Chapter 77: Chapter-77

The physician’s mind was spinning in circles.

’She fell on flat ground’, he thought helplessly. ’Flat ground. No steps, no oil, no obstacles. How—’

Part of him wanted to murmur useless comforts: “It happens, Your Majesty, accidents occur, please don’t blame yourself.”

Another part of him, the part that remembered basic physics, wanted to blurt, “How did you manage to injure yourself like this on a ’clean’ floor?”

But then his survival instinct helpfully replayed the image of the former Knight Commander’s medals hitting the ground, the cold way the Empress had said “Nether Dungeons,” and his tongue tied itself in a knot.

In the end, he said nothing at all beyond technical terms and careful instructions.

When he was finished, Heena’s right wrist was tightly bound and supported by a sling. It throbbed in time with her heartbeat, a heavy, insistent ache.

She stared at it like it was an especially ugly insect glued to her arm.

“Leave,” she said.

The physician bowed so fast his forehead nearly hit her knee. “Yes, Your Majesty!”

He backed away, colliding with a table before righting himself, and fled.

The door closed behind him.

Silence.

Heena lifted her bandaged wrist, turned it as far as she dared, and grimaced.

“System.”

He appeared at once, already trembling.

“Yes, Host?”

She raised her eyebrows pointedly. ’Slowly’ lifted her wrapped arm higher, in case he had somehow missed it.

“I said,” she enunciated, “that backlash would be reduced by fifty percent.”

“Yes,” he squeaked. “Yes! The Lord God’s shield—”

“My hand is broken,” she said.

“Technically—dislocated with a proba—”

“And you,” Heena continued, eyes narrowing to thin dangerous lines, “think this is ’fifty percent’?”

System 427’s ears flattened completely.

“In fairness,” he blurted, words tumbling over each other, “before the shield, that slap would have shattered every bone from your fingertips to your elbow, and the world laws might have tried to turn your whole arm to cosmic dust for daring to lay a hand on the heroine, so really this is a ’huge’ improvement—”

He cut himself off when he realized he was babbling.

Heena looked at him.

The look said, very clearly: ’Are you joking with me right now?’

She exhaled slowly through her nose.

“Let me understand this,” she said. “I hit the heroine ’twice’. The universe throws a tantrum. The Lord God, in his infinite mercy, gives me ’protection.’ And the end result of this mercy is—” she lifted her bandaged wrist again, wincing “—I trip on ’flat marble’ and break my hand.”

System 427 shrank in midair, as if trying to become a smaller target.

“…When you put it like that, it sounds bad,” he whispered.

Heena stared at the ceiling for a long moment, then started to laugh.

It wasn’t the bright, delighted laugh from behind the pillar. This one was sharper, edged with disbelief and a certain hysterical flavor.

“Of course,” she said between breaths. “Of course. I ’knew’ there was a catch.”

She thumped the back of her head lightly against the wall behind her.

“Next time,” she muttered, “remind me to kick her instead. At least then I’ll break a leg and not my dominant hand.”

System 427 wisely did not agree or disagree. He just hovered there, tail drooping, and thought privately that only his host could turn cosmic backlash into slapstick and still be more annoyed than injured.

But when everything was already going wrong, how could it be that her foolish husbands ’wouldn’t’ come to add more fuel to the fire?

Of course they did.

Heena was already beyond irritated. Her wrist throbbed in its bandage, a constant, dull reminder that the universe had a sense of humor and she was the punchline. And to make it worse, ’everyone’ had been so insufferably sympathetic.

“It’s all right, Your Majesty, these things happen!”

“Even I slipped once on the training grounds, Your Majesty!”

“Accidents are part of life, Your Majesty!”

Heena had smiled through every single one of those well-meaning platitudes while internally composing a list of creative punishments. ’What do you mean ’it happens’?’ she’d thought viciously. ’I tripped on flat marble because the universe hates me, not because I’m clumsy.’

She had never felt so humiliated in her life.

If she had known this nonsense was going to happen, she would’ve picked a female-lead role instead. At least then she could have cried prettily to a male lead or a second male lead and gotten sympathy instead of cosmic backlash.

But no. She was stuck here, in a body that the world wanted to punish, playing Empress to five men who had tried to poison her and a heroine who thought common sense was optional.

Still, she composed herself. Smiled. Went through the motions.

Because as angry as she was—and she ’was’ angry, the kind of anger that made her want to line people up and start handing out executions like party favors—she also remembered that most of these people were ’useful’. The ones who weren’t? Well, she couldn’t kill them yet. She needed to squeeze them dry first. Efficiency mattered, even in revenge.

***

By evening, Heena was in her private study, calmly eating sliced papaya with a fork.

Her injured wrist rested in its sling. Her other hand moved with slow, deliberate precision, spearing a piece of fruit and bringing it to her mouth. The sweetness was exactly what she needed—natural sugar, good for the skin, soothing to a body that had been running on spite and three hours of sleep.

System 427 hovered nearby, tail flicking with barely suppressed anxiety.

“Host…” he said carefully, in the gentlest tone he could manage. “Is it really the time to be eating papaya? I mean, there’s so much to do, the mission is—”

Heena raised her fork and pointed it at him like a tiny, juice-covered sword.

“I should ’rest’ first,” she said. “Do you not see that I am ’injured’?” She gestured with the fork at her bandaged wrist. “And anyway, I am the ’Empress’, not someone’s servant who has to work all the time, every single day without stopping. Do you even know how much work I’ve had to do?”

She stabbed another piece of papaya with unnecessary force.

“If I had known I’d have to labor this much,” she muttered, “I would have just married a rich man and retired.”

System 427 blinked. “But… Host, you ’are’ the richest person right now. You’re the Empress.”

Heena paused mid-chew, considered that, then swallowed and nodded.

“Exactly,” she said. “That’s what I’m saying. If I had known I could enjoy ’this’ much wealth, I would have just married ’myself’. Of course I’m beautiful enough for it.” She waved the fork dismissively. “Instead, I’m stuck married to five deadbeats.”

System 427 opened his mouth to respond—

A knock sounded at the door.

A eunuch’s voice followed, cautious and trembling. “Your Majesty, the imperial consorts request an audience.”

Heena went very still.

Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face.

It was not a nice smile.

System 427’s fur stood on end. “Host…?”

“Let them in,” she called sweetly.

The system’s ears flattened. “Host, please don’t—”

“Oh, this is ’perfect’,” Heena said, setting down her fork with exaggerated care. “When I slapped the female lead, my hand paid the price. So let’s see—if I smash the male leads’ skulls in one swift motion, what happens to me?”

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