My eyes widened as the words on the screen settled into my brain, each pixel feeling like a nail in my coffin.
What? What is this?
If I lie, she'll know. Her "Sense" will pick up my skyrocketing pulse like a drum solo. But if I tell the truth—if I say, "Hey, I'm actually an 18-year-old student from Pakistan who just died and hijacked your brother's corpse"—the Author will literally delete me from existence.
What kind of shitty, one-way-street situation is this?
Where's the third option? Can't I just keep my mouth shut? Is the universe telling me that Elena kills me if I lie, and the "System" kills me if I'm honest?
Huh?
"Oh, I hope you speak up before I make you," Elena murmured. Her crimson eyes stayed locked on mine, her thumb tracing the rapid, betraying thrum of the artery in my neck.
As she spoke, the purple screen suddenly flickered and vanished into thin air.
Shit. Shit! SHIT! It hasn't even been a full day since I took over this body. Can't I just have one single moment of peace? Why is everyone in this world trying to screw me over?
First, my brother tried to turn me into a human charcoal briquette. Whatever. Screw him. I didn't like his face anyway.
But her?
She was the one who smiled at me during breakfast. Out of all my sisters, she was the only one I thought I could actually get along with.
I mean, sure, every guy wants to be interrogated by a hot chick, but not like this. Not with a literal "Death or Deletion" prompt hanging over my head.
Both ways lead to a grave.
In any normal novel, this is where the protagonist reveals he was "secretly training in the woods" or "studying the weaknesses of magic for years." The sister would be impressed, pat him on the back, and we'd move on to a training montage.
But no. It just had to be a "Death Game" novel.
I looked at her—at the way she was waiting, her head tilted slightly, her brown hair falling over her shoulder. She was expecting an answer, and my silence was starting to taste like a confession.
"I..." I started, my voice sounding like it was being dragged over gravel. I had to find a middle ground. A truth that wasn't the truth.
"I'm still your brother, Elena," I said, and for a second, my heart steadied because, technically, I was in his skin. "But the 'Rio' who cared more about women than his own life? He died the moment Aries threw that first fireball."
That wasn't a lie. The old Rio's soul was gone.
"I realized that in this family, being 'useless' isn't just a label. it's a death sentence. And I decided... I don't want to die."
Well, that's it. I couldn't have said anything better.
The screen said if I lie, her "Sense" will detect my heart rate. So, the trick isn't about the words themselves; it's about the conviction behind them.
As long as my heartbeat stays steady, I might just pull this off. Right?
I can just grab a lie and mix it with some truth. That way, I'm not technically lying, but I'm definitely not telling the dangerous truth either.
It's a survival skill I picked up back home. In the crowded streets and low-income neighborhoods of my city, you learn early on that you can't always lie, but you aren't always given the chance to tell the absolute truth.
You learn to blend them—a gray area of honesty just to get out of an awkward or life-threatening situation.
Now I just hope it works. Otherwise, I'm doomed.
But why isn't there any reaction from Elena?
The silence stretched, thick enough to choke me.
I looked at her, searching for a sign of a incoming strike, but her expression was shifting. Moments ago, she looked ready to end me if the answer didn't satisfy her curiosity.
But now?
She was looking at me like she was... proud.
"I see," she whispered and moved her hand on my shoulder. The pressure wasn't a threat anymore; it was almost a supportive squeeze.
"I suppose almost being turned to ash by your own brother would change anyone. I was worried you had been replaced by a ghost, Rio. But that look in your eyes... that's not a ghost. That's an Aragon finally waking up."
She let out a small, sharp chuckle, and for a second, a trace of that breakfast smile returned.
"So, the 'Pervert Prince' is dead, and a survivor is born? Good. Because if you had stayed the same, I would have been the one to kill you myself, just to save the family the embarrassment."
I felt a chill run down my spine, the kind that makes your hair stand on end.
Great. So my options for the day were: die by dragon fire, die by system deletion, or die by big sister's mercy killing. I was really moving up in the world.
At least I was safe for now. Elena's hand remained on my shoulder for a second longer than necessary, her crimson eyes scanning mine one last time as if she were double-checking her "Sense" readings.
Apparently, my Pakistani-born talent for mixing truth and lies like a street-side spice blend had passed the test.
I was alive. For the next five minutes, at least.
But as soon as I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, Elena's expression sharpened.
The proud sister routine vanished, replaced by the cold, calculating look of a high-ranking Aragon strategist.
She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper that didn't feel like a secret—it felt like a warning.
"Don't get too comfortable in that bed, Rio," she began, "Now, you have drawn the attention of both our mothers and father. And you know what happens to— half-blood who act up."
The room suddenly felt much colder.
Wait?
Half... Half Blood?!