ARC 1: Professor Uncle x Adopted Niece In 80s (1)

CHAPTER 1: The Pink Curse and a Tattooed Lie

There was a voice. Or maybe just static.

Something fizzed like a broken radio in her skull. Ezra didn't move. Couldn't. Her eyelids weighed double. Her limbs, stuffed with wet sand. The air smelled too sweet. Too pink.

She hated pink.

The second she managed to twitch her fingers, a wave of cotton brushed her skin. Bed sheets. Fluffy. Floral. Soft. Not hers.

Ezra forced one eye open. A ceiling stared back-pastel pink with a spinning white fan.

"What the hell?" Her voice came out like gravel. Groggy. Young. Definitely not thirty.

The room was a crime scene. Ruffles. Stuffed animals. Pink everything. Her clothes, folded neatly on a chair, were pastel too. Her black hoodie was gone. Instead? A frilly blouse with a lace collar and a skirt that looked like it belonged to a cursed porcelain doll.

No.

No. No. No.

Her pulse spiked. She sat up. Head pounding. Same full chest. Same hips. Same proportions.

She yanked her left sleeve up.

Gone.

Her floral dreamcatcher tattoo, the one etched from inner wrist to nearly forearm-missing. Vanished. Like it never existed.

"Bunny System Booting!"

Ezra froze.

The voice was high-pitched, cutesy, and echoing from nowhere. Like a K-pop fangirl after three espressos.

[System Activated! Welcome, Hostie, to Arc One: "Professor Uncle x Adopted Niece." Version 1.00 loaded. Consent: Skipped. Body Sync: Complete. Memory Threading: 67%. Starting Tutorial!]

Ezra exhaled, slow. Cold. Calm. Her heart was racing, but her face didn't move.

"You put me in a child."

[Correction!] the Bunny chirped. [You are nineteen! Body age match successful. Host has been inserted into the real-time timeline of 1987, Year of the Rabbit. Cute, huh?]

Ezra stood, ignoring the puff sleeves and bows suffocating her arms. She padded to the mirror.

Brown eyes. Slim face. Slight overbite. Unibrow intact. Body: hers. Younger, maybe-but unchanged in shape.

[System Note: Your original body is in stasis. You're alive. Not dead. This is a temporary soul extraction. Mission type: Villainess Redeemer.]

Ezra blinked. "So I was kidnapped by a kawaii demon rabbit."

[Host is spicy~ I like it! Let's get you started with your Newbie Package! Opening Starter Inventory...]

A tiny pop. On the vanity desk appeared:

1x Basic Herbal Guide (1980s Edition)

1x Concealed Needle Kit

1x Allergen-Free Bento Maker

1x Basic Essence Tracker Bracelet (Pink. Sorry.)

[Your body has no piercings, no tattoos, and a history of violent outbursts. You're currently known as "Ezra V. Starvines," the adopted niece of Professor Lucien H. Vyer. Villainess Class: Psychotic. Your reputation? Unstable. Hated. Disposable.]

Ezra slid the bracelet on. It blinked. Cold against her skin.

[Mission Objectives Incoming:]

Survive the first 7 days without being expelled, arrested, or exorcised

Steal the Male Lead's attention WITHOUT manipulation (he hates you, good luck!)

Heal, seduce, and marry the ML within 90 days

Get pregnant. With a virgin.

[Failure to complete main tasks \= soul compression and total erasure. Cheers!]

Ezra stared at her reflection. Pink. Sweet. Powerless.

Then she smiled.

It wasn't kind.

It was sharp.

"Let's hijack fate, then."

~

Ezra stood in the middle of the pastel prison.

The moment the Bunny System went quiet, she moved. Not rushed. Calculated. Like a surgeon prepping for battle.

First objective: destroy the pink.

She yanked off the blouse, popping three buttons clean. The lace collar scratched like poison ivy. The frilly skirt followed-tossed into the corner like a carcass.

Underneath, she wore a soft cotton slip. Also pink.

Ezra stared down at it.

"You have three seconds," she muttered.

With a thought, her fingertip traced a slow circle near her pulse. The air shimmered.

[Infinity Pocket Realm: Access Granted]

A sleek portal rippled open beside her, invisible to any outsider. Ezra reached in, withdrew:

- Black racerback tank (her exact fit) - Dark grey cargo pants (adjustable waistband) - Sports bra (blessed be) - Underwear (no bows, no lace)

Clothes with weight. Function. Familiarity.

She changed fast. Practical. Clean. Efficient. Her body felt familiar again.

The moment she strapped the Essence Tracker bracelet over her wrist-still light pink, unfortunately-she took a breath. In. Out. Muscle memory returned. Grounded. Stable.

[You're now at 2% Emotional Sync with the new timeline. Nice!]

She walked to the vanity, pulling open drawers. Ribbons. Lip balm. Flower perfume. No weapons. No tools.

She lifted the pillow. Found a pink diary. Not useful.

[Hostie, don't forget: you're in the 1980s. No GPS. No phones. No Wi-Fi. Just eyeliner, enemies, and embroidered letters.]

Ezra ignored the commentary.

Instead, she studied the window. Third floor. Ivy climbing the sill. Could escape if needed.

Then: knock-knock.

A soft, slow rhythm. Like someone who'd rather not be there.

"Ezra," came the voice. Male. Deep. Cold.

She didn't answer.

The door creaked open. A shadow spilled in first.

Professor Lucien Vyer stood at the threshold-tall, sharp-suited, and colder than a Siberian winter. His eyes scanned her, impassive, flicking once to the pile of pink on the floor.

She stared back. No greeting. No apology.

He blinked. Like a man preparing to deliver a verdict.

"Breakfast in fifteen," he said. "Wear something appropriate. No tantrums."

And then he left.

Ezra let out a long breath. He didn't recognize the shift. Yet.

[New Task: Reach 5% Trust with ML by end of Day 2. Current Trust: -18%.]

She smirked.

Challenge accepted.

~

The heels of her bare feet made no sound on the cold, spiral stair tiles, but her presence fell like shadow across the room.

Lucien Vyer didn't look up right away. He sat at the head of the grand oak table, morning paper spread, black coffee untouched, a full American breakfast laid before him-bacon, scrambled eggs, hash browns, butter-slathered toast.

Ezra stopped on the final step. Eyes flat. Silent.

But her face twitched.

Barely.

Enough.

A single blink slower than usual. A nostril tightening. Lips pressing together.

The scent of grease, sugar, and dairy smacked her senses like a perfume laced in acid.

> [System Note: "Pink Breakfast Detected. Hostie's face says what her mouth won't."]

She moved wordlessly past the table, stepping into the kitchen. Opened the fridge. No gloves. No apron. Just precision.

From the house fridge, she took:

- Fresh bok choy

- Silken tofu

- Carrot ribbons

- Ginger root

- Button mushrooms

- Rice noodles

From her magic pocket realm:

- Goji berries

- Dried shiitake broth cube

- Her hand-blended spice mix: white pepper, garlic flakes, turmeric oil

- Gluten-free rice wrap sheets

- A chilled vial of herbal soy-lemongrass elixir (fortified for male muscle metabolism)

She worked cleanly-knife tapping, pan sizzling, steam rising like incense from a ritual.

First, she rehydrated the shiitake cube into a golden broth, tossing in goji and ginger for warmth. Tofu was sliced in perfect white blocks, seared lightly in turmeric oil. Noodles were boiled and strained, tossed with blanched bok choy and shredded mushroom.

She rolled a few into translucent rice wraps, tying them with chive stems like silk bundles.

Two plates.

One for herself-balanced, hydrating, energizing.

One adjusted-for a male physique.

Protein-heavy. Rich in herbs that increased endurance, clarity, and quiet strength. No sugar, no dairy, no inflammation.

She walked out and set it down in front of him without a word.

Lucien glanced at it.

Then looked at her.

She sat across, began eating hers in silence.

He picked up his fork again. Tried his eggs.

Swallowed.

Then pushed his plate aside like it had offended him.

The scent of her cooking hovered like seduction: warm, herbal, low and clean. He tasted one roll. Chewed.

Paused.

A long breath slipped through his nose. His hand moved for another. Then another.

Ezra didn't look at him.

He swallowed again, sharper this time.

"...It's alright," he muttered.

But his ears were flushed.

His jaw clenched like he'd just lost a battle.

She sipped her elixir with quiet grace, licked a grain of rice off her lower lip, then finally spoke. Voice dry, clipped.

"I'm changing my major."

Lucien paused mid-reach.

"...Without discussion?"

She raised an eyebrow. One flick of expression that felt like a slap.

"Discussion implies equal ground," she said, tone flat. "This is a notification."

He watched her.

Silent. Studying.

She stood, rinsed her dish, and turned to leave.

Lucien stared at the rice roll in his hand like it had just rewritten the laws of authority in his own house.

> [System Note: ML Tastebud Loyalty: +20 | Domineering Aura Disrupted | Emotional Curiosity Unlocked]

[Next Task: Let him feel replaced. Then make him beg for his place.]

~

~University~

Ezra didn't speak much when she arrived at the university registrar's office. Her sharp gaze and clipped signature said more than enough.

Her request to change majors-from fashion to a medicinal culinary and botanical sciences hybrid track-startled the admin officer. It wasn't a common request. The original villainess had no talent nor interest in this field, and it showed in her poor academic record. But Ezra didn't flinch. She received the form, filled it out in seconds, and submitted it without a word.

> "You'll need to sit for evaluation exams. Today. Multiple subjects. Are you sure-?"

Ezra raised an eyebrow, then slid the pen back across the desk without answering.

An hour later, she sat in a sterile testing room, facing three thick exam papers-one on advanced herbology, one on nutrition-based medicinal preparation, and the last on applied survival botany. She didn't panic. Her fingers moved like they remembered centuries. Because they did. And because the system had transferred every bit of knowledge she'd mastered in her own world.

Three hours passed.

She stood, handed in the papers, and left the room.

> Results in 48 hours.

🌿

When Ezra returned to the estate, she didn't go inside immediately.

She turned toward the garden.

The floral landscaping-soft pastel petunias, violets, pink snapdragons, daisies-offended her on a spiritual level. It felt like the visual equivalent of being hugged against her will. She picked up a pair of gloves from a nearby bench and stepped into the flowerbed like an executioner stepping into a ballroom.

Mrs. Heong, holding a tray of iced lemon water, blinked.

> "Young Miss, the gardener will-"

Ezra yanked out an entire row of overgrown carnations.

> "He won't. I will."

Within minutes, the manicured garden became a battlefield of ripped-up roots and floral corpses. Mr. Smith and Michael arrived halfway through, stunned into silence. Ezra simply pointed at the south section.

> "That will be the herbal quadrant. Medicinal flowers here. Spices along the wall. Fruits and nightshade under the trellis. Build a drainage system."

She didn't just command-she worked. She rolled up her sleeves, kneeled in the soil, and began replanting. Her movements were exact, practiced, almost surgical. She harvested mint and holy basil from her magic pocket. Lavender, lemon balm, turmeric roots, butterfly pea vines. She dug trenches. She crafted raised beds. She used leftover bricks to layer the perimeters.

> "We'll need livestock pens. One for chickens, one for ducks. Goats for milk. Pigs only if waste control is manageable. Build them behind the storage shed."

Michael, flustered but eager, nodded furiously.

> "Yes-Miss-uh-Miss Ezra!"

Ezra didn't reply-just gave him a faint, natural smile.

She turned toward the compost pile, tossed the last of the dead roses in, and planted a line of marigolds in their place.

As the sun dipped low, she stood-mud streaking her gloves, the smell of mint and damp soil clinging to her skin.

Lucien watched from the upstairs library window. Behind his glasses, something sharp glinted in his eyes.

> He murmured to himself.

"So what exactly are you trying to do this time?"

🍱 Lunch Preparation

Ezra didn't rest. She made her way to the kitchen, washed up, and pulled open the fridge-gaze scanning the contents with calm distaste. She tapped her finger once on the countertop, and a soft shimmer brought ingredients from her magic pocket into reality.

From her stock:

Boneless chicken thigh, pre-marinated with soy, lemongrass, and garlic

Thai basil, cilantro, and green onion stalks

Pre-washed bok choy

Cooked rice cooled overnight for stir-frying

Sliced ginger, chili paste, sesame oil, and fermented soy sauce

She moved like a shadow. Silent. Precise.

Stir-fried ginger chicken with basil and bok choy

Garlic egg fried rice with sesame drizzle

Steamed tofu with soy-lime dressing

A light cucumber-carrot pickle on the side

Green chrysanthemum tea steeped with mint and licorice root

She plated for two. Her own portion was light-catered to her internal heat and dietary needs. The second-his-was balanced in protein, warmth, and herbs to ease chronic fatigue and regulate suppressed testosterone levels.

She didn't call him.

> "Mr. Haen," she said without turning from the sink, wiping her hands on the apron,

"Inform the professor that lunch is ready."

The old butler bowed slightly.

> "Of course, Young Miss."

Ezra walked past the dishes without hesitation. They'd do the cleanup. That was never her job.

She left the scent of stir-fried spice and quiet defiance in the air as she vanished toward the east wing patio-tea in hand, gaze resting on the garden she'd already started to claim.

Rather than sit in the formal dining hall, Ezra set the table for two beneath the shade of the newly constructed herbal garden house-a structure she'd ordered to be built using local resources. The estate's soil would take time to yield the herbs she needed, but until then, the garden house was stocked with imported essentials from nearby growers. It was quiet, shaded, medicinal-her version of sacred space.

And this? This was where she wanted him to eat.

Not surrounded by lace and crystal, but nature and intention.

~

~At his study room~

Lucien tried to concentrate.

The thick stack of papers on his desk-grant proposals, academic reports, lecture outlines-blurred in front of his eyes. He adjusted his glasses, tapped the pen against the edge of his desk, and flipped a page.

But his mind wasn't on the words.

It was on the scent.

Spices-sharp, warm, grounding.

Fried garlic clinging to steamed rice.

A whisper of lemongrass. Basil crushed in heat.

He sniffed once, sharply, and then rubbed at his temple. This wasn't the bland toast and boiled eggs from earlier. This was something else. Something rich. Homemade. Seductive.

> "Sir Lucien," came Mr. Haen's ever-polite voice outside his study.

"Miss Ezra has prepared lunch. She requests your presence in the east garden."

Lucien didn't hesitate. No remarks. No complaints. He set the papers aside, stood, and walked.

But halfway down the hallway, he paused.

> Garden? Why the hell is she eating outside...?

🌿 East Garden Patio

The midday sun filtered through vine-strung trellises as Ezra sat calmly at a small garden table. She hadn't dressed up. Her sleeves were rolled, her skin kissed by light, and her plate already half-empty.

She didn't bother to stand or greet him. Just kept eating, graceful and quiet-like a cat refusing to acknowledge your existence unless invited.

Lucien's eyes scanned the table. Two plates. Hers was light. His was full. Balanced. Thoughtfully portioned.

> "...You made this?" he asked.

She didn't answer with words. Just picked up a sliver of bok choy with her fingers and ate it in silence. No spoon, no fork. Just the casual elegance of someone who preferred the tactile feel of food. Indian by blood, but Asian at heart-Ezra didn't need tools when her fingers were part of the craft.

The smell hit him again-lemongrass, chili, sesame, warmth. He sat down, picked up his utensils out of habit, and took a bite.

The world tilted.

The fried rice wasn't just good-it was addictive.

The ginger chicken-tender, spicy, balanced with mint.

The tofu was smooth with a citrus punch.

The chrysanthemum tea cleared his headache within seconds.

He cleared half the plate before blinking.

> "Tastes... alright."

Ezra raised a brow, unimpressed by the false composure.

He'd just inhaled more food than he usually did in two meals.

She sipped her tea.

He stared at her, the breeze lifting a strand of her damp hair-matted slightly from the garden work.

Something unfamiliar tightened in his chest.

📓

> [SYSTEM PRIVATE LOG - FOR READERS ONLY]

Status: ML Lust +15, Suspicion +22, Food Dependency Activated

Essence Tension: "His fingers shook slightly when he held the chopsticks. Side effects of fried rice imprinting."

Snippets:

- "Hostie fed him once, now he's a hungry puppy."

- "Warning: His hormone levels just spiked. Blame the tea."

- "System Alert: He looked at her hands for too long. Suspected finger-kink awakening."

Next Chapter Forecast:

→ Misunderstanding with old heroine.

→ ML wakes up sweaty from food dreams.

→ Ezra starts building her moonlit herb lab.

> [End of System Gossip - Host unaware]

© S.J.Ez. All Rights Reserved.

This story is an original work of fiction by S.J.Ez. All characters, names, places, and events are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to real events or persons is purely coincidental. Plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

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