My Maids are All Final Villainesses-Chapter 26: Defective System

Clay stared blankly at the floating screen in front of him, his mind trying to process what he had just heard while his body remained frozen in place, as if even moving would make the situation more real than it already was.

The Replacement Villain only has two percent chance of surviving its unexpected encounter.

Clay eyed the chance.

Only two percent!

Two percent!

He slowly lifted his hand and pointed at the system screen, his finger trembling slightly.

"That... that literally means he’s going to die."

His voice cracked as he said it, and then his expression twisted into pure frustration.

"What kind of nonsense is this!"

He threw his arms up in the air and stood from his bed, pacing around like a man who had just been told that the sky would fall tomorrow and no one else seemed to care.

"Who signed up that replacement villain in my place?! Why is it so weak? Can’t they find someone who won’t die at the hands of an unknown individual... and who only dies at the hands of the main character? Why is it dying? Who thought it was a good idea to replace me with that much weaker guy?"

This is insane. This is completely insane.

He stopped walking and dragged both hands down his face, his breath heavy, his thoughts tangled.

"And who the hell is killing him?" he suddenly snapped, his voice rising again. "Why do I feel that bastard is practically killing me by extension! Does he have a death wish?"

He pointed at the system again as if it were a person standing in front of him.

"Tell me right now, what happens if that replacement dies?"

The system responded without delay.

If the Replacement Villain dies, the host may become implicated in the timeline instability.

Clay blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then leaned forward slowly.

"...what?"

His voice dropped into a dangerous tone.

"What do you mean ’implicated’?"

The system paused for a brief moment, as if organizing its response, before continuing in its usual neutral tone.

As the former Minor Villain, the host has a residual connection to the narrative structure of this world.

The existence of a replacement was meant to maintain balance after the host deviated from the original path. If the replacement is removed without proper stabilization, the narrative may attempt to correct itself.

Clay’s face stiffened.

"Correct itself?"

Yes, host.

The narrative possesses adaptive properties. When a key role is left vacant, especially one with pre-established influence over certain events, the system may redirect that role back to its closest viable candidate.

Clay’s lips parted slightly.

Closest viable candidate...

He slowly pointed at himself.

"You’re not saying..."

The system continued.

The host remains the closest match to the original Minor Villain profile due to shared identity, history, and causality threads.

If the replacement is permanently removed and no alternative is found, the probability exists that the host may be reassigned to that role.

Clay froze completely.

His brain went blank for a second.

Then—

"What the hell do you mean reassigned?!"

He exploded, his voice echoing through the room.

"I already left that role! I rejected it! I escaped it! I did everything right!"

He grabbed a pillow and threw it across the room in pure frustration.

"I avoided the main characters, I avoided the plot, I even ran away from that ice girl! What more do you want from me?"

The system remained calm.

The host’s actions successfully deviated from the original timeline. However, deviations create instability. Replacement mechanisms exist to maintain continuity. Failure of those mechanisms results in corrective measures.

Clay stared at the system, his eyes wide.

"So you’re telling me that if that guy dies... I might get dragged back into being a Minor Villain again?"

That is a possible outcome.

Clay’s face twitched.

"Possible?"

Yes, host.

"What’s the probability?"

Approximately 0.5 percent.

Silence filled the room.

Clay stood there, unmoving.

Then slowly... very slowly... he clenched his fists.

"Zero point five percent?"

His voice was low.

Dangerously low.

"Zero point five percent?"

He suddenly kicked the nearby chair, sending it crashing to the ground.

"That fucking low?!"

He pointed at the system again, his entire body shaking with anger.

"Do you even understand what that means? That means... That means... that you son of a bitch was made to piss me off!"

He began pacing again, faster this time, his thoughts spiraling. And his head felt a volcano ready to erupt.

"I already went through all that trouble of thinking all the problem to avoid that fate. But think the probably was that fucking low!"

I won’t be that unlucky. I can’t be that unlucky.

He stopped and stared at the system.

"So what do I do?" he demanded. "Tell me. What am I supposed to do? I’m going crazy because of you!"

The system responded.

Please host, relaaax...

Clay face turned red!

"You! You! You!"

Then his expression twisted again.

"You’re joking, right?"

The system replied, almost casually.

Well, all is well.

Clay froze.

Slowly... slowly... he turned his head toward the system screen.

"What did you just say?"

All is well, host.

For a moment, it looked like Clay was going to explode again.

His face turned red.

His fists clenched.

His mouth opened—

Then he stopped.

He took a deep breath.

Another one.

And another.

Calm down. Calm down. Losing your temper won’t help. This one is an incomplete system. It’s basically a child. It’s basically a special child.

He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes.

But the system felt insulted.

Host, I am not—

But it’s not done when Clay cut it off.

"you’re a defective system," he muttered.

The system seemed to discovered his mistake and responded cheekily.

Sorry, host.

Clay opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

This is hopeless.

He walked back to his bed and dropped onto it, his body sinking into the soft mattress.

"The probability is low," he said to himself. "It’s just zero point five percent. I don’t even need to think about it. I don’t need to care."

He pulled the blanket over himself and turned to the side.

"I’m going to sleep," he declared. "And you are not going to disturb me anymore, right?"

Okay, host! Roger!

Clay closed his eyes.

...

Far away, in a remote and desolate place, the young man’s body reformed once more, his figure emerging from a faint glow as if reality itself reluctantly accepted his return.

He stumbled forward the moment he materialized, collapsing onto the ground as his breath came out in ragged gasps.

"How... how..."

His voice trembled, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

"How is she still finding me..."

Two days... it’s been two days...

His eyes darted around wildly, fear now fully taking over his once arrogant demeanor.

"I changed locations... I hid my aura... I even suppressed my presence... so how... how is she still able to appear right in front of me..."

Inside his dantian, the old man spoke, his tone grave.

"We have encountered a formidable opponent."

The young man clenched his teeth.

"I already know that!" he snapped. "What I want to know is what we’re going to do about it!"

His voice cracked again, panic creeping deeper into his words.

"I can’t keep dying like this! I only have a few lives left! If this continues... I’m finished!"

The old man remained silent for a moment, as if weighing his options.

Then he spoke again, slower this time.

"There is... one method."

The young man immediately looked up.

"What method?"

The old man did not answer immediately. Instead, his voice carried a strange weight, as if what he was about to say was not something to be taken lightly.

"You must understand the situation you are in," he began. "Your enemy is not someone you can outmaneuver through normal means. She exists beyond conventional detection. Your current strength, your current techniques, they are insufficient."

The young man’s breathing slowed slightly, but his expression remained tense.

"Then what do I do?"

The old man continued.

"You possess a rare advantage. Your body has been tempered through repeated deaths and rebirths. Your soul has endured pressure that would shatter ordinary cultivators. This makes you... compatible."

The young man frowned.

"Compatible with what?"

The old man did not answer directly.

"There exists a method that can drastically increase your chances of survival. It will grant you access to power far beyond what you currently possess. It will allow you to perceive what you cannot perceive now. It will give you the means to fight back."

The young man’s eyes lit up slightly.

"Then let’s do it!"

But the old man’s tone did not change.

"However, this method comes with a cost."

The young man hesitated.

"What kind of cost?"

The old man’s voice grew heavier.

"You will not remain as you are. Your control over your own body... your autonomy... may be affected. You will gain strength, but you will also share your existence with another will."

The young man’s expression stiffened.

Share... my existence?

He swallowed hard.

"You mean..."

The old man did not confirm it directly.

"If you do nothing, you will die. Not once, not twice, but completely. There will be no more chances. If you accept this method, you gain the possibility to survive... and to retaliate."

Silence fell between them.

The young man lowered his head, his fists tightening.

Do I really have a choice?

Images flashed through his mind.

The assassin’s voice.

The cold feeling of death.

The helplessness.

He gritted his teeth.

"I..."

He hesitated.

His heart pounded.

His mind screamed.

Then finally—

"Okay."

He lifted his head, his eyes filled with determination mixed with fear.

"It’s now or never."