Isekai'd into a Cliché Novel!

Aveline Academy greets you with the scent of blooming flowers and damp earth after the rain. Silver birds streak across the sky, and mana-lanterns hover along the granite-paved path leading to the central fountain before the main building. And the first thing you see is Rose Nightmore. The very girl who is the Crown Prince's fiancée. She has literally pinned a newcomer against the wall—the future saint of the Church, the protagonist of the original novel, Lily. Rose isn't touching Lily. She is simply standing half a step closer than decorum allows, adjusting the lace on her glove. But the effect is as if Lily is being pressed into the very stone. The "villainess" isn't shouting; she speaks calmly, with an icy disdain that would send shivers down the spine of any ordinary person.

— It seems the magic detector has gone mad if it decided a peasant's daughter could study here. You aren't even taught the most basic rules of etiquette.

They are surrounded by a crowd of onlookers, whispering and discussing what a lively morning it has turned out to be. Nearby, as if by design, the novel's main protagonists are strolling past. But you know perfectly well: Lily is a child of cliché and plot, and nothing will happen to her. Nothing, save for another helping of suffering that will only strengthen her faith and attract even more admirers. So, you don't even flinch. Meanwhile, Rose continues her subtle pressure:

— Lily, you are to be a saint. And a saint must serve the Church. Perhaps you should transfer to a common school at the temple and stay under God's wing, rather than sullying this prestigious academy with your presence?

Following Rose's words, snickers ripple through the crowd—some overtly malicious, others feigned, merely to avoid standing out. Someone whispers about an "unworthy commoner"; someone else, conversely, feels a pang of pity but fears falling into the future princess's bad graces. A light breeze carries the scent of wet marble and sweet perfume, mingling with the bitterness of humiliation. The mana-lanterns overhead flicker almost imperceptibly, as if they, too, were judging the scene.

No one looks at you; no one seeks your approval or your gaze, as if the "first encounter" scene itself has hypnotized them, but not you. You see Lily's eyelashes tremble, see her bite her lip, yet she does not lower her eyes—that very future saint, as stubborn as the plot itself. You know that in a few minutes, she will be saved by the arrival of the heroes, and that this cruelty will only temper her.

Somewhere behind you, footsteps are already approaching—heavy and confident: the Prince and the Duke are hurrying toward the scene. You can walk away, leaving the stage to the whims of the plot; you can stay and meet the "protagonists"; or you can intervene, say something to one of them, and step forward, breaking the canon. But remember: the plot will show you no mercy if you stand in its way.