I Enrolled as the Villain

Voices tangled — shock, questions, speculation. The sound was a storm.

But above it all, in the shadowed tier of the VIP section, the air was still. Heavier.

Power watched in silence.

Several figures sat behind the one-way tinted veil, high above the student crowd. Only a handful knew they were even present.

At the center sat the Headmaster.

White hair, slicked back. His uniform sharp, his posture unreadable. His right eye—always closed. Some said sealed. Some said stolen. His left eye, however, tracked Kael precisely. Not his movement—his meaning.

"He's changed," the Headmaster said finally, voice low and level. "Or perhaps he was always like this. Just waiting."

To his right, a woman in Federation robes tilted her head.

"Either way," she murmured,

"he invoked the Myth. Protocol or not, we would've allowed it. A godborn clause overrides everything."

A third figure gave a short, dry chuckle.

"Doesn't matter if he wins. The moment he stepped on that stage, the board stopped being in control."

Then, a fourth voice. Quiet. Grave.

"…Mythrigan is awake again."

That silenced the others.

The Headmaster's left eye narrowed slightly. Then twitched.

"Wait," the Headmaster muttered. "Someone's watching."

The Federation envoy's eyes flicked up, puzzled.

"Where?"

Then left. Then right. A quick scan.

"Impossible," she said. "This floor is veiled. No system can trace through it."

She looked upward — reflex.

Then paused.

And slowly turned her gaze downward.

Toward the stage.

"…No."

Kael Valery was staring directly at them.

Through the veil. Through the one-way glass. Through everything.

Not at the crowd.

At them.

His Mythrigan glowed—just slightly.

The room shifted.

A whisper: "He's looking at us."

The Headmaster flinched.

A fraction.

Just enough.

The silence around him shifted. One of the figures leaned in. Another whispered:

"…He's looking right at you."

Still, the Headmaster said nothing. His breathing slowed. Then—

He opened his right eye.

Not blind.

Not dull.

A golden flare lit the chamber.

Brilliant. Razor-sharp. Six black spirals curled inward like divine engraving—precise, deliberate. The Lumigan.

The second-highest eye in existence. Only awakened by Valery blood. Pure Valery blood.

But this one didn't belong.

This one had been taken.

Stolen.

For a breathless moment, Lumigan and Mythrigan locked across glass, across legacy.

And Kael tilted his head.

Just slightly.

And smiled.

"Impossible…" the Federation envoy whispered, almost recoiling.

"…That's a Valery eye," she said. "The right one."

The fourth voice answered quietly, almost like it didn't want to be heard:

"That's not an eye you awaken."

It wasn't something you wore.

It was something you were born with awakened with.

The envoy's voice sharpened.

"That's an eye you steal. From Valery"

The Headmaster didn't deny it. He closed his left eye slowly… and opened the golden one wider.

It pulsed once.

Then again.

But then—

It shuddered.

Just slightly.

A thin flicker ran through the golden surface. The glow faltered. The spirals dimmed at the edges.

As if something deeper had looked back.

As if the borrowed sun —

taken, not born —

couldn't bear to shine under the gaze of the one that lasts through three eternities.

The Headmaster inhaled.

Then slowly, deliberately, closed his right eye again — not to hide it, but to protect it.

"…Not yet," he whispered.

As the silence prevailed the room headmaster continued

"I preserved it," he said softly.

"When the heir failed. When their line couldn't hold it."

"I carried what they left behind."

And below, Kael looked straight at him.

The god-born.

The one that stayed.

Judging.

Not with anger.

But with memory.

Because the Eye doesn't forget.

And the myth never blinks.

————

So that's the Headmaster…

I muttered the words under my breath as I stepped away from the podium.

Not just him.

The entire council of KVE Academy representatives from the major nations, factions, syndicates all seated behind tinted panels, watching.

I didn't look back.

Just smiled quietly to myself.

And kept walking.

————

Students shouted over each other, rising from their seats as if the announcement was fire and they couldn't sit still through it.

"What is he planning right now?"

"Did he just… challenge the entire system?"

"Oh, now he's taking charge? Typical Valery move."

Someone near me leaned forward, arms braced against the bench.

"Why don't we all unite and attack Velvet Eye already? That faction's a relic."

I stayed quiet. Watching.

The student next to him scoffed. "You didn't see his Eye glowing from here. You go first."

"He's bluffing," someone added. "Mythrigan or not — one speech doesn't rewrite history."

"Bluffing?" another voice cut in.

"He used five elements during the Lucia duel. No chant. No delay. Fire, ice, lightning, wind, and metal. I saw it. That's not a bluff that's a warning."

The noise climbed again louder now, more uncertain. Like they couldn't decide whether to fear him or deny him.

And me?

I just kept watching Kael walk off that stage.

"…."

Funny.

I spent years being told I didn't belong here.

That I was a mistake. A Valeheart by name only.

The Valery made sure I remembered it — every hallway, every test, every bruise.

And now he's up there.

Kael Valery.

The boy who once broke a student's ribs for breathing too loud in his direction.

The boy who ruled by silence.

Now he's giving speeches about compassion. About rebuilding.

And somehow…

It doesn't feel fake.

That's the part that makes me sickest.

Because if Kael…he, of all people can change…

Then what excuse do i have?

————-

As I slipped away from the chaos of the hall, the noise thinned muffled by marble floor, distance, and the weight of my own thoughts.

Then I saw her.

Lucia.

Sitting alone at the marble bench beneath the arched corridor. The sun light cut down in quiet stripes, and she was brushing her long white hair slow, methodical, almost ceremonial.

So I stopped.

And watched.

Not like a stranger. Not like a leader.

Just… still.

Lucia.

The villainess of the novel.

The girl who once called herself my sword.

The one who would one day fall—eyes open, hair soaked in ash during the Purge of Valery.

A tragedy wrapped in loyalty.

A death that was never hers alone.

My hand trembled. Just slightly.

I remembered it too clearly. The chapter. The pages. The line that broke her.

The moment she chose to die for a house that left her behind.

She hadn't cried in that scene.

But I had.

Now, watching her alive, unbroken, brushing that same hair with unconscious grace I felt something twist in my chest.

A need to change it.

To not walk past her this time.

"So… what are you doing?"

My voice came out quieter than I intended.

But she didn't respond.

The brush kept moving through her hair — slow, deliberate strokes, like she was trying to smooth out something deeper than tangles.

I cleared my throat, awkward. "So, uh—"

She froze.

Then her head turned slightly — just enough to show she'd heard me this time.

"Lord Kael?" she said, sharply. Her voice tightened in an instant. She stood up fast, too fast — the brush slipping from her hand, her sword clattering loudly against the marble floor beside her.

The sound echoed.

She didn't reach for it.

Just stood, back straight, eyes lowered, posture slipping into something halfway between instinct and ceremony.

I blinked. "You don't have to—"

"I wasn't expecting you," she said quickly.

"Apologies for the posture. I meant no—"

"You don't have to call me that, Lucia."

She looked up.

Really looked.

Her silver eyes flickered not soft, not angry. Just searching. Trying to figure out which Kael she was speaking to now.

I hesitated as the sound of her sword settled on the marble.

"Lucia…" I said, slower this time.

"I think we've never really spoken. Not properly."

She didn't move.

Her fingers twitched slightly at her side like she wanted to reach for the sword but didn't.

"As a leader," I continued, "and a vice leader… we should probably know each other better."

That made her blink.

Not scoff. Not nod.

Just blink like the words didn't match the Kael she remembered.

"You never needed to know me before," she said softly.

"You gave orders. I followed."

There wasn't anger in her voice.

Just… fact.

"That was before," I said.

She studied me again. The silence stretched.

And then, slowly, she knelt to pick up her sword not sharply, not out of reflex, but with care. She set it across her lap and sat back down on the bench, fingers tracing the hilt once before releasing it.

"And now?" she asked.

I sat beside her not too close, not commanding.

Just… there.

"Now I want to learn the names of the people who carry my legacy," I said.

"And not because I need to."

She tilted her head slightly, eyes unreadable.

"You're speaking like someone who plans to stay."

I nodded. "I am."

Lucia didn't smile. But something in her posture eased, like a blade lowered slightly without being sheathed.

Then she looked away, brushing a strand of white hair behind her ear.

"…Then start here," she said quietly.

"With me."

I shifted slightly on the bench, uncertain of what to say next. For all the speeches I'd given… this was harder.

I stared at her.

She stared back.

"…So. This is the part where I try to act normal," I muttered.

Lucia tilted her head. "You're doing terribly."

And like an idiot, I blurted,

"So how's the weather today?"

Silence.

Then — to my surprise — she looked up.

"It's good," she said.

Then she looked back down at me.

"I didn't expect the Myth to be…" She stopped herself, lips twitching.

Then, almost against her will, she laughed. Just once. Short and real.

I blinked.

For a second, I smiled too. Faint. Honest.

And then the moment passed, like mist burning off.

I didn't expect that laugh.

Not from her.

It wasn't loud. It wasn't cruel. Just… soft. A sound cracked open from something unguarded.

Lucia.

The supposed villainess. Sword of the Velvet Eye.

For a second, she didn't feel like any of that. Just a girl brushing her hair in the sun, laughing at how ridiculous this moment was.

I blinked. "Was that… sarcasm?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"What? You don't think I'm capable of joy, Lord Kael?"

That last part held a faint tease too formal to be mockery, too dry to be flattery.

I cleared my throat. "I didn't say that. Just… surprised."

Lucia turned slightly, her profile catching the gold edge of the afternoon light.

"I think most people assume I sleep standing up. Or don't eat food. Or bite people."

"…Do you?"

"Only when given orders."

She smiled faintly. A private joke. I almost smiled back.

Then she added, softer,

"But I suppose I gave the world reason to believe those things."

I studied her for a beat. The way she held herself posture rigid, but not stiff. Like someone who'd trained so long to be unmovable, she'd forgotten how to sit without guarding something.

"So…" I said awkwardly.

"What do you actually do outside of… all this?"

She gave me a dry look.

"Is that your attempt at small talk?"

"I'm genuinely trying here."

A pause. She looked at me then looked past me, toward the courtyard beyond.

"…I collect fragments," she said at last.

That threw me. "Fragments?"

Lucia hesitated. Then reached into the inside pocket of her attire. She pulled out a tiny sliver of something dark obsidian maybe, or crystalized blackened bone.

"Every time something breaks a weapon, a bond, a piece of history I take a fragment. Not to remember the wound. But to remember that it happened."

I was quiet. That wasn't something a villain said.

"That's… unexpected," I said.

She gave me a sideways look.

"What, did you think I just stabbed things for fun?"

"I mean, in the futu—" I stopped myself.

She tilted her head. "In the what?"

"Nothing. Forget I said that."

She laughed again this time sharper.

"Right. The myths. They always get the best parts wrong."

I was about to respond when she added, quieter,

"For the record, I never wanted to be someone remembered for violence. It just… kept being the only thing people let me be good at."

That landed harder than I expected. Something in me shifted not pity. But recognition.

"…I know what that feels like," I said.

Lucia's gaze softened. "Do you?"

"Everyone looks at me and sees power. Control. Destiny. No one ever asks if I wanted to become any of it."

Lucia reached down slowly, brushing a strand of white hair behind her ear.

"I wanted to be the greatest sword-bearer in the world," she said.

"Not for war. But to protect something."

I glanced at her, quietly.

"Did you ever figure out what?"

She hesitated.

"I thought it was you," she said, softer now almost like she regretted admitting it.

I blinked. The words hung in the space between us delicate, unfinished.

"But maybe now," she added, rising slowly and brushing down her attire with quiet care,

"…I want to protect whatever future you're trying to build."

Then she looked at me.

Direct. Clear. Not shy.

"But I'm not following you blindly. You start lying to us again, I will stab you."

"Duly noted."

I let the silence settle.

The air was calm for once. The sky above stretched in soft blues and whites, like the world had taken a breath and finally exhaled.

I looked up.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it meant everything.

Then—

"Kael…" Lucia's voice came quieter this time. Not sharp. Not cold. Just… honest.

"What do you think of Evelyne now that she holds the heirship?"

I blinked. The question caught me off guard.

"Evelyne?"

Lucia nodded, her voice calm but there was something beneath it. Something personal.

"Yes. She's in charge of the House now. Publicly. Formally."

She paused, then added,

"You're leading Velvet Eye with such conviction. So why… not the House?"

Why did I hand it over?

I looked away for a moment, letting the silence stretch. Not because I didn't know the answer. But because I wanted to say it right.

"I've carried the weight of the House once," I said quietly.

"When it feared me. When it bled under me. That weight didn't build anything. It crushed."

Lucia studied me not with judgment, but something softer. Reflection, maybe.

"Evelyne doesn't crush," I continued.

"She listens. She heals. And when the time comes… she'll bloom into something this House hasn't seen in generations."

I smiled. Not with pride. With hope.

"The Mythrigan sees a lot of futures. But I didn't need it to see that one."

Lucia tilted her head.

"You trust her that much?"

"I do."

She hesitated, eyes narrowing slightly, voice quieter now.

"Then… tell me something."

Lucia's gaze shifted. Then lowered.

"…Can your Mythrigan see me, then?"

I tilted my head, curious.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean—" she hesitated, then said it quickly, like peeling off a bandage—

"Can it see if I'll become the world's greatest sword-bearer?

Or maybe even your—"

She cut herself off. Just short of the word. Her fingers tightened against her coat.

I looked at her. Not with power. Not with vision. Just… Kael.

"Lucia…"

She didn't meet my eyes. But she didn't walk away either.

"I didn't need the Mythrigan to see that."

Lucia met my eyes. This time, fully. No veil. No blade between us.

Her voice was quieter now not cold, not sharp. Just… tired. Worn from too many years of silence.

"Then tell me… in the future…

Will the House bloom in flowers, Kael?

Under the peaceful gaze of the sky?"

She didn't say it like a soldier.

She said it like the girl who once waited behind a locked door, brushing her hair in silence.

She said it like a question. But also like a wish.

"…."

I held her gaze.

And for once, didn't look away.

I looked at her at the long white hair, the steadiness in her shoulders, the fragility in her fingers.

All the things she hid. All the things she never let fall apart.

"Only if we stop using fire to protect it," I said gently.

"Only if we stop surviving… and start living."

Lucia's lip trembled just once. Then she looked away.

But she didn't walk away.