I Enrolled as the Villain

Far from the stronghold competition grounds, behind layers of security and surveillance, there existed a chamber rarely spoken of the Observation Hall of the Academy Council.

A massive holographic display flickered before them, showing every stronghold, every participant, every heartbeat.

At the center of the room sat a man with slick white hair, his uniform crisp, dignified. His posture was relaxed, but his presence weighed heavy. His right eye remained closed always. He is the headmaster Cole Sander.

He studied the hologram quietly for a long moment before speaking.

"As expected. Kael Valery doesn't enter a game without knowing if he will win or not.

To his right sat a woman in Federation robes, the blue of her uniform sharp under the white glow of data. A crystal brooch shimmered on her shoulder the mark of diplomatic rank.

Lisa Ansonveil. Young, precise. Dangerous in policy more than power.

"Selene Dais is preparing something," she said, scrolling through streams of probability data with a flick of her wrist.

"With enough time, she'll find a loophole. Against Kael. And against the other two factions. She always does."

To the Headmaster's left sat a dark-haired man with unusually pale skin. His eyes never left the screen.

His heartbeat pulsed irregularly not from nerves, but nature.

He spoke, low and steady, without turning his head.

"Arthur Valeheart… Still dragging crates."

A pause. Cold judgment in his tone.

"Disappointing. His brother would've taken command by now."

The camera feed zoomed in Arthur, shirt damp with sweat, hefting supplies onto a transport skiff. Smiling faintly.

The man clicked his tongue and looked away.

Silence fell again.

Above it all, Kael's name hung in the air unspoken, but present.

Lisa Ansonveil's eyes drifted toward the Blue Star Stronghold.

On the screen, its shape was distinct perfectly spherical, surrounded by gleaming white curvature, with defense lines tracing concentric rings like orbit paths.

It didn't look like a battlefield.

It looked like a corporate utopia.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"That structure beneath it…" she murmured, voice low.

The screen flickered, revealing faint thermal outlines machinery humming beneath the surface, far more than any ordinary stronghold was equipped for.

"The Dais family really went all in."

She paused, brushing a hand down her sleeve as if brushing away the thought.

"Hard to question the budget when your mother runs the Hero Association, I suppose."

Her voice didn't betray judgment just quiet calculation. The kind that came from someone used to obeying ranks, even when the math didn't quite make sense.

The Headmaster didn't respond. He didn't need to.

They both knew Selene wasn't building a stronghold.

She was building a trigger

Eva Kasnovi of Keshar, Seated at the far-left end of the chamber, a red-haired woman in ceremonial crimson robes stared at the hologram in silence.

The Red Line Stronghold once defiant, now burned and broken flickered across the screen.

She didn't speak.

She didn't need to.

Lisa Ansonveil tilted her head, gaze sliding toward her.

"Even a Valery clown managed to single-handedly destroy that stronghold."

She let the words sit, just long enough.

"Not even a top-tier asset. Just a relic boy with a pretty eye and a bit of luck. Honestly…" she tilted her head, "I expected more from a nation that paints blood over every wall and calls it tradition."

A faint smirk played at her lips.

"And that's what happens," she said lightly, "when you trust locally-funded militia tech over Federation-certified systems. Or, worse… ignore Hero Association-grade recommendations altogether."

No one else in the room spoke.

Because everyone knew what Lisa wasn't saying:

Keshar was powerful. But isolated. Fierce. But outdated.

And in a world run by corporations, funding, and tiered licensing, even the strongest fire couldn't outlast a well-written contract.

Eva Kasnovi didn't flinch.

The red of her robe glowed under the overhead light, as if drawn from the ashes below. She spoke slowly, each word measured, lips barely parting.

"At least we don't build our faith on spreadsheets. You speak of community, but all I see in your Federation is stock tickers."

Lisa smirked, brushing imaginary dust from her shoulder.

"Oh, we trade more than stocks. We trade certainty. Results. Unlike those Red Line loyalists who treat war like a religious mural."

A pause.

Eva finally turned to meet Lisa's gaze fully, calm but with something glacial underneath.

"Azaila could've stopped the collapse. She didn't. That wasn't failure. That was precision."

Lisa's brow arched.

"Precision? It looks like self-sabotage to me. Unless your Saint and Red Cosmos have gone poetic."

Eva turned back to the screen the still-burning remnants of their lost stronghold.

"You assume this was the end of a game. Azaila knows it was only the opening move."

Suddenly, Cole spoke.

"That's enough."

The room fell silent.

He turned his head, his left eye drifting toward Valkcross Stronghold.

A white fortress, carved like old marble. Sharp towers. Golden flags on every roof.

It looked proud.

Too proud.

Cole watched it quietly.

"They still think being born to a throne means something," he said, almost flatly.

He said no more.

But from his tone, it was clear:

He wasn't impressed.

——————

Far from the academy, deep within the Valery compound, poster of Kael Valery lined the streets like tributes to a returning monarch. Incense wafted from small altars, where children whispered prayers to the Eye.

At the gates of the main estate a towering mansion where both Kael and Evelyne resided a crowd had gathered.

Nobles. Soldiers. Common citizens of Valery blood.

All were seated together on the ground, atop vast projected holograms that shimmered faintly beneath them, casting soft blue light across their faces. The main screen floated above the plaza, locked onto the live broadcast of the stronghold competition.

There was no cheering.

Only watching.

Only pride.

"He didn't even need his whole faction," someone murmured from the front row. An older man, silver-eyed and leaning on a cane. "Sent just two. And look what happened to the Red Line."

He exhaled with faint reverence.

"Efficiency. Judgment. That's a strategy born from the Eye."

Someone else nodded. Another voice added:

"Didn't even raise his hand. And still made the battlefield bend."

"And you saw his fight against that Keshar Saint?" a soldier said, clenching his hand near the front. "Kael's still Tier 1 maybe barely pushing higher. But he went head-to-head with a Tier 2… and held his ground."

"That's not supposed to be possible," someone muttered. "Not at that Tier. Not without—"

"An affinity," a voice cut in. Clear, certain. An instructor, still wearing her academy badge. "No one's born with all elements. You get one. Maybe two, if your blood's strong."

She glanced back at the screen, voice hushed now.

"But he's not using what he was born with."

Silence.

"He's using everything."

"Lightning. Fire. Ice. Wind. All of it casually. Without any visible draw. As if the elements themselves answer to him."

A younger boy near the front swallowed hard.

"Is that what the Mythrigan can do?"

The instructor didn't answer.

Because everyone already knew.

For a moment, the crowd was quiet.

Then, as the image of Kael lit the screen eyes glowing, cloak flaring in the wind they applauded.

Not out of obligation. Not because they were told to.

But because they saw something they couldn't explain.

And in Valery, where the Eye was sacred, where bloodlines were everything, they knew what they were witnessing.

Kael wasn't just strong.

He was becoming something rare.

Something worthy of the myths that bore his name.

Inside the grand hallway of the Valery main estate, the light fell in slow beams through the glass.

The head maid stood still beside one of the tall windows, hands lightly clasped. Behind her, the mansion was quiet too quiet, without him in it.

She turned slightly, eyes falling on a photo tucked into the corner of her synwatch.

It was a photo

Her son, smiling wide, holding a half-deflated ball in both hands. His cheeks smudged with dirt. Laughing at something off-screen.

She remembered when that photo was taken.

And she remembered the day Kael returned the ball.

Back then she didn't know what to make of it then.

But now, standing in this quiet hall, with the crowd roaring far beyond the walls and the whole empire watching him…

She finally understood.

He saw things. Not just with that Eye of his but with something deeper. Something no one had taught him, yet he carried anyway.

She raised the watch again. Smiled faintly at the old picture.

Then whispered under her breath, so soft it barely reached the air—

"Come back safe."

For a brief moment, nothing moved. Not the staff. Not the shadows. Not even the wind beyond the tall windows.

Just stillness.

Back at the front gate of the Valery estate, the crowd remained transfixed by the broadcast.

Toward the back, where the shadow of the estate wall offered shade, a mother sat cross-legged on the stone floor, her daughter nestled quietly in her lap just one of many families gathered to watch.

The little girl leaned forward, eyes wide as Kael's image flared across the screen.

The little girl pointed at the screen, wide-eyed as flames and ice danced around Kael.

"Mama… his eyes are glowing. Like stars."

Her mother's Ketsugan flickered dimly in the reflection — a pale grey without shine. She wrapped her arms a little tighter around her child.

"That's the Mythrigan," she said softly. "The one Eye that sees everything."

The girl nestled deeper into her arms. "Will I ever have that?"

Her mother paused.

"We share the same eyes, you and I. The Ketsugan. Most say it's nothing special. Just… common."

She reached up and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her daughter's ear.

"But that's not true."

The girl blinked. "It's not?"

Her mother smiled, quiet and sure.

"Some are born to shine. Others are born to hold the sky steady."

She kissed her daughter's forehead.

"You don't need to be seen to matter."