I Enrolled as the Villain

"Let's see what kind of story I can write… with his name."

I said it with a faint, almost reluctant smile as I rose from the wreckage that was once Kael Valery's room.

The shattered glass crunched beneath my steps as I entered the hallway.

A line of servants paused in their duties, heads bowed low.

"Lord Kael," one whispered, voice thick with reverence.

Devotion in their posture.

But when I looked at him, I noticed a subtle tremble not in his posture, but in his hands.

Not from cold. Not from nerves

But fear.

"…Stand up," I said quietly. "You don't have to greet me like this anymore."

He blinked. "My lord… is something wrong?"

I said nothing and kept walking.

⸻

The garden behind the estate had changed since I last saw it or perhaps Kael never really looked.

Sunlight filtered through tall, arching trees. The air was warm. Peaceful.

A deflated ball lay near the old fountain, half-forgotten probably a servant boy's. I tapped it with my foot. It rolled forward, then back to me.

I stared at it for a long moment.

Then I kicked it again.

"Hah…"

I smiled softly, a little bitter.

It's been a while.

I used to play every day streets, fields, concrete lots. It didn't matter. That was when the world still felt light. When I was just Adrian.

And just like that, the itch returned.

I picked up the ball and turned to the nearest servant.

"Bring me to a grass field. Something flat. I want to play."

The servant hesitated then bowed.

"Of course, my lord. Right this way."

⸻

"Beautiful," I murmured, eyes sweeping the vast stretch of green.

The field was clean. Empty. Open in a way nothing else in this mansion had ever been.

"You may go now. Thank you."

The servant blinked a faint lift of the brow, surprised by the tone perhaps but bowed and left without a word.

I waited until she was out of sight.

Then I ran.

My feet hit the grass hard once, twice, again and before I could stop myself, I kicked the ball with all I had.

It shot through the air, soaring toward nothing in particular.

For a moment, I felt like I could breathe again.

I dribbled aimlessly at first, letting the ball guide me more than I guided it.

Then my steps found rhythm. Sharp cuts. Sudden turns.

My breathing evened out.

It didn't matter where the goal was. Just that I could move.

Before I knew it, my body grew heavy, and my shirt was soaked through with sweat.

⸻

Evelyne's POV

Evelyne walked through the marble halls of House Valery her steps calm and precise, as expected of a daughter who never cracked.

Then something shifted at the corner of her vision.

She paused near a tall window, her gaze drawn to the sprawling green field outside.

There, beneath the sunlit sky, someone ran.

Kael.

Her breath hitched just slightly before she forced it still.

He was barefoot on the grass, shirt damp with sweat, a worn ball at his feet. Dribbling. Juggling. Moving with a loose, easy rhythm that didn't belong to him not the Kael she knew.

He was smiling.

Not a smirk. Not arrogance. Just a soft, distant smile. Like he'd forgotten everything.

Forgotten what he'd done.

Forgotten who he was.

Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of disdain burning behind them.

"I've never seen him play that stupid game," she muttered. "Isn't it beneath him?"

Her voice was low, acidic. As if the words left a bitter taste.

"He's pretending it never happened," The words slipped out, quiet and sharp "As if the world can be fixed with a ball and a smile."

Her eyes wandered, just for a moment, to the side of the field where a pond nestled beneath a patch of willow trees. Its surface lay glassy and still. Near the edge, a single closed bud rested gently among the grass.

Unbloomed.

Just like everything else in this house.

And yet she didn't look away.

Not even when the servant beside her stepped forward, careful, holding out an envelope.

"The heirship paperwork, ma'am."

His tone was formal, neutral. But Evelyne's gaze snapped to his bare hands pale skin exposed.

No gloves.

She stared at them longer than necessary.

Defiance? Or forgetfulness?

Either way, she took the envelope without a word, her fingers brushing against his.

From her pocket, she retrieved a pen. It was still warm not from use, but from being carried everywhere, as if she couldn't quite let go of it.

Once, she wrote stories. Now, she only signed her name.

⸻

Kael's POV

As I returned to the mansion, a line of servants stood waiting.

Dressed in flawless white gloves and aprons, they bowed in perfect unison near the entrance.

One stepped forward older, composed.

"My lord, may we carry you to your new room? Allow us to assist in cleansing you."

His voice was Dutiful.

But their eyes even when they saw the darkness in me still bowed in reverence.

I said nothing.

In the novel, Kael was feared. Respected.

But this? This was worship.

I coughed once, awkwardly, then forced the words out.

"…Stop calling me 'lord.' Just Kael is enough. And thank you, but I can walk. Just show me the way."

The silence that followed was absolute.

The air turned stiff, as if the wrong word might shatter it.

A younger servant broke ranks. Eyes wide, voice shaking.

"My lord, are you ill? Please, allow us-"

Before he could finish, the head servant turned sharply.

His eyes silver, bright, patterned with two thin lines crossing toward the pupil snapped open.

A sharp glare.

The younger boy went silent instantly, stepping back, trembling.

Ketsugan.

I remembered it. A common trait among the lower branches of the Valery House.

Stage Two enough to silence a room without lifting a hand.

"…If I may speak," the lead servant said carefully. "Master Kael is there a reason for this change?"

"I simply no longer need your assistance for this kind of thing. I can handle it myself."

One servant didn't meet my eyes.

His posture was perfect back straight, hands gloved and folded but his knuckles turned pale beneath the white fabric, straining against the silver tray.

The head servant bowed lower.

"As you wish… Kael."

He said the name with visible strain, as if the word burned his tongue.

"Bring me to the new room."

The elder servant bowed without a word and led the way, silver eyes forward, footsteps silent against the marble floors.

A statue stood on either side of the door to my new room.

The room wasn't much different from the old one.

Tall ceilings. Velvet drapes. Polished wood and gold-etched trim.

A little colder, perhaps.

A little too clean as if no one had truly lived here.

I stepped inside. The door closed behind me with a soft click.

For a moment, I just stood there.

Then a faint smile tugged at my lips as I turned toward the floating hologram projector embedded near the desk.

A blue flicker shimmered to life.

"Princess Aurelia Artoria Valkcross has recently visited the Riventhorn Education Complex Academy to show her support for the nation's expanding Awakened education programs."

The feed shifted.

I watched as Princess Aurelia gold hair bound in ceremonial knots, eyes fierce danced between sparring students.

A long, slender blade shimmered with golden runes in her hands.

She moved like fire through tall grass graceful, merciless, untouchable.

"As you can see, the Princess herself joined a training session to personally demonstrate advanced technique."

The students charged. She dodged. Parried. Countered.

Every motion was a lesson. Every swing of her blade carved reverence into the air.

She didn't look like someone you could meet.

I sat down slowly, eyes still on the hologram.

"…So that's the Crown Princess, huh…"

She looked even more beautiful than I imagined.

Composed. Lethal. Light.

I leaned forward as the footage continued, the hologram glowing faintly in the darkened room.

Then a new figure stepped into frame.

A student. Maybe sixteen or seventeen.

Unremarkable at first glance plain uniform, steady stance.

But then…

His silver eyes gleamed.

Stage One Ketsugan.

The pattern was soft, still forming.

A rare trait, yes.

But not unheard of.

Artoria's expression didn't change.

But her steps slowed.

Her blade, which had been dancing effortlessly moments ago, stilled just a fraction too long.

Then she moved faster this time.

Not graceful. Not playful.

Precise. Direct. Unsmiling.

She closed the distance before the boy could breathe.

Her sword flicked forward stopping just short of contact.

A measured pause.

Then she stepped back.

"Next."

Her tone was even, cold.

The announcer's voice returned, calm

"Her Highness remains vigilant regarding all forms of awakened potential. This… was simply a demonstration."