I Reincarnated as My Favorite Villainess Saint (Magic Marza), So I’ll Use Game Knowledge to Smash Every Doom Flag! - Chapter 4

Just as I secured two awkward promises and sighed inwardly with relief and exhaustion, it happened.

The music in the hall abruptly stopped. All the lights dimmed, leaving only the central stage illuminated in a harsh spotlight. The earlier clamor vanished as if it had never been, and the hall fell silent as still water.

(…It’s time.)

My heart lurched into my throat. No mistake this was the signal for the Trial of Judgment event, one I’d seen countless times in the game.

Crown Prince Alphonse ascended the stage with slow, deliberate steps. Beside him, the heroine in her pure white dress clung to his arm, gazing up at him with worry. The two of them looked like a painting. Far too beautiful a sight for the farce about to unfold.

The prince took his place before the magical amplifier at the center of the stage. His piercing blue eyes swept over the hall.

“My lords and ladies, tonight is a joyous occasion, a celebration of our graduates.”

His voice, clear and resonant, held the nobles spellbound.

“However, ”

His tone dropped a register.

“I must report a grave matter that has cast a shadow over this happy day.”

Here it comes. The scripted line, straight from the game.

The next instant, the prince’s sharp gaze and the condemning stares of nearly everyone in the hall pinned me in place. Pain lanced through me like needles. My legs locked. I wanted to flee.

Prince Alphonse’s finger shot out, pointing directly at me.

“Saint Lydia von Crescent! I speak of you!”

His voice boomed like thunder through the hall.

(He said it! He named me! I got it!)

My inner hype squad desperately cheered on my trembling, terrified self. It’s fine. Everything’s going according to the game’s script.

“Your actions are unbefitting of a saint cruel and unjust! Your heartlessness has driven many innocent nobles to ruin!”

The prince’s condemnation rang out. In the game, he would’ve immediately named Claude and Liner next noble souls who cared for their people, condemned without a hearing.

But, the prince faltered.

His gaze flicked toward Claude and Liner, who should’ve been his star witnesses. Yet something was off.

Claude kept his head bowed, not looking at the stage. His face was twisted in anguish, as if wrestling with some deep thought.

Liner’s amber eyes darted between the prince and me, swirling not with simple hostility but with confusion and doubt.

Far from joining the condemnation, both men were visibly unsettled.

(Yes…!)

My preparations were paying off. The two who should’ve been the prince’s key witnesses stayed silent. Without them, his accusations were baseless.

“Having trouble, Your Highness? Forget your lines?” I jeered inwardly.

Onstage, the prince was clearly flustered. His perfect script had hit an unexpected error.

Then, the heroine beside him gently touched his arm.

“Your Highness, Lady Lydia must have had her reasons. Please, calm your anger…”

A saintly intercession, full of mercy. But I knew better now. This was a calculated move, to rob me of a rebuttal and steer the mood toward, “Oh, Lydia was wrong, but let’s forgive her.”

Like hell I’d let that happen.

Gritting my teeth, I forced my trembling legs forward. With a snap of my fan, I lifted my chin.

“Prince Alphonse.”

My voice, quiet yet carrying, filled the hall.

“To whom, and when, do you claim I passed judgment?”

The room rippled with shock. No one expected the villainess saint to fight back. In the game, Lydia had meekly accepted all blame.

The prince stared at me, caught off guard.

“Wh— You… What of Claude and Liner?”

“As the Saint, I merely issued ‘investigative notices’ to those suspected of magical violations as prescribed by law,” I cut in coldly.

“To label this ‘judgment’ before any investigation has begun, and to condemn me publicly for it… Is this not rather hasty for our future king?”

Perfect. A flawless villainess move icy, arrogant, yet undeniably logical.

Prince Alphonse’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly. Beside him, the heroine’s benevolent smile vanished.

The atmosphere shifted. The one-sided condemnation was gone. Murmurs spread: “She’s right, it’s just an investigation.” “The Saint has a point…” “His Highness acted rashly.”

(…I did it!)

Inside, I pumped a victorious fist.

I hadn’t completely shattered my doom flags but I’d bought myself time.

Onstage, the speechless prince. At his side, the other saint sizing me up with new calculation.

On this worst of stages, I had fired the first shot in my rebellion against fate.