Archive of Our Own ^beta

Vil’s agent is a competent woman.

There’s no way she would have kept her position if she wasn’t. A minor he may’ve been, but even when he was starting out, Vil Schoenheit knew better than to allow someone slothful or greedy to manage his talent and performances.

His father helped him weed out those burdened by these vices, even trusting his son’s judgement on those who tried to play on the long relationships his father had built with them, until Vil’s current agent was the last one left standing.

She was a protege of Vil’s father’s manager, one who already had experience managing older talent, but also a rather scrupulous set of morals concerning children.
Vil has always suspected this may have something to do with all the younger siblings and cousins she sometimes mentions. He’s not going to risk their professional relationship to confirm it though.

It’s with this impassioned cry that Idia Shroud throws off his duvet, hair flaring wildly.

“After all, there are so many worlds that would be so much more likely to be real?! A tech punk world like LoPri just violates several laws of physics, not to mention thaumaturgy?? Plus the characters are so bland and uninspiring, how is it meant to enrich the blackened hearts of this Wonderland if they’re real?! At least if they were from Hyrule or Laputa or Exandria, they could teach us valuable life lessons that would lead to world improvement!”

His fist hits the mattress. “But no! And on top of that, this happens at the same time as they’re leaking that a LoPri movie is in the works?! That’s so cheap!! It’s like an awful marketing tactic that takes your cherished childhood hopes and dreams and crushes them for a few wads of madol!! I can’t believe—”

“Nii-san, wait!” Ortho begs. “What do you mean, there’s been a real life isekai? The sensors you installed should have noticed a large amount of energy coming from something like a world-crossing event.”

Idia jabs an accusatory finger at his computer screen, where the illustration and photo are posed side by side. “Apparently, not if they hijack Night Raven’s carriages to get here!”

Ortho’s optic sensors dilate and contract as his facial recognition software runs.

“…It’s a match.” He says. “Barring the 4% deviations from differing mediums, this person looks almost exactly like the illustrations from Lost Princess. And the Dark Mirror reported they’re entirely magicless…”

Idia jumps when the facsimile of his younger brother appears in his space. “Nii-san, what should we do?! If she really is from this other world, she’s a criminal, isn’t she? Should STYX take her into preventative custody??”

“Eh—Calm down, Ortho.” The elder Shroud says sternly, as if he hadn’t been in near hysterics only a moment ago. “It’s illegal to lock people up if they haven’t done anything wrong yet.”

“But Nii-san—!”

“Besides, as a bad guy she’s like, seriously wimpy.” It takes a moment or two of flailing in the bedclothes before Idia’s phone is retrieved. “See? According to the wiki, even the worst stuff she does is thanks to abusing her rich family’s power and money. Without that, she’s as pathetic as some hero who’s had all his strength sucked out. Even more harmless than a level one slime.”

Ortho’s synthetic brow furrows. “I guess…”

“Heh. Some of those LoPri simps online might even say that this is divine retribution. Getting banished to a world where she’s worth less than nothing.” Idia slumps, flicking through his apps idly. “Ah, the fates are cruel. Why’d I have to be inflicted with this?”

“I will monitor the villainess, Nii-san.” Ortho announces. “If she attempts to partake in any criminal behavior, it will be reported to the authorities, so Nii-san’s daily school life may continue unimpeded.”

“Eh? Well, uh.” Idia’s attention fights with the gacha he’s just opened, but ultimately surrenders to the colorful world within. “Only if it’s a low priority thing, okay?”

“Roger!”

***

Vil is distracted.

Not enough for his makeup to be anything less than perfect. Certainly not enough to make his class work, modeling, or acting suffer.

But enough that the poison apple he’s trying to polish has nearly given him the slip twice already.

That is unacceptable. If he cannot maintain a firm standard of discipline, how is this Epel meant to absorb any of his lessons?

Vil cannot allow this to continue.

He saw the villainess the magicless interloper yesterday morning, on his way to History class. Wearing some truly shapeless castoffs that can only have come from the dumping ground that passes for a Lost and Found, raking leaves away from the statue of the Beautiful Queen.

Vil had mostly convinced himself that it was purely his imagination. An unfortunate side effect of working on so many projects at once.

Surely what he had heard was merely a word that sounded like the fantasy names his script contains. The author had to take inspiration from somewhere, after all. And word association tricked him into believing that some potato who bore a little resemblance to his mental image of the villainess was, in fact, the person in question.

An honest, if slightly embarrassing mistake.

And then Rook reported over breakfast that the magicless janitor had somehow wormed their way into becoming a student, and a Prefect. Of the most prestigious magic school in the country. Despite the aforementioned complete lack of.

And all those foolish doubts Vil had spent so long laying to rest reared their ugly heads again.

A long, perfectly manicured finger taps the cafeteria table.

The potato is sitting with Clover and Diamond from Heartslaybul, alongside two first years and that little monster. From his position, Vil can see the back of their head if he inclines his own just slightly.

“Epel.” The boy in question jumps at the sound of his name. “Tuck your elbows in, your dorm mates shouldn’t need to defend themselves every time you lift food to your mouth.”

“My ba—ah, I mean! I, I apologize.”

Immediately, his arms go from imitating a chicken’s spread wings to an eastern dragon’s bent forelegs.

Behind Epel and slightly to the left, Rosehearts blocks Vil’s view of the magicless prefect. With the way his shoulders are tensing, his voice raising, he’ll likely be there a while as he metes out his slovenly attempts at discipline on his juniors.

Vil suppresses a grimace as he sighs. He’s going to get frown lines at this rate…
He needs to put this from his mind. If the sheer force of his not inconsiderable will is somehow lacking, then he needs to try something else. Obtain some definitive proof one way or the other so this irritating matter can be settled once and for all.

Proof…

A collection of ideas begin swirling in Vil’s head. Nothing concrete, just associations and possibilities of possibilities. Not enough for a proper plan of action.

Not yet, anyway.

***

Idia’s back cracks as he stretches.

“GG Muscle Red-shi,” He mutters as he types. “You carried hard for that secret boss encounter.”

Only a few moments after he hits send, Muscle Red’s response pops up.

Muscle Red: You give me too much credit, my friend. It was your strategic thinking that won us the day.

Muscle Red: This old man will need to log off shortly, but I wish you a pleasant evening and good hunting.

Gloomurai: NP Muscle Red-shi! GN

He tries to ignore the disappointment in his chest as Muscle Red’s avatar disappears. It’ll be hard to top the fun he had in that raid, so he may as well just log off this game. Maybe catch up on some of the anime he’s been letting build up so he can binge it all at once…

Ah, but there was that one that Ortho said he might be interested in, but that Idia had been too busy to start watching yet! The one about an otaku security robot that was exasperated with the scientists it had to look after…

“Hey, Ortho, we can start I’m a Murderbot But I’m Keeping A Diary…” Idia turns to where his brother is meant to be charging in the power station in the corner.

It’s empty.

“Ortho?”

There’s no one in the room except Idia right now.

He tries to tell himself that it’s fine, that Ortho’s fine, he’s probably just…just gone on a snack run? Yeah, he must’ve realized Idia was getting low on food and decided to help! What a good, kind brother Idia has! There’s no way he’s in any kind of trouble that he needs Idia to save him from, right?

Right??

Idia’s able to stave off the anxiety for a record-breaking four point two seconds before he turns to his computer, bringing up the “Find My Brother” program and sending his tablet whizzing out the door to the coordinates it brings up.

Why is he in the library at this time of night? Idia gnaws on his fingernails as the tablet gets closer, and prepares to use the mic once he can see Ortho’s back.

“…you’re planning to cause trouble, I will report you to the Headmaster and the relevant authorities.”

Idia straightens at his brother’s serious tone coming through the speakers.

It’s the work of a moment to gain access to the feeds of the library’s security cameras. Although there’s only three of them, and they’re really shoddily placed for actual monitoring purposes…

“Oh that’s rich.” The villainess scoffs, low voice made tinny over his speakers. “I’m not the one causing trouble here. Besides, it’s a public library. All students are free to look up reference materials on whatever they’d like.”

“Materials on restricted subjects are monitored.” Ortho declares. “Failure to return them to the library is logged against a student’s profile. You have not returned [SEVEN] books by their assigned due date.”

“So, Overblot is considered a restricted subject then.” Uh, hard pass on the villainess’ tone in that reply, it’s just as sus as some sixth ranger smiling to themselves while everyone else’s back is turned. “Why exactly is that? Is it the same reason there’s no primary sources on it in any of the history books or scholarly articles?”

“That is classified information.” His baby brother says coolly. “You do not have even the lowest level clearance, so it does not concern you.”

The villainess’ voice drops dangerously. “Doesn’t concern me?”

Idia begins prepping to set off the fire alarms in the headmaster’s suite. If the villainess makes any move against his brother, he’ll not only make sure the ultimate authority figure is there to catch her, he’ll publish her past and every embarrassing search she’s made since coming to Twisted Wonderland online for everyone to see. Maybe even post her address online so those LoPro simps can avenge their faves in person?

“Things that jeopardize my safety don’t concern me? Things that endanger my wellbeing don’t concern me? Threats to my life don’t concern me?!”

It’d be easier to watch if the villainess hit the wall, flipped a table, threw some books on the floor, something. Instead Idia’s on the edge of his seat, eyes fixed on his monitor like he’ll get jumpscared if he looks away.

He flinches when the villainess does, movement made jerky by the old cameras. Seriously, this is why he can’t stand live action analog horror!

But it is kinda weird how the figure opposite his brother is hunching over the table like that.
Almost as if standing is difficult?

“..f you think,” Ortho’s mics can barely pick up the sound. “That I’m just going to wait in the wings until another one finally kills me—that I’m going to die quietly—then you’re sorely mistaken. I don’t care who you are. I’m not going to let anyone or anything stop me. I refuse to end up in some forgotten grave in this twisted world!”

Kind of a mid monologue tbh. He was low-key expected something…more villainous? But considering how trash LoPri is it makes sense.
It’s the kind of cringe that almost makes you feel bad for the one you’re meant to be rooting against.

“You’re injured.” Ortho says, uncertain. “Partially healed rib fractures and a torn posterior tibiotalar ligament. How—?”

“Sorry, but I’m afraid that doesn’t concern you…?”

“Ortho Shroud.” His kindhearted brother supplies.

“Shroud-san.” The first year bows stiffly. “I’d like to say it’s been nice to make your acquaintance, but it really hasn’t.”

The villainess attempts to stride away from Ortho—well limps is more like it, holding herself stiffly and putting much more weight on her left ankle than her right, when did that happen? Surely it would’ve been flagged somewhere in the school records if something serious enough to cause those injuries had happened. It’d be noted in her student file, if nothing else.

Idia frowns. Then he accesses the school’s mainframe.

Wow this is. Really half-assed. You’d think the headmaster would put a bit more effort into filling out this kind of thing!

It’s a weird parody of the file Idia created for himself and Ortho in his second year at Night Raven, which the headmaster was too inept to create himself. In Idia’s, Ortho is nominally listed as a student, even if he doesn’t get graded or even enrolled in any classes like a regular student.

In the villainess’, half of that careful formatting has been thrown out the window in the name of grading a “two in one” student. Some of the information is missing or contradictory, and the rest seems to focus on the magical familiar rather than the human prefect.

There is a section way down the bottom of the file where there’s some notes from Nurse Kamac recording visits to the infirmary. But for some reason, the broken ribs have the amendment from the headmaster of “incurred before enrollment” and so don’t list how it happened, and the only notes for the ankle injury are that it occurred a few days later during a “Heartslaybul dorm head challenge”.

Idia pushes his fingers against his eyes as he groans, stretching his aching back and trying to crack it again.
This has nothing to do with him and Ortho. That much the vi—Prefect had gotten right. It may be weird that sh-they’re checking out all the books on Overblot the library has to offer, and are this badly injured only within a few days of starting the new semester, but it could be nothing! Certainly it’s not enough to be worth reporting to their parents.

“Ah, Nii-san? Were you looking for me?” Ortho sounds apologetic over his speakers. “Don’t worry, I’ll come back to the dorm right away!”

“Mm. I was thinking we could start binging that series together…”

“It’s not good for you to stay up late watching anime, Nii-san!” His younger brother scolds. “…But, I guess a few episodes of I’m a Murderbot But I’m Keeping A Diary can’t hurt!”

He grins. “I’ll get it queued up for when you get back. TTYL.”

Yeah, this is definitely worth more of his time than worrying about some weird magicless Prefect. Even if part of him itches at the memory of h-them saying “another one finally kills me”…

Definitely not his problem. Definitely not gonna think about it.

Definitely.

***

It would seem that the Headmaster has decided to make the magicless Prefect into a gopher-slash-amateur investigator rather than looking into the mysterious injuries of each dorm’s Magift players himself.

Vil’s heard from Rook and from some of his other dorm members that the first year and their little monster have been interviewing everyone involved in an accident.

Of course, it’s only a matter of time until they begin questioning those who have not been affected, to rule out some causes if nothing else.
So, when Rook spots them, along with a redheaded potato, a blue potato, and Diamond, he motions his vice dorm head to bring them over.

“You must have had some reason for spying on us.” He says to the motley group. “Out with it and maybe I’ll let you off with a warning.”

“Busted~” Diamond says cheerily. “Well, can you guys keep a secret?”

“Mais, bien sûr Monsieur Magicam!” Rook proclaims. “Consider our lips sealed!”

“We think that the injured Magift players are being deliberately targeted.” The blue haired second potato says. “We’re investigating potential suspects who could be behind the a—”

“Dude!” The redheaded first potato hisses. “You can’t just TELL ‘em!”

“Yeah!” The monster yowls. “They’re suspects!! If we tell ‘em that, they’ll know we think they’re suspicious!!”

“You just told them anyway…” The magicless first year mutters.

“Hm.” It doesn’t surprise him as much as it should to hear that this year’s games are being deliberately sabotaged. And given a certain someone’s uncharacteristic enthusiasm at the dorm head meeting recently, he’s fairly sure he knows who’s behind it.

“While it is rather rude of you to cast aspersions on myself and my vice dorm head like this, I believe we could provide some assistance with this matter.”

The monster perks up. “Great! Then—”

“However.” Vil crosses his arms. “I’m a busy man. I can’t offer my assistance without being assured that it’ll be worth my time. I need something in return first.”

“Man, shoulda figured.” Potato #1 sighs.
Potato #2 shakes his head. “Nothing’s ever easy, is it?”

Diamond hushes both of his underclassmen. “So? Whaddya need, Vil-san?”

Vil carefully does not smile. Not yet. “You. I need you to help me with something.”

The magicless prefect blinks at the end of his pointer finger. “Huh? Wh—if you don’t mind my asking, why me?”

“Your presence compared to the others’ makes you most suited for the task.” He turns to his bag and flicks through the contents until he finds what he’s looking for. “It’s hardly a trial. I just need someone like you to fill in for a certain role.”

Vil holds out a copy of the script.

The magicless prefect reaches out warily, as if Vil’s handing them a serpent rather than a few pieces of paper.

“This is the script for a movie I’ll be starring in.” He says. “I’d like you to help me practice my cues. You’ll be reading the lines that aren’t highlighted.”

And, seeing Diamond’s hand creep towards his phone, he adds. “Given that this is confidential until the film’s release, the production company has been assured that I refuse to be party to any leaks, and will prosecute those who create them to the fullest extent of the law.”

Diamond’s hand suddenly changes direction to scratch his cheek instead.

The Prefect takes the script, eyes scanning over it.

“Eh—how come the names are blacked out?” Potato #1 asks.

“To prevent leaks, of course.” Vil lies smoothly. “Now, do you want my help, or don’t you?”

The villainess’s teeth snag on her lower lip.
Vil keeps his own from curling at the sight of the dry and torn skin there.

“Alright.” The villainess says. “How does this work?”

Vil straightens. It wouldn’t do to show his triumph at this juncture.

“If you start halfway down the page, I will respond. Make me aware if I deviate from what’s on the page in any fashion.”

The villainess nods, clearing her throat.
“He-hem. You wished to see me, brother?”

Vil slips into the character as easily as buttoning a shirt. “My wishes are immaterial. But we need to talk.”

“What could be so important to waylay the young heir?” The villainess’ lip curls as she reads. “I hardly merit the attention, usually.”

“You know what I’m talking about.” He snaps, dignity and guardianship offended. “Your behavior is completely inexcusable.”

The villainess balks, her tone hardening from mockery. “My behavior? I do believe I need clarification, brother. I have done nothing to dishonor our family—”

“If that’s what you think, then you’re even blinder than I imagined.” His fury is ice, solidified through years of abnegation and honor. “Your conduct towards our sister has been abominable. Either you correct it, or I shall correct you.”

“C-correct?!” The villainess stutters, unsightly for a scene partner. Vil will need to recommend someone else for the final production. “I have done nothing to—”

“For once we agree.” Righteousness straightens his spine, quickens his stride. “You have done nothing to make her feel welcome or as if she belongs. Ignoring her at school? Making snide remarks to tear down her confidence? Who do you think you are, to commit these acts with such audacity? It seems you’ve forgotten who has the natural right to live in this household, and who is here merely due to Father’s generosity and goodwill.”

“I—”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses.” He scolds the unsightly cuckoo before him. “I am telling you what will happen. You will be civil towards our sister. You will be polite to her. And you will still your sharp tongue every time it decides it wants to say something unkind. If that means you never speak again outside the necessities, then so be it.”

“Wait, please wait, please, stop—”

And now going off script? Will blunders never cease? Vil continues the monologue as best he can in the face of such unprofessionalism.
“And if you disregard my words—if you fail my instructions in any way? Well.”

He tilts his head, channeling Gracey Enji in every pore of his being. “What will happen to you will make the punishment you received for ruining Asahiko’s high school debut feel like the gentlest kindness by comparison.”

And the villainess—

The Prefect flinches, curling in on themself as if in anticipation of a blow.

Their eyes are staring down, unseeing, as their mouth babbles, clearly not even trying to stay on script any more.

“No, no, I’m sorry, I won’t, I, I didn’t—!”

But somehow still reciting exactly what’s written on the page despite that.

There are two ways to read these lines, Vil is suddenly realizing.

One is as a hero decisively warning a scheming villainess that his patience with her wiles has run dry and that there will be consequences for her actions.

And the other…

“The hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Potato #1 has moved into Vil’s space, shoulders tensed like the first year was about to lay hands on him if not for Rook’s intercession. His vice-warden’s grip strength clearly has taken the potato by surprise, uniform wrinkling as he attempts to yank himself free.

Potato #2 is hovering around the Prefect, the monster whining and tearing holes in their too-long trousers. “Prefect, are you okay? Do, do you need something, a, ah, some water maybe? Hey, hey, Prefect, Yuu, look at me, please?”

“Ooh-kaaay!” Diamond pops up between Vil and his underclassmen, perfectly fake smile not quite as magicam-ready as it usually is. “Not that this hasn’t been su~uper interesting, you’re a master of your craft Vil-san, really, but y’know we’ve gotta lot of work to do with this investigation thing, hate to see the dorm head if he thought we were playing around, you know how it is, right~? C’mon guys, we’d better get moving, this is an important date and we can’t be late!”

Potato #2 nods at Diamond, an arm tight around the Prefect’s trembling shoulders as he pulls them away, still murmuring low platitudes. Potato #1 is still glaring daggers at Vil even as he shrugs out of Rook’s grip. He picks up the copy of the script on the ground—when had it fallen?— and shoves it at his vice dorm head.

“Next time someone tells you they wanna stop,” He spits. “Maybe listen instead of just doin’ what you please. Freaking tyrant.”

The insult stings, but Vil controls himself as Potato #1 scoops up the whining monster and strides after the rest of the motley little group.
He can still hear the panicky, shuddering hitches in the Prefect’s breathing, after all.

“Roi du Poison?” He blinks back into himself to see Rook peering at him in concern. “Vil? Are you all right?”

“F-fine, I’m fine.” He turns sharply on his heel. “Come, Rook. It’d be best to return to the dorm for now. Epel may be attempting to shirk his etiquette lessons again.”

“…Oui, Roi du Poison.”

He doesn’t say another word the entire walk back to the Mirror Chamber, which Vil finds deeply irritating as it means his thoughts keep circling back to the other interpretation that dawned on him for this role.
But it’s ridiculous, he assures himself as they emerge outside of Pomefiore. Just a combination of his previous experience and some, some personal issues the Prefect clearly has that have mixed poorly in his mind. Gracey Enji is the male lead. Vil’s chance to play the hero, for once in his career. There’s no way that Bella DeNiâmerée intended for the character to come across in any other fashion than the style in which Vil has been playing him. No chance in the slightest.

Certainly not as a high school senior threatening a child five years his junior in a way that they cannot defend themselves from.