The gates of Silvercrest Academy loomed ahead as a sleek Bentley Bentayga rolled to a stop.
The driver, dressed in a crisp black uniform, quickly stepped out and opened the rear passenger door with professional grace.
A tall young man emerged from the car.
He looked around eighteen—broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed, and striking enough to make heads turn. His dark auburn hair was perfectly styled, and he wore the school's elite black-and-gold blazer like a model in a luxury catalogue.
Several girls walking toward campus froze mid-step. Eyes widened. Some giggled, others whispered, and a few couldn't resist stealing glances as they passed.
But the young man's icy gaze and indifferent expression gave off a clear signal—don't get too close.
His name was Damien Westbrook.
And at the moment, he was not in a good mood.
Anyone in his position would feel the same.
Because Damien… was a transmigrator.
Before waking up in this life, he'd been a struggling orphan in his late twenties—bouncing between minimum wage jobs in the city, living off cheap takeout, and failing at every attempt to climb the social ladder. He'd never had a girlfriend. Never even been kissed. A nobody in every sense of the word.
Life had thoroughly chewed him up and spat him out.
But that had all changed overnight.
He now found himself in the body of a rich second-generation heir. Born into the powerful Westbrook family—one of the wealthiest dynasties in the country—Damien had the looks, the grades, and the money to match.
Every day, a luxury car picked him up for school.
His bank account overflowed with an allowance that could bankrupt an average family.
Any normal person in his shoes would be thrilled. And truth be told, Damien had been.
At first.
For the first few days, he couldn't stop grinning. He had fine suits, a mansion, private chefs, and the kind of life that felt like something out of a billionaire teen drama.
But then, things got weird.
A nobody in his class—Ethan Blake, a known slacker—suddenly began acing exams left and right. More suspiciously, Ethan had started getting closer to Aria Lane, the class's golden girl and student council vice president.
To the rest of the school, Damien and Aria looked like a perfect match—he was elite, she was elegant. The unspoken assumption was that they were practically destined to end up together.
But Aria herself had never confirmed any such relationship.
And now, this Ethan guy was closing the distance.
Yesterday, three of Damien's so-called friends—trust-fund bullies who loved acting tough in his name—decided to "teach Ethan a lesson" behind the gym.
Three against one. A guaranteed beatdown.
Or so they thought.
Ethan had wiped the floor with them.
Alone.
Damien, having read countless webnovels in his past life, immediately felt a chill of déjà vu.
This was textbook setup.
A down-and-out loser who suddenly rises to the top. Gets the girl. Gets revenge. Becomes the protagonist.
And what about him?
The handsome, wealthy antagonist with arrogance and influence?
He was the cliché rich villain, the kind who gets crushed under the boots of the rising hero.
The realization left a bitter taste in his mouth. Maybe he was overthinking it.
But then it happened.
The thing that always happens in stories like these.
A system appeared.
Its name?
The Super Villain System.
Through it, Damien was given a brutal confirmation.
This world was a parallel version of a power-fantasy webnovel. And he wasn't the hero.
He was the arrogant rich villain—the one who loses everything to the protagonist. The stepping stone. The disposable rival. The cannon fodder.
The system didn't sugarcoat it.
In the original plotline, he'd lose repeatedly to Ethan Blake. Humiliated. Outmaneuvered. Betrayed. Eventually destroyed within a hundred chapters. His wealth stolen. His family crushed. And Aria Lane?
Handed to the protagonist like a prize.
"You've gotta be kidding me. This is who I transmigrated into? I don't even make it past chapter 100?!"
Damien mentally cursed, rage boiling beneath his cool exterior.
But what was done was done.
He couldn't undo the transmigration.
Still… that didn't mean he had to follow the script.
The story was only just beginning. Ethan wasn't strong yet. Not by a long shot.
And Damien had something the hero didn't—resources, status, and now… the system.
If he played it smart—calculated every move, used his advantages wisely…
Then maybe—just maybe—
The villain could become the real winner.
—
"Boss."
A voice snapped Damien out of his thoughts.
A boy in a baseball cap jogged up behind him. Purple bruises were still visible beneath the brim, decorating his jawline like a failed paint job.
Colt Jensen—one of Damien's three loyal lackeys. The other two? Mick Tanner and Reed Sutherland.
Honestly, just hearing their names made Damien's eyebrow twitch.
Colt? As in, "asking for a beating"?
Mick? Might as well mean "village idiot."
And Reed Sutherland? That name just screamed "background character destined to get dropkicked."
These three were straight out of the Villain's Sidekick Starter Pack—dim, loud, and always trying to act tough on their boss's behalf.
Clearly, the author of this world had a twisted sense of humor.
Colt avoided eye contact, shifting awkwardly like a guilty kid called into the principal's office. Can't blame him—getting wrecked in a three-on-one fight was humiliating.
Damien stared in silence.
Colt cracked first.
"Boss, if you wanna hit me, I get it. Yell at me, slap me, throw me in front of the school bus—I deserve it. We totally let you down."
Damien didn't say anything for a second. Then: "Why are you the only one here? Where are the other two?"
He wasn't even mad. Not really. There was no point. Colt and the boys had picked a fight with someone carrying enough protagonist energy to bend plotlines. Of course it backfired.
Colt perked up slightly, encouraged by the lack of verbal beatdown. "I, uh, ran a little faster. Didn't catch as many hits. Mick and Reed though? Oof. Faces looked like they kissed a blender. Might be out for a week."
Damien sighed.
What kind of idiot goons was he saddled with?
Colt was literally bragging about taking fewer punches. Like that was some kind of life achievement.
What, you want a medal?
"If you keep grinning, I'm going to knock your teeth out," Damien said flatly.
Colt's smile died instantly. "Boss, no! No grinning, no smiling! Stone-cold serious from now on, I swear!"
He held his hands up defensively, then added, "But hey, we can fix this! I don't believe that punk's invincible. I'll call in ten more guys next time. We'll jump him proper!"
"Don't bother," Damien said, shaking his head.
The moment those idiots made a move, the plot had shifted. The protagonist was alert now—on guard, maybe even suspicious. He'd get stronger, or worse, lucky. Throwing more disposable thugs at him was just feeding the fire.
Even if they didn't lose, they wouldn't win either. Not meaningfully.
"Useless?" Colt blinked. "Then what if I bring twenty guys?"
"Why are you still talking?"
"Thirty?"
"Why don't you go call your damn mother while you're at it?"
"My mom? Boss, seriously? My mom's frail—she has bad knees. No way she could help in a fight…"
Damien massaged his temples.
God, give me strength.
He took a breath, calmed himself, and said firmly, "Don't do anything like that again."
"But Boss… that guy's clearly trying to steal your girl! We couldn't just sit around!"
Damien narrowed his eyes. "Let me ask you something. Who's better looking—me, or him?"
"You, Boss. That dude looks like he fell out of a thrift store catalog. You look like you walked off the cover of Forbes Teen Edition."
"Whose family is more powerful?"
"Yours, obviously. You're sitting on an empire. That guy? Probably lives in a rental with moldy wallpaper."
"Whose grades are higher?"
"You're in the top ten. He's barely scraping the pass line."
"Exactly," Damien said, voice cool. "So with all that in mind… why do you think I need you interfering?"
Colt paused. Then nodded, slowly. "I get it. Totally. Loud and clear. We overstepped. No more freelance heroics. That guy's not even in your league."
Finally.
Damien gave him a look. Not quite approving—more like a teacher silently surprised a failing student remembered the alphabet.
Then, it happened.
A soft chime echoed in his mind.
Ding!
Successfully guided underling behavior.
Slight deviation in plot progression detected.
Villain Points +100