Just then, Mick Tanner and Reed Sutherland arrived at the classroom.

  Like Colt, they wore baseball caps pulled low, shoulders hunched like guilty puppies.

  Damien saw an opportunity and stepped forward.

  “Quit hiding,” he said, voice cool and commanding. “Take off the hats.”

  The two froze, then reluctantly obeyed.

  Gasps rippled across the room.

  Their faces looked like they’d gone twelve rounds with a sledgehammer. Purple welts, raw red marks, and full-blown swelling made them nearly unrecognizable. Skin had split in places, and their eyes were almost swollen shut.

  The reaction was immediate.

  Even Aria Lane let out a startled gasp and turned her face away.

  The sight was too much.

  “Good lord,” Damien muttered just loud enough for the class to hear. “How the hell did it get this bad? That’s not a fight—that’s a beating.”

  Then he turned to the rest of the class, tone diplomatic. “Look, both sides went too far. But we’re seniors—let’s be smart about this. How about this: Ethan, you apologize, I’ll cover the medical bills, and we all move on.”

  “Yeah, that’s fair.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Works for me.”

  Naturally, the three bruised sidekicks—Colt, Mick, and Reed—nodded like synchronized yes-men.

  “If we can settle things peacefully,” Aria said softly, “I think that’s the best outcome.”

  But of course—

  Would a protagonist ever lower his head to the villain?

  Not a chance.

  If he did, he wouldn’t be the protagonist.

  Ethan scoffed, his expression tightening. “Apologize? Not happening.”

  Aria frowned slightly. “Ethan… it’s just a simple ‘sorry.’ What’s the harm?”

  “They attacked me first. I’m not saying sorry to anyone. This is total nonsense,” he snapped.

  Typical protagonist behavior.

  Hot-blooded. Stubborn. Immune to reason once his ego got involved.

  And this time, even Aria couldn’t talk him down.

  [Ding! Host has damaged the relationship between protagonist Ethan Blake and female lead Aria Lane. Plotline altered. Villain Points +200.]

  [Ding! Aria Lane’s favorability toward Ethan Blake -10. Current favorability: 0 (Strangers)]

  [Ding! Ethan Blake’s Protagonist Aura -20. Host’s Villain Aura +20.]

  Damien heard the triple ping in his mind and allowed himself the faintest smile.

  It worked.

  Ethan and Aria had officially drifted apart.

  For now, they were just classmates—no chemistry, no budding romance.

  Meanwhile, Damien’s own favorability with Aria was sitting at 10 points. Just a few steps ahead, but enough to seize control of the narrative.

  Still, he wasn’t getting cocky.

  Ethan’s plot armor wasn’t so easily defeated. All it would take was one “lucky encounter” or “damsel-in-distress” setup, and Aria could swing back to his side in a heartbeat.

  This was only the beginning.

  He opened his system panel to check the numbers:

  [Host: Damien Westbrook]

  [Combat Power: 89]

  [Charm: 198]

  Stolen story; please report.

  [Villain Aura: 119]

  [Villain Points: 400]

  [Skills: None]

  Twenty more Villain Aura points gained.

  That alone was solid progress.

  But even after earning 500 total Villain Points, he’d already burned 100 to scan Ethan’s data.

  Meaning only 400 remained.

  Still not enough to unlock the System Store.

  Time to keep the pressure on.

  —

  Later, during the break between classes, Damien pulled his three henchmen into a quiet corridor near the vending machines.

  “Boss,” Mick grunted, rubbing his jaw, “we seriously underestimated that guy. We heard rumors he could fight—but damn, that wasn’t a fight. That was a massacre.”

  “Yeah!” Reed snarled. “After school today, I’ll bring in a dozen guys. We’ll jump him good. He won’t even remember what teeth are!”

  “Shut. Up.” Damien snapped.

  The air froze.

  If they kept going like this, there was only one possible outcome:

  They’d lose.

  And worse—Ethan would get stronger.

  Because this wasn’t real life. This was a narrative battlefield. And the author of this messed-up world had clearly written it like some dumb underdog fantasy.

  If Damien followed that script…

  He was as good as dead.

  “Boss already told us,” Colt said seriously, glancing at Mick and Reed. “No touching Ethan Blake without his permission. So drop it.”

  “What? We’re just letting this go?” Mick blinked, clearly in disbelief.

  “Of course not,” Damien said with a cold smirk.

  “Oh! So you’ve got a plan?” Reed grinned, only to flinch in pain as the smile tugged at his bruises. “Ow—damn it…”

  Damien folded his arms, calm and calculating. “This next move… actually depends on you guys.”

  The trio immediately stood straighter, eyes lit with loyalty.

  “Just say the word, Boss!”

  “You’re going to report the fight to the faculty,” Damien said smoothly. “Tell the Vice Dean that Ethan assaulted you.”

  “Yes, Boss, we’ll—wait… what?!” Colt started to reply, then froze mid-sentence, like his brain had glitched.

  Mick and Reed looked equally stunned.

  The three of them exchanged awkward glances.

  This didn’t make sense.

  Damien Westbrook—Silvercrest’s elite bad boy, top student, and walking legend—was telling them to tattle?

  These were his enforcers. His crew. Prideful, street-smart, and feared.

  Reporting to the administration?

  That was something nerds did. Or tattletales. Not them.

  “Boss, seriously?” Reed asked hesitantly. “Aren’t fights like this supposed to be settled outside?”

  Damien shrugged. “What’s with the looks? This was a violent altercation between students. Reporting it is the correct thing to do.”

  “You thought I’d send thugs after him or something? Come on. I’m a model student. Family money. Perfect record. Top ten in the school. I’m practically a scholarship brochure in human form. I’m not some back-alley delinquent.”

  The three of them blinked. Slowly.

  He… wasn’t wrong.

  So, with no arguments left, the three bruised, limping henchmen—Colt, Mick, and Reed—reluctantly shuffled off to the Student Affairs Office.

  —

  Just as the morning bell rang, Ethan Blake was summoned by the stone-faced Vice Dean of Discipline.

  The classroom door barely had time to close behind them when another figure entered.

  Click. Click. Click.

  The rhythmic tapping of high heels echoed across the room as a tall, stunning woman in a fitted blazer and black pencil skirt stepped through the door.

  Ms. Scarlett Vaughn—English teacher and the homeroom instructor for Damien’s class.

  At just twenty-four, she was already infamous.

  Fiercely intelligent. Short-tempered. Utterly unshakable.

  No student dared cross her unless they had a death wish.

  Her glasses framed her sharp eyes perfectly, and the ponytail she wore only made her features more striking.

  Her gaze swept the room like a heat-seeking missile, landing immediately on four empty desks.

  Her brow twitched.

  Senior year. Every minute counts. And someone skipped first period?

  A quiet fire ignited behind her glasses.

  The entire class shrank under her glare.

  Even so—gorgeous was gorgeous.

  Angry or not, Ms. Vaughn had the kind of presence that made half the room sit up straighter and the other half stop breathing altogether.

  Damien leaned back slightly in his seat.

  Even when she’s furious… she’s stunning.

  And then it hit him.

  Wait a second...

  Could Ms. Vaughn be one of the heroines, too?

  It wasn’t far-fetched.

  After all, this was a world where the protagonist had X-Ray Vision and was still in high school.

  Attractive, intelligent, hot-tempered young teacher? That was almost a guaranteed flag.

  Tempting to scan her stat sheet… Damien thought.

  But that would cost 100 Villain Points.

  Too risky. He only had 400 left. Better to wait until he reached 500 and unlocked the System Store.

  Besides—he had time.

  “Ethan Blake. Colt Jensen. Mick Tanner. Reed Sutherland,” Ms. Vaughn said, scanning the classroom with sharp precision. “Anyone know why they’re not here?”

  Damien stood smoothly.

  “Ms. Vaughn, Ethan beat the hell out of the other three after school yesterday. Their faces are a mess. The Vice Dean pulled them all out to handle it.”

  He didn’t add anything dramatic. Just the right tone. Calm. Matter-of-fact.

  But it hit like a match on gasoline.

  “What? A fight?!”

  Her voice cracked like a whip, loud enough to make half the class flinch.

  Her anger filled the air.

  “Self-study. Damien, you’re in charge. Keep them quiet.”

  And without waiting for a reply, Ms. Vaughn stormed out of the room—heels clicking like gunshots on tile.

  Straight toward the Student Affairs Office.