Not the Hero, Not the Villain — Just the One Who Wins

The disciplinary chamber crackled with a tension so thick it was almost a physical force. Layla Nowa's violet eyes, usually so calm and calculating, now burned with a cold fury that promised retribution. Across the polished obsidian table, I met her gaze without flinching, my own shadows writhing at my feet like caged beasts, hungry for a fight.

"Your actions will result in expulsion," she hissed, her voice a low, dangerous whisper. "The elven delegation is already demanding it. Prepare yourself."

I leaned back in my chair, a slow, lazy smirk curling my lips. Theatrics were a weapon, and right now, they were my sharpest blade. "Oh? And who exactly do you think is backing me, President? My dear sugar mommy, perhaps?" I tapped my fingers against the table, a rhythmic, insolent sound in the heavy silence. "No one can expel me from this academy. Not the elves. Not the board. Not even you. Understand?"

Layla's grip on her pen tightened, the fine instrument groaning in protest. "Confident, are we?"

"That's not confidence, dear," I corrected, my voice dripping with an amusement I didn't feel. "That's fact."

She slammed her palms on the obsidian table, the sound echoing through the chamber like a thunderclap. "I don't need higher approval to make your life a living hell. With my authority as Student Council President, I can strip your privileges, revoke your dorm access, and ensure that every day you spend in this academy is a miserable one."

I chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to infuriate her even more. "Go ahead. Take whatever you want. Truthfully, I only found out today that Rank 1 meals are free—and I've got a million credits to spare. That's enough to survive a whole year, you know?" I tilted my head, feigning a look of thoughtful consideration. "But fine. Let's compromise. Suspend my privileges for two months. Go all out. I won't complain."

Layla's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Why two months?"

"Because," I said, my grin widening, "the Student Council will change hands by then."

Silence. A heavy, suffocating silence that was shattered by a sharp, incredulous gasp from my sister.

Lucielle's golden eyes flashed with outrage. "You're delusional."

I ignored her, my gaze locked onto Layla's. "Do you really think you stand a chance? Rayne's faction is a juggernaut. He has the top-ranked students from the third year. Or do you think Kali—the Poison Queen herself, a woman who could level a city with a single vial—would never join him?"

Layla scoffed, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. "Kali didn't even participate last year. There's no way—" Visit My Virtual Library Empire (MV-LEMP-YR) for more.

"Ask her yourself," I interrupted, my voice sharp and confident. "Or better yet, ask Rayne." I stood, my shadow stretching ominously across the table, a creeping tide of darkness. "And that's not all. His faction has this year's Rank 1—me. Rank 2—Nyx. And Rank 3—Rin." I smirked, delivering the final, crushing blow. "Your defeat is inevitable."

Layla's carefully constructed composure finally cracked. "You arrogant—"

"This meeting is over," I declared, turning on my heel and striding toward the door.

Lucielle shot up from her seat, her voice a desperate cry. "Ashen—!"

I didn't look back.

Case closed.

[System: Well. That escalated quickly.]

The thought of expanding my shadow army nagged at me as I left the oppressive atmosphere of the student council chambers. With only Volkin and a handful of low-rank minions at my command, I was vulnerable. The disciplinary fiasco with the elves had forced me to dismiss my other summons to avoid further scrutiny. The forest called to me—a hunting ground teeming with potential recruits. But first, I needed better transportation. My two-week trek to Hally Forest had been a lesson in the agonizingly slow pace of non-magical travel.

The bike shop in the academy's commercial district was a marvel of enchanted engineering, its showroom filled with sleek, mana-powered machines that hummed with a latent energy. My eyes were immediately drawn to one model in particular: the Nightshade. It was a masterpiece of onyx-black metal and silver filigree, its frame designed to mimic the skeletal form of a wyvern. Its engine, a contained storm-crystal, pulsed with a soft, violet light. It was beautiful. It was fast. And it was ridiculously expensive.

"Five million credits for that?" I scoffed, my voice laced with a disbelief that was only partially feigned.

The shopkeeper, a grizzled dwarf with a beard braided with copper wire, merely shrugged. "Dream bikes demand dream prices, sir."

[System: Could always steal it.]

"Tempting," I muttered under my breath. "But I'd rather not give Evelyn another excuse to personally fry me."

I left the shop empty-handed but determined. The bike would be mine—just not today.

Dinner that evening surpassed even the academy's most lavish offerings. My personal maid, Masha, had outdone herself. She served a perfectly seared thunderbeast steak, its juices sizzling on the plate, and a molten chocolate soufflé that was a work of art. She moved with a silent, efficient grace, her earlier terror replaced by a cautious professionalism. She served my meal with a side of nervous glances, as if she were still trying to decide if I was a master or a monster.

[System: She's either terrified of you or plotting your poisoning.]

"Both, probably," I thought, a flicker of amusement running through me.

Sleep came easy that night, my mind lulled by plans of chaos and conquest.

For once, I arrived at class early. Masha's frantic shaking at 7:55 AM had succeeded where all other forms of motivation had failed. My usual seat beside Sasha, however, was occupied.

Eren Whitehound lounged there, smirking, his leather-booted foot propped arrogantly on the desk. Sasha sat rigid beside him, her knuckles white where she gripped her quill, her jaw tight with a barely suppressed anger. A stack of her meticulously written notes lay crumpled under his boot.

My shadow twitched.

[System: Oh, this'll be fun.]

The next two hours passed in a tense, suffocating silence. Evelyn's elective class on lightning magic was its usual masochistic delight. Lightning arced through the training grounds, students convulsed, and I—well, I almost redirected a stray bolt into Eren's smug face.

Almost.

[System: Restraint? Since when?]

"Patience," I told myself. "The game's afoot."

Break time. The courtyard was filled with the usual hum of student life. I was making my way to a quiet corner when I saw it. Eren, standing over Sasha, his face a mask of cruel amusement. He said something I couldn't hear, and then, with a casual, dismissive air, he slapped her.

The crack of the blow echoed across the courtyard, silencing all conversation.

Sasha stumbled, her cheek blooming a bright, angry red, tears of shock and humiliation cutting clean tracks through the pale skin. Eren loomed over her, his hand raised for another strike—

—until my hand caught his wrist, my grip like a vice of iron and shadow.

"Well, well," my voice was velvet-wrapped steel, soft but deadly. "Who made my girlfriend cry?"

Silence. A profound, absolute silence that was broken only by a collective gasp from the dozens of students who had witnessed the scene.

Then, chaos.