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

The afterparty had ended, but the echoes of celebration still lingered in the cool night air. Laughter, music, and the drunken cheers of students faded behind me as I walked the cobbled path back toward the dorms, a solitary figure moving through the long shadows cast by the Academy's towers. The stars overhead blinked faintly, cold and distant, utterly uninterested in the dramas of humans and monsters alike. My new student council coat hung loose on my shoulders, the collar flipped up to guard against the midnight chill. The silver badge on my chest, a symbol of my new position, glinted in the moonlight—an ironic testament to a victory that felt hollow.

Victory was quiet.

Too quiet.

Just as I rounded the dormitory garden wall, a silhouette broke from the shadows, a familiar form waiting near the stone steps. I didn't need to see her face to know who it was. The air itself seemed to grow heavy with her presence, thick with unspoken history and a desperate, clinging hope.

"Lucielle," I said flatly, my voice devoid of warmth.

She didn't flinch, her posture rigid as she turned to face me, her golden eyes unreadable in the dim light.

"Now that your friend has won," I continued, my voice calm, deadpan, each word a carefully chosen stone to reinforce the wall between us, "I assume you're happy. I wonder if you'd be this joyful if it had been me instead of her. If I'd switched places with Layla at the end." I paused, letting the question hang in the air. "Maybe I'm just not that important."

Lucielle's lips trembled, but when she spoke, her voice was heavy with a raw, honest emotion that caught me off guard. "That's not true," she said. "You were. You are. You will always be the most precious thing in my life. That cannot be changed."

I looked away, my gaze fixed on the distant, uncaring stars. The hollow ache beneath my chest stretched wide. Her words sounded lovely. They always did. But the weight of her actions, or lack thereof, never matched the tone.

"Your actions say otherwise," I said quietly. "And your mouth… it says what's convenient."

She took a hesitant step forward, her hand outstretched. "Ashen, please…"

I stepped away, the movement sharp, final. "Well, anyway," I muttered, my voice turning cold again, "I'm getting late."

I started to walk past her, my cloak whispering against the stone path. Then, I paused. "Oh. One more thing." I turned my head halfway back, not quite meeting her gaze.

"In two days, I'll be leaving the Academy temporarily. There's an auction I need to attend. Use your student council privileges to approve the leave of absence. I expect the paperwork to be signed and delivered to my room by tonight."

"Ashen, wait—" she reached out, her voice a desperate plea.

I ignored her and kept walking. The cold night swallowed me whole, and I let it.

My thoughts were a thousand miles away—no longer on Lucielle's trembling form, nor on the fading echoes of the victory celebrations.

The auction would be a game changer. I knew it.

My power had grown, yes. I had the Phoenix's soul bound to my own, a spectral wolf at my command, and a mastery of shadows that was becoming more instinctual by the day. But it wasn't enough. I had to rely more and more on my shadows with each passing fight, and my own mana pool, the physical vessel that housed my SS-rank capacity, was… pathetic. It was barely enough to maintain complex shadow constructs at peak output, let alone summon a primordial being like the Phoenix or overwhelm a divinely-powered protagonist like Rin.

If that bird hadn't weakened him during our battle in the forest, I would have lost. Full stop.

And now, Rin had the Holy Sword—a blessed relic of a divine guardian, a weapon capable of nullifying corruption and dispelling dark enchantments. It was one of the most powerful mythic-grade weapons available, a perfect counter to someone like me.

To maintain the balance, to ensure my own survival, I needed my own ultimate weapon.

The Dark Sword of the Demon King's General.

In the future I remembered, that sword had been picked up by a minor, forgettable antagonist named Erwin—a disgraced noble who, with the sword's power, had risen overnight to become a threat capable of rivaling the protagonist himself. His reign of terror had nearly shattered the kingdom's capital before Rin finally put him down.

But now? In this timeline? That sword hadn't been recognized for what it truly was yet. It was just another cursed, misidentified blade buried in the depths of a black-market auction house's vault.

I'd use that ignorance. I'd claim it before the story had a chance to catch up.

No more surprises. No more near losses. Rin wouldn't get another leap ahead—not if I could help it.

The next morning arrived with a soft, golden light and the whisper of thin clouds overhead. I walked the wide, sun-drenched path toward the Academy gates, clad in the newly issued student council uniform. It was a striking ensemble of deep navy with intricate gold trim, a high, severe collar, and the Academy's crest—a roaring lion wreathed in lightning—stitched in silver thread over the heart.

People noticed. They stepped aside as I approached, their conversations dying down to hushed whispers.

"That's him… Ashen Crimson."

"They say he helped summon the Phoenix during the war…"

"Didn't he fight Rin one-on-one and win?"

"I heard he was controlling the entire battlefield like a master tactician from the very beginning…"

I didn't acknowledge them, my expression a mask of cold indifference. But inwardly?

I smirked.

"Brilliant," I murmured under my breath. "Nice going."

Inside, I moved through the grand hallway toward the classroom annex. Marble tiles, polished to a mirror shine, reflected the sunlight streaming through the high, arched windows. Mana lanterns pulsed with a soft, rhythmic light. Students, still buzzing with the energy of the festival and the Student Council War, lined the corridor, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and excitement. But as I passed, their expressions changed.

Respect. And fear.

The classroom doors were open. As I stepped in, the first thing I saw was Headmaster Evelyn. She stood at the lectern, her arms crossed, her icy silver hair tied back in a high, severe braid. Her gaze, sharper than any blade I owned, locked onto me the moment I entered.

"You're just barely making it in, Crimson," she said coolly, her voice echoing in the suddenly silent room.

I put on a disarming smile and gave a casual, almost insolent bow. "Apologies, ma'am. Some fans wanted my autograph on the way in. Had to sign a few shirts. You know how it is."

Scattered laughter erupted from the back of the class.

Evelyn narrowed her eyes, a dangerous light twinkling in their violet depths. "Enough. Go to your seat."

I walked to my usual spot and dropped into the chair. Sasha, who sat beside me, offered a small, shy smile. Her expression was… pink. Her fingers nervously fidgeted with the corner of her notebook, and when I turned to greet her—

"H-Hey," she said softly.

"Hey," I replied without skipping a beat. To support our work, please read on M|V|LE_MPYR.

Behind me, a familiar, boisterous voice called out. "Yo," said Eren, slapping the back of my chair with a surprising camaraderie. "Looks like you've become the Academy's next celebrity. Enjoy the spotlight. I'll be taking your seat next semester."

I turned halfway, a smirk playing on my lips. "As if I'd let you."

Noora's sharp voice cut between us. "Enough, you two. If you start fighting in here, the Headmaster will burn you both to ash. Do you want to be barbecued? Hm?"

I grinned. "Noora, no need to worry about me. I'm her favorite disciple. And a valuable one at that." I shot a pointed glance at Eren. "Maybe you should worry about your brother."

That was a mistake.

CRACK!

A jolt of pure, untamed lightning pulsed through my spine. I nearly leaped out of my chair, a strangled cry escaping my lips.

"Ghhh—! Tssh! Master?! What the hell was that?!"

Evelyn didn't even look in my direction, her gaze fixed on the textbook before her. "That," she said mildly, "was for being cheeky."

I slumped forward with a cough, the scent of ozone clinging to my clothes.

Sasha tried her best not to laugh, but her shoulders were shaking. Noora, on the other hand, didn't even try to hide her amusement.

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "I swear she takes joy in tormenting me."

"You deserve it," Noora whispered.

"Agree," Sasha added under her breath.

I leaned back in my chair, resting one leg over the other, my arms crossed over my chest. "Whatever. I'll have my revenge in the next assessment."

Eren leaned in from behind. "Careful," he whispered. "That woman will fry you extra crispy next time."

I closed my eyes, a faint smile on my lips. "I'm already planning the funeral."

Class began, but my thoughts were far from the lecture on advanced elemental resonance. I stared out the window, my gaze fixed on the distant, hazy mountains.

Two days. Just two days.

Then the auction. Then the sword.

And then, finally, maybe, I'd stop playing catch-up. I'd stop needing others to cover for me. No phoenix. No allies. No hail-mary last moves.

Just strength. Real, undeniable strength.

Enough to make sure I never lost again. Enough to protect the small, quiet world I was beginning to build for myself.