Young Master's PoV: Woke Up As A Villain In A Game One Day

Two days passed.

As expected, Rexerd's disappearance did not go unnoticed.

Some of his so-called 'favorite' students seemed almost relieved by it, while others — the ones who only knew him as the charming young professor — appeared genuinely concerned for him.

The Academy, on the other hand, was confused.

Leaving the barrier surrounding the Ascent Isles wasn't something you could do casually. It required formal permission — an application submitted to the Grandmasters, followed by verification, approval, and the usual bureaucratic delay.

Of course, professors, instructors, and Aces were exempt from that process. They could come and go as they pleased.

But even they were tracked.

Every time they left or entered the Ascent Isles, it was logged in the security database.

And according to those logs, Rexerd had never left.

Granted, he was a B-rank genius alchemist. If he really wanted to disappear without a trace, he could probably find a way. But to the public eye, he had no reason to do so.

He wasn't involved in any scandals, had no known enemies, and hadn't issued any vague goodbyes.

So where did he go?

Why did he disappear?

No one had answers.

But the questions were loud enough. A formal investigation was already being discussed among the faculty.

And if that happened — if they started digging deep enough — things could get… messy. For me.

So I gave Juliana a simple instruction. She was going to send everything she had on Rexerd to the Academy. Every dirty secret, every blackmail file, all of it — anonymously.

It would shift their focus.

Instead of searching for a missing professor, the Academy would waste their time and energy covering up his mess.

They'd try to suppress the fallout, preserve their reputation, and control the narrative before the media could catch wind of it.

They'd assume Rexerd had fled after being blackmailed with damning evidence.

Which, in a way, wasn't entirely wrong.

Only, he wasn't blackmailed. He was tortured.

And he didn't flee. He was killed.

It was a temporary fix, sure. The distraction wouldn't last forever. Eventually, someone would start asking questions, poking their nose where it didn't belong.

But I couldn't have cared less.

Because that was future Samael's problem.

Right now, I just needed the trail to stay cold long enough for me to make my next move.

So I was busy with that and… lazing around.

Yes, I had spent the last two days lying in bed, sleeping and eating like a well-fed sloth.

I wasn't being complacent. I just deserved a few days off.

It felt like just yesterday I'd awakened my past life's memories, and already so much had happened.

When in reality, we weren't even twenty percent through the storyline.

"Haa," I sighed, exhausted from simply thinking about the grim future ahead. "Still so much work left."

Honestly, how those transmigrated protagonists in fantasy stories kept their energy levels up without burning out was beyond me.

I was ready for a vacation and we hadn't even hit the third act.

Anyway. Priorities.

My immediate focus was the upcoming half-yearly exams.

The Academy loved its tests — nothing like evaluating Cadets' worth by putting them through multiple choice questions and a few life-threatening situations.

Aside from that, I also had to go through all of Rexerd's journals to figure out what he was up to.

And before you accuse me of doing nothing and wasting time the last two days — I had been working.

In fact, even now, I was inside the Dimensional Chamber, flipping through one of his research papers.

"Aghhh…" I groaned and leaned back in the chair, stretching until my joints crackled like dry twigs underfoot.

Honestly, who still wrote research by hand in this day and age? If he'd just documented everything with video recordings like a normal scientist, this would've been so much easier.

And more entertaining.

But no. Of course not. He had to be traditional.

Because genius alchemists, apparently, were allergic to convenience.

I tossed the journal onto the table with a heavy thud and rubbed my temples.

"Hey," I muttered, swiveling in my chair toward the far side of the chamber. "Mind telling me what this 'soul density' is supposed to be?"

Silence.

I narrowed my eyes at the stillness.

"Don't give me the silent treatment! You mentioned it three times without explaining what it should even mean! And the formula for it doesn't even make any sense! You used three different unit systems in one line. Were you trying to reinvent math?"

Still no response.

I exhaled through my nose. "Why aren't you answering me?!"

On the experiment table in front of me, resting neatly on a silver tray like some kind of room service dessert, was Rexerd's severed head.

His face was pale, eyes half-lidded and glassy, staring at me in eternal judgment.

Right. That.

I was talking to that.

Gods, I was losing my mind.

"...Ah," I said, blinking slowly. "Right. Forgot you were dead."

Just then, as if on cue, I heard a second voice echo in the lab. A voice that wasn't mine.

"What the hell are you doing?"

I flinched and turned my head.

Juliana was standing beside me, arms crossed, one hip cocked, and an empty black duffle bag slung over one shoulder. Her azure eyes scanned the scene, sharp and unimpressed as ever.

"You're seriously monologuing to a dead guy?" she asked, one brow raised.

I gestured vaguely at the tray. "Technically, it was more of a one-sided Q&A."

Juliana didn't blink. "You're insane."

"Correction," I said, raising a finger. "I'm sleep-deprived, mildly traumatized, and deeply offended that the dearly decapitated here wrote in cursive so bad that even a Spirit Beast with dyslexia would have trouble reading it."

She pinched the bridge of her nose like she was trying to ward off a migraine. "You cut off his head. You kept his head. And now you're talking to it."

"Well, when you say it like that, it sounds bad."

"It is bad!"

I let out a dramatic sigh and walked over to the tray with a hand over my chest, keeping my voice hushed and reverent. "You just don't understand, Juli. Me and Rexy... we were having a moment."

She stared silently. "You're deranged."

"Look who's talking," I grumbled.

Her eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Nothing!" I yelped. "And for the record, isn't that why I called you here? To dispose of his body?"

Juliana lingered for a second, then rolled her eyes. "I still don't know why you needed me for that."

I threw up my arms. "Because I've never discarded a dead body before! There's no manual for this!"

She gave me a once-over before letting out a humorless snort like I'd made a bad joke. "Yeah, sure."

I placed a hand to my heart, pretending to be deeply wounded. "Excuse you. I may be morally flexible, but I'm not a serial killer."

Juliana paused in her tracks, then looked at me with a frown as if suddenly realizing I wasn't lying. "Wait. You're serious?"

Now I was actually offended. "What do you mean I'm serious? What exactly do you think my kill count is? I'm not showing it, but I'm still slightly shaken from killing him, you know?!"

She gave me a long, unreadable look. Then finally scoffed. "Huh. So you do have a conscience. That's... unexpected."

"Gee, thanks," I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair. "Glad my emotional breakdown is such a pleasant surprise to you."

She ignored me, already unzipping the duffle bag and pulling out several folded plastic sheets, rolls of duct tape, and — concerningly — three different kinds of saw blades.

"...What are you planning to do?" I asked warily.

"Dismantle the body, submerge it in a highly potent alchemical acid, let it dissolve over a few days, then drain the slurry," she replied, completely nonchalant like this was a daily occurrence for her.

I stared at her. "Juli... why do you sound so experienced at this?"

She shot me a sideways glance but said nothing.

I started sweating.

"Welp!" I spun on my heel and marched toward the next pile of journals. "I'll, uh, leave you to it. Have fun!"