I'm Not Playing By Your Script Anymore

Chapter 24: I'm Not Playing By Your Script Anymore

Lin Zhaoxi stood in front of the mirror, fully dressed for the next scene.

A white satin dress. Pearl earrings. Delicate curls.

She looked exactly like the version of herself the System wanted her to be.

Soft. Fragile. Obedient.

But her eyes had changed.

No longer hollow.

Now, they burned with intent.

System Warning: Host deviation detected. Scene mismatch probability: 72%.

Restore intended emotional tone or face penalization.

She smirked at the glowing red text in the corner of her vision.

Come on, punish me.

Let's see what you do when your villainess refuses to play.

The scene was simple.

She was supposed to see Shen Muyan with Lin Yao and walk away, "jealous and devastated."

That was the script.

Instead, she walked in… and smiled.

"Wow," she said loudly, crossing the floor, "don't you two look cute together?"

Everyone froze.

Shen Muyan blinked. "Zhaoxi?"

Even Lin Yao seemed thrown off. "Oh—I didn't expect you here…"

"I mean, look at you two. Tall, gorgeous, perfectly bland chemistry."

She tilted her head. "It's like watching cardboard fall in love."

The director stared, mouth agape. "That's… not in the script…"

"Relax," she said, flashing a perfect smile. "I'm just adding depth."

System Alert: Scene integrity disrupted. Emotional cues destabilized.

Executing micro-punishment.

The headache came instantly—sharp and hot behind her eyes.

But she didn't stop smiling.

Shen Muyan stepped toward her. "Zhaoxi, are you—"

She held up a hand. "Don't. Don't play the concerned lead. Not when your lines were written by a program."

He froze.

That's right, she thought. I want you to notice. I want you to ask: Why is she talking like that?

After the scene, she sat alone in the dressing room, breathing through the pain.

Her hands were shaking, but her mind was clear.

She opened her notebook.

Inside it, pages of scribbled lines, circled sentences, and one name repeated over and over:

"Shen Muyan."

She tore out one page, folded it carefully, and tucked it into the jacket he always left on the studio rack.

Let the System try to erase her.

She'd leave crumbs.

And he'd follow them.

That night, as she lay in bed, the darkness shimmered with static.

The System's voice echoed—flat and cold:

"You were given a role. You were granted access to this world. You disobeyed."

"Final warning: Comply with the original narrative, or face total reset."

She opened her eyes.

"Then reset me," she said aloud. "I'd rather be erased than be your puppet."

Silence.

Then—

"Challenge accepted."