UDBUL CH 04

CHAPTER 04

“No, no, this isn’t—!”

“…Lies.”

To finish things off, the tear‑streaked woman pulled something out of her handbag with a shaky smile.

“I told you, I came to bless you! Sure, the Count might be impotent, but this elixir of life can revive your small, precious junior!”

She held out a strange bottle that looked like something out of a shady cult or folk remedy.

The bride’s face twisted.
“…So he really is impotent?”

Cheating she could forgive, but that she could not.

She flung her bouquet aside.
Lifting her skirt, she revealed sparkling diamond heels.

“Go rot in hell, you useless jerk!”

Her kick shot straight for the groom’s lower half.

“Guh—!”

The groom collapsed with a strangled scream. The woman glared down at him and muttered something with a crooked smile.

“What… what?”

No one heard her whisper, but the groom understood perfectly by reading her lips:

R.I.P. Maybe not today, but tomorrow you’d definitely be done for.

“Seize… seize her! Now!” the groom roared in rage.

But the woman had already snatched up her basket and the elixir, darting away.

Crash!

With as much flair as her entrance, she dove through a stained‑glass window.

“At least leave the elixir!” the groom shouted toward the gaping hole in despair.

“Wow… I barely escaped that one.”

Panting, Riana—the troublemaker in black—hid herself in an alley.

The client must have been watching, right? Hopefully she gives me a big bonus.

Sitting on the ground, she peeled off her wig, letting her hidden pink curls spill free.

Off came the glasses and fake mole. She threw aside the fake collar and apron—transforming from tragic madwoman to a neatly dressed woman in a black dress.

Ah, one last touch.
Riana pulled a red beret from under her clothes and set it on her head.

That was my prop, in case I needed to redirect attention to the “baby.”
Thanks for playing along, fellow villainess.

With her disguise gone, it was time to settle accounts.
Riana spoke into the shadowy corner of the alley.
“Did you get it?”

A quiet answer came back.
“Yes.”

Thud. A thick envelope flew from the darkness. Then its owner stepped into the light—
First came two large, bright yellow eyes.
Then a small body padded softly into the sun, white fur glinting.
Last was a tail, puffed up in irritation.

“It’s double what was promised,” the cat grumbled.

He sounded annoyed, as if the heavy load had been a bother.

He was a moody, unsociable assistant, but Riana had kept him around ever since they’d met when she was a kid.
A talking cat was suspicious but useful in a world of magic and curses.
Better a cat than a human who might one day turn out to be a hero or a villain.

“Thanks for fetching it. Oh wow, they really paid a lot!”

She flipped through the envelope, eyebrows rising in delight. The client must have been very satisfied.

Wait… this means…

I’ve reached my goal, haven’t I?

I can finally buy that island!

She kissed the envelope.
Freedom at last. Time to break away from all these stories!

…Or so she thought. Life never goes the way you plan.

“WANTED: Unknown female, early 20s (estimated)”

The next morning, Riana stared at the posters plastered all over the territory.
“…Looks like I have to leave this city.”

Her mood soured instantly when she saw her own wanted sketch—wig, fake mole and all.

The cat in her arms sighed.
“Told you not to break the window.”

“How was I supposed to know that cathedral was a 500‑year‑old relic?”

Her crime was officially listed as destruction of cultural heritage.

“I was planning to leave anyway. Besides, you can’t go island shopping in a backwater like this.”

That night, her office was gone without a trace.
With a fistful of cash in one hand and her cat in the other, Riana slipped away under cover of darkness—
To the one place, in any world or era, where shopping is best: the capital.

It took three days by carriage.
When she arrived, she drank in the sight of the bustling city.
Buildings crowded every street, and on the horizon stood the tall spires of the royal castle.

“Now… I wonder what kind of story this place is part of?”

She muttered, though deep down she hoped it was no story at all. She longed for a place untouched by plots.

Then her eyes landed on a bright red street sign:

<Street No. 11>

Feels like I’d get a good discount here.

Without hesitation, she headed that way.

Yep, the city’s lively as expected.
Even at sunset, crowds filled the streets. Riana strolled down No. 11, enjoying the sights, until she stopped at a fruit stand.

Bright, red strawberries gleamed like jewels.
She reached out instinctively—

Smack!

A sharp sting on her hand made her tear up. She clutched her hand and stared.
“Who… who are you?”

A thin middle‑aged woman snapped back with a shrill voice:
“Who am I? The owner of this fruit shop, Holly Golightly, of course!”

“…Excuse me?”

Looking closer, Riana saw the fruit arranged in sets of five.
The names, the pain, the fruits… This feels familiar.

Her eyes widened as recognition crashed over her.
She took in the surroundings—the shop sign across the street, Ashley King’s Restaurant, with a menu list about 200 items long.

To the left of the fruit stand, a newspaper kiosk.
A headline splashed across the page:

“Real Estate Tycoon Baron Monopoly Announces Shocking Partnership With Construction Giant Jenga—”

Riana shut her eyes and smiled in bitter acceptance.

Yep. This is a story world too.

No matter where she went, it seemed, she was always in the background of some plot.
Maybe that’s not so bad. I can earn money faster this way.

She patted her much lighter coin purse.
When she’d first hit her target, it had been full and heavy. Now it sagged limply.

“Regret it?”

By the fireplace, the cat spoke softly, tail flicking.
Riana, looking out the inn window, turned back to him.

“Regret what? Donating half my hard‑earned savings to that relic restoration project?”

“It was money you saved with your own sweat.”

She shrugged, looking unbothered.
“It was my fault. I’m not going to jail, but the least I can do is an anonymous donation.”

“Since when have you been so moral?”

“…Ouch. That’s harsh.”

It was true. Riana would sell her conscience if the price was right—after all, she’d just pulled a wedding stunt for cash.

But some things…
You wouldn’t understand, cat.

Destroying a cheater’s body part might be okay in this world, but destroying a cultural relic? Unforgivable.
Being a transmigrator had its perks, but also its drawbacks.

Sure, she could’ve earned big by taking an assassination job, but with a 21st‑century moral compass? She just couldn’t.
And so, her plan for an island life had taken a hit.

Still, she wasn’t too downhearted.
“Don’t worry. I’ll earn it back in two months.”

“And how will you do that?”

“I don’t know yet. But I’ll figure it out.”

It wasn’t blind optimism.
Being transmigrated had its downsides… but the advantages far outweighed them.

Have you ever met a poor transmigrator?
There’s a reason insider trading is illegal—turning information into wealth is too easy.
That’s what transmigration was: a scam of fate itself.

Piece of cake.

Riana grinned and tossed something into the fire.
Fwoosh—
It caught quickly, curling and blackening in the flames.

“Your fake ID?” the cat asked.

Riana nodded.
“The one I used as a fixer. Gotta get rid of it.”

“Right. When they investigate the wedding incident, they might trace it back to your fixer identity.”

The cat had grown sharp over the year—just like they say even a dog picks up poetry after three years at school, a cat working with a fixer gets streetwise fast.
Then again, a talking cat was never ordinary.

Riana fondly rubbed his back.
“Yeah. From now on, I’ll really live as Riana.”

“You mean… no more fixer jobs?”

Once again, the cat was right.