I Enrolled as the Villain

Liora wheelchair moved quietly as she exited the corridor and entered a small, dimly lit room. Shrines of carved eyes lined the walls, and flickering candles cast soft, golden light across the space.

It was a sacred praying room.

Only one student was present, seated quietly with their head bowed in silence. But as soon as they noticed Liora enter, they stood abruptly and left without a word.

Liora didn't react. Or at least, she pretended not to. But her heart did.

Still, she continued her task.

She turned on the vacuum, the low hum blending with the gentle flicker of candlelight.

Moving slowly across the room, she swept the floor with precision. Then she turned the vacuum off, reached into her side pouch, and pulled out a wet cloth. With delicate care, she began wiping down each carved surface.

Many parts of the room held golden engravings of eyes etched into stone, nestled in symbols of prayer. When she reached the front of the room, her hand paused.

There, two images stood side by side.

One was a framed picture of Kael.

He wore a deep navy military uniform, sharp with tailored lines, adorned with gleaming medals and a proud five-star insignia on his shoulder.

His left eye remained closed, he didn't need to open it for his presence to be felt.

He looked different in that portrait.

Younger.

Colder.

Like someone too far above to reach.

Maybe it was the uniform.

Maybe it was the way the Mythrigan stayed closed like it didn't need to be open to remind everyone who he was.

She shifted slightly in her chair, brushing dust off the frame's edge with slow, careful strokes.

Was this really him?

She had seen him laugh, even if just a little. Had heard him speak gently, had watched him treat even the weakest student with care.

But here…

He looked like a version of Kael that didn't belong to anyone anymore.

A symbol, not a person.

Her chest ached with something she couldn't quite name.

Then guilt pricked her chest.

No. I can't just think like that. That's ridiculous. I'm mocking him.

Please forgive me.

She shook her head and quickly looked away toward the second image.

It was an illustration, older and more mythic in design: The One Who Walked Away.

He wore a black robe that draped over his entire body, his face hidden in shadows. Only his eyes were visible, both glowing with the deep violet of the Mythrigan.

Behind his head, a golden halo spread outwards in thin, radiant lines, forming a circle that resembled sunbeams.

He Who Walked Away.

Slayer of Flame Incarnate.

Bearer of the Mythrigan Flame.

Who Felled the Final Wyrm of Creation.

The First Footstep on the Path to Godhood.

His techniques, his path, his philosophy still echoed in the skills they used today.

Liora stared a moment longer, then gently reached up and wiped the golden outlines framing the illustration.

She avoided the image itself, focusing on the edges—the filigree, the gems, the symbols that had been dulled by dust.

They were beautiful.

They were expensive.

And yet she, of all people, had been trusted to care for them.

Her hand trembled.

So she took a breath… and activated her Path.

A quiet pulse spread through her body subtle, almost imperceptible.

Path of Stillness Stage two.

It wasn't made for battle.

It was made for moments like this.

Her movements slowed. Each wipe of the cloth became exact, gentle, deliberate like a ritual. She didn't rush, didn't falter. The dust disappeared without smudge or streak.

Even her thoughts felt quieter, more focused, as if the world had given her this one job and paused everything else to let her do it right.

As she finished cleaning the last of the sacred prayer room, Liora backed away from the shrine. She clenched her hand softly over her chest and bowed her head and muttered quietly.

"O You Who Walked Away…

Who saw the bones beneath the world and still stepped forward.

Who learned the truth, that nothing lasts, that even dragon crumble —

And walked anyway.

Not to conquer. Not to be worshipped.

But to bear it. To burn alone, so others didn't have to.

Slayer of the Flame Incarnate.

Breaker of the Last Wyrm's Will.

Eye that sees the end and walks toward it without blinking.

Let me walk a little too.

Let me carry even a fraction."

Her voice trembled, barely audible.

"If you're listening…

Let me do something that matters.

I know I'm not one of the chosen. I know I'm not strong.

But I'm still here. I'm still trying.

And if my doubts were a sin

if wondering makes me unworthy

then I'm sorry.

But I needed to ask.

Please… let that be enough."

A long silence followed.

The candles flickered, quiet.

Liora stayed still, eyes lowered. But somewhere in her heart, a question stirred faint, uneasy.

This prayer… sometimes it helped.

Sometimes it didn't.

And Kael—

He had the same eyes. The same power. The Mythrigan.

So what made him different?

Wasn't he human too?

What's the point of this prayer…?

She didn't mean it with anger. It was just a thought. A quiet, tired question that stayed in her chest.

It felt like they were clinging to ghosts. To gold-lined symbols. To rituals carved by those long gone.

Ever since she met him…

He never visited the shrine. Never stepped into the sacred halls of Valery.

Never prayed.

As if he didn't need to.

Or maybe he truly didn't have to.

He didn't plead for blessings.

He just moved forward, always forward

and somehow, the world shifted around him.

So why did she need to pray for the strength just to clean the dust off a wall?

Why did she have to whisper to the gods just to feel like she mattered at all?

She looked up again.

Not at the illustration. Not at the name.

But at the idea of him.

And yet… when she stood beside him

when he looked at her, when he fought

he didn't feel unreachable.

He didn't feel divine.

He felt…

Like someone you were supposed to walk beside.

Not worship. Not bow to.

Just… walk beside.

So—

She caught herself.

The thought was too bold. Too daring. Too wrong, maybe.

Or maybe… too true.

Her chest tightened, shame and longing threading together.

She lowered her eyes and folded the cloth over her lap, letting the silence return. Letting it cover the thought like dust returning to a clean surface.

———

As Liora exited the shrine room, the corridor's chatter returned light, careless. The kind of conversation that only came from people who weren't worried.

One voice rose above the rest.

"Ugh, I'm starving. Seriously, who's in charge of cooking today?" the same student from earlier the one who loudly complained about Tessarix groaned.

Her friend blinked, then scoffed. "Cooking? Me? Why would I know how to cook? I've never cooked in my life," she added with a light laugh, pride bleeding into her voice.

Of course.

This was KVE Academy.

A place where most students grew up with private chefs, maids, and marble staircases.

They kept talking, unaware of the quiet figure passing behind them.

"So, who even cleans this place?" the first asked idly, twirling a strand of her hair.

"Hmm… I don't know. Isn't there, like, an automatic cleaner or a maid system? I mean, it'd be ridiculous if they didn't have basic necessities."

"So true."

Liora didn't say anything. Didn't stop. Didn't look back.

She just turned her chair slightly… and headed for the kitchen.

As soon as she reached the kitchen, Liora rolled to the supply crate and opened it. Rows of sealed packages and ingredients greeted her some fresh, some clearly untouched for weeks.

Without wasting time, she began pulling out what she needed.

She tapped her syncwatch. It buzzed faintly, then flickered to life after a sluggish delay.

A recipe video loaded.

"Oh… a simple quick breakfast?"

She clicked it, scanning the steps. But halfway through, her eyes narrowed.

Half the ingredients were missing.

Liora closed her eyes and sighed softly.

"…Let's just do a regular breakfast."

She tucked the watch away and moved toward the counter. Her hands worked in quiet rhythm unpacking, measuring, heating, preparing.

Then, as she reached into the lower crate for dry goods, her fingers brushed against something familiar.

Rows of soda bottles.

Neatly arranged. Slightly chilled from storage.

She paused.

Kael always drank this.

Only during celebrations. Only when others were watching.

She stared at the bottles for a moment longer, then turned away without a word and went back to cooking.

Even if it was just eggs and rice… she wanted it to be enough.

And maybe… if he tasted it, he'd understand.

That even if she couldn't stand beside him in battle even if no words, not even his, could erase what she lacked she could still offer something.

Even if part of her didn't believe it would ever be enough.