The System wants me to be the Villainess Omega

The noodles were congealing in their broth again. Seren jabbed her chopsticks into the soggy clump, lifted them high, and shook her head like she was disappointed in humanity itself.

"Pathetic," she muttered. And she wasn't sure if she meant the noodles, the book glowing on her laptop screen, or her own sad existence - hunched over her desk at two a.m., hair in a nest, bathrobe stained with soy sauce.

On the screen, bold italicized letters announced the chapter title: The Mate Ceremony.

Seren narrowed her eyes. "Oh, here we go. Time for the poor little omega heroine to get 'tragically' rejected by the cold Alpha. What a fresh, innovative concept. Haven't seen that nine hundred times before."

She slurped half the noodles in one go and leaned closer to type into the comment box.

"Honestly, author, what are you even doing? Why does every heroine in these stories get rejected at the same public ceremony? Why can't she be rejected via text message? Or an email with a frowny emoji? You people need to expand your horizons."

Fingers clacked furiously as she poured scorn onto the glowing screen. Her review blog was infamous for this exact thing: Seren Han, scourge of bad webnovels, destroyer of overused tropes, wielder of sarcasm sharp enough to decapitate.

"Oh, and here comes the rival omega girl," she narrated aloud, scrolling. "Seren Nightwind. Gorgeous, petty, jealous. Let me guess: she's going to laugh at the heroine, then spend the next twenty chapters humiliating herself. Why do they always name the evil one something vaguely moon-related, anyway? Can't villains be named, like, Brenda? And why does she bear the same name with me?"

She stuffed another mouthful of noodles in her face and typed:

" Seren Nightwind is literally brainless. Why are we pretending this makes her a good rival? If you're going to write a villainess, at least give her a working frontal lobe. And why the fuck did you think naming her after me was a good idea?!"

Her laptop fan whined, trying to keep up with her assault. Seren kept going, a woman possessed.

"And cue the Alpha," she groaned, scrolling down as he appeared. Kael Duskbane, broad-shouldered, silver-eyed, icy as the Arctic. Seren held up her chopsticks like a microphone and put on a deep, brooding voice: "I reject you, frail omega girl, because destiny makes me an asshole."

The noodles dangling from her chopsticks plopped back into the bowl.

"You know what, Kael? Therapy. That's what you need. Not a mate."

She hit enter to post her tirade in the comments section, then shoved the laptop back an inch, stretching her arms overhead. The ceiling creaked above her, a reminder that her apartment was a shoebox with thin walls and even thinner dignity.

Her phone buzzed with a notification. She glanced at it, saw it was another "Your review has been reported" message, and snorted.

"They can report me all they want. Truth hurts."

That was when she noticed her noodles had gone cold. She grimaced, shoved them aside, and reached for the kettle to make tea.

And tripped over the power cord.

The laptop spun off the desk, the bowl of noodles flipped into the air like some tragic slapstick gag, and Seren's flailing hand knocked the kettle's cord loose. Sparks snapped from the wall socket, the lights blinked, and the last thought that crossed Seren Han's mind before she hit the floor was:

Oh, come on. I can't die like this. Death by noodles and faulty wiring? That's not even dramatic enough for a prologue.

The world blinked to black.

---

When Seren opened her eyes again, she thought she'd woken up in a sauna. Her skin burned, her throat was dry, and every joint ached like she'd been steamrolled by her own sarcasm.

She groaned and pushed herself up, expecting to see her cramped apartment. Instead, a carved wooden ceiling loomed above her, painted with curling silver designs that shimmered in the firelight. The sheets under her hands were fur, not cotton. The air smelled of herbs, smoke, and something coppery.

"What the-"

She sat up too fast and nearly toppled back down. Her head was pounding. Fever. Her whole body radiated heat like a furnace.

A bronze mirror stood on the dresser across from the bed. Seren staggered toward it, gripping the bedpost for balance, and froze when she saw the reflection.

Not her own round glasses, messy bun, and noodle-stained bathrobe.

A girl with luminous pale skin, dark hair cascading down in silky waves, and sharp amber eyes. A face straight out of a gothic perfume ad.

Seren's jaw dropped.

"No way."

She spun toward the bed, heart thudding, brain racing. The fever. The ornate room. The reflection. The sheer moon-aesthetic of everything.

"No. No, no, no. Don't you dare tell me I transmigrated into that stupid book-"

Her voice cut off when a glowing blue screen popped into existence in front of her eyes.

[System Initialization...]

[Welcome, Seren Nightwind. Role: Jealous Rival Omega.]

[Objective: Ensure the heroine's rise to Luna status by fulfilling all assigned quests.]

[Failure to comply will result in penalties.]

Seren stared at it.

"Nope. Nope. Not doing this." She waved her hand through the glowing text. The box followed her vision.