Cold stone bit into my bare soles as the guards dragged me down the corridor. Iron grips locked onto my elbows, leaving bruises that would undoubtedly turn purple by morning. Panic clawed at my throat, making it hard to breathe. Every clank of their heavy plate armor sounded like a death knell in the quiet palace wing. Yesterday, I had escaped Namjoon’s interrogation by acting like a clumsy fool. Smashing his desk and releasing a storm of butterflies bought me a few hours, but it hadn’t saved me from the inevitable. Now, I was being hauled to the high council to face all seven of them. If they realized who I really was—or rather, who I wasn't—they would execute me on the spot. Memories of the original novel flashed through my mind, each one more horrific than the last. In that book, the villainess Sarang was tortured for weeks before being publicly beheaded. Her crimes were endless, driven by a toxic, obsessive desire to possess the seven supreme sorcerer-lords. She had poisoned, backstabbed, and lied her way to the top, only to fall spectacularly. And here I was, trapped in her body, inheriting all her enemies and none of her malice. My past life had been lonely, quiet, and entirely devoid of love. I had died in a sudden, tragic accident, never knowing what it felt like to be cherished. Waking up as a hated villainess was a cruel joke, but I was determined to survive. Survival meant I had to play dumb, act clumsy, and run as far away from the royal court as my legs could carry me. Double doors of dark obsidian loomed at the end of the hall, carved with the roaring crests of the seven houses. Guards shoved the heavy doors open, the hinges groaning like dying beasts. Bright, cold light poured from the chamber, blinding me for a fraction of a second. Inside, seven thrones sat in a crescent moon formation, towering over a central platform. Seven pairs of eyes locked onto me the moment I crossed the threshold. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Each of these men had signed my death warrant in the original novel. Namjoon sat on the far left, his fingers steepled, his sharp eyes narrowing behind his silver-rimmed spectacles. Beside him was Yoongi, slouching in his chair with a look of profound boredom, though his hand rested casually on the hilt of a dark dagger. Jin sat perfectly straight, his flawless features carved from ice, watching me as if I were a speck of dust on his sleeve. Hoseok leaned forward, a dangerous, mocking smile playing on his lips, his eyes glittering with silent calculation. Taehyung was draped over his throne, twirling a dark violet flower between his long fingers, his gaze heavy and unreadable. Jungkook crossed his massive arms over his chest, his jaw clenched, muscles rippling beneath his dark leather doublet. Finally, in the center sat Jimin. Beautiful, lethal, and notoriously cruel, Jimin was the finest swordsman in the realm. His silver hair fell perfectly across his forehead, contrasting with the dark velvet of his tunic. "Look what the cat dragged in," Hoseok drawled, his voice echoing in the vast, silent hall. "She doesn't look like much of a mastermind today," Yoongi muttered, not even bothering to open his eyes fully. "Silence," Jimin commanded. A quiet authority carried his words, cutting through the room like a razor blade. Step by step, Jimin descended the dais, his white leather boots clicking rhythmically against the polished marble. He stopped just inches away from me, his presence suffocating. "Namjoon claims you destroyed his office," Jimin whispered, tilting my chin up with the cold leather of his gloved finger. "Our strategist believes you are playing a game," Jimin added, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. I swallowed hard, keeping my eyes wide, trembling on purpose to look as pathetic as possible. "I... I don't remember," I whimpered, letting my voice crack. "Please, my lord, I just want to go home." A collective scoff rippled through the other lords. "Do you take us for fools, Sarang?" Jimin hissed, his eyes narrowing into deadly slits. "You are the most cunning viper in this empire." "Your attempts to strangle the holy heroine in her sleep are well documented." "I didn't!" I cried out, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. "Honestly, I don't even know who she is!" Taehyung let out a soft, dark chuckle from his throne. "She plays the part well," he remarked, tossing the violet flower onto the floor. "Perhaps her mind really did snap under the pressure of her impending execution." "There is an easy way to test this," Namjoon said, adjusting his glasses. "A sorceress's magic is tied directly to her soul and her memories." "If she has truly lost her mind, her magic will be unstable, or entirely gone." "But if she is lying, her mana will betray her." Jungkook leaned forward, his dark eyes boring into mine. "If she is faking, I will personally throw her into the dragon pits," he said, his voice flat and devoid of mercy. "Our patience has run thin," he added, his jaw tight. Jimin's gaze never left my face. "Show us your transmutation," Jimin demanded, stepping back. "Demonstrate your power, or prove to us that your core is shattered." He gestured to a nearby servant, who quickly hurried forward carrying a heavy, ornate golden chalice. Placed on a small stone pedestal directly between Jimin and me, the gold gleamed under the magical sconces. "Turn this into a rose," Jimin ordered, crossing his arms. "A perfect, crimson rose." "If you fail, I will assume you are mocking this council, and I will execute you myself right here." Cold sweat poured down my spine. My hands shook violently as I hovered them over the golden chalice. In the original novel, the villainess Sarang was a master of transmutation. She could easily turn this chalice into a diamond-encrusted rose that would turn heads across the kingdom. If I did that now, they would know I was lying about my memory loss. They would lock me in the deepest dungeon and prepare the guillotine. But if I failed completely, Jimin's threat wasn't empty; he would cut my head off. I had to find a middle ground. Struggling to find the right balance, I needed to perform magic that looked completely ruined, clumsy, and pathetic. Closing my eyes, I reached deep into my chest, searching for the warm, pulsing thread of mana. It was surprisingly easy to find. A golden light flickered in my mind, begging to be let loose. I grabbed the thread and yanked, but instead of guiding it smoothly, I actively fought my own power. Manipulating the energy, I twisted the mana, tangling the threads, intentionally feeding the spell incorrect commands. *Make it clay,* I thought desperately. *Cheap, ugly, and entirely useless,* I commanded silently. I pushed my hands forward, letting the chaotic, mangled energy burst from my palms. A spark of volatile magic shot from my fingertips, striking the golden chalice. Gold began to bubble and warp, losing its brilliant luster. It groaned as the metal decayed, turning a muddy, dull grey. Elegant curves of the chalice collapsed inward, ballooning out at the bottom. A crude, lopsided clay spout erupted from one side, while a thick, crooked handle warped on the other. Instead of a beautiful rose, a hideous, misshapen grey clay teapot sat on the pedestal. To make matters worse, the clay was poorly baked and cracked. Hot, dark tea began to bubble up from the hollow inside, spilling rapidly over the cracked brim. Before anyone could react, the teapot tilted precariously on its lopsided base. It slid off the stone pedestal. With a wet splash, the boiling, murky tea poured directly onto Jimin's pristine white leather boots. Dark liquid stained the expensive leather instantly, soaking into the seams. Absolute silence descended upon the grand council chamber. Nobody moved. Even the guards at the door seemed to freeze, their hands locking on their spears. Jimin stared down at his ruined boot, his expression blank, but the vein pulsing in his jaw betrayed his rising fury. I looked from the stained leather to his face, my eyes wide and genuinely brimming with tears of absolute terror. He was going to kill me. There was no doubt in my mind that my head would roll across the marble floor in seconds. "I... I am so sorry!" I gasped, dropping to my knees. "Please, my hand slipped! I couldn't control the magic!" I reached out with my bare hands, desperately trying to wipe the hot tea off his boots with the hem of my dress. "Don't touch me," Jimin said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy quiet. I froze, my hands hovering inches away from his stained boots. Slowly, Jimin looked up, his gaze locking onto mine. Instead of the arrogant, mocking sneer he expected from the villainess Sarang, he saw a girl trembling like a cornered rabbit, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. His eyes narrowed, searching my face for any hint of deceit, but there was only raw, unadulterated fear. A heavy silence stretched between us, thick enough to choke on. Jimin slowly reached down to his hip, his gloved hand wrapping around the hilt of his weapon. He drew his rapier, the thin blade sliding from its sheath with a deadly, metallic hiss. Glittering tip of the sword pointed directly at my throat, resting just millimeters from my pulsing vein. "Who are you?" Jimin demanded, his voice dangerously low. "And what did you do with the real, merciless Sarang?"

Chapter 3: Seven Eyes, One Target