Never Die Villain

"Tsk."

Vera clicked her tongue as she strode through the academy gates, heading straight for the senior professors’ offices without so much as a glance at the students passing by.

She pushed the door open without even knocking, made her way to the shelves, pulled out a pack of cigarettes as though she owned the place, and dropped herself onto the sofa.

"Vera?" Professor Nordberg looked up from the stack of documents covering his desk, raising an eyebrow at the unexpected visit. "There’s nothing for you to do today. What brings you here?"

Without answering, Vera flicked a cigarette from the pack with her thumb before slipping it between her lips. She snapped her fingers, igniting its tip with a small flame, and took a long drag.

"Let me guess." Nordberg leaned back in his chair with a knowing smile. "It’s the Belozersky kid, isn’t it?"

"Hoo..."

"You’re making that face, so I guess I hit the mark."

He chuckled before shaking his head.

"How’s the training going? You know, when you told me you were secretly taking the Belozersky kid under your wing, I genuinely thought you’d finally lost your mind. Of all the students in the academy, it had to be him."

Vera remained silent as she took another drag from her cigarette, her eyes fixed on the trail of smoke rising toward the ceiling.

"...That boy is difficult to read."

"...."

"I thought there would be some sense of satisfaction. Having a Belozersky in the palm of my hand, watching him struggle, seeing him break... I thought I’d enjoy it."

She lowered the cigarette and stared at the glowing ember before speaking again.

"But that boy..." Vera continued. "He isn’t even alive. If he died tomorrow, I don’t think he’d care. He’s like an empty doll, waiting for someone to tell him what to do."

"...."

"Throw him into a life-or-death situation, and he’d choose death without a second thought."

"...."

"The Belozerskys are human trash," Vera said, taking one last drag before crushing the cigarette into the ashtray. "But even I have to wonder... what kind of family raises a boy so thoroughly broken?"

Professor Nordberg slowly rose from his chair.

"If what you’re saying is true," he began, "then the boy never really had a chance, did he?"

He retrieved a cigarette of his own, lit it with a lighter, and walked over to the window.

"An illegitimate child born into House Belozersky... that position alone is enough to ruin a person long before they ever reach adulthood."

Vera said nothing.

"It’s ironic," Professor Nordberg continued, a smile crossing his face. "Valentin spent his entire life building the North into an unshakable fortress, yet the greatest crack in its foundation came from a mistake of his own making."

Professor Nordberg took another drag from his cigarette without saying a word. Vera watched the ember at the tip of hers until she finally spoke.

"...Uncle."

"Hm?"

"What do you think separates a Fallen Wizard from a Distortion?"

Professor Nordberg turned away from the window, his brow furrowing at the unexpected question.

"...That’s quite the leap in conversation."

"I’ve been thinking about it," Vera replied. "Distortions are born when a person’s world falls apart. Their despair reaches a breaking point, and eventually, the Distortion manifests."

She lowered her gaze.

"But Fallen Wizards aren’t any different. Their worlds fall apart as well. Their Domains consume them until they lose themselves piece by piece, and in the end, they die."

Vera looked back at Professor Nordberg.

"By all accounts, the Distortion should have found them long ago."

"...."

"But it never did." Vera narrowed her eyes. "Their Inner Realm spills into reality. It distorts the world around them, and little by little, it consumes them."

"...."

"Isn’t that strange?"

"...."

"Domains rewrite reality. Distortions rewrite reality." Vera slowly tapped the ash from her cigarette. "They’re different manifestations, yet both overwrite the world with the landscape of the mind."

She leaned back into the sofa, resting one arm against the armrest as the cigarette remained suspended between her fingers.

"So why does reality allow either of them to exist in the first place?"

At her words, Professor Nordberg let out another chuckle before slowly turning away from the window. His eyes remained fixed on Vera for a long moment, as though he had already guessed where this conversation was heading.

"Don’t you already know the answer to that question?"

"I suppose I do." Vera lowered her eyes before looking back at him. "But the more I think about it, the more questions it leaves behind."

Her eyes gradually narrowed into a glare.

"Is this world we inhabit... really ours?" she asked. "Or are we simply living inside someone else’s Inner Realm?"

The amusement disappeared from Nordberg’s face.

"You’re wandering into dangerous territory, Vera—"

"Why is this world so hellbent on killing us? Why does it keep pushing people toward despair until there’s nothing left of them?"

"Vera!"

"And whose voice is it?" she said. "Whose voice keeps whispering to us... urging us to let go?"

"...."

"Unless I know the answers to those questions, I refuse to succumb."

"...."

"I refuse... to fall."

* * *

The room remained dark, illuminated only by the moonlight spilling through the window. With his eyes closed, Ilya remained seated, sweat continuously dripping down his forehead despite the freezing temperature.

It was the first time he had ever sweated so much that his clothes were soaked through.

———!

Red, orange, and yellow energy sparked around him. It was not powerful enough to illuminate the entire room, yet it was more than enough to fill the darkness with intermittent flashes.

The sparkling glow pulsed at intervals as heat slowly pushed back against the freezing wind surrounding him, but even then, Ilya refused to stop circulating his mana.

He continued following the grimoire’s instructions over and over again, repeating the same process despite every failed attempt.

Whoosh——!

A tiny ember finally ignited above his open palm, shaking as though it could disappear at any moment.

Before it had the chance to grow into a proper flame, however, a gust of frigid wind swept across the room and snuffed it out just as quickly as it had appeared.

Even so, Ilya showed no sign of disappointment and began the entire process again.

That night, he repeated the same cycle over and over again. Every failed attempt ended exactly the same way, yet each one was followed by another beginning.

Time passed without him noticing until night gave way to dawn, yet Ilya never once rose from where he sat.

When Vera returned the following morning, she stopped the moment she stepped into the room.

"...."

Snow blanketed the floor, the furniture, and even the windowsill, as though winter itself had arrived in her apartment overnight. The cold was far more oppressive than when she had left, filling every corner of the room with frost.

"...."

Yet at the very center of the room, Ilya remained seated exactly where she had left him.

Within the space surrounding him, there wasn’t a single trace of snow, as if an invisible boundary had kept the frost at bay throughout the entire night. It was the only patch untouched by winter in an otherwise frozen room.

However, the sleeves of his clothes were covered in black scorch marks, his palms were reddened from countless failed attempts, and the smell of burnt fabric wafted through the air.

And yet, despite all of it, he continued circulating his mana as though he hadn’t noticed she had returned at all.

"...You’re the living embodiment of contradictions, Ilya Belozersky."