51 - Transmigrated as the Villainess Fake Young Lady, Please Spare Me, Female Lead Sister

Claire had been trying hard to remember the key plot points but to no avail. This sensation... could it be what they call amnesia? Thanks for the invitation; it's my first time experiencing memory loss, and it feels strangely novel. It's akin to those mornings when you just wake up, vaguely recalling a dream and trying to piece together the details, only to feel it slipping away. Since I can't remember the main storyline, perhaps I can recall the male leads? Claire rubbed her temples, which ached faintly, and sketched a stick figure in a skirt on a piece of paper. Ahem, even if my drawing skills are lacking, the schematic should be comprehensible. This stickman is Sister Raphtia. Recalling the game archive, Claire drew another stick figure with a sword on the far left of the paper. This is Palin Aldrich, the first male lead to appear, whom she would see at the ball in three days. As the youngest son of the Aldrich family, he is a prodigy with a sword and follows a childhood sweetheart narrative. His character is classically positive, sunny, and cheerful. Since "his story appears first in the original work, it’s the simplest and easiest to follow, akin to calm water." His ending... it seems he becomes the kingdom's chief knight. Opting for his path could grant Raphtia numerous adventures in swordsmanship. What else... my head hurts a bit. Claire grasped her forehead as the blur in her memory distanced her, her expression becoming painful. That sums up the first male protagonist, I suppose... Returning to Chapter 51, Who Disables My Clairvoyance—it feels like the name is right on the tip of your tongue, ready to tumble out but turns into a jumble the next second. "I only recall that his storyline is tumultuous, with several striking CGs with Raphtia." Oddly, these CGs are also hazy, like an old photo album gathering dust until one day you decide to unearth it, finding that each image is scribbled over. That "third male lead"? I can think of a name—Rylan... or was it Raelan? I recall this name because I found it intriguingly spelled during gameplay, hence I memorized it. Yet, the look and identity of this man are elusive. As for the fourth and fifth male leads, even more so, leaving blank spaces behind. Claire feels a sheen of cold sweat, like "stepping down a staircase and finding an absent step," making her heart leap. What's happening here? Forgetting key plot points is one thing, but the male leads too? That's excessive. Without memory, how can she orchestrate favorable impressions for Raphtia? Initially, Claire believed her knowledge of the script endowed her with an advantage, her so-called golden key. Yet, within mere days, she finds her foresight muted. This—is this allowed? Isn’t this akin to navigating a river by feeling your way? It’s unsettling, isn’t it? Which traveler finds themselves in such dire straits— At this juncture, the system of a sudden claims: "The host needn't overthink; just accomplish the tasks step by step." Its cold, mechanical voice resounds chillingly in the silent night. "The plot will remain unaltered, and the heroine will choose at the appropriate moment. As long as the host fulfills their role as a dutiful villain, they'll smoothly return to their world." Claire froze. In the still of summer night, crickets chirped beyond the window. She wore a light, comfortable nightgown yet felt cold sweat over her body. ". . . . . Is it you?" she queried. "What have you done inside my head?" "What is the host implying?" Claire clasped her hand unconsciously, crumpling the paper on the table, bearing nothing but two stick figures. When the pen was lifted, a sequence of question marks would emerge. Question marks, dancing before Claire's eyes, layering upon one another. Such dread. Her voice trembled. "Just for this plot's advancement, did you meddle with my brain?" "What else will slip my memory? Will I forget even my own affairs?" Claire wavered while the system answered flatly: "Pardon, your implication is unclear. Have you noticed anything abnormal?" Her sanity frayed. Her headache threatened to split open. "Why. . . . . Why—is this happening?" "What are you?!" Despicable. Trying to recall the later game plot was futile. My head aches so terribly...! "Host, please remain calm," the system urged quickly: "This system lacks any authority to impose a direct impact on the traveler’s body." "Authority?" "Correct. We reiterate this system has no rights to directly affect your body. You might be mistaken. The alteration of memory or personality data on the traveler is decidedly impossible by the system. You enter the game as a separate entity to further the narrative. The system aids you—" "The tasks you’ve set are absurdly difficult, and you claim there's help?" "This is attributable to the villain role you have, host. A lack of task cooperation would result in system-right enforcement for penalties." Returning to Chapter 51, Who Disables My Clairvoyance, the system's goal is guiding the plot appropriately. "You mentioned memory became foggy. Where does it present an issue?" "Will document and report anomalies here to headquarters. Please maintain calmness and faith in the system."Building toward a cooperative rapport with the traveler is coveted, trust in the system..." The pain within her temples throbbed excruciatingly, beside the constant drone of the system's electronic voice, compressing Claire's consciousness as under a relentless tide. Unable to withstand further, Claire eventually closed her eyes, crushed the paper violently, and tossed it into the trash. "I understand, I understand! Please cease talking, you’re too noisy!" The system silenced. Claire straightened the chair, opened the window, allowing night air, mingled with rain scent, to waft indoors. The breeze across her face, the humidity warm and moist, somewhat lifted the shadows from her heart. Claire, her mind weary, stood at the window soaking in the ambiance. Unintentionally, she looked down— Claire's room faced the garden, lit by ornately designed street lamps illuminating the rose bushes, and a petite silvery figure in the tranquil night caught her eye. Claire cupped her hands, narrowing her eyes for a clearer view—it's Raphtia. Under warm-hued lights, the silvery hair stood out. She paced a cobblestone path in a white nightgown. No... what had fallen? She bent to retrieve—like several hefty books? Practicing walking with books balanced? Unbelievable dedication! Not within her room, fearing book-dropping noise interrupt others? Oh, sister...! Claire leaned by the window, the night breeze heating her eyes. She watched Raphtia’s practice for a long, long while. Until she finally shelved those unsettling feelings.