Chapter 4 My Evil Laugh and My Glitch Guide
There were things I'd learned about being a villainess in this world.
My tea is never just a simple tea, you should run if a character sparkles before they speak, and no one actually knows how time works in this world.
And of course, I couldn't do my best in Evil Laugh class.
"We'll begin with the basic chuckle," said Madame Grelta, a woman shaped like a disappointed umbrella.
"Then progress to the full Triumph of Malice."
The other villainess candidates lined up perfectly.
Each gave a sultry, high-society sort of "Hahaha!" like it was the most natural thing in the world.
When it was my turn, I coughed mid-chortle and accidentally snorted.
"Unacceptable," Madame Grelta snapped.
"You sound like a dying goose."
"It's my natural laugh," I said.
"I'm cursed with sincerity."
"Curses are Chapter 6. For now—again!"
I tried. I really did.
But every time I attempted a dramatic "hohoho," it came out somewhere between a sitcom cackle and evil chipmunk.
Eventually I gave up and just muttered, "I'm not built for melodrama."
At which point someone in the back whispered, "She's doing avant-garde villainy. Very rebellious."
After class, I retreated to the courtyard for damage control.
Mostly in the form of snacks.
And that's where I found Bug, sitting cross-legged on a floating piece of stone like it was totally normal.
He was eating a croissant and scribbling on a magically projected chalkboard labeled:
"Hey," I said, dropping beside him. "You ever been roasted by a 200-year-old etiquette hag?"
"I was rejected by a romance route once. It said I was 'emotionally incompatible.'"
"Wow. Harsh."
He offered me half the croissant.
I accepted. It tasted... pixelated, but decent.
"So," I said, "you mentioned the devs are trying to patch things."
Bug nodded.
"You're spiraling the story too fast. The longer you stay off-script, the more corrupted flags we hit."
"Like Prince Tragedy-Swan and his imaginary backstory?"
"Exactly. And it's attracting attention."
He pointed to a swirling data-rift above the clock tower.
"Something's coming."
"Let me guess," I said. "More plot?"
"No," he said. "Time travel."
And right on cue, a magical crash of violin music erupted from the entrance gates.
I turned.
A boy stood there, with silver hair, a heroic pose, and what looked suspiciously like a government-issued scroll in one hand.
The air sparkled around him. Behind him, a banner unfurled mid-air that read:
Bug groaned audibly. "Oh no. It's a Future Route drop-in. They patched a temporal romance module."
The boy beamed at me. "Lady Verenia! It is I—Callum! Your betrothed from the year 812 X.A., returned to protect you from your tragic fate!"
I blinked. "I have a what now?"
He ran toward me dramatically. "Do you not remember our treehouse promise? You gave me a locket and said, 'No matter how evil I become, find me!'"
"Buddy," I said, backing away, "I've never even seen a treehouse."
Bug whispered, "Should I break the narrative or let this play out?"
"Let's give it thirty seconds," I muttered. "I want to see if he explodes."
Instead, Callum pulled out a glowing document.
"Behold—signed and sealed! An engagement decree. Retroactive and legally binding by future law!"
Bug scanned the scroll. "It's legit. Though... written in unstable event-code. That's dangerous."
"Dangerous how?" I asked.
"Like, might-accidentally-reset-the-world dangerous."
"Oh. Cool."
Callum knelt before me. "Let me protect you, my cursed angel!"
"I'm not cursed," I said, holding up a finger. "I'm just cranky."
Then the scroll lit up.
A burst of energy shot skyward.
Bug stood up fast. "We've got incoming."
"Incoming?"
He didn't answer—just grabbed my hand.
The world around us glitched, hard.
Colors inverted. Music reversed. Students froze mid-step.
We warped.
And when the light cleared, we were inside a tea room.
But not just any tea room.
This one was labeled:
"Bug," I said carefully, "why is everything in here floating?"
He looked around. "I think we've just entered your save file."
Which was weird.
Because I didn't remember ever saving this.