#ditoeftv

𓏵 Eckles, a slave brought from the defeated empire Delman. While in the auction ring, before he was to be sold. He learnt to manipulate his owners, being sweet and sincere and pitiful. Letting the female servants use him as they pleased when their husbands clearly didn't care enough to fuck them properply. He wasn object, of-course.

𓏵 He let them ride him, use his mouth all to somehow learn of things arounds. Of-course, it was some stupid bimbo, young and naïve and a bit too obnoxious, arrogant and pretentious. Kept talking while she rode him, her hands on his waist as Eckles clearly had the urge to slit her throat, but didn't. Of-course she didn't notice when he stole the bracelet which is used to control him with the marble on his collar.

𓏵 Yandere! Eckles who escapes and roams the streets, hair dyed with cheap washable dyes and prefers being homeless to being a slave. Hatred against Eorka still strong in his blood and veins. Until he meets you. A little darling with a heart too pure, who feed the homeless whenever you could. Then he feels that Eorka wasn't as bad..probably.

𓏵 Yandere Eckles who always stays out of your sight and eyes. You had no idea he even existed, until one day you visit the temples late at night and as you're leaving hurriedly. You happen to get kidnapped, you had no idea who Eckles even was. Not that he minded, he liked if you know less.

𓏵 Yandere Eckles who'd use his diplomacy, administrative knowledge to take over whatever you own, any assets, any thing saleable and all financial help, in form of anything. Of-course undermines you and keeps you locked up for multiple days with no help until he finally visits.

𓏵 Eckles softly keeps you tied up, but in almost intimate clothing, the more revealing the better, but not totally naked. Only similar to what spouses should wear around each other. He had a certificate made, got your thumb print. Didn't even need a wedding. You're just his. He's seen you for so long and he wants you. He's your husband now and that's enough.

𓏵 Eckles who never lets you leave or even properly unties you completely. He does your hair, brushes your teeth, bathes you and all and has mana covering your place so you'd never leave and even if you did, you'd somehow return back home. He clearly couldn't stand if those Eorkans did something to you. Be it with their eyes, words or actions.

𓏵 Eckles who'd force out anything he wants to know about you, be it torture and all. But then he's all soft, stroking your cheek and kissing your head and gently treating any wound or bruise he may have caused to you. He'd even make you foods you like that you told him reluctantly.

𓏵 He very obviously hates that you're form Eorka, in his head, you could only belong to the heavens or something. Eorka is a place of filths and grimes and he hates that you're subjected to this. He'll somehow find work and work silently. It'll be better if you're a commoner since that situation is easier to manipulate.

𓏵 But no worries, if he does have in-laws or families to go against, he'll just end them all, burning down the place and claiming it was a freak incident. You'd be a 'part' of the incident, gone forever but you're really alive with him. He can't just let you die, nonono!! Eckles can't have someone else be more important to you than him, he's your husband!

𓏵 But despite it all, he still is a knight and sometimes his hands do lay themselves on you where a husband shouldn't put his hands on their spouse. But he always puts cold-press on your cheeks afterwards, crying and mumbling apologies, "Sweet-sweetheart, please..it was for your betterment-..I know-shh-i know" he'd coo, rubbing your cheek as you sob in his coat.

‘Oh shit.’

You remember the tidbit news from your ‘friends’ while sipping earl-grey tea. Penelope is a short-tempered young lady. What a lucky and enjoyable night, truly. 

For a brief moment, neither of you spoke. Her expression was caught between disbelief and rising irritation, but the second her gaze dropped back to her dress, that hesitation vanished completely.

Her fingers clenched slightly at the fabric.

“…Are you serious?” she said, her voice low at first, like she couldn’t quite believe what just happened.

A few people nearby turned to look.

“I had this gown prepared specifically for tonight,” she continued, her tone sharpening, irritation slipping through more clearly now. “Do you have any idea how long that takes? Or do you just walk around without looking and ruin whatever’s in your way?”

You exhaled slowly, your gaze lingering on the stain before you forced yourself to look back at her. Gathering what little energy you had left, you let your lips curve into the best apologetic smile you could manage.

“I’m sorry, it was an accident.”

You dipped your head in a polite bow.

But instead of easing the tension—

It didn’t.

“An accident?” Penelope repeated, her brows drawing together as her voice sharpened. “You weren’t even paying attention.”

Fair enough. She wasn’t wrong.

But something in you already stretched thin—tightened at the way she said it. At the way her voice carried, drawing more eyes to the two of you. At the way the room seemed to quiet just enough to listen.

“You ruin someone’s gown and that’s all you have to say?” she pressed, her patience thinning.

What’s her problem?

You already apologized. Her acting like you did it on purpose didn’t help your already souring mood. Behind you, you could feel your father and Cassian stop, the weight of their presence grounding you just enough to stay composed.

You let out a quiet breath, forcing your tone to remain steady.

“I can replace your dress with something more beautiful,” you said evenly. “I’ll send something over once I’ve had time to rest.”

A pause.

Just a second.

But in that second—

Something in Penelope snapped.

“Replace it?” she echoed, her voice rising sharply.

Before you could react, she grabbed the stained fabric of her gown and yanked it forward, the sudden force making the material crease and shift in her grip. The movement was sharp—too sharp—like she was trying to get rid of the stain by sheer force alone. 

‘Girl you could just wash it.’ You frown. 

Then, with a frustrated motion, she shoved the fabric back against herself and stepped closer, her heels striking the floor with quick, uneven steps.

“I don’t want your replacement!” she snapped, her voice cutting through the air. “Do you think this is about the dress?”

Her hand shot out—not quite to grab you, but close enough that it made people flinch.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” she continued, her grip tightening against her own gown as if she was trying to keep herself from shaking. “You spill something on me, stand there smiling like that, and then offer to fix it later like it means nothing?”

Her composure was slipping, piece by piece.

“Do you think money fixes everything?” she demanded, taking another step forward, her voice louder now. “Do you think you can just—just replace it and walk away like nothing happened?”

‘Kinda did, back in a modern-capitalism world—money can solve almost anything.’

You’re almost certain that this girl will throw hands with you. And you’re ready to throw hands just the same to defend yourself.  Fortunately, your father interrupted just in time. 

“You do have my sincerest apologies, Lady Eckhart,” your father said smoothly, his voice calm and even, carrying that unshakable weight of authority and refinement that seemed to make the air itself bend to it. He inclined his head in a perfectly measured bow, his eyes meeting hers with genuine yet meticulously composed—regret. “It was never our intention to cause any inconvenience this evening. My daughter has been unwell and fatigued, and we were on our way to escort her home for rest when this unfortunate incident occurred. Pray, allow us to convey our most profound apologies for this unseemly disruption.”

‘You blinked slowly

‘Wow… I didn’t understand a thing. Is this how rich people apologize?’

You were almost certain the situation was about to escalate anyway.

Penelope looked like she might throw hands, and honestly? You were ready to throw hands right back to defend yourself. Childish fights back in middle school trained you for this.

But—

“Penelope Eckhart!”

A sharp, authoritative voice cut through the tension.

Everyone turned.

A young man stepped forward, black hair neatly styled, blue eyes sharp and unyielding. He looked to be around Cassian’s age—maybe older—but there was no mistaking the way he carried himself. You recognized him back in Penelope’s debutante ceremony, he was standing next to her along with another two men. 

“Penelope Eckhart!”

“Didn’t I tell you to behave this time?” he snapped, his tone laced with irritation as his gaze locked onto her. “What did you do?”

Before Penelope could even properly respond, he grabbed her arm and pulled her slightly toward him—firm, controlled, but undeniably forceful.

“Brother—she started it!” Penelope said quickly, pointing straight at you, her voice edged with urgency.

You exhaled quietly.

Well. She wasn’t entirely wrong, it is your fault in a sense even if it’s an accident. You were ready to replace her gown if it needed to be. 

But her brother didn’t even glance in your direction.

“Enough,” he cut in coldly, tightening his grip just enough to silence any further protest. “I don’t need excuses. You were warned not to cause trouble, yet here we are.”

His gaze sharpened. “Must you always bring embarrassment to the family?”

Penelope stiffen. Her lips parted slightly, like she was about to argue, about to defend herself but the moment stretched just long enough for something else to settle in.

She didn’t speak nor fight back. Instead, her fingers slowly curled into the fabric of her gown, tight. The delicate material creased under her grip as her shoulders subtly drew in, her posture shrinking in a way that didn’t match the sharp, confident woman from moments ago. Her chin dipped slightly, not quite meeting his gaze, like she was forcing herself to stay composed.

“…I didn’t mean to,” she said, quieter this time.

“Then you should learn to control yourself,” her brother replied without hesitation, already turning his attention back to your father apologizing politely with his sister’s unreasonable behavior as if she had already ceased to matter.

Penelope didn’t answer.

She just stood there, her fingers still gripping the fabric of her gown like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

The sight lingered.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

It reminded you—quietly, almost uncomfortably—of a child being scolded in public. A mother’s sharp voice cutting through a crowd, a child shrinking under the weight of it, unable to speak, unable to defend themselves. Or a child blamed without being heard, left to swallow whatever came their way because no one bothered to step in.

You’ve seen that before.

Your niece came to mind—small hands clenched in frustration, getting reprimanded after lashing out during a game, while the adults stood around, deciding who was right without ever truly listening. It wasn’t about the situation itself. It was about being the one who was always expected to take the blame, the one who had to accept it and move on.

A moment later, the atmosphere shifted again.

An older man approached—his presence commanding, his posture refined in a way that left no doubt about who he was, Duke Eckhart. Beside him walked a younger man with soft pinkish hair, he looked much more carefree and much more expressive compared towards the other two men, he frowned heavily towards the scene and glared at Penelope though not particularly surprised by the scene in front of him.

And then, unfortunately the second prince approached to see what’s going on. 

Thankfully, he didn’t approach further—just observed, his gaze calculating before he seemed to decide the situation wasn’t worth his attention.

You let out a barely noticeable breath.

Good.

The Duke, however, stepped forward without hesitation.

“I offer my sincerest apologies on behalf of my daughter,” he said, his voice calm, measured, and deeply composed. There was no rush in his words, no uncertainty—only authority and control. “This matter should not have escalated in such a manner.”

Penelope stood behind them.

Still.

Silent.

Duke Eckhart didn’t look back at her as he continued, his attention firmly on you and your family. “I understand that the situation was… unfortunate. However, as this incident has caused a disruption, we will provide appropriate compensation to ensure that your household is not inconvenienced further.”

A servant stepped forward at his subtle gesture, offering a small, elegant pouch.

You stared at it for a moment.

‘…This is compensation?’

The irony almost made you want to laugh.

You were the one who caused the mess. You were the one who ruined her gown, and yet here you were being offered compensation as though you were the injured party.

Your fingers twitched slightly, but you didn’t reach for it immediately. Your father and Duke Eckhart exchanged a brief, knowing glance, the kind that spoke of mutual understanding without needing words, before your father accepted the pouch with composed ease.

Just like that, the matter was settled.

The tension didn’t completely disappear, but it was no longer in open conflict—only lingering beneath the surface, quiet and unresolved.

And with that, the night, this disastrous, exhausting, absurd night—finally drew to a close.

This is the worst birthday party you’ve attended so far.

It had been days since that night, and your father had unceremoniously sent you out into town on a “shopping trip” despite your very clear refusal. Any attempt to argue died the moment he handed you a blank check and practically ushered you out the door. Was this how rich people forced their children to touch grass?

Under normal circumstances, you would have enjoyed this. Unlimited money, a whole town to explore, it should’ve been ideal. But this wasn’t your world. The market stalls, the boutiques, the neatly displayed goods behind glass windows… none of it held your interest. If only this place had even a fraction of modern technology, maybe you’d feel something close to excitement.

Instead, you wandered absentmindedly from one storefront to another, your gaze skimming over displays without really seeing them. Ofelia walked beside you, speaking in a light, practiced tone—something about the shops, the history, the specialties as if she were a tour guide. The knight trailing just behind remained silent, a steady presence.

You didn’t hear a word of it.

Even if you tried to listen, your thoughts kept circling back to the same thing—the pink system that had appeared after the birthday banquet, hovering at in-front of you, reminding you that this world isn’t real.

_____________________

Silence settled over the carriage as you made your way home, thick and undisturbed save for the occasional creak of wheels against the road. The two men seated across from you had already dozed off, their heads tilted at awkward angles. You couldn’t blame them—it was late. God knows what time it was, but if you had to guess, it was well past midnight. Not that you could check, you didn’t have your phone.

Your own eyelids were beginning to grow heavy when a soft ding cut through the quiet.

A familiar pink glow flickered to life beside you.

[ PROLOGUE COMPLETED! YOU’VE UNLOCKED ONE MAJOR CHARACTER: CALLISTO REGULUS. ] 

[ BONUS CONTENT! YOU’VE UNLOCKED ONE MAJOR CHARACTER: PENELOPE ECKHART. ] 

You rolled your eyes.

‘Thanks for the notice. Really great experience.’

Your lips pressed into a thin line as your thoughts drifted back to earlier.

‘Seriously, why the hell is that crown prince even a route? If this were the real world, he would’ve been arrested a long time ago.’

The interface flickered again.

[ CALLISTO REGULUS and PENELOPE ECKHART character was recorded in the archives. Do you wish to view it? Yes/No ]

You paused.

‘…Excuse me?’

There was an archive?

You had assumed this pink hologram was nothing more than an annoying pop-up, something that appeared only when it felt like it, dropped vague information, and disappeared without explanation. The idea that it actually had a function—something organized, something usable was… unexpected.

Carefully, you glanced up.

Both men were still asleep, undisturbed.

Good.

Slowly, you lifted your hand and tapped the air.

“Yes.”

The interface shifted.

CALLISTO REGULUS Age: 22  Height: 6’2” The crown prince of the Empire of Eorka is a cruel tyrant who treats humans like dirt. Maybe there is an ill-fated reason for this disposition…?  - You have not collected sufficient information to add to this archive. Earn more information via spectator mode or interact more with CALLISTO  - 

‘‘Fuck no.’

Your expression soured almost immediately.

‘I’ll just collect information as a spectator. There’s no way I’m going out of my way to interact with that tyrant.’

The memory from earlier resurfaced without warning—the smear of blood across polished floors, the lifeless weight of a dragged corpse, the sharp, metallic scent that clung to the air and crawled down your throat.

Your stomach twisted faintly at the recollection.

‘I almost threw up because of him. Fantastic first impression, by the way.’

And then—

‘…He killed Penelope.’ You don’t want to be the next.

Your gaze lingered on the screen for a second longer before you moved on.

PENELOPE ECKHART Age: 17  Height: 5’2”   The duke’s fake daughter who entered the Eckhart household in place of his lost child. Known for her sharp temper and striking presence, she moves through high society under constant scrutiny, her place in it never quite secure.  - You have not collected sufficient information to add to this archive. Earn more information via spectator mode or interact more with PENELOPE - 

You hummed and nodded slowly. ‘I can tolerate her.’ You tapped on the floating hologram as if finding something more. ‘Is there another one? A clue on my way back home or something useful?’

[ ERROR NOTICE! The character episode: “The Blood and Iron Crown Prince, Callisto Regulus.” of the character CALLISTO failed to begin due to the absence of the HARD MODE heroine PENELOPE. Spectator failed to gather sufficient information to read CALLISTO Character Story 1.” ] 

[ UNLOCK “PLAY MODE” BY FORMING A BOND WITH AT LEAST (1) MAIN CHARACTER. ]

You stared at the message for a second.

Then exhaled.

‘…Okay. And?’

Your interest dropped just as quickly as it came.

The system wasn’t telling you that you needed to unlock his story. You weren't as desperate, there’s still so many options available that you still didn’t unlock, surely Penelope and Callisto aren't the only characters in this game, right?   That just meant his route wasn’t accessible right now. Or more importantly—

Not necessary.

You didn’t need to understand Callisto as of the moment. You already made up your mind anyway.  A quiet pause followed as you stared at the message.

‘Alright, Penelope. I choose you.’

_____________________

It was the most logical choice.

If she was the heroine, then she was the center of everything. The axis the story revolved around. The so-called male leads? Replaceable variables. Important, maybe—but still secondary to the core.

Your gaze lowered slightly, thoughtful.

‘If I learn more about her… interact with her… then I can trigger the system.’

It wasn’t a guess. It was the closest thing you had to a working hypothesis.

You exhaled quietly, this is the first time you’ve used the maximum capacity of your brain cells. 

‘I’ll gather information on Callisto too… but not as a priority.’

There was no reason to rush into something unnecessarily dangerous—especially when Penelope was there, a far less volatile variable. The thought settled easily. The system had already made it clear: bond with at least one major character to unlock playmode. It never specified that it had to be a male lead. Penelope qualified just the same.

Your fingers tapped lightly against your arm as you processed it.

“Playmode…”

The word lingered.

‘If playmode starts… then that means progression.’

You couldn’t stay in spectator mode forever. As far as you understood, spectator mode didn’t allow direct intervention.

And if there was progression—

There had to be an end.

More clues. More access. More information.

A quiet beat passed.

‘A way back home.’

You didn’t say it out loud, but the thought remained, steady and grounded—no longer just a vague hope, but something you could work toward. Step by step. Piece by piece. Even if the path ahead was still unclear.

“My lady?”

The voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

Right. You weren’t alone.

You blinked, turning toward your companions, only to be met with matching looks of concern from your handmaid and the knight assigned to you.

“You’ve been walking around for nearly an hour without purchasing anything,” Ofelia said gently. “Are you still shaken from the incident at the birthday banquet, my lady?”

…Kinda.

You let out a short snort, brushing it off with a light chuckle. “No, don’t be silly. It’s just that none of the shops here caught my interest.” You tilted your head slightly, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Though you two should consider getting married—you’d look good together.”

Both of them flushed instantly.

The knight, face reddening to an almost impressive degree, shook his head rapidly. “N-No, my lady! I have a fiancée!”

Ofelia nodded just as quickly. “Yes, he does! And so do I!”

You raised both hands in mock surrender. “Oh shi— I mean, my apologies. I was just teasing, y’all. Thought I’d lighten the mood.”

The knight blinked, still recovering, his brows knitting together slightly. “…Y’all’?”

“Never mind that,” you dismissed easily, already turning away before he could question you further.

Your attention drifted back to the street, and this time, you actually took it in.

The town was more lively than usual. Children darted past you in bursts of laughter, weaving through the crowd as they played tag, their voices bright and carefree. Couples strolled side by side, some carrying freshly bought flowers, others lingering just a little too close, whispering things meant only for each other. Somewhere in the distance, music floated through the air—soft, cheerful, the kind that made everything feel warmer than it should.

Near the edge of your hearing, a small group of townsfolk stood talking amongst themselves. You hadn’t meant to listen, but their voices carried just enough to catch your attention.

“I hope every day will be like this,” one of them said, a younger voice, almost hopeful. “It’s so lively.”

His companion scoffed lightly. “They say someone went missing again.”

“Shh.”

“I’m just saying, third one this week—”

“Stop talking about it. You’ll ruin the mood.”

“But—”

Their voices faded as they walked off, swallowed by the noise of the crowd before you could hear more.

You paused for a moment, your gaze lingering in the direction they had gone, before slowly turning back to the street in front of you.

“Is there a festival?” you asked, almost absentmindedly.

“Not yet,” Ofelia replied, tilting her head slightly, a polite smile forming on her lips. “This is only a small celebration. Didn’t you know, my lady?”

You hummed, shaking your head.

“The war is over,” she continued. “Eorka has won against Delman. So everyone is celebrating.”

“…I see.”

Your voice came out quieter than before, your eyes still fixed on the movement of the crowd.

‘So… a festival.’

“Do you wish to visit the town square, my lady?” Ofelia asked gently.

You were about to answer when something caught your eye.

Through the glass of a nearby shop window, a row of dresses stood on display—rich fabrics, intricate designs, far too extravagant for your personal taste. Your steps slowed, then stopped entirely as your gaze lingered on them.

An idea surfaced.

“Actually…” you murmured, almost to yourself before turning back to them. “I think I found what I was looking for.” You gestured toward the shop window, where the dresses shimmered behind the glass. “After this, we’re heading home.”

Ofelia blinked, caught off guard. “Pardon? But it’s still early in the afternoon—”

“I’m already tired,” you cut in, letting out a small, deliberate yawn as if to prove your point. You stretched your arms above your head, shoulders rolling slightly, playing up the fatigue settling into your limbs. “And I have no interest in small celebrations. Don’t worry, I’ll attend the actual festival.” You shot her a brief glance, a hint of dry amusement slipping through. “I’m not turning into a recluse, if that’s what everyone at the manor is worried about.”

Ofelia hesitated for a moment before nodding, accepting your words without further question. “Understood, my lady.”

You waved it off lightly, already stepping toward the shop. “Oh—and write a letter for me again when we get home, will ya?” you added over your shoulder.

“Of course, my lady.”

You’ve invited Penelope for a tea afternoon. A day ago, you sent her a letter containing an invitation for this event as a form of apology for the trouble you’ve caused her along with the most beautiful and expensive gown in that shop that you could find. The amount of zero in the receipt almost made you faint. You hope your father won't be angry about the expensive purchase.

You shoved the thought aside. 

Right now, that wasn’t the problem.

Now, as you paced back and forth across the drawing room, the polished floorboards cool beneath your shoes, anxiety gnawing at you. Penelope had yet to respond, and the afternoon was fast approaching. Did the letter even reach her? Your fingers twitched slightly as you muttered under your breath, 

“What I did… was it right? Nobles in the manhwas I read… they really do like tea, don’t they?” Your voice barely carried over the quiet room. The thought of failure pressed against your chest—your chances of finding a way back home rested entirely on this one encounter. 

A soft knock at the door snapped you from your spiral of worry. Ofelia’s voice followed shortly after, calm and precise. “My lady, Lady Penelope Eckhart is here.” 

You froze for a heartbeat, your gaze sharpening. Then, the door opened, and Penelope stepped in. The moment she appeared, your breath caught slightly. She wore a deep purple dress, the fabric catching the light in delicate folds. Ribbons cascaded down her sleeves and bodice, framing her figure and complementing the sharp tilt of her shoulders and the poise in her posture. Around her neck, a delicate choker held an emerald that gleamed complimenting her eyes.

Fixing your posture, you stepped forward and lifted the most practiced smile you could manage—polished, refined, expensive in its restraint. You lowered yourself into a graceful curtsy.

“Good day, Lady Penelope.” Your voice came out smooth, carefully controlled. “I’m glad you accepted my invitation. I wanted to apologize for the trouble I caused you… and I truly mean it.”

Penelope didn’t answer right away.

She just looked at you.

Not openly hostile—but not warm either. Her eyes moved briefly over you, like she was trying to figure out your intention

She sighs and looks at the side, avoiding meeting your eyes, “I also apologize for snapping at you, Lady Viandrel. I’m… There’s just something going on during that time and I can’t help but to—” 

“There’s no need to explain. I understand.” You can’t help but think that this Penelope is very tame compared to the rumors you’ve heard in your first run. She isn’t a snake in silk, a rabid dog attacking everyone she sees, or a barbarian. To be honest, you really prepared for the worst, given your first impression of her at the banquet. 

She looked back at you then, and for the first time, there was the faintest shift in her expression—something lighter.

“…So,” she began uncertainly, tilting her head slightly, “did you finally do it?”

You blinked. “…Did what?”

Her gaze sharpened just a little, as if she was certain you’d understand.

“Grill a koi fish,” she said matter-of-factly. “To satisfy your curiosity.”

Silence.

“…What?” you asked slowly.

Penelope nodded once, as if confirming her own words.

“I remember. You’re the girl who talked to me about your fascination towards fishes—” she continued, her tone still flat but certain. “ —back at the Empress’ birthday banquet last month. You said you wanted to grill a koi fish.”

Another beat of silence.

Then, the words suddenly came out of your mouth without you realizing it.

“…She did WHAT?!”