Transmigrated as the Villain Between the Heroine and the Villainess

Selvara walked back toward the third-year dormitories.

The stone corridors were cool and nearly empty.

Her thoughts would not stop.

For two months she had wanted to see him again.

After he again disappeared, she kept finding reasons to be where he might walk.

She waited at the training yard.

She lingered by the library steps.

She pretended to visit the archives and walked the same halls he used.

Sometimes she saw only the backs of other students.

Sometimes she saw nothing at all.

At night she would run the small moments over and over in her head.

Like an actor remembering a single line, she practiced the way she would stand, the way she would listen.

She told herself it was only observation.

The mission.

The clan's orders.

But the truth sat heavier than duty.

She missed him.

She wanted him more than she wanted freedom from the chains that bound her.

'Why him?' she asked herself.

'Why this ache for someone who was nothing to me months ago?'

He had been a stranger who walked into her life and quietly changed the page.

He did not treat her like a tool.

He did not bark orders.

He looked at her. His eyes were steady.

For the first time, someone had said things that reached the small, hidden part of her that wanted to live for herself.

His words from that day kept echoing, over and over, like a drum.

'Fate is just the first draft. It's lazy writing. It's up to us to rewrite it.'

He had said it like it was plain fact, no mercy, no sermon.

Just a line that opened something inside her she did not know could open.

Could it be that simple?

Could she, a weapon made for one purpose, a half-demon in a human face, really change her story?

The thought scared her.

It also filled her with hope.

She had lived two months on that hope.

She had risked being late for patrol reports.

She had hung near the kitchens and watched the students line up.

She had taken small errands that put her where he might be.

She learned tiny things about him that mattered more than she expected.

How he frowned when a page bored him.

How he tapped his quill when annoyed.

How he tucked his sleeves tight when he was working.

He moved through crowds as if he did not expect kindness.

And still he gave it.

He stopped a whole village from beating a poor kid.

He chased down dogs to keep a stray cat safe.

He spoke to teachers simply, honestly the same tone he used with her.

No shows. No pretending. Just human.

That plainness stuck in her like a splinter.

It hurt. It rooted.

She remembered the night she followed him from the training fields.

Her heart had thudded so loud she thought her ribs would break.

He had muttered a line as he walked past a closed gate, almost to himself:

'Fate is the first draft…'

Small words, but to her they sounded like a promise.

As she rounded a corner into one of the quieter courtyards, a sight stopped her cold.

A boy, no more than five, stood at the gate.

He stood on his tiptoes, face pressed to the iron bars, looking down the path.

A moment later a woman came.

She wore the professor's robe, her face tired from the day.

When the boy saw her, his whole world lit up.

He ran to the gate and gripped the bars.

The professor's tired look melted away and she smiled like sunlight.

She unlocked the gate, and the boy jumped into her arms.

It was not a high leap, but she caught him easily.

She held him close, her face pressed into his messy hair.

She kept him there for a long moment.

Selvara watched each small motion as if she were learning a language she had never known.

Then a man stepped out from an archway.

He had been waiting.

He walked to the woman and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

She leaned into him, closing her eyes for a quick, quiet rest.

The boy wiggled and laughed. The man ruffled his hair and smiled wide.

The three of them made a small circle of warmth in the cool air.

The husband bent and kissed the professor's forehead.

She blushed bright and checked around nervously, worried someone had seen.

She gave him a mock scold with her eyes. He laughed and said something quiet that Selvara could not hear.

The meaning showed on her face.

Selvara's chest ached in a new, sharp way.

Her hand went to her ribs, fingers pressed to her heart.

'So that's it,' she thought.

'That's what it looks like. A world of your own.'

She had seen power and cruelty.

But this soft, ordinary thing this quiet belonging was a language she did not know.

It was a life she had only watched from outside.

'One day,' a small voice in her head whispered, 'I want a world like that.'

She turned and hurried away, the happy image burning into her mind.

When she reached her room the key felt cold in her hand.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

And froze.

A man sat by her window, mostly in shadow.

He rose when she entered. Tall. Thin. Dangerous in the way he moved.

"Tomorrow," he said. His voice was low and hard. "We infiltrate the academy. Lord Zagan ordered it."

Selvara felt blood run cold. Gulp.

"Tomorrow?" she repeated. Her voice was thin.

He laughed softly, a mocking pss.

"Every attempt to lure the boy failed. He's careful now. If he warns the professors, or they put him under protection, it will be too late. We take him by force."

"But the academy…" she said. Her mind raced. "There are strong people here."

He laughed again, empty. "Strong? Who? Students are children. Professors are bookworms. We watched them. Theron was a danger once. He is gone now. The academy will fall."

He stepped closer. His eyes gleamed. "Lord Zagan won't wait any longer for a new body."

The words hit her like a weight. This was the final move. The finish line.

She looked at the floor. Her thoughts tangled. The deal had been simple at first: find a vessel, lure him, hand him over.

She lifted her head and met the man's gaze. Her voice was low but steady.

"Fine," she said. "But remember our terms. You will set me free after this. I did what you asked. I found the body. I tested him. I gave you the routes, the hidden passages, the patrol times. I showed you where to go."

The man smiled slowly, like a predator. "Free, you say? Of course you'll be free."

She heard doubt in him. It chilled her. But she pushed the fear down. Even a small chance was all she had left.

She had drawn maps by walking the academy's underbelly at night.

She watched guards who changed shifts.

She planted false leads to test their moves.

She learned the boy's habits until she could say when he would leave the study rooms.

She had bled pieces of herself into their plan so they could enter unseen.

"I will go now," the man said, turning to the dark. "Prepare for tomorrow. Bring any new information."

Then he vanished like a shadow melting into night.

Selvara stayed in the quiet room a long time.

'Tomorrow,' she thought. 'If it goes as planned, I'll be free. I can live. I can show my true self to others… to him.'

His face came into her mind those violet eyes that had looked straight at her.

She felt her heart pound.

'I can tell him who I am,' she thought. 'A half-demon. Will he accept me? He said he didn't care about labels… but will he still look at me the same? Will he feel the way I feel?'

She remembered the corridor when he had seen her like no one had.

He had shown a way, a small path to fight for herself.

She replayed how he had looked through her armor and reached the small human inside.

Heat rose in her cheeks. A hot, shy blush.

She sighed, shaky and strange. 'So this is what it feels like. I think I've gone crazy.'

-- -- --

Meanwhile, in a room across campus, Azrael sneezed.

"Achoo!"

He rubbed his nose. 'Looks like someone is thinking about me.'

He lay back on his bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

'Tomorrow,' he thought. 'If the plot is still the same, that's the day.'

He had thought about warning the academy. But how? How to explain how he knew? It would only bring suspicion. It would draw attention to him from more evils.

He could have tried to stop Selvara before. But then she would have killed him. The plot would have moved on another way.

Now she was changing. He did not know what would happen. Would the invasion still come? Would she still betray them?

He remembered the old story clearly. The exams turned into a tournament.

Demon followers attacked the arena. Kaelen proved himself. The main group were praised and offered study at the Ethereal Nexus Academy.

Elvara had been there too. She was younger and almost refused entry to the Nexus. But the Headmistress noticed her strange aura.

The Headmistress arranged for Elvara to train at another elite academy for a year, then join the Nexus later.

Isolde had chosen differently. She stayed, building power and using the chaos to raise her position.

Azrael's thoughts tangled into a net of possibilities and broken plans.

A soft knock came at his door.

Knock. Knock.

A maid entered, bowing. "Master, a letter from the staff. They asked me to deliver it."

He took the sealed scroll. He broke the wax and read.

The script was short and clear.

Tournament Match 1: Azrael Ashveil vs. Kaelen Valerius. Be present in the Arcade Arena with your gear.

He stared. A low growl escaped him. "Fuck."

Then a slow smile spread. 'Actually… this is perfect.'

He looked at his left hand. The black gauntlet sat there as he was just practicing the new toy grip. He could also feel the power under his skin the outcome of brutal training.

'I can finally see where I stand,' he thought.

His violet eyes flashed in the dim light.

'Let's see if you're strong enough, hero.'