Chapter 3

When you look above people’s heads, you can see their roles. Realizing this while looking at a girl who hadn’t even lived half as long as me, I tried to leave the house but found myself unable to do so for a major reason.

Inside the room covered in white, there were issues: I didn’t know where my wallet was hidden, the uniform I was supposed to wear tomorrow was completely torn, and the biggest problem was the lack of a mirror.

Well, to be precise, there was something that looked like a mirror, but it didn’t reflect me properly. I glanced at this so-called mirror.

[Name: Erica.]

[Role: Undefined Heroine]

With just these two items plastered over it, the mirror failed to perform its basic function of reflecting me, rendering it unworthy of the name.

Role undefined. And the clue that I was a “Heroine.” If I am a heroine, then somewhere in this world, there must be a Protagonist too.

A protagonist who describes themselves as ordinary but is gifted with abilities by the world—someone capable of winning over all the heroines.

There are far more harem romances with male protagonists than百合 (yuri/female-only) romances, so the protagonist in this world is likely male.

“Protagonist…”

Squatting in front of the full-length mirror in the room, I muttered the role to myself. It’s easy not to love a man.

But if my assumption is correct, and this body is that of a woman, the physical attraction dictated by DNA would be hard to resist.

I can confidently say that I won’t fall in love with a man, but until just moments ago, I never imagined I’d be stranded in a romance visual novel world. So, I must consider the possibility that the protagonist might try to pursue me, or in the worst-case scenario, that I might fall for them.

Given that there is a cap on favorability points for liberation, I won’t fall in love at first sight and get trapped here, but it’s impossible to know the extent of the protagonist’s influence until I meet them.

According to the system’s message, which says that I shouldn’t be wooed, the protagonist is the one I should avoid meeting the most. But if I have to leave this world, encountering the protagonist might be necessary.

My legs were slightly sore from squatting for too long. But no matter how much I kept thinking about the protagonist I would inevitably meet tomorrow, it wouldn’t change anything. I had decided to do something else first, even if it meant skipping dishwashing.

“Maybe I should go for a walk.”

Considering Yuinna’s title and ability, it seems that the world is indeed a romance visual novel. Even in an ordinary world, there shouldn’t be abilities.

Perhaps they’re just devices to emphasize a heroine’s uniqueness, but there must be a reason they’re visible to me. For instance, it could be the minimal conscience of whoever dragged me into this world.

I could try to find out about this world via the internet, but there’s information I can only gather by moving around on foot—not by searching online.

I wanted to know the exact form of the clothes I was wearing, which appeared hazy to me, but considering the modesty of the girl who originally owned this body and might be the heroine, she probably wasn’t wearing anything strange.

Trusting this fact, I stepped out of the house after waiting some time following the closing of the front door. I carefully descended from the second floor and arrived at the shoe rack.

There was only one pair of shoes at the shoe rack. It seemed as if the owner generally wore only one pair, as a well-worn pair of shoes caught my eye.

The house had two floors and didn’t lack money, so why was such worn-out footwear still being used?

This feeling was both familiar and unfamiliar. Regardless of how the other person felt, the semi-transparent window appeared again.

[Shoes gifted by a lover.]

While I didn’t claim this body, nor do I feel undue guilt, it irritates me that the window makes me feel that way. And getting upset at the emotionless system for making me feel this way would be pointless. Reacting to a single pop-up window as though it’s scratching me would be overly sensitive.

If this keeps happening, I’ll have to consider the possibility later that the system lied to me about my way out of this world.

Even though the shoes were worn down at the heel, I put them on and opened the front door. The door, which I had assumed would be difficult to open when I thought I might have been kidnapped, surprisingly opened easily.

The world that stretched before my eyes made me feel more confident. Perhaps I’ve really been transported to another dimension rather than having a mental illness. A mental breakdown might be preferable to such an illness being a lifelong reality.