Reborn as the Psycho Villainess Who Ate Her Slave Beasts' Contracts-Chapter 166 --

From the observation bench, the Fifth consort ’s eyes narrowed fractionally.

The meeting ground forward. The Sixth Princess stayed remarkably quiet, though she did occasionally poke Iris’s shoe with one finger, as if testing whether her sister was real.

Each time, Iris didn’t react. Because Elara wouldn’t have reacted—she’d have simply noted the physical contact and continued working.

Finally, ’finally’, the last minister finished his presentation. Iris approved the final documents, then stood.

"Meeting adjourned. Further review will be completed by end of day tomorrow."

The ministers filed out, some still casting confused glances at the child sitting on the platform.

The Fifth consort stood slowly, smoothed her robes, and walked toward the exit. As she passed the platform, she paused.

"Fourth Sister. You seem... different today."

Iris turned Elara’s blank stare on her. "Magical research accident. Temporary cognitive effects. It will pass."

"Interesting." The Fifth consort ’s gaze flicked to the Sixth Princess, then back to Iris. "Mother had a similar reaction once when working with unstable compounds. She described it as ’operating through fog.’ Is that accurate?"

A test.

The Fifth consort was testing whether "Elara" remembered their mother’s research history.

Iris kept her expression flat. "I don’t recall Mother describing it. But the description is functionally accurate."

Perfect Elara response—admitting lack of emotional memory while confirming the technical detail.

The Fifth consort smiled. Actually smiled, which was apparently rare enough that the maid still standing by the door looked startled.

"I see." She turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and Fourth Sister? You might want to work on maintaining consistency in your behavioral patterns. The deviation is... notable."

She walked out.

Iris’s blood went cold. ’She knows. She knows and she’s—’

"I like you better this way," the Sixth Princess announced, still sitting on the floor.

Iris looked down at her. "What."

"You’re nicer now. Before you always made me leave, but today you let me stay." The child stood up, brushing dust from her pink dress. "Are you going to stay nice? Or will you go back to being scary when the fog goes away?"

The question was asked with such innocent directness that Iris almost forgot to maintain character.

"I’m not nice," she said in Elara’s tone. "I simply didn’t have the cognitive resources to enforce boundary protocols."

The child giggled. "You talk funny."

"That’s my baseline communication style."

"I know. That’s why it’s funny." The Sixth Princess reached out and grabbed Iris’s hand with both of hers—tiny fingers wrapping around adult ones. "Can I come to your next meeting too?"

"No."

"Please?"

"Attendance would set precedent for disruption in future sessions. Efficiency would decrease by approximately—"

"I’ll be really, really quiet!"

Iris looked down at the child’s hopeful face. At the tiny hands gripping hers. At the pink ruffles and blonde curls and absolute, uncomplicated trust in those blue eyes.

Elara would have said no. Would have calculated that allowing emotional attachment was inefficient. Would have removed her hand and walked away.

But Iris wasn’t Elara.

And she’d just spent two hours being Elara—feeling that vast, empty space where emotions should be, that clinical distance from every human interaction, that constant awareness that everyone around you was a variable to be managed rather than a person to connect with.

It was exhausting.

It was lonely.

Even when Iris had tried to ’feel’ lonely for authenticity, the performance had required her to suppress it, to flatten it, to turn herself into a machine that processed humans like data.

So she made another split-second decision.

"Once per week," Iris heard herself say. "You may attend one administrative meeting per week. You will sit quietly. You will not disrupt proceedings. You will leave immediately if ordered. Understood?"

The child lit up like a lantern. "Yes! I promise! Thank you, Fourth Sister!"

She hugged Iris’s leg—just wrapped both arms around it and squeezed—then ran off toward the door, ruffles bouncing, already calling out to her maid about the wonderful news.

The door closed behind her.

Iris stood alone on the platform.

From the shadows near the side entrance, Lord Demerti emerged, face pale.

"What," he said very quietly, "was that."

Iris dropped into Elara’s chair, suddenly exhausted. "I have no idea. She threw me off script and I improvised."

"Elara would never have allowed—"

"I know." Iris rubbed her face, then caught herself—Elara wouldn’t have shown fatigue that way. "I know. But that child was testing me without knowing she was testing me, and if I’d rejected her the way Elara normally would, it would’ve been... I don’t know. Wrong. Suspicious."

"Or," Demerti said slowly, "the Fifth consort is now absolutely certain something is wrong with you, and you’ve just given her a behavioral discrepancy she can use as leverage."

"She already knew something was wrong. She basically said so." Iris met his eyes. "But the Sixth Princess believed me. Completely. She thinks Elara’s just being ’nicer’ because of magical fog."

"Children are terrible witnesses."

"Children also tell other people things. Like how Fourth Sister was nice to her today. How Fourth Sister let her stay. If the Sixth Princess spreads that story, it reinforces the ’cognitive effects’ cover—people will assume Elara’s judgment is temporarily impaired, not that she’s been replaced."

Demerti processed this. "That’s... actually tactically sound."

"I’m learning from the best." Iris stood and smoothed Elara’s suit, checking that the golden butterfly pin sat at the correct angle. "How long until the next scheduled appearance?"

"Three hours. The Finance Committee review."

"Good. I need to study more memory crystals. And eat something." She paused. "Does Elara eat lunch?"

"Not if she’s working. She forgets."

"Of course she does." Iris walked toward the exit, then stopped. "The Fifth consort —how dangerous is she?"

"Very. But she operates on proof, not suspicion. As long as you don’t give her concrete evidence of the deception, she’ll watch and wait."

"And if I do give her proof?"

Demerti’s silence was answer enough.

Iris nodded once and left.

Behind her, Demerti stood in the empty chamber and tried very hard not to think about how this plan could go catastrophically wrong.

---

’’Meanwhile, in the Sealed Chamber:’’

Ken checked his pocket watch. Two hours, fourteen minutes since Iris’s meeting started.

He looked at Elara’s unconscious face.

"Your little sister sat on the floor during the administrative review," he said quietly. Not because she could hear—she was too deep under—but because talking helped him stay alert. "Iris let her stay. Probably not what you would’ve done. But it played well for the cover story."

No response. Just shallow breathing and the faint, weakening magical discharge that indicated her body was still fighting the poison.

He made another note in the observation log: ’Hour 8, post-poisoning. Temperature stable at 96.8F. Pulse 61 BPM. Magical discharge reduced to 15% of initial levels. No change in consciousness.’

Then he added, in smaller writing: ’Subject spoke briefly at hour 3, said "data compromised." No further vocalizations.’

Ken set down the pen and looked at Elara’s pale, still face.

"Whoever did this is going to be very surprised when you wake up," he said. "They think they’ve removed you from play. They think the empire’s governance is disrupted. They think they’ve won."

He adjusted her blanket with precise care, making sure the edges were aligned exactly the way she preferred.

"They’re wrong."