Lady Misfortune: Daddy, I'll Be A Righteous Villainess!

"You're a fantastic writer, Ms. Mireille. I see great potential in you," Ms. Mirabella remarked, breaking Lady's train of thoughts.

"Oh, uhhh… Thanks?"

"Very good, very good! It's a little early since I haven't returned all the others yet, but I'd like you to have your work now. I've included some comments on where you can improve so that you can truly bring out your capabilities. Make sure to take note of them!"

"Are you saying you want me to write more, Ms. Mirabella?"

"Yes! I'm giving you a little extra homework. Make a report on Hamlet. Don't worry. It's short. You only need to give me a two-page essay. IBC format. Pick any theme, any situation in Hamlet. I'm sure you've already read it as per your English requirement last year?"

"Yeah, I have-"

"Splendid! I'm eager to read it. Give it to me on Monday. Now, shoo! Just tell your teacher that you talked to me so you really won't get punished for being late."

Ms. Mirabella turns to leave before Lady gets another word in.

She stands lifelessly in the hallway, dumbfounded. While she's glad that her homeroom teacher gave her a slip at the very least, she's bemused at everything she's said in their brief exchange. 

Lies. Shakespeare. Report. Hamlet. Monday. Brain. Exploding.

She looks down at the folder in her hands then noticed three red stars etched into the cover with a permanent marker. Then, she found herself wondering, 'What's that thought about dangling modifiers again?'

Lady is super dumbfounded. 

She still hasn't taken a step out of there when someone bumped into her all of the sudden. Yelping out loud, she ended up staggering back – right at the same time whoever this was fell on the floor. Much to her relief, she was able to hold herself together before she could hit the ground too. 

It seems that she keeps being thrust into one incident after another today. 

"I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking!" Lady hastily apologized.

Then, she froze. 

As soon as her eyes zeroed in on the person she crashed into, her whole body went still in utter shock. She felt like she was knocked out of breath just as a strong sense of familiarity knocked itself into her. Her eyes went wide, her mouth slightly gaping. 

It's a female middle-schooler like her – that's the first thing she noticed. The next ones are her silky, straight light pink hair that flows all the way down her waist like a cascade of cherry blossoms, her doe-like, emerald green irises that can make one's heart flutter, and her porcelain skin that just seems to gleam with how flawlessly smooth it is.

But all these details only rang a bell in her. What really struck her was the air around this stunning beauty – no doubt about it, it's the air of a leading lady, of a shining star, of the main protagonist. 

Sarah Gracelyn. 

"Oh, no, it's me who has to apologize. I'm sorry. I didn't see you standing there."

For one whole moment, Lady has no idea what to do. She just stares and stares. Funny how she'd been preparing for this very moment for six long years – only to find herself staring like a stupid idiot. She just couldn't believe it. Sarah really is standing before her right now.

"Umm… Hello? Are you okay-"

Then, she froze too.

Now, this is weird. It made sense that Lady would recognize her. She's sure she's the heroine of the story. But for some reason, Sarah has this odd expression on her face that kind of tells her she's able to recognize her as well.

'This is bad. This is bad. This is bad.'

She's paralyzed on her spot, her brain short-circuiting.

This is supposed to be a perfect chance to leave a lasting impression on her. She knows what a typical villainess would do, and she knows how a typical heroine would react based on the plot. Yet, she can't even utter a single word. 

To be fair, though, this wasn't how Lady and Sarah's first meeting took place in the story. 

She didn't write anything about bumping into each other in the hallway. That just makes a cliché opening scene. Hers is much more dramatic than this. 

'But whatever! What's important is that we've finally met! This is exactly why I've practiced doing ad-libs! Not everything will go as planned!'

Lady still could not move, however. So, it was Sarah who spoke up again.

"Uhhh… Hello there…" she greeted timidly, reaching out her hand to her.

"My name is Sarah Gracelyn. I'm a seventh-grader."

"Right…" she drawled out as she contemplated if she should accept her hand, which she knew would come out like she was being nice to her or something if she did. 

"Where are you coming from, anyway?"

"Oh, I'm… kinda lost. I'm new in this school, you see, and it's just… so big that I can't find the teachers' office."

"The faculty, you mean? It's just right there behind you – at the end of this hallway." 

"What?! Oh, shoot! I actually went past it!"

"Are you blind or something? There's clearly a signboard over there."

Sarah slightly flinches at that. Lady must've been too blunt.

Regardless, this can make up for earlier. She wonders if she sounds mean enough – she hopes she does. Though it's a little bit delayed, she thinks she can finally pull out an act now.

And so, she goes on to flash Sarah a domineering stance, lifting her chin up and crossing her arms. With a conceited tone and look, Lady began, "You're new here, huh? Nonetheless, I'm pretty sure you already know who I am-"

"Hey, Lady! What're you doing there?! Cutting classes again?!"

"Again?! What do you mean again?! I've never cut classes before! Say that one more time, you dumbass!"

"You're cutting classes again!"

"Why, you little!"

And there goes her lasting impression.

Apparently, some of her classmates appeared out of nowhere. She completely forgot that their first class today was PE – which totally sucks, by the way. They must've just left the school gymnasium, and even though they could've simply continued on their way, they went ahead and did what they'd do all the time. They started yet another banter with her. 

This time, they accused her of being a delinquent as soon they saw her stalling around at that hall.

Lady is already used to their constant teasing at this point. But this isn't exactly a good time for that. Now, Sarah is looking at her like she's some third-rate troublemaker.

This is bad, indeed. 

---

There's a week-old ghost story that spooks the grade-schoolers at Golden Rose Academy.

The elementary school building has this playground. It's complete with a few slides, some see-saws, one playhouse, one sandbox, and what used to be a swing set.

Of course, it's still a swing-set. The children love to play on it. Recently, however, it has become haunted. It's all the kids have been talking about during their free time. 

Those with a few more words in their vocabulary have spun tales about how the ghost has probably come to get revenge on them for playing too much on the swings. They'd all nearly cracked the secret swing pattern to unlock the secret basement that hides all his treasure.

Others have pointed out that he's all white, so maybe he's just an old man looking for his teeth but can't find them because he's dead and his mother has thrown away his dentures. 

Some had banded together to form a ghost-buster-inspired cult. They used their books as makeshift shields and pencils as weapons. The leader of the group had also carved disturbing symbols, which were just really stars and circles, on the ground using chalk and had claimed to be exorcising the evil spirit. Needless to say, that child's parents were called.

All the kids' antics had actually amused the teachers. However, the droll and curious nature of their questions had become repetitive and irritating over time. The staff had talked about telling the so-called ghost to leave, but ultimately, Principal Abel had decided that the ghost was actually an opportunity.

"Yes! Beware of the Playground Ghost, children! He'll eat you alive if you misbehave!"

That had turned into a thing quicker than any of the other faculty members had expected. Soon, they were grateful for the ghost because it made the children behave when they couldn't. Mr. Richards, who has been teaching grade-schoolers since he got out of college, is entirely stupefied by the whole ordeal.

He sets a cup of coffee down on a table at the teacher's lounge and sits next to Ms. Mirabella. Initiating a conversation, Mr. Richards mused dramatically, "Can you believe it?" 

"Believe what?" she responded, looking up from her lunchbox. 

"That boy's got the children in line better than we ever have – and he hasn't even done anything. He just sits there on the swing, boasting about how depressed he is like every other teenager on the planet."

"He's not a boy. He's a ghost. And he's not depressed – he's haunting us."

"Stop humoring the Principal's shenanigans, Ms. Mirabella. You know it's not good to lie – even if they're still children."

Ms.. Mirabella simply hummed.