Aneria's eyes widened as she watched the small shadow dart between the crowd, her bag bouncing in the tiny thief's hands.
For exactly three seconds, she stood still.
Then—
"YOU LITTLE—!!"
Aneria took off running with the speed of a determined squirrel.
Sasha, her poor nanny, screamed behind her.
"M-MY LADY! NOT AGAIN—!!"
But Aneria had already slipped through fruit stalls, dodged legs, leapt over baskets, and barged into a maze of alleyways like a tiny storm.
"STOP!" she yelled.
"RETURN MY BAG, YOU CRIMINAL SHORT PERSON!"
The thief didn't slow.
She was quick — fast in the way only starving desperation could produce.
Barefoot. Hair wild. Clothes torn but patched carefully by tiny hands.
Aneria narrowed her eyes.
"I know that look…"
She sped up.
They burst through a narrow alley, and finally, the thief tripped over a loose stone.
Aneria lunged like a cat and landed right on top of the girl.
"HA! CAUGHT YOU!"
The girl hissed and tried to bite her.
"LET ME GO!"
"No!"
"YOU'RE HEAVY!"
Aneria paused.
"…Excuse me. I am elegance, not heavy."
They rolled apart, still panting. The girl clutched Aneria's bag to her chest defiantly.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other.
And Aneria's eyes widened.
She knew this face.
Messy chocolate-brown hair.
Sharp amber eyes.
Thin body from malnutrition.
A stubborn chin that refused to bow.
This was—
Lyria Valente.
In the original novel, she was the tragic villainess.
Once saved by Kael, she loved him obsessively.
And when the Saint arrived, Lyria's envy turned poisonous.
Her actions spiraled into darkness until she tried to kill the Saint.
She died by execution at barely thirteen.
Aneria felt her heart twist.
She didn't want this child to die.
She remembered the line from the novel:
> "The villainess who could have been a heroine if the world was kinder."
Aneria slowly stood, dusting off her dress.
Lyria clutched her bag tighter, trying to look fierce though her hands shook.
"…Are you going to call the guards?" she asked coldly.
Aneria put her hands on her hips.
"No. Guards are noisy. I already dealt with enough noisy people yesterday."
Lyria blinked.
Aneria leaned in closer.
"I know who you are."
The girl's breath hitched. "You do?"
"Mm-hm. You're Lyria Valente. Future villainess."
"…What?"
"And honestly," Aneria sighed dramatically, "becoming a villainess over that Saint is understandable. She's cute and all, but—ugh."
Lyria stared in shock.
Aneria continued bitterly, "She just heals people and everyone loves her like she is some limited-edition collectible! Very unfair. Zero personality upgrades."
Lyria: "…"
Sasha finally arrived, breathless.
"There you are—HIIIII!!! MY LADY—WHY ARE YOU HOLDING A KNIFE?!"
Lyria had indeed grabbed a tiny rusted knife and was holding it in self-defense.
Aneria pushed Sasha behind her like a heroic 5-year-old knight.
"It's fine, Sasha. She's not dangerous."
Lyria: "I am dangerous!"
Aneria: "You're holding the knife upside down."
Lyria looked down.
"…oh."
Aneria crouched so they were eye level.
"I'm not angry."
Lyria stiffened.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
The girl trembled slightly but tried to hide it.
"I just want my bag back."
Lyria hesitated… then slowly handed it over.
Aneria smiled softly.
"Good girl."
Lyria's cheeks flushed in embarrassment and confusion.
Aneria tilted her head.
"Do you wanna come with me?"
The girl's eyes widened.
"…What?"
Aneria's voice turned gentle — shockingly gentle for someone who bullied the Crown Prince the previous day.
"I don't want you to die the way you did in that story."
Lyria froze.
"What story…?"
Aneria ignored the question.
"You're too smart to live like this. Too brave. Too strong."
She reached out her hand.
"If you come with me… I can protect you. I can feed you. And I can make sure you never become… that tragic girl."
Lyria bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
Slowly, her defenses cracked.
"…I'm not alone," she whispered.
"I have my younger brother. He's only three."
Aneria's heart squeezed.
"Where is he?"
"At home…"
Lyria's voice shook.
"We're from House Valente… or we were. Our parents died one winter after losing our territory. I had to take care of him. Nobody wanted us. Everyone chased us away, so I…"
She looked at her dirty hands.
"…learned to steal."
Aneria took those hands gently into her own tiny ones.
"You did your best."
Lyria's mouth trembled.
"You're a good sister," Aneria said, firm and warm.
"And if nobody wanted you—"
She smiled.
"—then I will."
Lyria blinked fast, her vision blurring.
"You… will take in both of us?"
"Yes. Come to my estate. Work as a maid. Eat well. Sleep warm. And grow properly."
Aneria leaned in closer and whispered like a secret,
"And later, I will make you so strong no one will dare hurt your brother ever again."
A tear slid down Lyria's cheek.
"…Why me?"
Aneria grinned.
"Because I like you."
Silence.
Then—
"…Okay," Lyria whispered.
Aneria squeezed her hand.
"Good. From now on, you're my person."
Sasha sobbed loudly.
"My lady—my lady is recruiting villainesses at age five—Sofia save us—!"
Aneria ignored her.
She held Lyria's hand tightly.
This was the beginning of a new path — one that would reshape the novel's destiny.
And as they walked back toward the sunlight of the market…
A pair of bright amber eyes followed Aneria with something new inside them:
Hope.
---