The smell of coal and melted beeswax pulled me from the darkness. I inhaled sharply, digging short-trimmed nails into the armrest upholstery, and peeled open my watery, clouded eyes with effort.
Again. The same carved four-poster bed, windows draped so that barely any light penetrated inside. The same gilded mirror reflecting a man who looked twenty-two but felt centuries older. White hair matted with sweat, forehead creased, pale pinkish eyes resembling dull beads with peeling paint.
The pendulum of the grandfather clock swung like a metronome counting down to its final act.
Twenty-seven deaths.
The number burned into my brain as I straightened up. One novel and twenty-seven possible scenarios I'd endured as a secondary character. The role I played was that of Margarita Alder's elder brother, Marquess of Vaukh Ton estate. She was the main heroine of the core scenario, and all world events ultimately revolved around her.
Endels Alder, the newly appointed Duke, was initially a supporting character, and at first I didn't mind. It seemed he was meant to play only one role — a roadside stone that occasionally funded Margarita's mischief while burying himself in accounting reports in a distant study, appearing on stage only when absolutely necessary.
Everything proceeded normally. Until they threw me into this body.
The first scenario unfolded like a template romance novel: Margarita overcame society's contempt, found herself a man - a local prince - and eventually married successfully. As her obediently role-playing kind brother, I gifted them everything I could, even funding a lavish lakeside wedding.
That day my skull was split with a hammer, and I awoke in the second scenario. When I asked "Why did I die?" the System Assistant answered:
"You showed the heroine too much unwanted attention. Her suitors considered you a threat."
Seriously. Didn't it bother them at all that I was her blood brother, and that gifting money to one's sister is a sign of good, caring kinship?
Over the next two scenarios I realized — no. They were complete lunatics. Every man entering Margarita's life became a significant threat to me. No matter how scenarios developed, how far I distanced myself or tried to soften their insanity, it always ended the same way - with my death.
By the sixteenth scenario I'd had enough. I shot myself with a hunting rifle before Viscount Braunt's hand could touch our door handle. Complete chaos ensued afterward. Sometimes I forbade Margarita from leaving the house, sometimes sent her abroad to an aunt, sometimes barricaded myself for weeks in a room with windows bricked up against bullets.
In the twenty-fourth scenario I killed one of her suitors with a glass shard. Slit his throat as he walked down the corridor holding flowers. I thought — what if I strike first? When he collapsed choking on blood and foam, everything reset. It was still the twenty-fourth scenario.
Killing these bloodsuckers changed nothing.
I didn't know what to do. If I keep dying, can I escape this endless theatrical cycle? Can I return home to my modern apartment with smartphone, internet, and real food?
The despair tasted bitter as grass.
I raised my head, throat trembling, lips parting to inhale the room's scent of thick cedar and wax.
A holographic wall appeared in the air. Transparent as glass but intangible. My eyes wearily bored into it.
The System Assistant that had accompanied me through this shit said in a mechanical, empty voice:
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: FINAL SCENARIO INITIALIZED.
MAIN OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE.
SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: ???
BALANCE: 16 BONUS POINTS.
Activate store system?]
"Sixteen bonuses? For what?"
[Bonuses awarded for completed hidden storylines. To use them, answer "yes" to the purchase prompt.]
I froze. Wait, stop. My eyes darted back to the first sentence. Final scenario?
My eyelashes fluttered as my chest swelled like someone had stuffed a stone inside.
"Wait. This is the final scenario? No more?"
The system window flickered, text changing.
[Yes. This is your last scenario.]
I jumped from the armchair, approaching it, muttering:
"Can I go home?"
Nothing changed for a full minute. I thought the system had glitched, but new text immediately reflected on my face with twilight backlighting:
[All depends on scenario completion. Your goal is to successfully complete it and allow character "Margarita Alder" to achieve a logical ending. Activate store system?]
The repeated question made me grimace, but I agreed by pressing "yes". My fingers didn't touch the screen, but it immediately blinked to a new tab.
[SYSTEM STORE ACTIVATED.
AVAILABLE ITEMS:
- "Memory Fragment" (copy of Margarita Alder's personal diary. The text she writes in her diary will be written in this one as well.) — 3 bonuses.
- "Hawk's Tongue" (+30 minutes of persuasive speech. Limited to noble etiquette context) — 8 bonuses.
- "Scenario Fragment №7 (???)" — 13 bonuses.
- "Oblivion" (Erase one compromising memory about you from a target) — 7 bonuses.
- "Vow of Chastity" (Permanently nullifies all romantic/sexual interest from female characters. Warning: may proportionally increase male attention) — 6 bonuses.]
I choked on my own saliva.
"What the actual fuck..."
The system remained impassive as I gripped my necktie.
Another line glowed below. "Heptagonal Die: Reroll one plot-critical decision. 7 bonuses." Useful. If things went south, I could steer the plot.
The "Memory Fragment" temptingly glittered in the top slot. I'd take it. Not to stalk my sister's every move, but to understand what happened around her when I wasn't there. Which assholes were clawing at her, which leech to pry off before it drained my blood.
"Will taking the first option make me an overprotective brother?"
The system stayed silent.
I took the diary. A thin leather-bound volume with worn pages materialized on the table behind me near the window. Thirteen bonuses remained.
"Scenario Fragment №7? What's that? I barely remember past scenarios."
More silence.
Next I took the heptagonal die. A wooden box appeared in my hands. I tried prying it open, but it refused. My silk shirt collar rustled softly as I leaned to stash it in the desk's bottom drawer.
A panel blinked beside me:
[SYSTEM NOTICE: 10 SECONDS REMAINING TO FINALIZE SELECTION.]
I hesitated, staring at the screen. Not enough bonuses left.
The grandfather clock chimed once. Hooves clattered on cobblestones outside.
A maid's shrill voice echoed in the corridor: "Milady has returned from her morning walk!"
Margarita.
I turned to the window, but the system's chime yanked me back. Clutching my ears at the shrill tone, I snarled:
"Hey, what the hell—!"
[BONUSES: 0.
Remaining bonuses spent on only affordable option: "Vow of Chastity". Bonuses non-refundable.]
My palms stuck to my ears as if welded. I froze, watching the window dissolve.
"No! Cancel it!"
[Reiterating: Bonuses non-refundable.]
"I don't want this ability, hear me?!"
I slumped into the armchair. Fantastic. If none of Margarita's suitors stab me within the hour, I'll count it a miracle.
Whatever. Changed nothing. If this state helps avoid irrational impulses, good riddance.
Sliding the diary under paperwork, I peered outside. When familiar heels clicked in the corridor, I straightened my tie and spread my arms.
The door burst open. Soft arms immediately looped around my neck. Margarita's peach-colored dress — my coming-of-age gift to her — smelled of tangerines.
"Brother! You'll never guess what happened!" she laughed, koala-hugging me.
I smiled faintly.