The Villains Must Win

Chapter 370: Alistair Cain 30

The next thing I knew, I was no longer bleeding.

No longer dying.

No longer Selene.

The scent of iron vanished. The warmth draining from my body disappeared. The crushing weight of betrayal dissolved into something sterile and distant.

I stood beneath harsh white lights.

Cold floors stretched beneath my bare feet. Metallic walls rose around me, seamless and indifferent. The air smelled faintly of ozone and antiseptic—so unlike the heavy perfume of roses and candle wax.

Headquarters.

My reflection stared back at me from a polished steel panel.

Pale.

Too pale.

My lips trembled before I forced them still. I would not allow myself that weakness—not here. Not in front of this place.

My pride lay somewhere between disbelief and humiliation, fractured beyond repair.

This was the first time since the beginning of the game that a villain—my villain—had killed me.

Not the righteous male lead.

Not the jealous heroine.

Not some disposable side character triggered by plot correction.

Him.

The one I had chosen.

The one I had sworn to protect from his destined ruin.

The one I would carefully guided away from the heroine’s orbit, thread by thread, scene by scene.

Alistair Cain.

He had killed me.

The first ever villain to kill me.

The memory struck with merciless clarity.

His face had not twisted with rage. There had been no madness in his eyes. No grief. No regret.

Only stillness.

Only decision.

I could have endured it had the male lead struck me down. That would have been logical. Expected. A predictable narrative correction.

But the villain?

The man I had fought fate itself to save?

That—

That stung.

It was not the pain of dying.

It was the wound to my arrogance.

I had believed I understood him.

Believed I had mapped the edges of his darkness.

Believed that beneath the cold calculation and aristocratic restraint, there was something I could control.

How laughable.

My nails dug into my palms.

So that was the depth of his restraint.

So that was the weight of the man named Alistair.

He had sensed weakness—and chosen eradication.

"Well done, Host," came a bright, absurdly cheerful voice behind me.

I did not flinch.

I turned slowly.

The bunny stood there, fluffy and immaculate, its fur pristine as though it had not just overseen my murder. Its round eyes were wide with manufactured delight.

"You have progressed up to thirty percent of the story."

I stared at it.

"Thirty percent," I repeated flatly.

"Yes! A remarkable improvement, given the deviation rate." Its ears twitched with enthusiasm. "Triggering a fatal response from a villainous route character indicates significant emotional destabilization. Very efficient."

Efficient.

The word echoed hollowly in the vast chamber.

I laughed once.

It sounded brittle.

"He killed me."

"Yes," the bunny replied pleasantly.

"The romance target."

"Yes."

"The one I have been protecting since day one."

"Yes."

"The villain that was supposed to win?"

"Er . . . yes?"

Its tone never shifted.

No sympathy. No judgment. Only data.

Silence stretched between us, thin and suffocating.

Then, quietly—

"I see."

My humiliation did not disappear.

It cooled.

It condensed.

It sharpened into something far more dangerous than wounded pride.

Understanding.

Alistair had chosen control over desire.

Elimination over vulnerability.

He had felt himself falter—and he had corrected it with blood.

He had not killed me out of cruelty.

He had killed me out of fear.

And that realization settled over me like a dark cloak.

He feared me.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

I exhaled slowly.

But he had miscalculated.

Because I was not gone.

I straightened, shoulders squaring beneath the artificial light. My reflection changed—not warmer, not softer—but steadier.

If his instinct was to kill what threatened him—

Then I would cease being a threat.

I would become necessity.

The bunny tilted its head.

"Would you like to reset to an earlier checkpoint? Or would you like to advance the story more in another angle? The former is safer since you already knew a little bit about the future."

Another angle?

I considered it.

A safer route. A cleaner strategy.

A less humiliating outcome.

"No."

The bunny blinked. "Oh?"

"I will explore it on another angle."

Its ears twitched again, intrigued.

"Are you certain? The probability of being eliminated in that route is high."

"I am aware."

And I was.

Alistair had already proven that he would kill me if he felt cornered by his own emotions.

But that was precisely why I could not take his route as it stood—not now.

Walking straight back into his arms, pretending nothing had happened, would only invite the same blade to my throat.

I needed distance. A different vantage point. An angle that would let me observe him without standing directly in the path of his fear.

Making him my enemy was not an option.

If Alistair truly turned against me, there would be no system reset fast enough to save me.

Yet forcing him to fall in love with me was no better. I had just witnessed where that road ended—with instinct overpowering reason, with vulnerability answered by violence.

If affection translated into weakness in his mind, then love would only hasten my execution.

No.

Romance was a liability.

Hostility was suicide.

That left only one viable path.

Indispensability.

If I could not be cherished, then I would be required.

If I could not be loved, then I would be necessary.

But how?

I was only human.

A blood bank.

A fragile creature in a world ruled by predators who had lived centuries and commanded armies from the shadows.

What could I possibly offer a man like Alistair?

He possessed wealth beyond measure. Power woven through every noble house. Intelligence sharper than any blade. Influence that moved silently through courts and councils alike.

What help could I possibly give him—

That he could not obtain from a thousand others more suited, more powerful, more eternal than I?

But maybe I could look at it in another way. Alistair’s route was a dead end right now. Not until I had something valuable with me that would make me indispensable.

"Ah... are you quite finished with your inner monologue now?" the bunny asked dryly.

I turned to it slowly.

Then I smiled—calm, confident, the kind of smile that had carried me through collapsing routes and doomed villains before.

"Yes."

Its ears twitched. "And you intend to return immediately?"

I rolled my shoulders once, steadying myself beneath the sterile lights.

My grin widened, edged with something sharper than confidence.

"Let the games begin."