I found out we were villains before anyone bothered to tell us properly.
The screen at the edge of the arena flickered, squads scrolling past in neat columns—names, academies, roles. Hero. Villain. Hero. Villain. Then ours appeared, clean and final.
VILLAIN ROLE — CONFIRMED.
I didn't react.Not outwardly.
Rhea did.
"You've got to be kidding me," she said, arms crossing so tightly it looked like she was bracing herself. "Again? Why do we keep getting shoved into this?"
Juno let out a long sigh, rubbing her temple. "I knew this was coming, but still… villains?" She glanced at me, then away. "I don't like this."
That one hurt.
Not sharply. Not enough to show on my face.Just enough to settle somewhere deep and quiet.
I nodded like it didn't matter. Like I wasn't already wearing that word under my skin.
Villain.
Ari, on the other hand, looked like she'd just been handed a gift.
"Oh, this is perfect," she said, clasping her hands together. "Finally. I was starting to fall asleep."
Rhea shot her a look. "What is wrong with you?"
Ari grinned wider. "So many things. But this? This is exciting."
That was… concerning. Even for her.
Zach and his squad had ruined the curve. Everyone knew it. They'd shown what a villain could do if they stopped pretending the role was just theater. Since then, every villain squad that followed either tried to imitate him and failed, or pulled their punches and lost anyway.
Heroes won. Over and over. Cleanly. Predictably.
The audience still cheered, but the sound had gone hollow. You could feel it—people waiting for something else. Something ugly. Something real.
I leaned back against the railing, tuning out the argument behind me.
Rhea was listing reasons. Juno was countering them calmly, trying to keep the peace. Ari was poking holes in both of their arguments just to watch them react.
And me?
I was thinking.
Who would they throw at us?
The remaining squads weren't like the earlier ones. The weaker teams were gone now—washed out, scored low, quietly dismissed. What was left were powerhouses. Prodigies. Students with names that made instructors sit up straighter.
People who didn't hesitate.
People who wouldn't break the way Silverfang's squad had.
Could we even win?
The thought came uninvited, sharp and unwelcome.
I exhaled slowly.
This was exhausting.
"Why do I have to be the leader of such an inoperable team?" I muttered.
I hadn't meant to say it out loud.
Silence followed.
Then Rhea stepped closer, her voice softer than I expected. "Inoperable… meaning us?"
I flinched.
I turned, already forcing a smile. "What? No. I meant—" I waved vaguely. "The situation. The format. The—"
She was looking at me too closely.
Juno had stopped talking. Ari had gone quiet in that dangerous way where she listened instead of joked.
I sighed, the tension draining out of me all at once. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that."
Rhea studied my face, then surprised me by sitting down beside me on the bench.
"You're tired," she said. Not accusing. Just stating it.
"Everyone is," I replied.
"That's not what I meant."
I didn't answer.
She tilted her head. "Why aren't you upset about being villains?"
The question landed heavier than it should have.
Juno looked between us, thoughtful now. Ari's eyes gleamed, interested.
I shrugged. "Someone has to play the role."
"That's not an answer."
I let out a quiet laugh. "You sound like Ari."
"Don't insult me like that," Rhea said flatly, then paused. "Calla… why aren't you the one complaining?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
The truth pressed at my ribs, tight and uncomfortable.
Because it fits.Because it's familiar.Because pretending otherwise is harder.
Instead, I said, "Why aren't you the leader?"
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Rhea blinked. Juno looked startled. Ari leaned forward.
"I mean it," I continued, forcing the thought into something lighter. "You're top of our year. Strategically minded. Calm under pressure. Everyone listens to you."
Rhea didn't respond right away.
When she finally did, her voice was quieter. "Because leadership isn't just about being capable."
I frowned. "Then what is it about?"
She looked at me.
Really looked at me.
"Being willing to make decisions everyone else doesn't want to."
My throat tightened.
I looked away first.
Before I could say anything else, the arena lights shifted. A low chime echoed through the stands—attention signal.
The announcer's voice rolled out, crisp and energized.
"Next match—please direct your attention to the main field."
The scrolling names halted.
My pulse picked up despite myself.
"Villain squad designation confirmed," the voice continued. "Duskfall Academy—Squad Lead: Argent."
I felt Ari's grin like a physical presence beside me.
"And their opponents—"
The screen flashed.
I straightened without meaning to.
"This is one I've been looking forward to," the announcer said, voice edged with anticipation. "Heroes from—"
The names began to appear.
I leaned forward, heart pounding, eyes locked on the screen.
Whatever boredom had been lingering in the air evaporated instantly.
Finally.
Something interesting.
—
I've always trusted numbers more than instincts.
Win ratios. Prior engagements. Known variables. Unknown risks.
Standing at the edge of the arena, watching the terrain render itself into existence layer by shimmering layer, I ran the calculus one last time in my head and came to the same conclusion I had ten minutes ago.
On paper, this match tilted in our favour.
Crimson Spire versus Duskfall Academy.Heroes versus Villains.Thirty minutes on the clock.
I rolled my shoulders once, feeling the faint hum of my gift settling under my skin—electric tension waiting to be released, redirected, weaponized.
Ever since my fight with Crimson Gale, I'd been curious.
A manaless student who fought like she'd already accepted pain as a baseline cost. No hesitation. No wasted movement. No fear of escalation. That kind of mindset didn't belong in a classroom.
And today, I'd get my follow-up.
Across the field, Duskfall's villain squad assembled as the holographic environment finished loading. Urban ruins—collapsed high-rises, broken skybridges, narrow alleys, layered verticality. Smoke drifted in artificial plumes. Sirens wailed faintly in the distance.
A battlefield designed for chaos.
I recognized them immediately.
Argent—their leader.Quiet. Illusionist. Dangerous in ways people underestimated.
Equinox—gravity precision incarnate.Juno Albright—support, battlefield control.And Crimson Gale herself, smiling like she'd already decided this would be fun.
I exhaled slowly.
This wasn't just another trial.
My team gathered behind me without needing to be called.
To my left stood Lady Aurelian—composed, lethal, tri-element mana cycling beneath her skin like a restrained storm. She'd already proven herself against Equinox. She didn't underestimate anyone anymore.
Behind me, leaning casually with hands in his pockets, was Seraphim Ascendant.
The valedictorian.
The problem.
Light bent subtly around him even at rest, haloed not in divinity but inevitability. He hadn't participated on Day One, and yet everyone knew his name. Knew the rumors. Knew what he represented.
And to my right, flipping a coin lazily across his knuckles, was Fortune's Gambit—dice-patterned irises tracking probability threads I couldn't see.
Luck made flesh. Or rewritten, depending on his mood.
We'd already faced two of Argent's teammates earlier in the festival and dismantled them cleanly. We had partial data on three members of her team. The unknown variable was Argent herself.
That gave us leverage.
Still, leverage only mattered if you capitalized on it.
The announcer's voice echoed overhead, formal and sharp.
"Match designation confirmed. Crimson Spire—Hero Squad. Duskfall Academy—Villain Squad. Tactical Trial parameters active."
The terrain locked in.
Thirty-minute countdown appeared in the sky.
00:30:00
I turned to my team.
"Baseline plan," I said calmly. No theatrics. No speeches. "We split pressure. Aurelian, you anchor mid and deny vertical control. Ascendant, overwatch and rapid response—don't escalate unless necessary. Gambit, probability skew. I'll draw aggro and probe their formation."
No objections.
No ego.
That was the advantage of working with professionals-in-training who understood execution over pride.
Lady Aurelian nodded once. "Argent will try to isolate."
"I know," I replied. "Let her try."
Seraphim tilted his head slightly, light flickering at his fingertips. "Crimson Gale will go for disruption first."
I smirked. "She always does."
Gambit caught his coin mid-air and pocketed it. "Odds say we win if we keep this clean."
I met his gaze. "This won't be clean."
The countdown hit 00:29:50.
I stepped forward, electricity crackling faintly along my arms.
"Remember," I said, voice steady. "They're villains today. That means they'll push boundaries."
My eyes locked onto Argent across the field. She wasn't looking at me. She was watching everything at once.
"And that means," I finished, "we don't hesitate."
The starting signal sounded.
The city erupted into motion.
Aurelian surged forward in a controlled burst of elemental force, claiming the central avenue. Ascendant rose silently into the air, light folding beneath his feet like invisible wings. Gambit vanished down a side street, already rewriting the math of the battlefield.
I moved straight ahead.
Lightning kissed the ground with each step, my gift humming as kinetic vectors aligned in my mind. I could already feel it—the subtle pressure of illusion forming at the edges of perception.
Argent was working.
Good.
That meant she was focused.
"Let the squad battles begin," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.
And as Crimson Spire advanced into Duskfall's trap, one thought cut through all the strategy and projections, sharp and undeniable:
This wasn't just about winning.
This was about seeing how far they were willing to go.
And whether we'd be able to stop them when they did.
—
The time had come.
And I didn't like my odds.
Not even a little.
From the moment the heroes split up, my chest tightened—not with fear, but with calculation. Voltstrike moved like a commander who trusted his team. Fortune's Gambit drifted beside him like a bad omen wrapped in confidence. Above us, Seraphim Ascendant's light cut through the smoke-choked skyline like a judgment waiting to fall.
They weren't reckless.
They weren't arrogant.
They were competent.
That made this harder.
"Execute," I whispered.
Ari was already gone.
She'd vanished the moment I gave the signal, hostages in tow, dragging them toward the old bank two blocks east. No mana. No signature. No trail. Just chaos moving on human legs. If anyone could disappear with civilians and make it look effortless, it was her—and that terrified me more than it comforted me.
Juno took the front.
She didn't hesitate. Didn't complain. She planted herself between us and Seraphim Ascendant like a wall she knew would crack but refused to move anyway. Light flared as he descended, and I felt her mana spike in response—support arrays, interference layers, everything she had.
Rhea stayed with me.
Good.
I needed her here.
"Barrier up," I murmured.
Rhea nodded once, eyes sharp, and gravity bent.
The space around the bomb warped inward, invisible pressure folding like clenched hands. The remaining hostages huddled behind it, unaware of how close they were to annihilation. Anti-gravity shielding wasn't flashy, but it was precise—and right now, precision mattered more than power.
I inhaled.
And then I lied to the world.
Illusions bloomed like ghosts stepping out of smoke.
One hostage became three. Three became seven. Fear multiplied. Screams echoed from mouths that didn't exist. I split myself next—one copy, then another, then two more, each mimicking my posture, my mana rhythm, my breathing.
Five Callas stood beside me.
Then six.
Two of them were perfect.
The real me faded backward into the ruins, my presence thinning until even mana-sensitive eyes would struggle to track me.
Footsteps approached.
Voltstrike and Fortune's Gambit emerged through drifting dust, lightning crawling lazily along Voltstrike's arms like it belonged there.
"Argent," Voltstrike called, voice calm, almost conversational. "This doesn't have to end badly. Back down and release the hostages."
One of my copies tilted her head.
"Do you really think," I replied through her, "that it would be that easy?"
Voltstrike laughed.
Not mockingly. Not cruelly.
Honestly.
"It wouldn't be a contest if you gave in that fast."
For a heartbeat, I almost smiled.
We understood each other.
"Then," I said softly, "if introductions are finished…"
The world broke.
Lightning tore through one of my copies, detonating her into shards of false light.
At the same time, Rhea crushed gravity upward.
A half-collapsed building screamed as it tore free of its own foundations and fell toward Voltstrike and Gambit like a judgment from the sky.
Voltstrike reacted instantly—kinetic redirection flaring as the impact detonated into a storm of electricity. Lightning spiderwebbed through concrete, dust, and steel, exploding outward in a blinding flash.
Smoke swallowed everything.
That was my opening.
I moved.
The moment visibility dropped, I slipped through the chaos, my body phasing between illusion layers. My hand closed around Gambit's sleeve as reality bent sideways.
The world folded.
When the smoke cleared, Voltstrike stood alone.
Rhea remained near the bomb, unmoved.
And five Callas stared back at him from the rubble.
None of them were real.
Voltstrike didn't know that.
But it didn't matter.
Because I was already gone.
—
Fortune's Gambit stumbled as the world snapped back into place.
Not the battlefield.
Something else.
An alley that wasn't an alley. A sky that curved wrong. The ground beneath us shimmered like water pretending to be concrete.
He looked around, eyes narrowing—not panicked, but alert.
"Isolated terrain," he murmured. "Illusion-grade. High complexity."
I stepped out of the distortion.
The real me.
"Thank you," I said quietly, "for underestimating me."
His smile sharpened. "You think this was a mistake?"
"No," I replied. "I think it was necessary."
Around us, the illusion stabilized—walls locking in, exits dissolving, probability threads snapping one by one as my mana threaded tighter.
This wasn't about winning yet.
This was about removing variables.
And now—
Only now—
The real battle could begin.