Transmigrated as the Villain Between the Heroine and the Villainess

Nothing was in his mind, nothing at all, dark, empty, confused, dirty buzzing confusion.

He didn't know where he was or what was going on. The world around him felt twisted, a nightmare he couldn't escape.

Then the soft voice surged into the silent void.

"Are you okay, Azrael?"

Slowly, he turned to the speaker. The sound sent a surge of panic into him. That name, that was known: it belonged to the villain. So this was his name now.

With long silver hair that glistened in the morning light, it resembled a half-elf. Through the green eyes, almost pointed in shape, it was mesmerizing beyond anything he had ever imagined.

His gaze locked on the one who had spoken. His breath caught. It was a face more familiar than the mirror, one his hand had recreated on paper again and again.

Elvara.

The heroine of this tale. The woman who would stand by to see him dead. She was real. Right here.

She was propped up in a lavishly large bed, dressed in silk sheets and pillows-upon which he now recalled to be laid, sleeping next to her.

A cold stroke of panic hit.

'Wait. If I am Azrael and she is Elvara, the heroine, and we were sleeping together...' The cruel dots rapidly connected in his brain. 'Then we are already married. This is the real deal; I am actually living the story.'

The weight of realization felt almost like a blow. He pushed himself back off her, heart hammering against rib cage-none of it was dream, it was nightmare stuff.

Yet even before the name of Elvara compelled his thoughts, his family burst into his mind.

'Mom..Hana..What shall happen to them?' The question echoed in his head. 'Who will pay for their medicines, who will pay for the school? They will be alone.'

He pulled at his hair with fingers clasping tight, trembling. It was like he was suffocating. His old life came crashing in on him while fear pulsed with his new life. He was trapped.

Seeing his distress, Elvara stood up from her bed. Simple night-wear clothed her, but she still looked every much a princess out of her fairy tale.

"Lord Azrael, your health does not look good," she said quietly. "I will find maid and call for a doctor."

She turned and began walking toward the door.

"Wait," he managed to say hoarsely. Others mustn't join in, for he needed to think. He needed to figure out what the hell was going on.

She glanced over her shoulder. He forced the words out, rough in his throat. "No need. I just… I just need a little time alone, that's all."

Elvara curled her finger in her silver hair, her green eyes wide with uncertainty. She was not familiar with such talk. The real Azrael was cold and demanding.

"As you wish, my lord," she said with a minor bow of consent. "But it is already time for the academy. Aren't you going today?"

The academy, he thought. He remembered that bit of the story: Azrael had been a student of the Royal Academy, where children of powerful nobles were sent. Eighteen years of age, his first year.

Real Azrael did not allow Elvara to come to the academy. She was one year younger than he was; he wanted to keep her in the mansion, under his ownership, a prize that belonged to no one else.

Love had nothing to do with the marriage. It was a deal; a business transaction. Elvara's father was indeed a noble, but not as exalted and powerful as Ashveil. He had wanted to have a foothold into their world.

The Ashveil family had businesses throughout the kingdom. They controlled one of the mightiest private armies.

In this land, divided into continents ruled by powerful families, the Ashveils were ranked third. There was no single king, only power.

Azrael's father had promised, before dying, to Elvara's father that his son would marry her. It made perfect sense from the standpoint of business.

He wanted a strong heir. An heir born from his human bloodline and Elvara's half-elven bloodline would be stronger and faster with a longer life. It was all about securing the future of the family.

Kenji-turned-Azrael looked into the girl before her. Like him, she was a pawn unwillingly caught in a game.

He felt a depressing wave crashing into the realm of gloom in his life.

What should I do? Most of his troubles paled before the destiny of his family. He was not concerned about himself; he was worried for them.

"I am not going today,' he finally said. "Leave me alone."

Elvara quivered at his high, knife-edged voice but nodded and burst out, slamming the heavy wooden door behind her. Now he was really alone.

For three days, he remained in that room.

Never spoke to anyone. The maids brought him meals on silver trays which he did not even touch. He ate half a piece of bread, at best; sometimes he drank water when hunger hit him like sudden stab to his gut.

Indeed, he would have loved the sight which came from the window towards a world with which he was unfamiliar.

Beautiful gardens and servants moving quietly in plying duty were starkly opposed to the kingdom of wealth and power he had drawn in his imagination. Hollow.

His mind was some storm of annoyance. His mother smiled; sister laughed, imagining sitting upright, waiting for him to get home.

In their minds, that wait just would turn into expressions of panic the moment he failed to turn up.

"Will they be alright? Will someone help them?" A constant repeating thought tortured him. A very heavy, dark weight of despair lay on him. It pulled him down. He did not want such life. He wanted to go home.

It was towards twilight on the third day when this marvel took place.

In the center of the room, there was light at first quite dim. The light grew brighter, and finally an outside shape was perceived in it. The shape dimmed, and before him stood a shadow-wrapped being.

The image seemed to be familiar; yes, it was himself. A mirror of the face which now housed him but rather darker and ghostlike - in fleeting fashion, even. It was the true Azrael.

"You may be confused, Kenji," said the spirit. It was calm but ground-heavy and sorrowful.

Kenji was spat open, stunned, then for the first time found that he had his own name.

"I can see what you are thinking," continued the projection of Azrael. "You want to know what's going on. Much as I'd want to answer your questions, I cannot. I'm not really here, just a projection of myself left behind as a message before I died."

The ghost broke into a bitter smile tinged with sadness and said, "I am here to guide you, for the time being."

"I can't tell you why you are here or how this happened. But I can give you the answer to the most important question. The one that rots your very flesh."

The ghost looked at him, eyes full of understanding for the pain he carried.

"Your family," Azrael repeated softly. "I promise you, Kenji, that if you do complete your duty, you'll be reunited with your family. Not only that but all your suffering, and all their suffering, will cease. You will lead a happy life, Kenji. So help me with this quest."

Taken aback, Kenji could only stare, 'Quest? What quest? Is this really Azrael?'

He seemed to have read his thoughts as the ghost replied. "Yes, I am Azrael. Or what's left of him. Your mission is to rewrite the fate of Azrael Ashveil. It sounds so simple but could turn out to be harder than you think."

Azrael's projection hovered forward, floating closer.

"You probably think you have an advantage," he said. "You have read the story. You are supposed to know what comes next. You think you can simply avoid all the mistakes my version of myself made and climb the ladder of power."

"But this will not be enough. It is not so simple as this in this world."

The ghost flickered slightly away.

"Kenji, I know of your past and the wounds you carry because of it. You would bear the same in this world. But there is just one thing to be done for me: that which I could not complete."

He gazed at Kenji though a pleading ghostly eye.

"Please, make sure that you can enjoy every moment of life here. Whenever you get a chance, find some happiness. Live the life that I never could."

The ghost paused waiting for the weight of his words to sink in.

"Now, do not worry about your mother and sister. Trust me. They will not suffer."

A little flicker of hope began to flare up in Kenji's chest. The first flicker he had felt in three days. If this ghost was right, there had to be something that made all this worthwhile, a way back.

"Finally," said the real Azrael as his frame began to billow, "I have a parting gift for you. Something to let you steer your course."