"Fuck! Arghh! Dammit!"
I sat curled into myself on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped tightly around my knees as curse after curse spilled from my mouth.
There wasn't even anyone specific I was cursing anymore.
Just my rotten fate.
"This can't be happening… This can't be real…"
My fingers dug into my hair hard enough to hurt.
Maybe this was denial.
But could anyone really blame me?
It's not every day you wake up and discover the world around you is fictional—a setting from a novel—and worse, you're trapped inside the body of a third-rate villain whose ending had already been decided from the start.
Hell.
I shook my head violently as if I could fling the thoughts out of my skull.
Beside the bed, the German shepherd tilted its head at me in confusion, ears twitching.
For now, I ignored him.
I had bigger problems.
"This is insane… Maybe I'm hallucinating. Maybe I finally snapped from stress…"
Honestly, losing my mind would've been preferable.
Because deep down, I already knew the truth.
The memories of my previous life didn't feel fake.
Every failure.
Every sleepless night.
Every ounce of frustration and despair.
I remembered all of it too clearly for it to be a dream.
And the worst part?
I also remembered this world.
The story.
The characters.
The future.
Which meant one thing.
This wasn't a misunderstanding.
I had really transmigrated.
"…How the hell does something like this even happen?"
I dragged a shaky hand down my face.
Sure, I'd read plenty of isekai novels back in my old world. As a writer—and a shameless otaku—I practically inhaled that stuff during breaks between writing sessions.
But reading about transmigration and actually experiencing it were completely different things.
In stories, protagonists adapted within a chapter or two.
Reality wasn't that kind.
Reality was suffocating.
Because unlike those lucky main characters, I didn't reincarnate as some hidden genius or overpowered prince.
No.
I became Damian Valtor.
One of the most hated side villains in the entire novel.
A disposable extra whose only purpose was to bully the protagonist and heroines before getting publicly destroyed halfway through the Academy Arc.
A stepping stone.
That was my role.
And the truly horrifying part?
I'd already crossed the point of no return.
"People always say dumb shit like, 'Just avoid the plot and live quietly,'" I muttered bitterly.
Easy advice.
Too bad Damian had already spent years making enemies out of nearly everyone important.
The protagonist hated him.
The heroines despised him.
The servants feared him.
Even his own family treated him like garbage.
Damian hadn't merely ruined his reputation.
He'd buried it.
"Ugh…"
I buried my face into my knees.
What the hell was I supposed to do now?
—Thud! Thud! Thud!
A sharp knock interrupted my spiraling thoughts.
I looked up irritably.
Before I could answer, the door creaked open.
A girl in a maid uniform stepped inside.
The moment our eyes met, she froze.
The tray in her trembling hands rattled violently.
For a second, I genuinely thought she might drop it.
"Young… Young Master…"
Her voice barely came out above a whisper.
Ah.
Right.
Fear.
That reaction alone told me everything I needed to know about Damian's personality.
The maid hurried inside and carefully placed the tray on a nearby table, never once lifting her gaze higher than my chest.
Fenrir let out a soft bark, tail wagging once against the floor.
Instead of calming down, the maid flinched even harder.
"…Seriously?"
I stared at her awkwardly.
The atmosphere felt absurd.
No.
Pathetic.
The image of Damian Valtor slowly surfaced in my mind.
A spoiled noble brat.
Violent.
Arrogant.
Cruel to servants.
The kind of villain readers loved to watch suffer.
The maid looked so terrified she seemed one harsh word away from collapsing.
"I-I brought your dinner, Young Master," she stammered hurriedly. "P-Please don't be angry…"
My expression stiffened slightly.
She was apologizing before I'd even spoken.
Begging for mercy from abuse she assumed was inevitable.
And the worst part?
This wasn't abnormal for her.
Which meant Damian had done this countless times before.
"…Damn it."
A bitter taste filled my mouth.
I glanced down at the tray.
Hard bread.
Watery soup.
A cup of water.
That was it.
No meat.
No vegetables.
Nothing remotely fitting for the son of a noble house.
Meanwhile, Fenrir's tray was stacked with thick cuts of roasted meat.
"…The dog eats better than me."
Fenrir barked happily as if mocking me.
The maid immediately paled.
"I-I'm sorry! The kitchen staff only prepared what the Patriarch ordered—"
"It's fine."
She blinked.
Probably because Damian had never said those words before in his life.
I grabbed the bread and dipped it into the soup.
The texture alone felt like punishment.
Still, I forced myself to eat.
Because whether I liked it or not, this body needed food.
Right now, I was under house arrest.
Apparently Damian's latest incident had finally crossed the line.
The result?
His father personally beat him for nearly a week straight before locking him inside this room.
A noble young master reduced to living worse than a prisoner.
Honestly…
Damian kind of deserved it.
Crunch.
My jaw suddenly stopped moving.
"…Hm?"
Something hard had slipped between my teeth.
Frowning, I spat it into my palm.
Not dirt.
Paper.
The maid gasped.
"I-I'm sorry! T-The kitchen staff must've made a mistake!"
She hurried forward in panic.
"Stop."
My voice came out colder than intended.
She froze instantly.
I slowly unfolded the damp paper between my fingers.
Then my blood ran cold.
[Change the fate of the irredeemable villain, Damian. — Rebecka]
"…What?"
My heartbeat quickened.
That name again.
Rebecka.
A chill crawled down my spine.
Before I could think further—
BANG!
The door slammed open hard enough to shake the walls.
The maid nearly screamed.
Heavy footsteps echoed through the chamber.
A tall man entered carrying a long-barreled shotgun over one shoulder like it weighed nothing.
Gray streaks lined his dark hair, but his sharp eyes radiated enough pressure to suffocate the room.
Behind him walked another massive shepherd hound, larger and more vicious-looking than Fenrir.
The air itself seemed to freeze.
"P-Patriarch!"
The maid immediately collapsed into a bow.
The man ignored her completely.
His gaze locked onto me instead.
Cold.
Emotionless.
Like he wasn't looking at a son, Only a disappointment.
"…Damian."
Even his voice carried weight.
"I trust confinement has given you time to reflect."
A dangerous silence settled over the room.
Instinctively, my body stiffened.
Not mine.
Damian's.
The fear buried inside this body reacted before I could stop it.
I clenched my fists tightly.
The Patriarch slowly approached.
Then stopped directly in front of me.
"You have disgraced House Valtor," he said flatly.
Each sentence landed heavier than the last.
"And yet," he continued quietly, "you still fail to understand the severity of your actions."
His shotgun shifted slightly.
Click.
The sound alone made the maid tremble.
"…Are you prepared to face your further punishment?"
My eye twitched.
Wait.
There was more?
I already got beaten half to death!
What kind of medieval parenting was this?!
Internally, I screamed.
Fuck you!