeliers, nobles in enchanted silks twirling to a quartet of phantom violins. Students from the Academy mingled like peacocks, their uniforms accessorized with wands and jeweled familiars.
Aizen spotted the tropes immediately: the brooding crown prince surrounded by sycophants, the pink-haired heroine accidentally spilling punch on a duke, the icy student council president adjusting her glasses with magical precision.
And then came the stares.
Whispers slithered through the crowd as Seraphina entered. "The Bloodflower Heiress…" "Heard she hexed an entire classroom last week…" "Why does her butler look like he wants to die?"
Aizen schooled his face into what he hoped was "stoic servitude" and not "mild indigestion." Act natural. You're just a mob character. No one important notices mobs.
"Lady Seraphina!" A honeyed voice cut through the murmurs. A girl with sunset-orange curls and a dress made of literal starlight skipped forward, trailed by three smitten nobles. "Your dress is so last season! Intentional, I assume?"
Seraphina's fan snapped open. "Lady Celestia. How brave of you to attend without your nanny. Does she still spoon-feed you, or have you graduated to sipping from troughs?"
Aizen's eyebrow twitched. Ah. The heroine.
Celestia's smile didn't falter. "Oh, I'd never miss your events! They're such wonderful… cautionary tales." Her gaze slid to Aizen. "Is this your new pet? He's almost handsome. For a commoner."
Before Aizen could muster a sarcastic retort (and possibly get immolated), Seraphina's fan tilted ever so slightly—a command. He stepped forward, channeling every terrible customer service job from his past life.
"Remy de Lune, 1423," he intoned, presenting a champagne flute with robotic precision. "Pairs well with silence."
The crowd gasped. Celestia's eye twitched. Seraphina's lips curled into something almost resembling approval.
Then the System notification pinged in Aizen's vision—a glowing blue screen only he could see.
[Hidden Route Unlocked: "The Villainess' Shadow"]
[Affection Points with Seraphina von Eldoria: +5 (Current: 5/1000)]
[Skill Acquired: Mob Camouflage (Undetectable to Main Characters for 5 min/day)]
Aizen hid a grin. Oh, this could be fun.