My Maids are All Final Villainesses-Chapter 29: Week Passed

Clay shot upright from his bed, his hair slightly messy, his expression filled with irritation that had been building up for days without proper release. His eyes were still heavy, but the moment the glowing screen hovered in front of him, blinking again and again like an annoying insect that refused to die, his patience snapped.

"You bastard system!" he shouted, his voice echoing across the wide room. "I just had a good dream. A very good dream. Do you even understand how rare that is for me right now?"

The screen flickered without shame.

Ding! The replacement Villain died! The replacement Villain died! The replacement Villain died!

Clay blinked once.

Then twice.

Then he slowly leaned back against his pillow and let out a long breath, dragging his hand down his face.

"So what?" he said flatly. "He died. People die. That is how the world works. Why are you telling me like it’s my problem?"

The system did not pause.

Ding!

As the Former Minor Villain, the host should be cautious. The host may return to that role.

Clay froze for a moment.

Then his eye twitched.

"May return?" he repeated slowly. "May return?"

He sat up again, this time fully awake, his earlier laziness gone, replaced by a deep sense of annoyance mixed with unwilling concern.

"What do you mean may return? Explain that clearly before I smash you, you defective piece of junk."

The system responded without emotion.

Ding!

There are three primary reasons why the host may return to the Former Minor Villain role.

Clay leaned back again, crossing his arms, already looking tired despite having just woken up.

"Fine," he muttered. "Say it. Let’s hear your nonsense."

Ding!

First reason. The continuity of fate correction.

The screen expanded, lines of text forming rapidly, as if eager to dump everything at once.

Ding!

The host originally occupied the position of a Minor Villain within a structured fate sequence. That role was not merely a label, but a functional position within the world’s progression. Each individual tied to fate occupies a specific node, and when that node becomes vacant, the system governing the world will attempt to correct the imbalance.

Clay stared at the screen.

His face was blank.

What the hell is this thing even saying?

The system continued.

Ding!

The replacement Villain temporarily filled that node. However, due to repeated premature deaths, the stability of that node has weakened significantly. When a node fails to stabilize, the system may attempt to retrieve the most compatible previous occupant.

Clay slowly raised a hand.

"Stop," he said. "Pause right there."

The screen flickered.

Clay rubbed his temples.

"So what you’re saying is," he began slowly, trying to piece together the mess of words, "that because that idiot keeps dying, the world might drag me back to replace him again?"

Ding! Correct.

Clay closed his eyes.

Great. Just great.

He waved his hand dismissively.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," he said, even though he clearly did not fully get it. "Next."

Ding! Second reason. Residual fate imprint.

More lines appeared.

Ding!

The host’s previous identity as a Minor Villain has left behind a strong imprint within the flow of fate. Even after separation, traces remain embedded within the host’s existence. These traces act as a connection point, allowing the world’s correction mechanism to recognize and target the host when necessary.

Clay stared at the wall this time instead of the screen.

Residual imprint... connection point...

He sighed.

"So basically," he said in a dry tone, "I left a footprint, and now the world is trying to follow it back to me?"

Ding! Simplified interpretation accepted.

Clay let out a short laugh.

"That sounds stupid," he muttered. "Why does it sound like I’m being punished for existing?"

Ding! Because the host exists within a structured narrative system.

Clay raised a brow.

"Oh, so now it’s my fault for existing?"

The system remained silent.

Clay waved his hand again.

"Whatever. Next."

Ding!

Third reason. Replacement failure threshold reached.

This time, the tone of the system seemed heavier, more serious, even if it still sounded mechanical.

Ding!

The replacement Villain has experienced multiple consecutive deaths within a short timeframe. Each death reduces the stability of the assigned role. Once the failure threshold is exceeded, the system will prioritize restoring the original configuration to prevent further disruption.

Clay’s expression slowly stiffened.

Ding!

In simpler terms, if the replacement continues to fail, the probability of the host being reassigned to the role will increase.

Silence filled the room.

Clay did not speak.

He simply stared at the wall, his mind blank, his body still.

I need sleep.

That was the only thought that came to him.

After a long pause, he finally spoke.

"What’s the probability again?" he asked, his voice dull.

Ding! Approximately 0.30 percent.

Clay nodded slowly.

"See?" he said, pointing at the screen lazily. "That’s low. That’s very low. That’s basically nothing. The probability of me going back to the fated path again was quite low!"

He lay back down.

"I am not dealing with this right now," he continued. "I just need rest. Once I’m rested, I can think clearly. If something happens, I’ll deal with it then."

Ding! Acknowledged.

"Good," Clay muttered. "Now don’t disturb me again."

...

Time passed.

One day.

Two days.

Four days.

A week.

Clay did nothing productive.

He ate.

He slept.

Took shit.

He repeated the same routine again and again, shutting himself away from everything, letting his body and mind recover from the chaos that had piled up inside his head.

When he finally woke up after the seventh day, he stretched slowly, his body feeling lighter, his mind clearer.

"Finally," he murmured. "I feel human again."

He sat up, rubbing his eyes, then stood up and walked a few steps, testing his body.

"I should have done this earlier," he added. "Overthinking everything was a mistake."

As long as I stay away from trouble, everything will be fine.

Just as that thought crossed his mind—

A shadow covered the sunlight burning his side face.

"Hi, young master."

Clay stopped.

He turned his head slightly, giving a side glance.

"You’re here now?" he asked.

Cerys stood there, calm, composed, as if she had always been there.

"Yes, young master," she replied with a small bow.

Clay crossed his arms.

"How did it go?"

Cerys straightened slightly.

"You are right about everything, young master," she said. "It was... amazing."

Clay raised a brow.

"Really?"

He walked closer.

"Did you tell her directly, or did you do what I told you?"

Cerys nodded.

"I followed your instructions," she said. "I gave her hints at first. She doubted it. She resisted the idea. But when she confirmed that Howard betrayed her, and that her parents were involved... she began to believe."

Clay nodded slowly.

"And?"

"She agreed," Cerys continued. "She allowed me to leave under certain conditions."

Clay’s lips curved slightly.

"So she let you go?"

Cerys hesitated.

"Unfortunately, young master... I cannot leave completely."

Clay frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"I made an oath," she explained softly. "It binds me. I have to return from time to time. It may take months before I can fully separate."

Clay stared at her for a moment.

Then he nodded.

"But she agreed," he said.

"Yes," Cerys replied.

Clay exhaled.

"That’s good," he said. "That’s good enough."

Before he could say anything else—

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Clay turned his head.

"Come in."

The door opened, and the old butler stepped inside, his posture straight, his expression respectful.

"Young master."

Clay looked at him.

"What is it?"

The butler bowed slightly.

"Young master, the Master has sent word."

Clay’s expression did not change.

"And?"

"He requests your presence," the butler continued. "You are to return to the Capital immediately."

Silence filled the room.

Clay blinked once.

Then his brows slowly furrowed.

"What?"