I, The Villainess, Will Seduce All The Heroines Instead
Chapter 120: The Chihuahua Wants To Save Me? (1)

Chapter 120: The Chihuahua Wants To Save Me? (1)

"Nonsense," Anastasia said sharply, her tone cold. "I know who you are. You’re that girl who could barely lift a finger. Tough little thing, but still... a little thing."

"Y-YOU!"

"Stop," Verena intervened, stepping between the three of them. She then walked closer to Sera, leaning in to whisper in her ear, "Don’t get too carried away. You’re my little knight, remember that, alright?"

[System Notification: Affection Update!]

[Target: Sera Anverre]

[+5 Affection Points Earned!]

[Affection Points: 24]

...

...

[System Notification][Affection Event Activated!][Event Name: "The Little Knight"][Target: Sera Anverre][Description: Your words have unexpectedly triggered an Affection Event, causing Sera to become more eager to embrace her brave side.]

’Wait, what?’

Verena was honestly more scared than relieved.

What if this girl decided to bite Anastasia’s finger, create a scene, and embarrass not just herself, but everyone in this circle? If she had to guess, there would be screaming, screeching, nails scratching, and whatever else a chihuahua would do to prove a point—or threaten the "big dog," in this case, Anastasia.

Sera’s lips were parted, a scowl firmly in place.

Verena was bracing herself, and so was Clarina.

The moment stretched on, unbearably slow.

"Right, because nothing says ’I’m in charge’ like throwing a tantrum over a little girl," Sera quipped, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she shot a pointed look at Anastasia.

For once, the chihuahua actually sounded like the mature adult in the room. She delivered her line with flair, then strutted off with a dramatic flip of her hair. Apparently, all those lessons had finally been hammered into that stubborn little skull of hers.

"What?"

Everyone else’s jaw dropped in collective shock.

Was she being tamed... or had she somehow managed to tame herself?

After everything that had happened, they headed to class together.

The second semester hadn’t started yet, but the focus had already shifted toward practical applications—preparation for the Trials.

Essentially, they were exams... just with more explosions.

At Irasios Academy, there was a famous saying: "It’s easy to get in—and even easier to get out, because you’ll be shoved."

The institution had a reputation for mercilessly dropping students who couldn’t keep up with its brutal curriculum.

That’s precisely why most students at Irasios were nobles—they’d already received elite education long before stepping through the Academy’s gates.

The original Verena hadn’t been so lucky.

But the current Verena? She had knowledge and a system.

Still, it didn’t help that she was under observation, with the so-called "incident" still under investigation.

Worse, she hadn’t yet formed a team.

Most students had already locked theirs in, forming alliances like it was a political marriage market.

Verena had willingly handed Clarina over to Evelyn—because frankly, that wasn’t her fate.

If she wanted a place, she’d carve it herself. With claws, if necessary.

Besides, Villainesses didn’t beg. They built empires.

Currently, class was focused on Astromancy, one of the more esoteric branches of Zodiac Weaving.

It wasn’t about raw power, but attunement.

By aligning one’s magic with celestial bodies, stars, constellations, planetary cyclesm students could drastically enhance their spells.

It was part astronomy, part mysticism, and all headache.

A true Astromancer didn’t just cast; they channeled the cosmos, navigating planetary transits, lunar tides, and zodiac phases to weave spells that surged with cosmic resonance.

In the right hands, even a whisper of starlight could become a weapon.

Verena, of course, was more than ready to make the stars sing for her.

"It’s been a while since I’ve used my powers... and had Saphira on my side again," Verena mused, flexing her fingers.

"Listen to class," Anastasia snapped, eyes sharp as daggers.

Ah, that look. That beautiful, cold, murder-y glare Verena used to admire—back when Anastasia hadn’t devolved into the crown prince’s future baby-making machine.

If she were the prince, she would’ve bottled that aura and sold it as perfume. Regality: Smells like blood and judgment.

Feeling playful, Verena leaned in and whispered just loud enough for the nearby students to hear, "Anastasia once wrote her thesis on how to weaponize disappointment."

Anastasia narrowed her eyes. "Verena, shut—"

"Oh!" Verena interrupted, raising her hand. "Professor, Anastasia’s touching my thigh."

The entire class turned to stare.

Anastasia froze mid-scowl, her hand nowhere near Verena’s thigh, but the damage was done.

A slow, horrified blush crept up her neck like wildfire.

The professor raised an eyebrow. "Miss Anastasia, I assume there’s an explanation?"

"She’s lying!" Anastasia hissed.

Verena, eyes wide and innocent, blinked sweetly. "But you said to listen to class, and I was just... reporting a distraction."

The professor sighed. Anastasia looked one twitch away from murder.

And Verena? She smiled like a cat who just spilled milk and got away with it.

Well, not exactly, because nothing ever escaped Anastasia’s line of sight. Especially not when she was the Conduitor of Capricorn, the living embodiment of discipline with a death glare.

So when Verena suddenly felt something clamp down on her thigh, she turned her head in slow, dawning horror.

Anastasia’s hand.

"W-What are you doing? Are you actually sexually harassing me right now?..."

"...Not quite," Anastasia replied coolly.

Then she squeezed.

Verena let out a pained yelp, more of a strangled whimper, really—as the vice-grip of justice crushed her thigh with terrifying precision. Heads turned. Quills paused mid-scribble. The professor looked over.

Anastasia gave a weary sigh, looking completely unbothered. "Professor, Verena’s been acting up again. Trying to be the class clown. It’s just... so expected at this point."

NO!

This wasn’t just a public execution—it was a character assassination with flair. If this kept up, her punishment and time tethered to the beautiful tyrant would be extended indefinitely.

She wasn’t under house arrest.

She was under Anastasia arrest.

The professor didn’t respond right away, only gave Verena a pointed glance over his glasses, as if silently scrawling ’F’ in his mental notes.

Verena flailed for dignity—metaphorically, because her thigh was still in a chokehold.

"You’re crushing a civilan’s femur!" she hissed.

Anastasia leaned in with the serenity of a saint and the violence of a guillotine. "And you’re crushing my tolerance. Shall we call it even?"

Verena opened her mouth to protest—but fate, as always, arrived in the form of chaos.

"UNHAND HER, YOU PEACOCK!"

A shoe flew across the classroom and smacked Anastasia square on the shoulder.

Everyone blinked.

Enter: Sera Anverre. Pint-sized fury, 5 feet of audacity, standing on a desk like a war general who’d just overthrown logic.

Anastasia stood, slowly and menacingly, turning to face the source of her unexpected assault.

"Oh, it’s you," she said dryly. "The mascot."

Sera didn’t flinch. "Don’t ’it’s you’ me! I saw what you did! Thigh-gripping?! Public humiliation?! That’s not discipline. That’s oppression with lipstick!"

Verena, still half-collapsed in her chair, blinked in disbelief. "Did... did she just save me?"

"Yes, I did!" Sera shouted without missing a beat. "I’m Verena’s emergency contact and her designated moral support buddy!"

"That’s not even a thing," Anastasia deadpanned.

"It is now!" the girl yelled, marching across the classroom. She draped herself over Verena’s desk. "You can’t just manhandle her like some kind of sinister gym coach. If anyone gets to threaten her thigh, it’s me!"

"...That didn’t come out the way you wanted it to..."

Sera ignored her. "Also—this is a violation of Student Conduct Section IV, Paragraph Eight: ’Thou shalt not bully thy classmates like an emotionally constipated warlord.’"

The professor, baffled but intrigued, raised a brow. "I don’t recall that section."

"I wrote it in," Sera said proudly. "And signed it. In crayon."

The classroom, once stiff with tension, dissolved into snickers and smothered giggles. Even the professor smiled reluctantly.

This was unbelievable.

Sure, the girl had been as calm as a cucumber earlier, but now, Her true colors were coming out again.

Only this time, it wasn’t embarrassing—it was downright amusing.

Even Verena couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all.

But alas, the fun ended there.

She was now confined to a small meeting room next to the Principal’s officeno, just a basic space with drab wallpaper in shades of beige that screamed "we’ll make do."

The furniture was minimal, a few uncomfortable chairs around a wooden table that looked like it had seen better days, and a single flickering light overhead.

The place had an odd smell like old books mixed with stale coffee, the sort of room that made you feel like you were waiting for bad news.

It was kind of funny, really.

They treated her like a pest, as though she were some kind of troublemaker—mostly because of who she was and what she was. She couldn’t really blame them; the original Verena had been, well, an insufferable pain in the neck.

Still, the way they were treating her now felt more like a form of punishment than anything else.

Apparently, the investigation had turned up no solid leads yet.

They were still circling in the dark, and it seemed they didn’t know what to make of her or how to deal with the situation.

"PSSTT!!"

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