No More Pain For This Villain.



"WHY ARE YOU HERE! YOU CRAZY FUCK!!???" Raven's words reverberated with anger and disbelief, her eyes fixated on... me? Her reaction left me puzzled, as if I had unknowingly stumbled upon some hidden history.

'So, you admit that you're a crazy fuck, huh?' Blaze's comment echoed in my mind, his amusement evident in his tone.

"Professor, is there any potion we can make with this cat? I don't mind if I have to skin him too," I quipped nonchalantly, a deadpan expression on my face. The professor's contemplative look was interrupted by Blaze's sudden outburst—apparently, my offhand comment had struck a nerve. I raised an eyebrow, wondering if he had actually been frightened by the prospect.

'Fuck you!' Blaze's retort was swift and unapologetic.

Returning my attention to Raven, I found her standing there, pointing directly at me, her expression of a complex mosaic of emotions that were difficult to decipher.

"Umm... Miss? What business do you have in my class?" Professor Night finally interjected, her curiosity piqued by the unexpected intrusion.

"M-ma'am, wh-why is that guy here?" Raven stammered, her finger still aimed at me.

I glanced around to confirm that, indeed, she was referring to me.

"What do you mean? Do you know this student here?" Professor Night inquired further.

"..." Raven fell silent, leaving the question unanswered.

"Looks like you're quite the troublesome student, huh?" Professor Night remarked, her gaze fixed on me with a weary expression.

"Maybe," I responded, my lack of interest in clearing up her misconceptions evident in my tone.

"Anyways, I don't think that's why you barged into my classroom," Professor Night pressed, her curiosity still unquenched.

"You got a problem?" I retorted, tilting my head slightly to the side. A faint memory tugged at the edges of my consciousness, as if I had encountered Raven somewhere before—recently, and not just in the context of the game.

Raven stood there, readjusting her glasses, her expression unreadable,"I-i just heard some rumours about this guy."

Unbeknownst to me, her reaction was influenced by a series of rumors that had circulated about me.

"What rumors?" Professor Night inquired, her curiosity genuine.

"That guy was demoted for alcohol consumption on academy grounds," a voice from the back of the class piped up unexpectedly, revealing the truth behind Raven's initial reaction.

The revelation startled me—someone knew about my demotion? As Professor Night's calm facade remained unshaken, I felt a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

"Umm... from class A to class B," I responded, providing more context to the situation.

"What!?" This time, the professor's composure wavered. "You got demoted from class A to class B for alcohol consumption!? Who did it? Which professor was it?" Her questions tumbled out in rapid succession, revealing her shock and disbelief.

"Not a professor, but the headmaster himself," I revealed, growing weary of the conversation. I gestured towards the cauldron. "I think we shouldn't waste time like this anymore."

*Silence*

The air was thick with confusion, the professor's expression was one of bewilderment. The awkward silence persisted until I tapped the brass cauldron twice.

"You, girl... and you... what's your name again?" Professor Night directed her attention towards Raven and me.

"Ren Hilton," I replied audibly, ensuring my response was heard by everyone present.

"Very well. You, teach her how to make the potion of healing like I demonstrated," Professor Night instructed, her gaze fixed on Raven. "And... give me a second, I'll be back." With those words, she practically dashed out of the classroom.

Left to our own devices, the class found itself without an instructor, an unexpected turn of events that left us somewhat adrift.

"Haa, so who's gonna take her into their group?" I mused aloud, casting a bemused glance around the room. The unpredictability of the academy never failed to surprise me, and in that moment, it seemed as though fate itself was determined to keep us on our toes.

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[Raven's POV]

I still vividly recall the day when I sat inside that carriage, a helpless observer as the bandits met their swift and brutal end. It was a spectacle of slaughter, executed with a chilling lack of remorse. I had borne witness to countless battles where warriors fought valiantly for honor and justice, but what unfolded before me that day was an entirely different kind of horror.

For those bandits, the intruder's actions were nothing short of degradation. The way he spat in their faces after piercing their stomachs with his blade, or mercilessly tore at their hair without a hint of hesitation—it was a display of cruelty that defied reason.

He was young, not much older than myself, yet he emanated an aura of malevolence that chilled me to the bone. Even his own comrades seemed wary of his presence. The woman named Anabelle had shoved him aside, her doubts about him clear in her actions. He responded by simply stepping away, as if the matter was beneath his attention.

Then he entered the carriage, his eyes locking onto mine. In the dim light of the confined space, I clutched the box in my hands, my heart racing. I couldn't let him discover that the box contained nothing of value.

But his words cut through the air like a blade. "I know the box is empty, my lady," he whispered, his voice a mixture of assertion and command.

My body flinched involuntarily, a brief flicker of surprise betraying my composure—an uncharacteristic reaction in itself. He continued, his tone low and authoritative, "Don't worry. I have no interest in the nature of the artifact concealing your mana, or your true identity. All I demand is your silence, a silence you have maintained throughout this journey. And when you reach your destination, I suggest you abstain from any deceitful maneuvers with them. Understood?" His question was more of a directive.

Interpreting my silence as compliance, he rose from his seat. "Good," he affirmed, retrieving a towel from his belongings to cleanse the blood from his hands. With that, he collected his possessions and departed.

What had I just witnessed?

I am not inferior to him in strength, nor am I lacking in experience. I've fought numerous battles and, when necessary, taken the life of my opponent. But what I had seen him do was a brand of brutality that existed in its own realm.

In the aftermath, I never believed I would cross paths with that monster again. And yet, here he was.

Why is he here?

The classroom held a palpable mixture of wariness and curiosity towards both Ren and me. It appeared that the students were hesitant to get caught up in any potential conflict involving a second-year student and a seemingly troublesome first-year. The atmosphere buzzed with unspoken observations, as our peers cast occasional glances in our direction, attempting to gauge the dynamics of our newfound partnership.

The notion of Ren's demotion from class A to class B due to alcohol consumption on his first day at the academy raised questions. 

The punishment seemed disproportionate, especially considering it was handed down by the headmaster himself. The puzzle pieces surrounding Ren remained disjointed, leaving a sense of confusion and intrigue in the wake of his presence.

"Looks like we're going to be a team," Ren's voice cut through the silence, accompanied by a subtle gesture that allowed me room to stand beside him.

His demeanor exuded a calmness that starkly contrasted with my previous encounter with him. However, what caught my attention was the presence of a black cat perched on his shoulder—a creature of striking elegance, its appearance seemingly harmonizing with his.

And then, against my will, the thought crossed my mind: he was beautiful too.

I reprimanded myself mentally, struggling to comprehend the unexpected direction my thoughts had taken. 'What am I thinking?' I chided, admonishing myself for indulging such notions.

It was imperative that he did not recognize me as Leila, and I had little reason to believe that he retained any memory of our prior interaction. My grandfather's counsel to maintain a low profile for a year echoed in my mind, though I was not fully privy to his motivations. I had, nonetheless, agreed to heed his advice.

"I think that's acceptable," I responded in a subdued tone, my words tinged with a touch of uncertainty.

"What?" Ren's inquiry indicated that he hadn't quite caught my words.

"I said, I'm fine," I retorted, my patience waning as my voice carried more volume. "Teach me how to make a potion."

"Keep your voice down," Ren's words sliced through the air once more, his expression serious as he spoke in hushed tones.

This was the same demeanor, the same unwavering gaze that he had displayed on that fateful day.

"It's rude, isn't it? To speak that way when asking for something," he continued, his tone even, his face a study in calmness.

And there it was—the face that matched the memories I had tried to suppress, the memories of him and his actions that had etched themselves into my mind.

ραndαsΝοvεl ƈοm "But isn't it equally rude for you to pass judgment based on rumors? Especially considering this is the first time we've met face-to-face," his words flowed seamlessly, accompanied by a smile that reached his lips but failed to touch his eyes.

I felt a shiver down my spine, a sensation that was both hauntingly familiar and unnerving. 

"Okay," I think I'll go along the flow.... I must learn potion making!

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