Transmigrated as the Villain Between the Heroine and the Villainess

He let the silence stretch for a moment longer, savoring the look of hopeful pleading on their faces. Then, he let out a short, sharp laugh.

Pss.

It was a cold, ugly sound that shattered the quiet.

"Seraphina, Seraphina," he said, shaking his head slowly, a look of pity on his face. "You said you were stupid. But I was more stupid than you, because I actually fell for you."

He stood up from his desk, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator uncoiling.

"Your love," he chuckled, the sound dripping with scorn. "Haha. You present your heart like a public trophy, something for any champion who happens to walk by. It has no value because it has no one guarding the gate."

Seraphina flinched as if he had slapped her. "Azrael, that's not..."

"You carry the name of a noble house," he continued, cutting her off, his voice getting louder, colder. "But your loyalties belong in the alleyways. They shift with every passing shadow of power."

He looked at her, his eyes devoid of any warmth. "The old Azrael thought your rejection was a tragedy. I see now it was a mercy. He was saved from the effort of chasing something so utterly common."

Kaelen stepped forward, his face hardening. "That's enough, Ashveil."

Azrael ignored him, his focus entirely on the girl whose apology now seemed like a distant memory. "A diamond is precious because it is rare and hard to find. You, Seraphina, are like river gravel—plentiful, and found anywhere the current is strong."

That was the final straw.

"You bastard!" Kaelen roared, his control finally snapping. He drew back his fist, all thoughts of gratitude forgotten, replaced by pure, protective rage.

His punch shot forward, aimed right at Azrael's jaw.

But it never landed.

It stopped, inches from his face, held in place by something invisible. Kaelen struggled, pushing with all his might, but his arm wouldn't move. He looked down and saw them.

Dozens of threads, almost too thin to see, were wrapped around his wrist, holding him with impossible strength.

"Look at you," Azrael said, his voice a low, mocking whisper. "Showing your might now. But where were you when this pussycat was about to be killed?"

With a furious roar, Kaelen flexed, pouring his Aether into his arm. The threads snapped with a series of tiny, sharp sounds.

Snap. Snap.

He was free. But before he could attack again, Azrael's words hit him harder than any punch.

"Some hero you are. When the woman you claim to protect was about to die, you just stood there and watched. Your power was useless. You are useless."

Azrael took a step closer, his smile turning cruel. "You think this world is a story and you're the main character. You're just another page, Kaelen. And I'm the one who is going to turn it."

He heard footsteps from the doorway. He glanced over. It was Selvara, leaning against the frame, her arms crossed, watching the show with an amused look in her icy eyes.

The whole cast was here.

He turned back to Kaelen and Seraphina. He saw the pure, undiluted hatred in their eyes. The bridge wasn't just burned; it was ash. And in that moment, a cold spike of fear, the voice of Kenji, shot through him.

'Fuck, what have I done?' he thought, his own act momentarily forgotten. 'This is the same look they had in the story. The look they had right before he killed the original Azrael. I avoided the other death flag and just created my own with my stupid acting.'

The fear was real. But the show had to go on. He pushed the panic down and let the rage rise again, turning his venom on the others.

"All of you," he spat, his gaze sweeping across the room. "Every single one of you is pathetic."

His eyes landed on Elvara. She flinched, her hopeful expression crumbling.

"You," he said, his voice sharp. "In the fight, Seraphina didn't lie. She said the truth. It's all your fault. You drag yourself down from one mess to the next with your weakness and your endless begging for the gods to help you."

He took a step towards her, and she took a step back. "I have saved you three times now. First from my own family, then from those bullies, and then in the test. You're a liability to everyone around you. First to me, and now to them. At least I was smart enough to cut you loose."

Her eyes filled with tears. "I don't know if you're a fool or just acting like one," he finished, his voice like ice. "Grow up."

He saw Isolde watching him from the back, a small, fascinated smile on her face. He saw Selvara, her amusement growing. He saw the broken looks on the faces of the others.

"Don't look at me with such righteousness," he said, his voice dropping to a low growl that was meant for all of them. "The only difference between us is that I am in control of my own monsters."

He had said enough. He had played his part. He turned his back on them, the silence in the room a testament to the destruction he had caused. He walked out of the classroom, his shoulders straight, not giving any of them a second glance.

He walked for a long time, his mind a storm. The actor in him was thrilled with the performance. The survivor, Kenji, was screaming in terror.

He left the main academy buildings behind, walking down a less-traveled path that led to a quiet, forgotten garden behind the library. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the overgrown grass.

He needed to be alone. He needed to think.

'Was the reward worth it?' he wondered, leaning against a cold stone statue. 'Ten stat points in exchange for making the two most powerful students in my year want me dead. Again.'

He let out a long, tired breath. The anger, the act, it all drained away, leaving him feeling empty and hollow.

He stood there for a long time, watching the sky turn from orange to a deep, velvety purple. The first stars began to appear. The academy was quiet here.

Suddenly, a voice spoke from the shadows behind him. It was a smooth, cultured voice, with an accent he had never heard before.

"That was quite the performance, Azrael Ashveil."

Azrael spun around, his hand instinctively reaching for a sword that wasn't there. A figure stepped out from behind a large, weeping willow tree.

He was tall and unnaturally graceful, dressed in the dark, elegant clothes of a foreign noble. His skin was pale as moonlight, and his hair was the color of polished jet.

But it was his eyes that made Azrael freeze.

They were a deep, hypnotic crimson, and they seemed to glow with a faint, inner light. In the center of those red eyes, his pupils were thin, vertical slits, like a cat's.

The figure smiled, revealing teeth that were just a little too long, a little too sharp.

"A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance," the vampire said.