I stared at the list, a mix of feelings churning within me. The low physical stats weren't a surprise. I'd never been athletic, and years of cheap foster-home food hadn't exactly helped.
'Intellect: 7 (Above Average)' sent a small, pleasant thrill through me. I'd always been a good student, a quiet observer. It was nice to have it confirmed, even by a demonic-seeming system.
But then my eyes landed on the last attribute. 'Charm: 2 (Negligible)'. It was like a punch in the gut.
All my life, I'd been ignored, ostracised, and bullied. I knew I wasn't popular, but seeing it laid out in such stark, quantifiable terms was brutal.
After a moment, though, a dry, humourless laugh escaped my lips. It was probably accurate.
Who needed charm when you could have a voice that made bullies wet themselves in fear?
My title, 'Fledgling Villainess,' felt both absurd and fitting. I was a beginner, a baby bird pushed out of the nest. And my nest was a dingy convenience store.
Speaking of which.
I got to my feet, my body feeling surprisingly steady. The mess was still there. I couldn't just leave it.
With a sigh, I grabbed the mop and bucket from the back room and began the grim task of cleaning. As I mopped the floor, wiping away the last physical traces of my own blood and humiliation, I thought about the security footage.
The camera had no audio. It would just show me getting shoved, falling, and then the three of them fleeing in a panic for no discernible reason.
It would look strange, but without the sound of that voice, there was no proof of anything supernatural. It was my word—or lack thereof—against theirs.
I was safe.
By the time my shift ended, the store was spotless, almost as if nothing had happened. I walked out into the cool night air of Neo-Olympus.
The city was a dazzling spectacle of light and shadow. Holographic ads for heroes flickered across the sides of skyscrapers, their capes flowing in a digitally rendered wind.
Captain Comet smiled down, advertising a brand of soda. Lady Lux, the hero of light, was the face of a high-end fashion line.
Before today, I would have looked at them with a distant, resentful awe. Now, I saw them for what the system said they were.
Complacent. Sloppy.
Status symbols enjoying luxuries while people like me bled on dirty floors.
The long walk back to the foster home was different tonight. I didn't keep my head down. I looked at the city, at its people, at the monuments to its false idols.
A cold, hard kernel of purpose was forming in my chest. This world was broken. The heroes had failed it. The system, for all its talk of 'evil,' seemed to be the only thing that recognised the truth.
Back in my small, sterile room, I closed the door and the lock clicked shut with a soft finality. The room was bare, impersonal, a place designed for temporary occupants.
But tonight, it felt like a cocoon. A headquarters.
I walked to the small, cracked mirror above my dresser and looked at myself. Same pale face, same dark, unremarkable hair, same grey eyes.
But when I opened my mouth, a voice came out, soft and real.
"My name is Luna," I said to my reflection.
The red screen of the system was invisible, but I could feel it there, a silent partner in the room with me. I had zero points, negligible charm, and the title of a baby villain.
It wasn't much.
But it was a start.
*
* *
The morning light filtering through my window felt different. Usually, it was an unwelcome intruder, heralding another day of silent endurance. Today, it felt like a spotlight waiting for its star.
The first thing I did upon waking was test it. I sat up, my heart thumping with a nervous rhythm. What if it was all a dream? A vivid, desperate fantasy cooked up by my oxygen-starved brain?
"It's real," I whispered into the quiet of the room.
The sound, though raspy with sleep, was undeniably mine. A wave of relief so potent it made me dizzy washed over me. I swung my legs out of bed, and as if on cue, the familiar red screen flickered into existence in my vision.
It was still there. My silent partner.
Getting ready for school was a strange experience. For the first time, I could have hummed a tune in the shower. I could have greeted my foster mother, Mrs. Gable, with a "Good morning."
The temptation was a physical ache in my chest.
But I didn't.
As I walked to the kitchen, I made my first conscious decision as a Fledgling Villainess. I would keep my voice a secret, for now. My silence, once my greatest weakness, had been my shield.
Now, it would be my camouflage. No one would see me coming. The thought sent a shiver of delicious, dark excitement through me.
Mrs. Gable was at the stove, her back to me. She was a woman perpetually worn down by life and a rotating cast of troubled kids. She wasn't cruel, just… tired.
I took my usual slice of synth-toast and nutrient paste from the counter and was about to leave when she spoke without turning.
"There was a call from your work last night. Your boss, Mr. Chen. Said some kids trashed the place. You okay?"
"I'm fine," I said.
The words were out before I could stop them, a reflex. They were quiet, hoarse, but clear.
Mrs. Gable froze. She turned around slowly, her eyes wide. "You… you just…"
I stared back, my heart hammering. Mistake. That was a mistake. I quickly shook my head, pointing to my throat and giving a small, dismissive wave, as if trying to clear a blockage that wasn't there.
I put on my best 'it was just a fluke' expression.
She watched me for a long, tense moment, her brow furrowed.
Then, with a heavy sigh, she turned back to the stove.
"Right. Of course. Just… be careful at that job." She didn't believe me speaking, not really, but she was too tired so she thought she was hallucinating.
I had dodged a bullet. I had to be more careful.