Beast Gacha System: All Mine

Chapter 300: Decorative and Useless

It should have been easy, getting out of any kind of situation, as long as you knew how to do it.

That was the theory, at least. The clean, simple theory that people without power liked to tell themselves, the comforting lie that knowledge was enough, that cleverness could overcome anything, that the right words at the right time could open any door.

But knowing how to get out of any situation was sometimes a talent in itself. A gift. A particular way of seeing the world that could not be taught, could not be learned, could not be borrowed or stolen or bought.

Angela May Iondora had that talent.

She had been born with it, or maybe she had developed it, or maybe it was just the natural result of growing up in a family where every word was a weapon and every silence a trap.

She could read a room in seconds, could find the weak points in any argument, could turn an enemy into an ally and an ally into a tool without ever seeming to try.

It was not magic. It was something else. Something that had kept her alive in a palace that ate its children and spit out their bones.

No, actually, different from Cecilia Araceli, the former Saintess, who could guess things before they happened, Angela could not resort to guessing.

She had never had that luxury.

Cecilia had spent her life surrounded by people who needed her, who listened to her, who believed that her guesses were prophecy. Although it could also be a drawback, it was still an advantage.

Angela, ten times more than Cecilia, had spent her life surrounded by people who wanted to use her, who would turn on her the moment she showed weakness, who would smile to her face and slip a knife between her ribs the moment she looked away.

So Angela could not afford to guess. She could not afford to be wrong.

With her general motivation, she would rather prove herself wrong first before making a move. She would test, probe, push until she found the edges of the situation, until she understood the shape of it and see the way out.

It was slower than Cecilia’s way, more tedious, less glamorous. But it worked. It had always worked. It would keep working, as long as she was careful and patient, as long as she did not let herself forget that the world was full of people who wanted to see her fall.

After all, she was not ’in charge’ of millions of lives like Cecilia was. Crazy, how with the amount of resources she spent, it was just to save herself and the people she recruited.

No kingdoms, no prophecies, no weight of the world pressing down on her shoulders. Just her, and the few people she had chosen to trust, and the particular freedom of knowing that if she failed, the only one who would suffer was herself.

Which was why Damon June Iondora felt that some situations weren’t worth getting out of.

Like becoming the crown prince.

"Are you pregnant yet?" he asked.

He stood in front of the dungeon cell where Angela was staying.

Angela was sitting on the cot in the corner, her legs crossed, her arms folded, her face of bored disdain. Her cell was clean. The blankets were warm, the food was edible, and the guard was handsome.

Yes, Stevan stood guard behind Damon, feeling like this siblings’ conversation was realms away from his understanding.

"What about you?" She tilted her head, her smile sharp. "Get yourself pregnant already, Brother."

This little shit.

Damon’s eye twitched. This was the first time he had visited her since she had been locked up, and he already had a concussion from talking to her.

His head ached. He had spent the morning in meetings, listening to war speculations up north, the new Saintess’ problems and shit, and now he was standing in a dungeon, being insulted by his sister, who was supposed to be the reasonable one.

"I told you." Angela sighed. "You should have married one of those Cassian Twins. If you had, you would have been able to be the emperor by now."

Damon’s jaw tightened. "Are you trying to kill our father?"

She shrugged. "What’s stopping you?"

He stared at her. The torches flickered. Stevan got indigestion. Somewhere, in the depths of the palace, their father was probably silently doing something infuriating. Damon had spent his entire life waiting for that man to die, and he was tired. So tired.

"Why are you born a girl, huh?" His voice was sharp, bitter. "Grow a dick already."

If only this little shit was a man, he would’ve been free already.

Angela’s smile did not waver. "Force Father to retire already. Do I have to get out of here?"

"Maybe if you get pregnant, he’ll have a heart attack and die." Damon’s voice was flat. "Save us all the trouble."

Angela’s eyes glittered. "Even more surely if you’re the one who gets pregnant."

"Pregnant," he repeated.

"Pregnant," she confirmed.

"Men cannot get pregnant."

"Not with that attitude."

Damon narrowed his eyes. Perhaps he should have been marrying one of those Cassian Twins.

They would have done the job for him, and he could have been their boytoy. Oh, what a life of being a pretty accessory. A decorative husband whose only duty was to look good at parties and produce heirs.

His eyes wandered at the exact man, the man behind him, Stevan, and then to his sister again. Oh, to be him.

She was right. She was right again.

Angela leaned back on her cot, triumphant. "Come back when you have better insults, Brother. Or when you’ve figured out how to grow a uterus. Whichever comes first."

Well. At least if the work he needed to do to escape being the crown prince was harder than being one, he wanted it to be somehow rewarding.

That was the trade, wasn’t it? Suffering for something. Pain for something.

But looking at the girl who had escaped the system right in front of him... he felt that it wasn’t worth much.

Freedom, he was learning, was overrated. Freedom was just another cage, just another set of walls.

Literal walls and a few metal bars.

"I remember the Cassian Twins have a third sibling." Ah, a man grasping at straws and knew it. How pathetic he was. "Are they not found yet?"

Angela scoffed. Her eyebrow rose, her smile sharpening. "Brother, are you ready to marry him if he was a boy?"

At this point, why not?

Damon rolled his eyes. Closed them. "Just... somehow... kill me..."

Perhaps he could not escape, after all. Perhaps there was no escape. Perhaps the crown was not a burden but a disease, and he had been infected since birth, and the only cure was death.

It was not worth anything, see? There were situations that were not worth escaping.

"So." Angela blinked. "You’re ready to listen to me? Finally?"

"Just tell me who to marry." His hand grasped one of the metal bars, his knuckles white, his voice rough. "I’m fed up." He paused. "You owe me for that night you got out of this place. The night I had to cover for you."

Angela’s smile was slow, warm, totally had been waiting for this moment for a very long time. "Hmm." She tilted her head. "Anyone’s fine, right?"

Damon’s head snapped up. He faced the ceiling, the stone arches, the shadows that flickered in the torchlight. "Fine!" His voice echoed off the walls. "God!"

"Alright, alright, alright." She rubbed her hands together.

Damon’s eyes narrowed. "Wait. Wait, you can still get pregnant with your boytoy, right? So I can steal your baby and tell Father I got someone pregnant? My baby?"

Behind Damon, silent all this time, Stevan finally understood what they were talking about.

Him.

His face went pale. He was the boytoy. He was the one who was supposed to get the princess pregnant so her brother could steal the child and pass it off as his own.

"You know I’ll kill you for that, right?" Angela said, cheerful like she was absolutely serious and wanted you to know it.

"I thought you wanted your son to be the emperor!" Damon’s voice cracked.

"If he wants to," Angela said, shrugging.

"Don’t shrug at me!"

"So." Angela concluded. "Seriously. You really want to get married to someone I recommend?"

Damon’s jaw tightened. "How many times do I need to repeat myself? Get me someone like the Cassian Twin. Someone who will do the work. Someone who will let me be decorative and useless."

"Fine." Angela waved her hand to a shooing motion. "I’ll send you details and instructions later. Get out of here. I’m working on that baby."

Damon narrowed his eyes. Skeptical.

This woman could either make him dig his own grave or build his dais, and he would not have the slightest idea which was which until he was standing at the edge, looking down.

Again. Why didn’t she have a dick? That would solve so many problems. She could be the crown prince, and he could be the spare, and they could both be free.