Reborn as the Psycho Villainess Who Ate Her Slave Beasts' Contracts-Chapter 165 --

Location:Administrative Chamber, 2 hours later

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The administrative chamber was designed for efficiency, not comfort. Stone walls, tall windows that let in cold morning light, rows of benches for ministers and department heads. At the front, a raised platform with a single chair—simple, unadorned, positioned so whoever sat there could see everyone and be seen by everyone.

Iris sat in that chair wearing Elara’s face.

The glamour was perfect. She’d spent nineteen minutes studying memory crystals of Elara’s mannerisms, and one minute panicking that it wouldn’t be enough. But now, draped in one of Elara’s white suits with the golden butterfly pin catching lamplight, she looked exactly like the Fourth Princess.

She even sat the same way: spine straight, hands folded precisely in her lap, expression completely neutral. Not bored. Not interested. Just... present.

Like a very sophisticated statue that occasionally blinked.

"The grain requisition forms require your signature, Your Highness," Minister Aldric was saying, sliding a stack of papers across the desk. He was old enough to remember Elara’s mother, and his eyes kept darting to Iris’s face like he was searching for something.

Iris picked up the top document. Scanned it with the same mechanical precision she’d observed in the crystals—left to right, top to bottom, no wasted eye movement.

"I’ll review the full documentation and provide response within 48 hours," she said. Elara’s voice came out perfectly flat, emotionless. "Proceed with standard protocols meanwhile."

Minister Aldric blinked. "But Your Highness, you usually decide these matters immediately. Just last week you approved the border shipments in under two minutes—"

"Magical research exposure." Iris kept her face absolutely still. "Cognitive processing currently suboptimal. I’m compensating by adding review time." She set the document down with precise placement, edges aligned with the desk corner. "Efficiency over speed. Continue."

The clinical explanation hung in the air.

Several ministers exchanged glances.

From his position along the side wall, Lord Demerti felt sweat forming at his collar. His hands were clasped behind his back to hide the trembling. ’Too detailed,’ he thought desperately. ’Elara would’ve just said ’review required’ and moved on—’

But then Minister Aldric nodded slowly. "Of course, Your Highness. We’ll await your analysis."

He retreated.

Demerti’s heartbeat settled fractionally. The over-explanation had worked ’because’ it was exactly the kind of thing Elara would say—breaking down her reasoning into component parts like she was documenting a failed experiment.

The next minister approached. Then the next. Iris maintained the performance flawlessly, deflecting every decision that required actual judgment while handling the routine administrative confirmations with robotic precision.

"Approved."

"Denied. Budgetary concerns. Resubmit with revised figures."

"Requires additional review. Forty-eight hours."

"Noted. File it."

Thirty minutes in, the door at the back of the chamber opened.

Iris didn’t turn her head—Elara wouldn’t have, not during a meeting—but her peripheral vision caught the movement. A woman in elegant gray robes entered, trailed by two attendants. The Fifth consort .

’Shit.’

The Fifth consort was the analytical one. The quiet one who noticed everything. According to the briefing Demerti had given Iris, she was possibly more dangerous than Eleana because she never made obvious moves. She just watched, calculated, and struck when you’d forgotten she was there.

She settled onto one of the observation benches, folding her hands in her lap, expression serene.

And she watched.

Iris continued the meeting. Another requisition. Another budget approval. Another—

"Your Highness," a young minister said nervously. "The trade delegation from the Northern Provinces has requested audience tomorrow morning. They’ve brought samples of their metallurgical innovations and wish to discuss potential contracts."

This was a problem.

Trade negotiations required actual Elara—the woman who could assess magical resonance in metals, who understood compound formulas, who could calculate profit margins while simultaneously evaluating strategic resource value.

Iris had exactly none of that expertise.

She kept her expression blank. "Tomorrow morning conflicts with scheduled laboratory time. Reschedule for next week. Send them a formal apology and..." She paused, mimicking the way Elara’s eyes would go slightly unfocused when calculating. "...and arrange a preliminary materials assessment by the Bureau of Magical Resources. I’ll review their findings before the meeting."

Deflection. Delay. Let the actual experts do the technical work.

The minister bowed. "Of course, Your Highness."

From the observation bench, the Fifth consort ’s lips curved slightly. Not quite a smile. Just acknowledgment.

’She knows something’s off,’ Iris thought. ’But what? What did I do wrong?’

The meeting continued.

And then the door opened again.

This time, everyone turned.

A child entered—maybe nine years old, wearing a pink dress with excessive ruffles that made her look like an elaborate pastry. Blonde curls bounced as she walked, and her round face was set in an expression of determined importance.

The Sixth Princess.

Behind her walked a tall maid who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.

"Fourth Sister!" The child’s voice rang out across the chamber, high and clear. She marched down the center aisle like she owned it, ruffles swishing with each step.

The ministers parted automatically.

Iris felt her stomach drop. The briefing had mentioned the Sixth Princess only in passing: ’"Young. Mostly irrelevant to palace politics. Doted on by the Emperor. Ignore unless directly engaged."’

But now this child was walking straight toward the platform, and Iris had no idea what Elara’s relationship with her youngest sister was supposed to be.

The Sixth Princess stopped at the base of the platform, tilted her head back, and stared up at Iris with huge blue eyes.

"You look weird," she announced.

The chamber went silent.

Iris kept her expression completely neutral. "Define weird."

"Your face is the same but you feel different." The child climbed onto the platform without permission—small hands gripping the edge, pink shoes scrabbling for purchase. Her maid made an aborted movement to stop her, then wisely retreated.

She plopped down cross-legged directly in front of Iris’s chair.

This was not in the contingency protocol.

"Your Highness," Minister Aldric said weakly. "Perhaps we should—"

"Continue the meeting," Iris said in Elara’s flat tone. "I’m capable of multitasking."

The Sixth Princess beamed like she’d won something.

Another minister approached, presenting something about warehouse expansion. Iris approved it with half her attention while the child at her feet hummed to herself and played with the ruffles of her own dress.

"Why are you here," Iris said without looking down, maintaining Elara’s habit of not using question inflections.

"I was bored. The tutors are boring. You’re less boring."

"I’m currently conducting administrative review."

"I know. I’m watching." The child looked up again. "You never let me sit with you before. You always said I’d ’disrupt workflow efficiency’ and made me leave."

’Oh no.’

Every minister in the room was now watching this interaction with varying degrees of shock. Because apparently, Elara—the woman who’d never shown a shred of warmth to anyone—had just allowed her nine-year-old sister to sit on the platform during an official meeting.

Iris made a split-second decision.

"Magical research accident," she said, addressing the room more than the child. "Temporary cognitive effects. My tolerance for disruption is currently higher than baseline." She looked down at the Sixth Princess with Elara’s empty expression. "You may stay if you remain quiet."

The child’s smile widened. "Okay!"