"What was I to you, Prince Dio?" Her voice cracked. "A doll, perfect for a Duke? Am I nothing but my face?" She began to scratch her cheek, nails peeling skin. "Why her, and not me?"
Prince Dio merely stared, his expression blank.
"Perhaps," he stated, his voice devoid of all emotion, "if you were not so ruthless. So wicked. Then there might be room for you in my heart."
A liar.
Even if I were an angel, even if I gave everything to the church, he would never love me.
He will never choose me. Only her.
A scoundrel. A scammer. A user.
Reise Worthon smiled at the Prince as if she had finally lost her mind.
I am peerless. My family rivals the crown itself.
A woman like me, tossed aside for a commoner.
What a scandal.
She stepped onto the balcony's railing and turned to face him. "You once said I was like a rose. That is why I came to love them. That is why they call me the Wicked Rose." She offered a final, bittersweet smile. "Thank you for ten years of nothing, My Love."
Then, she let herself fall.
Horror dawned in the Prince's eyes. The sound of impact echoed through the palace grounds.
The Wicked Rose was torn apart.
Snap.
G6 shut the book, her irritation a palpable force in the silent safehouse.
"Your taste in tragic romance creeps me out sometimes," said the man beside her, his eyes never leaving his binoculars.
"Do your job." G6 pulled her sniper rifle from its case and began cleaning the lens with methodical precision.
"It's just weird. A Reaper hooked on cheap romance. Or are you just bitter because it's impossible for yo—" He stiffened. "Target's on the move."
G6 slid into position, settling behind the rifle. The city glittered below, a map of light and shadow.
Searching. Zooming.
"Target for appraisal," she said into her earpiece.
Operator:"Target Confirmed. Proceed."
G6:"Locked in."
A gunshot shattered the night.
Guards panicked. Screams erupted.
G6:"Mission complete. G6 signing—"
Operator:"Mission ongoing! Apprehend the man in red! He's the primary!"
G6's brows furrowed. One target. That was the briefing. She returned to her scope.
"Explain," she demanded, voice icy as she repositioned.
Operator:"Target disguised as a bodyguard."
What's the use of an appraisal if you can't get it right? Useless system.
"He's running. Secure the route, Pisces. I'll chase." She stood, discarding the rifle on the rooftop.
"Roger." Pisces.
G6 became a shadow against the city's glow, chasing the fleeing car from above. A grappling gun tethered to her waist sent her swinging between buildings, a phantom cutting through neon and smoke.
Splendid. Death is coming.
G6:"Activate zoom on my left lens." She ran, a pistol now in her hand.
Operator:"Zoom activated."
She outpaced the vehicle, leaping a hundred meters ahead to a new perch atop the central church.
Scanning. Zooming.
G6:"Target for appraisal."
Operator:"Target Confirmed. Proceed without reserve."
A pain in the neck. Her finger squeezed the trigger.
G6:"Locked in."
Silence. Then, the crash. The city's chaos was her victory fanfare.
G6:"Mission Complete. G6 signing out."
She stepped off the ledge, arms spread wide as if they were wings.
Her name is Akira Gemstone, codename "G6." The most feared Reaper. Once your name was on her list, death waited at your door.
「APARTMENT」
"G6, this book is ancient. And why does villainess have to die this way? It's creepy." Pisces flipped through the yellowed pages.
"Says the assassin." She grabbed a beer from the fridge. Oh, relaxing vitamins. She chewed two pills from a small bottle. "The author's probably been dead fifty years."
"Maybe. But the commoner and the Prince… it's common storyline."
"It's trash. I dislike the heroine. What does a kingdom at its peak need with a 'Blessing of Prosperity'? The Three Pillars already handle that." She collapsed onto the couch.
"You just hate the heroine. Always on the side of darkness." Pisces giggled, standing to put on his jacket. He handed her the book. "Don't fall asleep with the TV on. Have pity for the one who pays the bill."
"Your money bores me." She turned up the volume.
Pisces paused at the door. "Watch your eyes," G6 said, not turning.
"Don't be cold. I just wanted to say… be careful. You might end up as the villainess in a story like that."
"If I were," she replied, her eyes locked on the screen, "it would be their doom."
Pisces shook his head and left.
To the world, G6 was a legend. To Pisces, she was a sharp-tongued, twenty-one-year-old drunkard and professional freeloader—his senior and partner.
G6 was the renowned sixth Gemstone assassin to earn the title "Reaper," bestowed for a body count that surpassed standard metrics and a mastery of every combat form: marksmanship, martial arts and swordsmanship. Raised in a household of retired killers, her skill was inevitable.
—-❈-—
Birds chirping.
Sunlight fell across a delicate face.
A hand touched her shoulder.
The body reacted before the mind caught up—a lifetime of training. Akira grabbed the wrist, twisted, and pinned the figure to the bed in one violent motion.
G6 looked down, her gaze flat. A woman in a ridiculous, frilly outfit stared back, eyes wide with terror.
"Who the hell are you?" The voice that came out was wrong. Lighter. Softer. Wrong.
"My Lady! It is far too early for such a fit!" Another one, dressed the same. Great. A matched set.
G6 released the first woman and slid off the bed, putting the ornate four-poster between her and them. Her eyes swept the room. Gilded. Flouncy. A rich person's fantasy.
Where the fuck am I?
"Talk. Where is this?" Again, that stupid, soft voice. It was coming from her.
She turned, and her blood went cold.
The full-body mirror showed a stranger. A girl with rose-gold hair and a face like a porcelain doll. But the doll's eyes were her own—cold grey, sharp with a fury that didn't belong in a face like that.
Her reflection stared back, a beautiful, broken mask with her anger trapped inside.
Her mind blanked. Pure, white noise.
Her body tried to scream. Her jaw dropped open, muscles straining for a roar that would shatter this nightmare.
No sound came out.
It was a silent, gaping void where her rage should have been. She stood there, rigid, a statue of mute, absolute shock.
The two women in frills just stared.
Slowly, deliberately, she forced her jaw shut. The click of her teeth was the loudest sound in the room.
She looked from one maid to the other, her new face settling into an expression of icy, pissed-off calm.
Okay. What's the play?
The book's plot flashed in her mind. The name. The face that was described at the book, now looking straight at her in the mirror.
Reise Worthon. The Wicked Rose. The pathetic bitch who jumped off a balcony.
A silent, furious laugh choked her. You've got to be kidding me.
「FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER」
G6 sat in the corner of the opulent room, the silk of the nightdress feeling alien against her skin. She held her hands up. Slender. Unmarked. Useless.
Princess hands. Great. Just fucking great.
Her eyes tracked to the book peeking from under a cabinet. 'The Wonder of a Wonderful World.'
Her stomach lurched. That wasn't a good sign. That wasn't a sign at all. It was a cosmic slap in the face.
A whisper, thin and desperate, coiled in the back of her skull. It would be great if I was not her…
She pressed her palms to her temples. Shut up. That's not me.
"My lady, are you quite alright?" The bespectacled maid—Tina, her memory supplied—was watching her like a bird watching a rattlesnake.
G6 ignored her. She was busy trying not to hyperventilate in a body that apparently thought fainting was a valid hobby.
"Lady Reise, please speak. Are you upset because His Highness has not visited?" Tina's voice was gentle, pitying.
His Highness? The royal pain in the ass. The reason for the balcony dive.
A heavy, sick feeling settled in her chest—a borrowed sadness, a ghost in the machine. It made her want to punch something.
Nearby, two other maids huddled. "She has finally lost her mind," one whispered, not quietly enough. "The Prince hasn't called…"
Tina shot them a look that could freeze hell. Good. She's got spine.
Enough. Diagnostic time.
G6 stood up. The room didn't spin. Good. She needed a baseline. Pain was a reliable metric.
She calculated the swing—the loud sound of slap echoed through the room.
SLAP.
The sound was satisfyingly solid. Pain, bright and hot, flared across her face. Real. All of this is horrifically real.
"WHAT IS THIS BULLSHIT?!" she roared, the porcelain-doll face in the mirror contorting with her fury.
"Lady Reise!" Tina rushed over, hands fluttering. "What are you doing!"
Think. Divert. She needs a reason for this madness.
G6's mind, trained in a thousand covers, seized on the first lie that fit. "I'm hungover," she stated, her voice dropping to a flat, matter-of-fact grumble.
Tina blinked. "You had a drink last night, my lady?"
"Obviously. This," G6 gestured vaguely at the room, herself, the entire situation, "is the damn side effect." She forced a hollow laugh. "Hey, four-eye—" She was cut off as Tina's face crumpled, tears welling.
Oh, for fuck's sake. Crybaby.
"This is my fault… I should not have left you alone…"
"It was my mistake, four—" G6 began, irritation rising.
Tina looked up. The tears were gone, replaced by a stern, unyielding expression. "No. The fault is mine. Forgive my incompetence." She straightened her spine. "And my lady, my name is Tina. Not 'four-eyes.'"
Whoa. Switch flipped. This one's got layers. Potential asset.
The pieces—the book, the face, the name, the maid—clicked together in her head with final, terrible clarity.
I'm inside the novel. I'm the villainess. I'm Reise fucking Worthon.
The absurdity of it was so vast it looped back around to being almost funny. She grabbed two fistfuls of her own (someone else's) rose-gold hair and thumped her head back against the wall.
Mission status: catastrophic. Objective: unknown. Host body: unfit for purpose.
Tina watched her for a long moment, then sighed a sigh that spoke of deep, practiced resignation. She turned and began laying out clothes with methodical precision.
Reise Worthon, G6 recalled, was supposed to be a drama queen. A shrieking, jealous mess. This silent, seething meltdown was probably just a new flavor of crazy to them.
「THE REALIZATION」
Tina brushed her hair. G6 stared at the mirror, at the stranger wearing her fury.
Did I die?
Okay. How?
Pisces turning traitor? Not a chance. The GAO would skin him alive.
Enemy hit? Maybe. But this isn't an interrogation. This is… interior design hell.
She replayed the last moments in the apartment. The completed hit. The beer. The counter…
Two vials. Her muscle relaxants. And the other one. The strong stuff she used for her Milan injury.
Morphine.
The label flashed in her mind, clear as day. She'd grabbed the wrong bottle. Swallowed the pills. Chased them with a beer.
A wave of pure, professional disgust washed over her.
She slammed her hand down on the vanity. "I KILLED MYSELF WITH A STUPID PILL MIX-UP?!"
It wasn't a scream of horror. It was a roar of embarrassment. The great G6, Reaper of the Gemstone line, hadn't been taken out by a rival syndicate or a high-tech trap. She'd been deleted by her own careless, rookie mistake. She could already hear her family's disdainful silence.
Morphine and alcohol. Basic contraindication. Idiot.
The Reaper hadn't been slain. She'd pathetically OD'd on her own couch.
「MOMENTS LATER…」
Tina suggested a walk in the gardens. G6 refused with a curt shake of her head. Wandering a hostile castle unarmed? That's not a walk, it's target practice.
She picked up the book instead. The physical anchor in this psychic storm.
Has Reise been reading this? A novel within the novel? Is the author's ghost fucking with me?
"Alright, listen up, Witherby," she muttered to the ceiling. "I take back every bad thing I said about your trashy plot. Happy? Now send me back."
She opened the book.
The pages she'd read were blank. On the first leaf, fresh ink gleamed:
"She was not the first rose to fall from grace—only the first to grow thorns in the dark.
Beware the petals left behind; they remember the hand that plucked them."
-Witherby
She touched the paper. The ink under his name smudged, wet.
A familiar, hot pulse throbbed behind her right ear.
She snatched up a hand mirror, twisted.
There. Her tattoo. A chained rose, the size of her thumb. The mark of the Reaper. Her promise. Her curse.
It burned, just like it did before a hit.
A tether. Or a brand.
She leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes. The exhaustion was bone-deep.
So. The book and the tattoo are mine. Everything else is someone else's problem. Fine.
First, survive. Then, find a way to make this world wish it had never heard of Reise Worthon.
As the resolve hardened, darkness pulled her under.
✎﹏﹏﹏﹏
She stood on a balcony, her hands—soft, stupid hands—clutching cold stone.
Oh, hell no.
The memory unfolded, and she was a prisoner in it. She felt the crushing weight of Reise's despair, the acid bite of Dio's contempt.
"You once said I was like a rose…"
The voice was hers, but the pain wasn't. It was a foreign toxin in her blood.
G6 fought, thrashing against the vision, but she was just a passenger. She could only watch as Reise smiled that broken, beautiful smile and stepped onto the railing.
"STOP, YOU IDIOT!" she screamed into the void.
Reise didn't hear her. The wind rushed up. The ground—
ــــــــــــSNAPـــﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ
G6 woke with a gasp, sweat cooling on her skin.
Her hands were steady. Her breath evened. The fear was burned away, leaving only a cold, clean anger.
In the mirror, Reise's face looked back. But the eyes were all G6. Grey. Hard. Unforgiving.
The tattoo pulsed a steady, warning beat.
She sat in the quiet dark, the silence is her ally.
"Fine," she said, the word a vow. "You want a Wicked Rose? I'll show you thorns."
LOCKED IN.
—To Be Continued…—