CHAPTER 29: MENTAL BREAKDOWN LOADING...

(Evelina’s POV—System Route Selection—Inside the Car)

The engine hummed softly.

City lights streamed past the window like smeared gold, fading into the darkness behind us. Rowan drove in silence—steady, calm—while my thoughts spiraled like a tornado in heels.

I inhaled slowly.

Steady. Focused. Alive.

Barely.

"At least I won the task," I muttered, staring at my faint reflection in the window. My red dress. My smudged eyeliner. My blood-soaked reputation.

I lifted a hand, touching the glass lightly. "I can finally choose my route now."

Freedom.

A world I’d never tasted in this world. But the relief lasted exactly three seconds. Because the moment I whispered, "...even though I’m still Evelina Hartgrave...and I still have enemies—"

D I N G ! ! !

A system window popped into my face like a brick wrapped in confetti.

[System Alert: ROUTE SELECTION UNLOCKED. Congratulations, Player Evelina Hartgrave. You have earned the right to choose the direction of your fate.]

[Would you like to view available routes?]

[ YES ]  [ NO ]

... Oh? Already?

I blinked at the screen.

Route selections? Now? I just survived a massacre; can I at least have a sandwich first?

But of course not. This cursed system didn’t believe in timing. It believed in jump scares.

I sighed and pressed [YES.]

TRING!!!!

The car, Rowan, the passing city lights—all of it faded into a hazy blur like someone dimmed reality with a remote control. Only the golden interface remained—glowing, ornate, and dramatic enough to belong in a villainess opera.

Then the options unfolded.

[ SYSTEM: AVAILABLE ROUTES ]

Survival Route—"The Witch Who Refuses to Die" Difficulty: ★★★★★ Focus: Power, independence, political dominance, no romance required. Risk: High. Death Rate—110/100.

This route literally promises death more than once. Great.

CEO Route—"A Journey to Conquer the Hartgrave" Difficulty: ★★★★☆ Focus: Family complications. Sibling rivalry. Betrayal. Kidnapping. Internal war. Risk: Medium. Warning: This route alters Rowan’s destiny drastically.

Huh? Rowan’s destiny? But how?

Theo Vinter Route—"The Mafia King’s Witch" Difficulty: ★★★★★ Focus: Power couple. Underworld reign. Ruthless influence. Danger level: Absurd. Risk: Extremely High. Warning: Player may be targeted by multiple factions.

Translation: Everyone tries to kill you, and Theo thinks that’s flirting.

Complete Independence—"The Fallen Villain" Difficulty: ★★★☆☆ Focus: Absolute freedom. No attachment to the Hartgraves or any characters. Risk: Medium. Warning: Player must survive alone. No protection. No allies. No romance. Very low survival. Can die from... basically anything.

. . .

. . .

Oh good. The ’Die Alone in a Ditch’ route.

[Hidden Route—??? Difficulty: Unknown Focus: Unknown Risk: ??? Requirement: Unlock more information.]

. . .

. . .

What...the...hell? The system is giving me loot boxes now. Fantastic.

The options glowed before me like fanged jewels, each one glittering with the promise of chaos and an early funeral.

My eyebrow twitched.

... Is a clown running this system? Be honest.

Every route looked like it was generated by someone who had a personal vendetta against me. I could practically feel the developers laughing in the background.

Yet... My eyes slid to the bottom option.

Hidden Route—???

A mystery. A wildcard. A disaster waiting to happen.

My heartbeat slowed.

"...What is this hidden route?" I whispered.

Of course the screen didn’t answer. It pulsed silently, taunting me like it knew something I didn’t.

Something dangerous. Something tempting.

Great, even my fate comes with DLC content.

But I couldn’t deny it—my curiosity sparked.

What could this hidden route be?

A salvation? A trap? A romance? A betrayal? A path where I don’t die five times in the prologue?

I bit my lip, thinking hard.

Sure, I could pick the CEO route. It was messy, bloody, and morally questionable—but so was I.And besides:

Money + Power = Survival.

I didn’t care about the Hartgrave name. But I absolutely cared about owning the Hartgrave fortune.

But... that Hidden Route... It glowed.

Softly.Temptingly.Like a dangerous snack I knew would ruin my life but tasted too good to ignore.

My instincts whispered, "This... is what you actually want."

But my brain screamed, "This is a trap, you dumb witch."

Still... curiosity was a disease, and unfortunately, I was terminal. My finger hovered over the option as a thousand imaginary red flags waved in my face.

But I clicked anyway. The Hidden Route shimmered—

[ Requirement: Unlock More Information ]

—taunting me like a locked treasure chest.

I exhaled deeply, then tapped the glowing line.

Fine. Show me how to unlock more information.

TRING!!!

The window glittered, expanded—and my soul left my body.

[System: To unlock the Hidden Route, gain the required reputation points AND... pay 100,000 gold coins.]

I blinked once.

Twice.

A third time.

...Excuse me?

Then—

... IS THIS SYSTEM FREAKING CRAZY?!?!

My rage echoed in the mental void.

One hundred THOUSAND gold coins??? GOLD?! Actual GOLD????

What the hell is this system—some medieval DLC?! This is a modern world! We use credit cards and empires, not treasure chests!

I clutched my head dramatically.

WHERE am I supposed to get ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND gold coins? Rob a dragon? Rob THEO? Rob MYSELF?!

Another window flickered, cheerful and mocking:

[Additional Note: Gold coins must be physical. No digital payments accepted.]

That stupid smiley face. That cursed, mocking smiley face. I could hear my sanity cracking, like glass under a hammer.

I wailed silently into the void.

This system... this system is actually INSANE. IT’S BROKEN. IT’S A BITCH. A GREEDY, GOLD-LOVING BASTARD.

Somewhere in the blurry edges of reality, Rowan glanced back at me from the front seat—probably sensing that I was mentally committing murder.

I ignored him.

I glanced a shaking finger at the glowing route window and understood one damn thing...

Someone is operating this game; I swear someone is sitting behind a screen, watching me suffer, typing random numbers like: ’Haha yes, let’s charge this idiot 100,000 gold for fun.’

My eye twitched.

Oh, I will fight you; I will fight the system. I will punch the main server. I will kill whoever coded this. Once I go back to my world...I will kill that person who designed this game.

***

[Later—Hartgrave Mansion—Night]

The car rolled to a stop over the cobblestone driveway of the Hartgrave mansion, and even after everything—the assassins, the system scam, the 100,000-gold robbery—I was still mentally vibrating like a Windows XP error screen.

Rowan stepped out first, his movements smooth and precise as always. He opened my door with that calm efficiency that made everything look easy.

"Miss," he said quietly. "We’ve arrived."

I turned to him with dead fish eyes—emotionless, soulless, spiritually bankrupt.

"...Ah. Yes. Thank you, Rowan."

But while my mind was still malfunctioning, my body decided to join the rebellion. The moment I stepped out—

STEP.

My heel caught the hem of my own red gown.

Ah. The Beautiful, Graceful Witch of elegance. I was about to fall flat on my face.

"No—no—nonono—"

Gravity cackled.

The universe laughed. My entire life flashed—SLUMP!!

Except I didn’t hit the ground.

I hit something warm.

And solid.

And very annoyingly masculine.

I blinked.

My face... was buried in Rowan’s chest. His very broad, very firm, very unfairly solid chest. Slowly—very slowly—I lifted my eyes.

Rowan stared down at me, expression carved from stone. His hand—bare, warm, calloused—rested on the exposed skin of my backless dress, holding me steady like I weighed nothing.

"Are you okay, Miss?" he asked, voice low and steady.

I blinked.He blinked.Gravity blinked and tried again.

My soul left the chat.

"...I—I’m fine," I muttered, scrambling away like a cat caught doing something embarrassing. "Thank you—thank you for saving my face from public humiliation."

I straightened myself with whatever dignity remained and marched toward the entrance.

Rowan followed silently behind—footsteps even, presence steady.

"That’s my job, Miss," he said.

I stopped mid-step.

Slowly... very slowly... I turned to look at him.

"...What?"

He met my eyes calmly. "Saving your face. That is part of my job description as your personal bodyguard."

I stared at him.

He stared back.

I opened my mouth—because absolutely NOT.

"Rowan."

"Yes, Miss?"

"Are you... perhaps... mocking me?"

His face didn’t move. Not a twitch. Not a blink.

"You are free," he said in that deep, maddeningly calm voice, "to interpret my words however you wish, Miss."

Oh.

Oh this bastard.

I squinted. Hard.

He simply... tilted his head slightly. The tiniest angle. Enough to look respectful. Except it wasn’t respectful.

It was teasing. Teasing in the most Rowan-like way—quiet, subtle, lethal to my sanity.

"...Is this your version of joking?" I asked slowly.

His eyes lowered the slightest fraction—like he was trying to hide something.

"If it bothers you," he said quietly, "I will refrain."

Bothers me?

I exhaled, long and controlled. "Just don’t drop me next time. A stone-faced joke is horrifying, not funny."

Rowan paused.

"...I see."

He silently followed me inside—and immediately, I regretted it. Because the mansion was not calm. It was chaos. Absolute, operatic, soap-opera chaos.

"EVE—!!"

Father sprinted toward me like a linebacker who spotted his favorite child (for once). He grabbed me by the shoulders, turned me around twice like a confused puppy, and then pulled me into a dramatic hug.

"I heard—" he gasped, voice trembling with too much pride, "—I heard you killed twelve assassins. Alone?!"

He sounded more proud than worried.

"Yes," I said flatly. "Accidentally."

Behind him, Arden appeared and crossed his arms like he owned the house.

"Father," he said stiffly, "first we need to have her checked. The doctor is already here."

Oh. Right.Arden Hartgrave.My new sudden brother, apparently.

I still wasn’t mentally stable enough to deal with his behaviour.

I stepped forward, but Father walked beside me, muttering anxiously:

"My dear... it was incredibly dangerous. I know you’re strong—very strong—but killing twelve assassins effortlessly worries me. It looks like you’ve endured far too much."

He placed a hand on my head gently—fatherly, warm, sincere.

"Just tell me what you need," he said. "Father will get it for you."

I stopped.

Slowly.

Very slowly.

I turned my head toward him. Like Annabelle about to commit tax fraud.

"...Really Father?"

Father froze. His soul began to tremble.

"...What?" he whispered, already scared.

"You will give me anything I want?" I asked sweetly, dangerously.

He nodded, hesitant. "...Yes, my dear."

Then I unleashed: "THEN GIVE ME 100,000 GOLD!!!"

The mansion went silent. Completely silent. Father’s pupils dilated. His jaw dropped. His soul visibly left his body like smoke.

And then—THUD!!!

He collapsed.

"FATHER!!"

Sera, Arden and Lucein screamed in unison, diving to catch him.

Rowan just stood behind me, utterly expressionless, as if this were the most normal family interaction he’d ever witnessed.

I crossed my arms.

"Well," I muttered, "I guess he’s the one who needs doctor now."