When I became the fake heiress of a marquis’s manor, the real heiress was standing there with her arm linked through the Crown Prince’s, gloating triumphantly.
“Big sister, the Crown Prince says someone with lowly blood like you deserves to rot in the mud.”
System prompt: “Strong emotional fluctuations detected. Shared Talent Store activated.”
I immediately rented out her “Delicate and Pitiful” talent to a ruthless battlefield general.
The next day, the capital went into an uproar: the stoic general clung to the Crown Prince’s leg. “Squeak, squeak! Your Highness, you’re so mean!”
