On the day of the trial, Count Lindsay was sentenced to death.
His first and second sons received life imprisonment for their part in it. Every remaining member of the Lindsay household was stripped of title and rank, and the family's assets were confiscated down to the last acre.
The fake Emma screamed that it was a conspiracy, all of it, from the first day.
"Do you still think," May said from behind her, perfectly calm, "that this world revolves around you?"
From the way Emma turned on her, it was obvious she felt no remorse of any kind. Not for the spies, not for the embezzlement, not for the guild money. Only for the loss.
"Witch," she spat. "You schemed all of this. Every piece of it. This isn't how my story was supposed to go — none of this should have happened, none of it, and it's your fault—"
She lunged.
She did not get anywhere near. Reheim was already there; he caught May, pulled her into him and moved her out of reach in one motion, as though he had been waiting for it.
Then he looked down at the woman sprawled on the floor.
"Why did you attempt to attack my fiancée?"
"I'm innocent!" Emma cried. "My family gave everything to this empire, everything we had, for generations—"
"That is not what I asked." His voice did not rise. "I asked why you attacked May Averil. The woman who will become Empress of this empire."
Emma's mouth worked without sound.
"You did not only try to harm her," Reheim said. "You insulted her in front of me. Which, in my judgment, is the same as insulting the Emperor."
And that was the end of it. Emma was dragged out of the hall screaming and pleading, her heels scraping the marble.
Then something strange happened.
As May watched her go, the title floating above Emma's head began to blur.
At first May assumed it was her own eyes. The distance, perhaps, or the hall's bad light. She even rubbed one eye with the back of her wrist to be sure.
Then Emma collapsed between the guards.
And in that exact moment, May understood what she was looking at.
The story title above Emma's head was gone. Not faint. Not obscured.
Completely gone.
Some days later, Reheim and May sat across a table from the prime minister, and the mood in the room went heavy and formal within the first minute.
The prime minister came straight to the point regarding the fifty-six high-ranking officials the Emperor had ordered investigated.
Every single one of them, he confirmed, had been involved in serious corruption. Executions, asset seizures, revocation of titles — all of it had already been carried out, each sentence weighted to the severity of the crime.
He slid the documents across the table and invited His Majesty to review the details at his convenience.
Then he moved on to public reaction, which, he said, depended entirely on social class.
The nobility was terrified.
The common people were celebrating in the streets.
For a moment both Reheim and May visibly lit up. That reaction, on its own, felt like proof that everything they had done was worth doing.
The prime minister did not allow the moment to last.
"That is the situation now," he said. "Before the real consequences arrive. Once the administrative gap begins to bite, it will not be so simple."
And then he began firing off scenarios, one after another, without raising his voice at all.
What happens if the central grain belt floods and the grain supply falls short?
What happens if the western nobles — already proud, already restless — decide that this is their moment to rebel?
What happens if the pirates on the eastern coast begin taking citizens and holding them for ransom?
And what happens if all of it arrives at once, coming down together like a storm?
"When that day comes," he asked, looking directly at the Emperor, "does Your Majesty still believe the people will stand behind you?"
The pressure in the room spiked so fast that May's carefully composed expression came apart at the edges.
Reheim scoffed. "It sounds as though you are scolding me for failing to pretend I never saw those crimes."
"A ruler must consider even the smallest details while chasing the largest goals," the prime minister replied evenly. "In my view, stripping that many nobles of power without preparing successors was reckless."
"In your view." Reheim did not miss a beat. "Your support base has collapsed along with them, and now you are holding a personal grudge against my reign."
The atmosphere was seconds from detonating.
That was when May raised her hand.
"There's something the prime minister doesn't know yet," she said. "It was meant to remain a strategic secret, which is why neither His Majesty nor I have spoken of it. But the truth is that countermeasures are already in place. All I ask for is time."
"How much time?" the prime minister said. "Give me a clear deadline."
"One week." May met his eyes. "I'll deliver results within one week. After that, it won't be too late for you to judge all of it."
Afterwards, out in the garden, May's legs finally gave out under her.
She sat down hard on the edge of the path, alone, and admitted it to herself between shaky breaths.
She had walked straight into the prime minister's trap. Straight in, with her chin up and her hand raised.
Her mind spiralled, as it always did, into a comparison with how these things were supposed to go.
This was the part where the male lead leans close to her in a carriage, close enough that she forgets what she was saying. Or catches her by the waist as she falls. Or drags her out of a river with her hair streaming and her heart hammering, in some dramatic rescue that changes everything between them.
Instead, from the first day she had met Reheim, all she had done was work herself down to the bone. No swooning. No heart-racing moments. Paperwork and survival, and more paperwork.
Still. May pressed her palms flat to her knees and made herself breathe.
Don't get discouraged. If the plan isn't working, change the plan. She would rush the second mission through, and once that was finished, she would go all in on the romance route for the third.
Besides, this next one did not sound that difficult.
At least, that was what she believed at the time.
She remembered something else her master had told her, in the same lesson.
When you're looking for capable protagonists, don't overthink it. Just check the keywords in the title. Powerful women are usually hidden in the worst possible places — the way pearls are buried in mud. And among all the flashy labels — the capable ones, the arrogant ones, the scheming ones, the geniuses — the real jackpot is always the same.