A warm breeze wandered through the open corridor, carrying the scent of lavender, climbing roses, and sun-warmed stone. The pages of her letter rustled softly before settling again.

Mirabelle held the parchment in place and continued reading.

Five minutes later Xer had bitten a chair in half.

Cyril dramatically announced that violence was deeply unattractive.

Then immediately stole Xer’s seat while he wasn’t looking.

Caelia just buried her face in her hands.

Honestly...

I don’t know whether to congratulate her or feel sorry for her.

By the time she reached Caelia’s section, she was grinning again.

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it, echoing lightly through the corridor.

A crocodile...

And a flamingo.

She could practically hear the argument.

One growling.

The other dramatically fixing his feathers.

The image became so vivid that she had to cover her mouth to stop herself from laughing louder.

Wow.

Caelia’s future definitely wasn’t going to be boring.

A bee lazily circled the flowering vines climbing one of the pale stone columns before landing directly on the edge of Mirabelle’s parchment.

She paused her reading without complaint and waited until the tiny creature finished its inspection and buzzed off again.

She smiled faintly, waited for the tiny visitor to buzz away, then lowered her eyes to the next line of the letter.

OH!

And then there’s Nessa.

You’ll love this.

Actually...

No.

You’ll probably laugh.

Sunlight filtered through the climbing vines, painting shifting patterns across the parchment resting in her hands.

She adjusted her grip and read on. Then she reached the last piece of gossip.

Her smile disappeared.

"What?"

Apparently, something unbelievable happened in Skunkridge.

A long line had been drawn beneath those words, as if even the writer couldn’t quite believe what she was about to share.

Another skunk female suddenly appeared at the ducal estate claiming SHE is the rightful heir.

And here’s the insane part.

According to her, Countess Selene’s real daughter was kidnapped shortly after birth. Which is in fact true.

But she claims the kidnappers switched the babies, raised the real heir somewhere else, and allowed another infant to inherit the title instead.

Which would mean...

Nessa isn’t actually the Duchess’s daughter.

She’s supposedly the kidnapped girl’s replacement.

I don’t know whether any of it is true.

But absolutely everyone is talking about it.

The castle has practically turned upside down.

Every servant seems to have a different version of the story.

Some swear they always suspected something.

Others insist it’s obviously an elaborate scheme to steal the duchy.

The archives have been opened.

Old birth records are being searched.

Midwives who delivered noble pups decades ago are suddenly being questioned again.

Apparently even former wet nurses are being summoned back to testify.

Half the territory believes they’ve finally uncovered the truth.

The other half thinks the mysterious newcomer is a fraud.

The noble families have started taking sides.

There were even shouting matches during today’s council meeting.

I’ve never seen grown aristocrats behave like this.

Honestly...

I probably shouldn’t admit this.

But watching arrogant little Nessa suddenly having to prove she’s actually the rightful heir...

feels suspiciously close to karma.

Just a tiny bit.

Mirabelle reread the paragraph.

Then again.

Another skunk female claiming to be the real heir.

A kidnapped baby.

A child switched at birth.

Years of deception.

She slowly lowered the letter.

"...That sounds familiar."

Her eyes narrowed.

Wait!

Wasn’t that...

Like...

One of the most overused aristocratic transmigration and rebirth novel tropes ever?

The hidden heir.

The switched baby.

The fake noble daughter.

The true successor returning after years in obscurity.

Mirabelle stared into the distance.

"...Please don’t tell me this world has plot clichés too."

The gentle trickle of a distant fountain blended with the buzzing of insects until it became little more than peaceful background noise.

Turning the page, Mirabelle continued reading.

Anyway!

Enough about everyone else.

Who did you choose?!

I absolutely need every single detail.

Actually...

No.

Tell me EVERYTHING.

Every awkward conversation.

Every embarrassing moment.

Every kiss.

Every disaster.

Leave nothing out.

We’ll have plenty of time to catch up at the Royal Hunting Party, but I refuse to wait that long.

I miss you, Mira.

Try not to accidentally conquer an entire kingdom before I get there.

Your favorite chaos bunny,

Elowen

Mirabelle couldn’t help but smile.

Elowen figured me out surprisingly quickly.

Still...

The story about Nessa refused to leave her mind.

Was it really just a coincidence that one of the most iconic novel tropes imaginable had appeared here?

Her hand shot upward.

Without warning, she caught one of Pebbles’ tentacles. The octopus-mascot didn’t even have time to react.

The tiny system spirit, who had been lazily floating circles around her head, let out a startled squeak as he was abruptly yanked down until they were eye level.

His animated eyes grew comically wide. His pupils expanded until they seemed to swallow almost his entire eyes.

"Host!"

Mirabelle ignored him.

"...Are we inside a book?"

Only the ticking clock answered.

Pebbles blinked once.

Then he looked genuinely offended.

He briskly pulled his tentacle free before dusting it off with another one, as though her touch had somehow contaminated it.

Mirabelle patiently waited.

Only after the ritual had been completed did he answer.

"No, Host." His tone carried its usual dry certainty. "This is a real world."

He paused.

"Not a fictional construct."

Mirabelle narrowed her eyes. She didn’t buy it.

"Then how do you explain something as absurdly cliché as the hidden-heir trope showing up here?"

Pebbles waved a dismissive tentacle.

"It is not uncommon for stories to originate from fragments of reality."

He still wasn’t looking at her.

"Coincidences occur."

"’Coincidences?’"

Mirabelle leaned closer. Only a handspan separated them now.

Pebbles instinctively floated backward exactly the same distance.

Mirabelle: "Now? Here?"

The System Spirit gave the tiniest shrug.

"It happens."

Something about the answer bothered her.

Not what he’d said. What he hadn’t.

Pebbles always met her gaze when he was being insufferably honest.

Now his eyes seemed fascinated by literally everything else in the room.

His eyes wandered over the bookshelves.

The ceiling.

The curtains.

One particularly interesting little insect on a leaf.

Anywhere but her.

Mirabelle slowly folded her arms:

"...Pebbles."

"Yes, Host?"

Mirabelle: "Have there been other... coincidences?"

Pebbles: "...Perhaps."

Mirabelle: "What kind?"

Pebbles hesitated. His tentacles fidgeted restlessly. He visibly struggled.

Curiosity wasn’t exclusive to humans.

Neither was the urge to share interesting information.

His tentacles curled and uncurlled nervously.

Tiny suction cups made faint popping noises as they stuck briefly to one another before separating again.

System Spirits were created to preserve and disseminate knowledge.

Withholding interesting information was... profoundly unsatisfying.

""...There may have been a few...

The mysterious genius.

The hidden bloodline.

The forgotten ruins.

The ancient inheritance.

The legendary mentor.:

One by one Pebbles counted them off on different tentacles. He sounded suspiciously like someone listing groceries.

Mirabelle blinked.

"...Those are all tropes."

Pebbles’ pupils visibly dilated.

"They are recurring narrative patterns."

Mirabelle: "They’re tropes."

Pebbles: "They are statistically common events."

Mirabelle: "They’re tropes."

Pebbles: "...Host appears unusually fixated on terminology."

Mirabelle pointed a finger at him.

"What trope do I have?"

Pebbles answered without thinking.

"Reverse harem."

The words had barely left his mouth before his eyes went impossibly wide. His pupils shrank to pinpoints.

He looked exactly like someone desperately wishing for a rewind button.

Two tentacles flew up and slapped over the left side of his mouth.

The other two immediately followed, covering the right.

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

The sound echoed through the corridor.

Even Pebbles looked offended by Pebbles.

He froze.

Mirabelle stared.

Pebbles stared back.

"..."

"..."

A triumphant grin spread across Mirabelle’s face.

The tiny spirit slowly lowered two tentacles.

"...Host was not authorized to receive that information." He paused. Then quietly pulled the other two tentacles away as well.

"...Please disregard my previous statement."

Mirabelle’s grin grew wider.

"I absolutely will not."

Her mind raced. She slowly turned toward Pebbles.

"Then why do I have a Territory Development System?"

Pebbles blinked.

"Host." He sounded genuinely puzzled.

"The Territory Development System selected you."

He tilted slightly.

""The reverse harem is merely..." He searched for a sufficiently harmless term.

"...an environmental hazard."

Your questionable tendency to attract powerful Beast males falls outside my area of responsibility."

Mirabelle frowned. Her tail twitched irritably behind her.

"...That doesn’t answer my question at all."

She folded her arms.

"So where exactly is my Reverse Harem System?"

Pebbles froze.

Completely.

His pupils darted left. Then right. Then left again.

For the first time since she’d met him, the tiny spirit looked... Panicked.

He frantically searched for an excuse.

Any excuse.

Suddenly, he slapped two tentacles against the sides of his head.

"...Host." His voice became strangely hurried. "I have just remembered that I left something on the stove."

Mirabelle blinked.

"...The stove?"

"Yes." Pebbles nodded far too enthusiastically. "A very important stove."

"I don’t think System Spirits cook."

"They do today."

Mirabelle lunged for him.

Pebbles slipped effortlessly out of her grasp, spinning through the air. He sniffed dramatically.

"...I believe I smell something burning."

"Pebbles!" Mirabelle shrieked. "Don’t you dare!"

"Until next time, Host."

A familiar cloud of smoke swallowed the tiny octopus. PUFF!

He disappeared.

Silence.

Mirabelle stared at the empty space where he had been.

"...That little bastard." A beat passed.

"...He absolutely knows something."