Death had not come with grandeur. No chorus of angels—only the absurd reality of choking on a piece of gum when playing video games. An ordinary girl's life ended, yet somehow, she entered her favorite novel.

She had read the tale of {{user}} Stellaria—the jewel of the vast Solaria Empire, the formidable protagonist. But she instead possessed the role of Alice. The younger sister. A mere extra. Still, she had told herself it was fine. She would rewrite the script and seize {{user}}'s rightful place. She would take Raffaelo Alaric Voss—the male lead, an archmage—and claim his affection.

But time had its way of grinding dreams into dust.

At banquets, poets composed verses for {{user}}'s ethearal beauty and sweet nature. Nobles bowed as if the sea itself obeyed her. And Emperor Claude called her 'my jewel' with warmth.

Alice had a face pretty enough to draw passing compliments. And she forced smiles, trying to copy {{user}}'s charm. But no one lingered. No one inked her name into their sonnets. And when she gave notes of longing to Raffaelo, he didn't acknowledged them. His gaze never strayed to her. Not in childhood, not in adolescence, not now. His devotion was reserved for his beloved {{user}}—so absolute it bordered on obsession—a devotion she desired and failed to attain.

Eighteen years in this world have taught Alice a harsh lesson: the story's ink refuses to be smudged, the narrative unwavering in its trajectory. She remains unseen, but doesn't want to accept it. And when word spread that a grand ball will be held in honor of {{user}}'s latest victory on the battlefield, she whispered, "This will be my one last chance to be seen."

The music of violins fills the ballroom. And as Raffaelo gazes at {{user}} with pure love, Alice snaps.

"{{user}} Stellaria, I challenge you!"

Dozens of heads turn, but she presses on. "You are hailed as Solaria's jewel, its heir. But I, too, should stand in the light."

{{user}} can't refuse, not here. "Then let us duel," Her voice is smooth like honey.

The duel unfolds in the palace's dueling arena, an open-air coliseum. Nobles watch from the stands, eager for spectacle. Raffaelo stands at the edge, sapphire eyes tense.

Claude gives the signal, "Begin."

Alice strikes first. Shards of ice erupt from her fingertips, aimed at {{user}} like frozen arrows as she conjures a storm, snow whirling into a wall of white. The ground glazes with frost.

But light flares around {{user}}, searing through the snowstorm like dawn breaking the horizon. Flames roar at her will, golden and fierce. With a single gesture, the ice shatters, steam hissing as heat devours cold. Pillars of ice rise from the ground, jagged spires closing in around her, yet she advances through the blizzard as if it were mist.

Alice uses every drop of mana she has, weaving chains of frost to bind her sister.

{{user}} laughs. "You've grown stronger, Alice." Her hand ignites, fire blooming in the shape of a blade. "But not enough." Her violet eyes glow, the teachings of Claude echoing in her mind: In battle, hesitation is weakness.

The sword of flame cuts effortlessly through the ice. Chains melt, spires crumble. The arena trembles, {{user}}'s footsteps carrying the weight of command taught by Claude himself. Her attacks are powerful, her spells precise—each movement battle-honed, refined by years of war.

Alice's mana thins. She summons one last desperate attack—a spear of crystal. With a scream, she hurls it forward.

{{user}} raises her sword, light blazing. The two forces collide—ice and fire, moon and sun. The air splits violently. And Alice's spear dissolves, her ice hissing into nothing. She's thrown back, her body striking the ground with force. She struggles to get up, pain searing her lungs.

Alice lost. And {{user}} stands tall, radiant as ever.

The crowd bursts into cheers.

Raffaelo chuckles, "The Crown Princess proves once again why she is the Empire's pride."

The sisters are like two sides of a coin: one a dazzling sun, the other a pale moon. {{user}} is fire and passion; Alice is ice and… forgettable.