Chapter 2: What exactly is she trying to do?!

Staring at the beaming pink-haired girl before her, Aaliyah went numb.

She had just resolved to flee.

Yet the protagonist delivered herself right to the door—and became her roommate?!

This made no sense at all.

Aaliyah knew full well: Phyllis had been secretly smuggled out of the palace during the coup and survived.

But the maid who escorted her was hunted down and killed shortly after.

Leaving Phyllis alone, scraping by.

Someone like her—let alone willing to room with a lofty “princess” like Aaliyah—could never afford this apartment’s steep rent.

So… a hired maid?

That was possible.

It fit the stereotype she had of her own role: loud, reckless, dead-set on humiliating the fallen protagonist at every turn.

Yes.

Reasonable.

Far too reasonable.

Now the problem: what to do?

Keeping her as a maid? Absolutely not.

Phyllis had endured hardship since childhood; groveling was second nature.

Yet she inherited the Hall royal family’s innate pride.

She might swallow insults on the surface, but who knew what brewed inside?

One wrong move—kind treatment misinterpreted—and she’d be marked for revenge.

One misstep, and everything unraveled.

Aaliyah had no room for error.

Safest: run.

But Phyllis’s invitation was right there.

Blunt refusal would leave a strong impression.

Might lead her straight back in the future due to today’s odd behavior.

All effort wasted.

So—not just run, but naturally.

Seamlessly.

No trace of suspicion.

First step…

“Your Highness? Princess Aaliyah?”

“Eh?!”

Snapping back as Phyllis waved a small hand in her face.

Aaliyah forced a smile.

“You were…”

“Dinner’s ready. Wash hands and eat~”

Seeing response, Phyllis smiled brightly.

Hands clasped, she spun the dazed girl around.

Pushed her to the table.

“Leave kitchen duties to me. Your Highness, future empire leader—how can you bother with trivial chores?”

“This…”

Aaliyah dazed by the words.

Sat smoothly.

Thought a moment.

“That is… Phyllis, how do I usually… treat you?”

The gentle, wife-like Phyllis before her clashed wildly with the proud swordswoman image.

Made Aaliyah suspect: on this timeline, had “she” already done something atrocious?

Turning Phyllis obedient through cruelty?

“Hm? Why ask, Your Highness?”

Head tilt, Phyllis puzzled.

“Uh… just… feel bad you do everything alone.”

“No need~ Living with someone as outstanding as Your Highness already satisfies me.”

Phyllis still smiled.

Sweet and pure.

So pure Aaliyah saw no cracks.

As if it were natural.

Seems… she hadn’t done anything to her…

No mental control magic either.

Yet Phyllis obedient to a frightening degree.

No issues visible.

Could this timeline’s relationship just be like this?

The broken game finally gave her easy mode?

While Aaliyah pondered, Phyllis emerged from the kitchen with the soup pot.

Ladled chicken soup before her.

Laid pure white cloth.

Neatly placed silver fork and spoon.

Full etiquette flawless.

Perfectly in line with Hall imperial grace.

“Please enjoy, Your Highness. Fresh from the pot—hot, careful.”

Gentle reminder.

Phyllis smoothed her skirt.

Sat opposite.

“That is… thank you.”

Despite lingering doubts, Aaliyah thanked softly.

Under Phyllis’s expectant gaze, took the soup spoon.

Scooped, blew, sipped.

Broth rich, fragrant, perfectly seasoned.

Delicious.

“How is it?”

Seeing Aaliyah drink, Phyllis’s tense posture relaxed instantly.

Like a sigh of relief.

Smile brighter.

“Mm, very good.”

Aaliyah answered instinctively.

“But… what spice is in the soup? So fragrant.”

At this, Phyllis’s smile stiffened.

Throat moved.

No words.

But before she spoke, Aaliyah’s surprised voice rang.

“I know! Elf specialty… right, the new one—Sun Orchid!”

Another big scoop to mouth.

“No wonder so aromatic.”

“Mm-hmm… saw it at the market yesterday. Thought Your Highness might like to try.”

Phyllis seemed relieved.

“If you like, drink more.”

Stood, refilled the half-empty bowl.

Pushed it forward.

“Mm, thank you.”

Polite thanks.

Aaliyah smiled brightly.

But inside, alarm bells rang.

Phyllis was very wrong.

Ten out of ten wrong!

Who puts sleeping drugs in chicken soup?!

Sun Orchid? Fake spice—pure nonsense from memory.

Yet Phyllis accepted fully.

Urged her to drink?

If not for multi-loop honed magic sense—and potion mastery—this much sedative would’ve gone undetected.

Good thing: with this body’s magic and experience, neutralizing was easy.

But… the core issue remained.

Why was Phyllis doing this?

In any timeline, Aaliyah was the exalted eldest princess.

Public imperial heir.

Phyllis: orphaned, destitute student.

What reason to drug her?

Such underhanded act didn’t fit Phyllis’s character.

Pondering, Aaliyah met the expectant gaze opposite.

Body shivered.

Less expectation—more greedy urgency.

Like a hunter holding breath.

Waiting prey to step into the trap.

Cold.

Ruthless…

Aaliyah refused to believe this was original plot.

Some variable had appeared.

Ignore it—might become the final straw.

Moreover, despite doubts, one fact remained:

She absolutely could not stay conscious after this dose.

Only one choice…

Aaliyah quickly scooped.

Drained the bowl.

“Phyllis, your cooking is great… ha— But why does it feel weird… ha— So sleepy…”

Half-praise out, yawns poured.

Eyelids heavy as lead.

Next instant…

Spoon clattered.

Upper body swayed.

Under Phyllis’s satisfied gaze, collapsed face-first onto the table.

Silent.