Young Master's PoV: Woke Up As A Villain In A Game One Day

After three years of working for the Cartel, the day of Vince's thirteenth birthday arrived.

He Awakened.

His Origin Card manifested, and in his town, that was rare enough to be considered a divine blessing.

Johan saw potential in him, more than he had ever expected, and began giving Vince priority missions.

He kept him close, and started teaching him things no school would ever dare to teach, giving him what he called his 'invaluable life lessons.'

"Knowledge is power, kid," Johan would say often. "But knowledge alone won't save you. Proper connections, on the other hand, will keep you alive long after your wits fail."

And then things like, "Beware of pretty girls. Girls in general, but especially pretty ones. They'll lie to your face and you'll be too dumbstruck to notice."

That one clearly came from experience.

Or, "Invest in gold!"

That… seemed obvious.

Or even, "Are you dumb?! You slur your words when you talk fast. Talk slowly. You make me look bad."

Now that wasn't even a lesson — that was just an insult!

And yet, before Vince knew it, he was smiling more.

He started enjoying himself slowly.

…And he hated himself for it.

Hated himself, because he realized Johan was becoming more of a father to him than his real one had ever been.

Johan taught him, valued him, trusted him.

He bought Vince everything he wanted and even arranged private tutors for his education.

He pretended it was only to make Vince a sharper tool — but everyone knew it was more than that.

Johan trusted no one. No one but Vince. He was beginning to treat him as if Vince was his flesh and blood.

Even the cartel men, who at first hated this stray boy, began to respect him. To love him. To call him family.

Vince was their family.

And for the first time since he was a child, he felt like he belonged.

…At least until the day it all ended.

It was New Year's Eve.

Vince had been ordered to oversee a supply run — a crucial drop in the chain — when suddenly his comms went dead and his replies stopped.

Total radio silence.

His last pinged location was a choke point in the town's supply route — a tunnel bridge carved into a mountain pass, with only one way in and one way out.

Smugglers used that bridge because it cut travel time in half. But everyone knew it was dangerous.

If Vince had disappeared there, then it could've meant only one of two things:

Either the police had raided that bridge.

Or they had set up a trap to lure Johan out there so they could encounter him.

And Johan's advisors knew it.

They begged him not to go. They said Vince wasn't worth it.

If it was a raid, the cartel would only lose the shipment. But if it was bait to lure him out, the police would get Johan himself.

The risk was too great.

But Johan didn't listen.

How could he?

He had called Vince his protégé. His right hand. His future.

He had seen himself in the boy's fire, laughed at his stubborn pride, watched him grow from a starved rat into a sharp young man.

Vince wasn't just some kid. Vince was his.

And if it was a raid, Johan would not leave him to die.

So Johan went.

He took only a few men and slipped through the city under the cover of night.

He told himself he was careful. He told himself he was ready for anything.

But when he reached the bridge, when he saw the men who were waiting for him there, when his eyes found the boy at the center of it all—

His heart sank.

It wasn't a raid.

…It was a trap.

Vince was standing with the military police, his eyes unreadable in the dark.

For one wild second, Johan thought maybe he'd been caught. Maybe this wasn't betrayal.

But then Vince looked at him. Looked straight at him.

And that look told Johan everything.

The boy he had taken in, the boy he had raised, the boy he had trusted… had sold him out.

His Vince had betrayed him.

This was the one chance the authorities had to take Johan down.

Vince had worked with them, led them here, and delivered the evidence that tied Johan's empire to his name.

Then he switched off his comms so Johan would come here in his search.

It was a gamble. A huge gamble.

Because if Johan hadn't come, the police would have been forced to arrest Vince and save face before the media.

His life would have been over.

…But Vince had known.

He had known Johan would come.

He had known Johan would never abandon him.

Because Johan loved him like a son.

And that love was his undoing.

He was shot four times that night. He and his men were killed on the spot.

The last thing Vince heard Johan Valrek say, with a bitter smile on his bloodied face, was:

"I hope… you be happy, kid."

Then he crumpled forward onto the cold concrete.

The gunfire faded and the shouting blurred.

Even the stench of cordite and blood seemed far away as Vince only stood there in silence, staring at the dead body at his feet.

The last person who had ever loved him…

The father he never had…

The man he had betrayed…

Was now dead.

He had avenged his family.

•••

Vince saw the whole scene play out in front of him like a hazy nightmare. His fists clenched until his knuckles ached, his eyes burning — but he held back the tears.

He stood there in silence for a long, trembling moment, then gritted his teeth and—

"So what?!" he barked, his raw voice echoing through the darkness around him. "You think you can show me all this and break me?! This is my life! I lived it! I lived it and you think I can't watch it?!"

No one answered. The only other sound was his own furious gasping.

"Don't you dare," he hissed, teeth bared. "Don't you dare make me feel guilty! He was a monster! He deserved it! He broke my family! He! Broke! My! Family!"

The tears he had been choking down finally spilled over. For reasons he refused to admit even to himself, he began to cry.

"He was a monster!" he shouted, over and over, as though repeating it could soothe the aching pain in his chest.

Then, when he finally calmed down a little, a distorted whisper fell into his ear, "And he loved you."

Vince shivered as a cold jolt ran down his spine. Startled, he spun around, his wide eyes searching for whoever spoke.

But there was no one.

"Who's there?!" he demanded.

The whisper came again, eerily closer this time, almost brushing his skin. "He gave you everything… and you betrayed him. For what?"

"Shut up!" Vince snapped, turning around again but still finding no one there. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut the fuck up! He destroyed my family!"

"He was changing for you," the voice murmured. "He was the only one who was ever there for you. He rushed headfirst into danger for you. He did more for you than your real father ever did. And you… got him killed."

Vince gritted his teeth as tears started falling freely now. "He… destroyed my family! What was I supposed to do?! Forget what he did to my mom?! Forget he caused me all of that suffering?! Thank him for giving me the life he stole first?! He destroyed my family, so I made him pay!"

The voice sounded amused now as it spoke, "What family? This one?"

The vision before Vince shifted once again, displaying another memory.

•••

Two years had passed since Johan Valrek's encounter.

Vince was now sixteen.

And in the last two years, he had clawed his way out of the gutter.

He had turned his life around… though not in the way most people would call good.

He had sold out the cartel to their rivals after tipping off the police, orchestrating raids that gutted the organization from the inside.

By the time everything was over, the cartel was gone — burned out of the city like a disease, with no one left standing to seek revenge.

And Vince? He did what he had been doing since he was a child.

He had survived.

Money wasn't much of a problem anymore, not when he was an Awakened in a city where Awakening was a rare miracle.

Survival was easier than ever.

He sold his services to gangs, casinos, and rich folks. Basically, anyone who could pay enough.

And in doing so, he had made connections.

Enough to start a network of information trading. But he rarely dealt in cash. That would have been outright illegal.

Instead, he dealt in debts, favors, and payoffs.

Anyone who threatened him was bought.

Anyone he couldn't buy… he killed.

He was ruthless and sharp and always just one step ahead of everyone.

Piece by piece, his influence began to spread beyond the streets, beyond even the city. His name began to travel.

When he finally had the power and money and reach, Vince dug into his old case files.

And he found them.

He found his siblings.

They were living in a normal house, with a normal family, on a quiet suburban street. It looked like everything he had ever wanted.

So he went to meet them.

But the moment he knocked on the door, he was met with cold eyes.

His siblings' foster parents stood in the doorway, refusing to let him inside.

In their words, they weren't comfortable with a mobster like him near 'their' children.

Vince's blood boiled. His hands shook with barely contained anger.

He argued, demanded, even begged. But they didn't budge.

Then they said something that really hurt Vince.

"Your brother and sister wouldn't want to see the man you've become anyway."

The man he had become.

Like he ever had a choice.

Vince lost it. He tried to push past and force his way inside.

The father blocked him. So Vince shoved him aside.

But his mind was clouded. He wasn't thinking straight.

He forgot to control his Awakened strength.

So his simple push sent the man stumbling hard onto the floor.

The sound of it must've carried, because that's when children came running outside.

His siblings.

They had grown taller and older. They had changed.

His brother's face was sharper, his sister's hair longer, their voices unfamiliar.

And they… didn't recognize him.

Not even for a second.

They ran to their father, lifting him up with worried hands, tears in their eyes, calling his name.

Then they turned to Vince.

Their eyes burned with a mix of fear, anger, and disgust.

"Get out!" his sister shouted, her voice trembling but fierce.

"Who are you?! What the hell is wrong with you?!" his brother snarled, glaring at him like he was a stranger.

…And he was.

Vince froze, his chest tightening and tears stinging his eyes.

He had imagined this reunion a thousand times, played it in his mind in every possible way.

But never like this.

Not like this.

He realized, in that single breath, that his siblings' lives had gone on without him — so fast, so far, and so complete that he wasn't a part of it anymore.

He wasn't their brother. He wasn't family.

He was nothing but a ghost on their doorstep.

And ghosts… don't belong in the land of the living.

•••

"This is the family you threw everything away for? They don't even remember you!" the voice snickered.

Vince shook his head. "No! No, no, no! They… they're just young! They didn't remember—"

"Exactly!" the voice laughed, grating and scornful. "They had the choice to write to you every day, to ask for you, to be there! But they didn't. They left you to rot in the gutter while they lived in luxury, loved by a real family!"

Vince pressed his hands to his ears to block out the voice, wheezing and coughing, breath ragged from crying. "Shut up! You don't know anything!"

"And in a way," the voice continued, still audible to him, "their parents were right. Those kids would be better off without you. You did things even Johan wouldn't approve of. You became just like him. You called him a monster — but you, Vincent Cleverly, are the real monster! You are a selfish, backstabbing, ungrateful rat! You should've died in those streets, and you know it!"

"I did what I had to do to survive!" he yelled back.

"Better a dead rat than a living traitor! It's actually for the best that you're not in their lives. You would've shown them your true colors! You would've shown them you're the kind of man who could weaponize someone's love for you! Then you would've found a way to ruin them like you ruin everything!"

"Shut up! I said— shut up!" Vince roared and whirled around, swinging at the voice as if he could punch it.

But he hit nothing.

Instead, as soon as he turned around… the vision changed.

Once again, he found himself standing in the middle of a modest living room that smelled faintly of buttered popcorn.

In front of him was a cozy red couch.

And just like that… the nightmare began once again.