Chapter 2

When I finally reached the last entry (dated just a week before my supposed poisoning, by the way), I put the thing down like it had personally offended me.

Because wow. Woooow.

Let’s break it down, shall we?

1. I am—tragically—Lady Abby MacMayer.

Youngest of three children.

Daughter of the powerful and politically terrifying Duke MacMayer.

Born with the grace of a potato and the magical ability of soggy bread.

Seriously, in a world where mana levels are everything—status, power, survival, you name it—I was apparently blessed with the magical strength of a flickering birthday candle. Barely measurable. Below average. Practically useless.

Which meant…

2*. My life sucked.*

Her entries were filled with desperate optimism and unreturned affection.

She tried hard. Like, really hard.

But her older siblings hated her. Her father treated her like decorative furniture. The servants mocked her. The nobles ignored her.

And everyone—everyone—was waiting for her to either disappear or marry herself into irrelevance.

Except, of course…

3. She had a crush. A big one.

On Duke Alaric.

The mysterious, rich, powerful, brooding, widowed Duke Alaric.

Because of course she did.

This was now officially a full-blown anime reincarnation plot with royalty, drama, and conveniently shirtless dukes incoming.

But plot twist?

He didn’t return her feelings.

In fact, no one in this mansion liked her.

Why?

Because she was the cliché airheaded, naive noble girl.

Pretty, yes. Kind, maybe. But painfully unaware. Manipulated, mocked, used.

Zero power.

Zero magic.

Zero spine.

So naturally, everyone hated her.

And now… I was her.

Rude.

4. I, on the other hand, have a functioning brain, sass, and an anime obsession.

And that makes all the difference.

Because here’s the thing: I know every trope.

The useless noble girl who gets reincarnated? Been there.

The magical world where mana = power? Yup.

The misunderstood villainess arc? Absolutely.

The fake marriage with a brooding duke who secretly has trauma and abs? Yes, please.

I know how this plays out—and I’m not letting them kill me off in Chapter 3 this time.

Next steps:

– Learn the mana system. Fast.

– Pretend to still be weak and clueless (you know, for dramatic effect).

– Spy on everyone in this mansion.

– Figure out who tried to poison me and why.

– Get on Duke Alaric’s good side (or at least under his skin).

– Avoid eating literally anything the maid gives me. Ever.

I closed the diary, sighed dramatically, tucked it under the mattress, and stared at the tall window where the sunset painted the sky gold.

A new life. A magical world.

Pretty face. Suspicious maid. Cliché enemies. Plot armor fully activated.

And one very grumpy, very powerful duke to investigate.

I stepped out onto the balcony, and for a second, I forgot I’d been poisoned, reincarnated, and served suspicious tea by a maid with villainess energy.

Because damn. The view?

Fantasy. World. Activated.

Far ahead on the horizon stood a majestic castle so massive it could house my entire Earth-side hospital and still have room for a dragon or two. The towers shimmered gold under the rising sun like they were dipped in royalty and drama. To the left: sprawling farmland dotted with tiny houses, windmills, and what looked like a peaceful peasant life™️. To the right? A sparkling blue ocean that made me want to write a tragic pirate romance. And beyond that? Jagged mountains and, of course, the mandatory dark enchanted forest that screamed “enter here to unlock secret backstory.”

Yep. This was peak isekai.

And baby, I was the lead character now.

I took a deep breath. The air was cleaner, richer—like it hadn’t been touched by capitalism or pollution. My long red hair danced in the breeze, probably glowing dramatically like anime heroines do in Episode 2 when the camera lingers for too long.

But let’s not get distracted.

I had a mission.

So I strutted down to the main living room—or should I say ancestral hallway of ancient wealth and trauma—and immediately felt the weight of judgment in the air. Marble floors, cathedral ceilings, tapestries probably older than democracy. Chandeliers so large they could commit crimes. It was like walking into a museum curated by rich dead people.

And the staff?

Rude.

Some bowed just enough to not get whipped. Others glanced and walked past like I was a smudge on the wall. And a few—a few—even smirked, as if they knew I didn’t belong here. That I was powerless. That I was the joke of the MacMayer household.

Ha. Wrong girl.

Because back on Earth, I may have been sick—but I was born in a house where maids respected you, chefs feared you, and no one served you burnt soup without a death wish.

So I turned on my heel and made my way straight to the kitchen.

Past the velvet curtains. Down the grand stairs. Through servants’ corridors. Until I found it—

The kitchen.

Warm, bustling, and hostile.

The air smelled like bread, roast meat, and generational bitterness.

I walked in and heads turned. Not out of respect—oh no—but with that “ugh, she’s here” vibe you give to a mosquito buzzing around your ear.

Then it happened.

I asked for real food.

“Meat. Something hot. And definitely not laced with anything that’ll kill me this time, thanks.”

A woman with the sharpest brows I’ve ever seen turned, arms crossed. She had that head chef energy—bossy, greasy apron, probably owns knives and a grudge.

“It’s not time for lunch, my lady,” she said with just the right amount of venom to make my palm twitch.

I could have ignored it.

I could have left.

But then I remembered Abby’s diary.

How this very kitchen mocked her.

Starved her. Poisoned her. Hit her when no one was watching.

Oh hell no.

So I stepped forward, gave her my best anime villainess death glare™, and slapped her across the face with all the pent-up rage of a terminal girl reborn with plot armor and attitude.

The room froze.

Gasps.

Dropped spoons.

A pie slid off a tray in slow motion.

“I am Lady Abby MacMayer,” I said, voice low and cold, like the sexy evil duchess in every fantasy drama ever. “And you? Are just a servant. Remember your place.”

She looked stunned.

Some of the staff were seething. Others? Wide-eyed respect. Like, maybe this girl wasn’t so useless after all. Maybe she was about to burn this whole hierarchy down in heels.

I gave them all one last sweeping glare and said, “Now, someone cook me a meal worthy of a MacMayer. Unless you’d rather be reassigned to the stables with the pigs.”

Then I turned.

Sass level: Royal. Villainess. Ascending.