I Enrolled as the Villain

An unfamiliar white ceiling stared back at me - smooth, sterile, and too bright.

The faint hum of the lights above felt louder than it should've.

The infirmary.

The hospital room in the academy.

I knew where I was.

And still… it felt distant.

Like waking up from a dream that ended too quietly.

Strangely nostalgic, even though it hadn't been long.

It reminded me of that day.

The duel.

When he defeated me.

Not as a tyrant.

Not as the old Kael.

But… something else.

Something terrifying.

Back then, I had planned to end the match early.

Break a rule. Force a disqualification.

Better that than risk him shaming the House in front of everyone.

But then—

his eye flared.

The Mythrigan.

And before I could even move, I saw it:

Fire. Ice. Lightning. Wind. Metal.

Not summoned.

Not channeled.

Controlled.

Like he wasn't borrowing nature. He was commanding it.

And for a moment, I forgot to breathe.

My entire life, I had never seen anyone fight like that.

It wasn't just power —

It was something else.

Something mythic.

Even the Book of Valery, with all its exaggerated tales and embellished glory…

Didn't do him justice.

Kael didn't live up to the legend.

He surpassed it.

He moved like someone touched by prophecy.

Like he wasn't part of this world —

but something it had been waiting for.

And I—

I can only imagine what he'll become.

In time.

In full.

An absolute legend.

A name carved into the bones of history.

But—

The first wielder of the Mythrigan was called "The One Who Walked Away."

A figure from the Age of Shattering,

who saw the truth of the Three Eternities and chose exile over dominion.

He left because he saw something no one else did.

They say he vanished without a word.

That to bear the Mythrigan is to stand above the world…

And eventually, to leave it.

Kael said he would stay.

He said it at the conference — said it to us all.

That he wouldn't vanish.

That he'd walk this path with us. With me.

But even now…

Even after everything—

Will you walk away, too?

Maybe not from the House.

But from us.

From me.

Because along the way…

You gave up your swordsmanship.

You stepped into the ring —boxing, of all things.

Can't you see, Kael?

Swordsmanship meant everything to me.

It was what brought us together as children.

It was the one thing we always shared.

But now?

You fight with fists. You strike without form.

You let go of the thing that once anchored us.

And then—

You gave up your silence.

You used to let things happen quietly. You acted, and we followed without question.

You didn't shake our hands.

You didn't hold our shoulders.

You didn't have to.

Your presence was enough.

But now…

You speak gently. You hesitate.

You gave up your time. Your knowledge.

And handed it to Arthur.

Arthur Valeheart.

I remember what you told him during the sparring match:

"Don't mimic rejection. Feel it."

But Kael…

How could you possibly know what rejection feels like?

Everyone worships you. Fears you. Follows you.

Then what made you feel rejected, Kael?

Was it me?

Was it because I wasn't enough to protect you?

Because I was too cold?

Maybe I'm the one who wasn't enough.

But then you turned to me.

You spoke kindly. Softly.

Like I was just… another person.

And I smiled. I answered.

I stood at your side like I always had.

But deep down

I was breaking.

Because I remember. But you don't.

I was the one you were meant to marry.

The girl they whispered about behind closed doors — the one bound by blood and oath.

The one you told, long ago:

"You will be my sword. And I'll be the hand that guides it."

That meant something to me.

Not just duty.

Not just strength.

It meant us.

So when you gave up the sword…

When you chose fists over blades…

When you chose someone else to guide…

It felt like betrayal.

Not to the House.

To me.

To the little girl who stood outside the training room every day, waiting for you to open the door.

To the girl who was locked away…

And still waited.

I…

I love you, Kael.

I don't even know when it started.

But I do know this:

When you let go of your sword…

You let go of me.

——————

I walked away in silence,

but her words wouldn't leave me.

They followed like a shadow —

long, cold, and sharp.

She had to be lying.

Right?

Maybe it wasn't really her speaking.

Maybe something twisted her —

The Flaw. The demon.

Anything but her.

Because if it was her…

Then everything she said—

No.

My thoughts stopped when I remembered her eye.

Stage Three Lumigan.

You can't fake that.

You can't reach that depth through illusion or lies.

To awaken a Lumigan that far…

You have to confront something real.

Something buried in the heart.

And her eye—

It wasn't rage.

It wasn't corruption.

It was pain.

Undeniable.

Clear.

Personal.

Even if I wanted to look away…

I couldn't.

Because part of me already knew:

What she said was true.

The memory came slow.

Unwelcome.

Like something rising from deep water.

A door.

A child's voice.

Crying — muffled behind metal.

Small fists pounding once… then going quiet.

That moment.

That hallway.

That silence I told myself was discipline.

That stillness I called strength.

Wait—

That was her?

Lucia?

Gods.

That was her.

And I—

I left her there.

I told myself it was training.

That she'd thank me one day.

That breaking her would make her stronger.

But all I did…

All he did…

Was lock her away.

Not me.

Him.

The one before me.

The Kael this world remembers.

The Kael who mistook cruelty for love

and called control protection.

And now?

Now I'm the one left to face it.

To carry his sins.

To mend what I didn't break.

But maybe—

Maybe it's already too late.

Because she didn't need the man I am now.

She needed him.

The one she waited for in the dark.

And he—

He never came back.

The one before me. The Kael this world remembers.

The Kael who made monsters and called it loyalty.

But still…

Even with the novel's knowledge.

Even with the Mythrigan.

Even with his name and all the weight it carries—

I couldn't save the little girl he left behind.

The one who followed him.

The one he shut in the dark.

And now I'm the one standing here.

Carrying his sins.

Facing her silence.

Trying to fix something I didn't break.

But maybe that's not enough.

Because she doesn't need the new me.

She needed him.

And he never came back.

As I sat on the cold floor of the Valery training room,

I looked out the window.

Outside, the others were still swinging their swords —

hands trembling, eyes tired.

Insulting each other like it was a form of discipline.

Like pain was tradition.

And I began to wonder—

What right do I have to lead Valery?

I can't even handle the youngest among them.

I'm not even truly Valery.

I'm just Adrian.

So how could I possibly understand them?

How could I ever guide them?

Did I even have the right to change them?

Maybe this is who they are.

Maybe it's in their blood.

Maybe it's the only way they know how to survive.

And me?

What am I but an outsider—

Trying to rewrite what I don't even belong to.

Lucia…

You said I was too soft.

Maybe you were right.

Maybe I really am too soft.

Too weak.

Click.

The door slid open with a soft hiss.

I turned my head.

There, standing in the doorway, was Jessa.

Still trembling.

Still tired.

Her hands were red and raw — blistered, bandaged loosely from training.

"Jessa… what are you—?"

She didn't answer.

She just limped forward, one step at a time, until she finally dropped to the floor in front of me.

Not gracefully. Not steadily.

Her legs folded awkwardly beneath her, and she winced as she sat.

Her shoulders were shaking.

But not from pain.

But from something deeper.

She looked at me — not as a student to her leader. But as someone just trying to understand why kindness hurts so much to witness.

"Kael," she whispered.

"Can I say something? From my heart?"

I nodded. Slowly.

"…Yes."

She took a breath fragile, uneven. Like she was still trying to find the strength to speak.

"Kael…"

Her voice cracked — barely above a whisper.

"You've become kind."

I looked down at the floor. I couldn't meet her eyes.

The words didn't feel like praise.

They felt like they belonged to a better man

not the one sitting here, silent and unsure.

But she kept going.

"That means you're stronger."

Her voice shook.

But her gaze never left mine.

"The strong are always kind."