I Enrolled as the Villain

Morning.

I entered the academy through the back gate the old maintenance corridor tucked behind the east wing.

Arthur used to take this path.

Back when avoiding Valery uniforms meant surviving the day.

The hallway was dim and quiet. No footsteps but mine. No eyes watching.

Then i saw him

His sandy blond hair shifted in the morning breeze leaking through a cracked window.

He didn't move at first.

Then just slightly his head turned.

Just enough to see me.

Just enough to be surprised.

This hallway… it wasn't one people used.

Not unless they were avoiding someone.

Not unless they knew what it meant to hide.

His eyes didn't meet mine fully.

But I saw it — the flicker of confusion.

Recognition.

Maybe even caution.

I said nothing.

Just kept walking.

The old floor creaked under my step.

Dust rose in soft curls.

Behind me, I could feel the silence stretch like he wanted to say something, but didn't.

Like he wasn't sure who I was anymore.

But as I passed, something lingered.

Not guilt exactly.

Just memory.

And the shape of a regret I hadn't named yet.

As i exited the backdoor hallway of the academy my thoughts lingered for a bit

Didn't expect Arthur to be there that early…

Still. Now wasn't the time for Arthur to awaken. That part came later.

I kept walking, my footsteps soft on the old stone. The back hallway smelled like dust and cold iron, the kind of place students avoided unless they had reasons to disappear.

I had mine.

Memories of earlier chapters flickered in the back of my mind not of the academy, but of the novel itself. Of what came next.

Focus.

I turned a corner and entered the commons corridor warmer, cleaner, polished. My pace didn't change.

That's when I saw her.

Lucia.

Sitting at one of the marble benches with another girl beside her a Valery, Class A, dressed sharply.

They were mid-conversation. Something light. Something that made Lucia's posture ease, if only a little.

Then her friend noticed me.

Her smile vanished.

Without a word, the girl stood stiff, formal bowed quickly and deeply, and left in a near-silent rush.

Lucia blinked. Then glanced sideways at the empty space beside her.

"She always gets nervous around you," she said.

"I told her not to be."

I said nothing.

Just walked over, still calm, as if none of it meant anything.

But from the corner of my vision, I could see her hands. Still. Tense.

And her eyes?

Still watching me not out of fear, not anymore but something harder to place maybe awkwardness.

Expectation, maybe.

Or doubt.

Either way, I sat down across from her.

And waited for the conversation to begin.

Lucia looked up at me, eyes unreadable. Calm, steady. But there was something beneath it.

Not fear. Not reverence.

Pride, maybe. Or memory.

"You never took that path before," Lucia said quietly, eyes shifting toward the old corridor.

"Not even once."

I glanced back at the cracked windows, the faded banners, the hallway no noble used unless they were forced to.

"It wasn't for me," I said.

She studied me. Not with judgment, but something quieter. Measured. Personal.

"You used to walk through the main atrium like you owned the Empire," she murmured.

"Every step sharp. Loud. Like the ground should be grateful."

I didn't argue.

She exhaled slowly. Her hand the one at her side clenched once, knuckles whitening, then slowly released.

Faint light caught her fingers.

Silver. Barely visible. The edge of a thin band, tucked beneath her glove.

I noticed it. Didn't mention it.

Neither did she.

"Now you walk like you're trying not to be seen," she said.

"Even though you've never been invisible. Not once."

She stood, brushing imaginary dust from her uniform.

"You walked like someone who meant to lead," she added. "And I'm glad."

Another pause.

"About time you caught up to the myth they keep bowing to."

I blinked.

For a second, she almost smiled. Not the polite one. Not the cold one.

Something warmer.

"I'll see you at the conference," she said. "My Lord."

And then she left not in anger, not in pain. Just… quieter than usual.

Like something long held in her had eased but not completely.

Morning. The classrooms opened with routine, but the air was different.

Whispers moved like dust on sunlight — subtle, but constant.

All because of one thing.

The conference. My declaration.

Even the way students sat felt different — postures straighter, glances sharper.

Not fear. Not awe. Just attention.

And Arthur?

He walked differently now.

Not hunched. Not guarded.

But straight-backed. Steady.

And no one touched him.

The Valery uniforms that once tripped him in corridors, laughed as he bled on marble steps

they moved aside.

Some looked away. Some nodded.

But none dared to raise a hand.

Not after what I did.

Arthur walked like a student now.

Not because he got stronger.

But because the the myth himself had moved.

Because the Eye descended from the marble halls

and took action.

Because I stepped forward.

Not as a whisper. Not as a symbol.

But with blood, with power, with silence broken.

And that was enough.

The students remembered.

The faction heads remembered.

Valery remembered.

Arthur Valeheart once a name they trampled

was no longer alone.

He wasn't the enemy anymore.

Because I said so.

And when the Eye speaks?

Even silence listens.

So now, when he walks they part.

Not out of respect for him…

But because if someone like me

someone they had feared, revered, mythologized

chose to protect someone like Arthur…

then what did that say about them?

Valery didn't apologize.

But their posture changed.

Their eyes lowered a little more.

Their laughter quieted in hallways it used to echo in.

Because culture is a current

and compassion, once shown, has a weight of its own.

As the clock ticked closer to 09:00, I stood and left without a word.

But even in silence…

I could feel their eyes.

Not out of fear. Not anymore.

Something else now.

Like they were watching not me—but whatever I was becoming.

I walked the polished corridors, every footstep swallowed by the growing noise. The Academy buzzed with anticipation. Echoes of speculation. Whispers too soft to name.

When I reached the backroom of the Grand Hall, the doors ahead were already open.

From behind the curtain that divided speaker and crowd, I could see it—

The front rows were packed. Students, instructors, even some board members. All seated. All waiting.

For a Valery.

For me.

The chamber hummed faintly, lit with soft gold and blue—the Academy's colors. But the air felt heavier. Not festive. Not ceremonial.

Like they'd come to witness something being judged.

Inside the backroom, the other Valery students were already assembled council members in formal uniform, posture tight. Most stood apart, eyes cautious, uncertain. Not in doubt of my presence.

But of what I might say.

Lucia stood closest.

Her long white hair caught the ceiling light, silver-glassed and sharp against her attire. Her gaze was fixed on me steady, unreadable.

Her lips moved. Just barely.

I couldn't hear it.

Not over the voices, not over the quiet murmurs of other Valery students nearby.

But I saw her mouth it again.

One word.

And in the noise, it still reached me like silence:

"Lead."

———-

The lights found me before I could find the words. A lens blinked in my face cold, clinical. Watching.

Luckily, the Mythrigan handled the flashes better than I did.

So this… this is what it feels like to be a myth?

Then why did I still feel human?

I crossed the platform slowly. The click of my boots on polished marble echoed across the high ceiling.

And then, I sat.

The lights cut low. Spotlights narrowed to the podium.

And as the murmurs faded, all that remained was a single voice:

"Those who see through the Mythrigan must pay its price. To know the truth And never look away."

No theatrics. No raise in tone.

Only weight.

"The Eye does not pass from man to man. It chooses. And once chosen… you never walk alone again."

Silence pulsed between syllables.

Somewhere, a student stopped breathing.

"The first bearer was called The One Who Walked Away. He saw the end, and left before it broke him."

"But I…"

"I chose to stay."

"Not to rule. Not to be revered.

But because something in me still believes…"

I paused.

Eyes sweeping the Grand Hall over dignitaries, instructors, rival factions, the broadcast drones circling silently above.

Then i continued:

"That this world even broken deserves to grow."

"So hear this clearly."

I stood now.

Voice steady.

Clear.

Not loud but undeniable.

"Velvet Eye will not wait in the dark.

We will not kneel to silence, to rankings, to fear."

"We invoke the Old Lineage Mandate Clause Seven. A Mythborn's right to challenge. To stand. To lead."

Gasps.

The sound of datapads updating. Screens flashing.

Across the room, voices whispered:

"Clause Seven?"

"They're forcing entry…"

"That's—he can't—"

But i didn't stop.

"Let them come. All of them. Red Line. Blue Star. Valkcross. Union."

"You want to test the Eye? Test it."

"But know this—"

He looked not at the factions, but through them.

Like the Eye saw something behind every face.

"I've seen what happens when no one stands."

"I've seen the world fall."

"And I won't let it again."

"We're not here to reclaim a name."

"We're here to make sure that name means something again."

I stepped back once, letting the words ring.

And finished:

"Let this be the first move. Let this be the first day. Of something better."

As i said that i look directly above with my mythrigan glimmered.

———

He was changing.

Not just the words, anyone could speak well when the world was watching. But the tone.

The weight.

Kael Valery… was not performing.

He meant it.

And that scared her more than his power ever did.

"He used to speak like a blade now he speaks like someone trying not to cut anything at all."

She watched his back as he addressed the hall. His voice didn't rise. His hand didn't tremble. He wasn't angry. He wasn't posturing.

He was trying.

Trying to build something different. Trying to reach people, not crush them.

"The boy who burned the old corridors down now wants to plant things in their ashes."

Part of her hated how much she admired it.

Another part?

Ached.

Because she'd been waiting for this version of him.

And feared she might be too loyal to the one before.

When he said:

"Let this be the first day of something better."

She looked down at her hand. The one still faintly marked silver beneath the glove.

And whispered to herself:

"Then don't let him build it alone."