THE VILLAIN'S POV Chapter 1 1: Between two worlds (1)

Between two worlds

"They say you never truly appreciate something until you've lost it first."

– September, 2026 –

Snow barely escaped a fatal strike that would have claimed his life, saved only by his keen instincts...

"No. This isn't working."

The conflict had pushed both combatants to their absolute limits. Every block and every hit radiated pure desperation—a shared craving to conclude this struggle.

"…And this isn't working either."

---

Fatigue eventually overcame me.

I leaned back heavily in my office chair, realizing that hours had passed while I remained bent over the computer. Anyone walking past my door today would have heard the relentless pounding of keys; the words had flowed out of me with rare intensity.

Being totally absorbed in the world my imagination created caused me to lose track of time. It was only when I finally emerged from the flow hours later that I saw how deep into the night it was—the room was dark, lit only by the monitor's glow. Reaching for my phone, I checked the clock: 2:00 AM.

"Well. That got out of hand."

With a weary sigh, I turned everything off and dropped onto the bed. I spent a few minutes scrolling mindlessly through nonsense—cat videos, strange conspiracies, and a guide on folding napkins into birds. Before I could overthink anything, sleep pulled me under.

In my exhausted state, however, I failed to notice the date.

I didn't realize that on this specific day, I had officially entered my twenty-fifth year.

...

Early Morning

Predictably, I wasn't able to get out of bed by myself—hardly a shock considering the hour I finally went to sleep.

Fortunately, I never required an alarm clock.

A soft shake woke me up as my mother's voice pierced through my grogginess:

"Wake up! You'll be late for work. Did you stay up writing that novel again? I've told you a thousand times not to lose track of time when you do that!"

I forced myself to sit up, though her lecture went in one ear and out the other. My eyes were barely open, yet she had already commenced her daily morning routine of nagging.

I didn't mind it, though. To be honest, I could have set multiple alarms. I simply... preferred it this way. A twenty-five-year-old man still needing his mother to wake him up—it sounds pathetic, doesn't it? But I didn't care about anyone else's opinion.

"Morning," I muttered.

Her lecturing continued as I stumbled toward the bathroom, her voice echoing down the hallway. *Hurry, hurry!* And so, I hurried.

Two years had passed since my graduation. After one difficult year of searching for a job, I was finally here: employed, living as an adult, a newcomer in the corporate world. I was still a rookie, though—there was no margin for error.

After showering, I threw together a supposedly "stylish" outfit (an effort that usually failed) and sat down with Dad for breakfast.

Our relationship was easy. Why wouldn't it be? His oldest son had fulfilled every expectation: a degree, a career, and independence. He didn't ask for anything more.

The positive atmosphere remained even when my younger siblings arrived—students still struggling through their studies.

After making fun of them for a bit, we all got into the car. My father was the driver, but this time I sat in the rear with my brothers because Mom had decided to come along.

I enjoyed the family noise. Having spent years away at university, I cherished these moments.

In truth, I had the money to move out whenever I wanted. But why would I? I intended to enjoy these days with them while they lasted.

"I love my life," I whispered to myself.

A loving family. A steady job. Friends I'd known for decades. What else was there to want? If I had a thousand lives, I would pick this one every time. It was the modest peak of my goals.

As the car moved along, I pulled my laptop from my bag to look over the work I had done the previous night.

My youngest brother immediately poked his head over my shoulder.

"Did you write a new chapter?! What happened? Did the hero win? Did he use the light sky technique?"

I held back a groan. Here we go again.

I answered his questions with a smile—a routine as predictable as the sunrise. Catching my father's eye in the rearview mirror, I saw his amused expression.

"Your brother really loves your novel."

Clearly. Why else would he pester me with questions every time I updated?

"Glad my biggest fan's my own little brother," I laughed, ruffling his hair before looking back at the screen.

"The land of survival"

This was a story I started writing during my college days—a simple hobby that turned into an obsession and a way to express my wildest thoughts.

The readers enjoyed it, and I enjoyed the process. The core idea was a classic: demons invading the realm of humans.

However, the real draw was the hero's life at a magic academy—full of swordplay, spells, and complicated romances. Demons! Magic! School drama! Interesting characters! It was a recipe for success. Even I was obsessed with writing it.

Yet, it was only ever a hobby. That’s why, years later, the story is still not finished. My readers complained about my slow updates, and they weren't wrong. I started it a long time ago, but chapters only came out in small trickles.

I'll admit it made me some good money. But I wasn't going to tie my whole life to writing. My creativity wasn't infinite, even though the readers always wanted more.

Want more? Go to hell.

The novel will finish one day... but it won't be today.

With that final thought, I closed the laptop.

In that exact moment, the view outside the car window vanished. It was replaced by a light so intense it burned my eyes—I flinched back, but before I could see anything, the world faded away.

There was no time to breathe. No chance to memorize my family's faces one last time. There was only the crushing darkness, consuming everything.

"When you think everything is going perfectly, the world decides to flip you off.

---

September, 2326 (300 Years After the Gates Catastrophe)

Drifting in the vacuum of unconsciousness, lost in the dark...

The faint sound of footsteps approached, followed by a quiet voice calling out—

"My Lord."

"Wake... My Lord."

"Wh-what...?"

My eyes flickered open, trying to make sense of where I was. Before I could get my bearings, a sharp spike of pain shot through my head. I gripped my skull, teeth clenched against the suffering.

"Ugh... What the hell is happening?"

I whispered with effort, waiting for the soft voice to reply.

"Lord Starlight, are you all right?"

I turned toward the sound and saw a stunning girl with dark hair and pale skin, wearing a maid outfit that looked like it belonged in an anime. She stood there politely, waiting for instructions, though I could see a flicker of contempt in her eyes.

I scanned the area and realized she was standing quite far away because of the massive bed I was occupying. Could you even call this a bed? It was big enough to play a game of football on.

The room was enormous—marble floors that reflected the light, high walls, and modern lighting on the ceiling that clashed with the antique style of the room.

"Who designed this place?" It looked like a 17th-century architect and a 21st-century tech enthusiast had been forced to work together. The result was a bizarre mess of different eras.

The room was packed with every luxury imaginable, filled with furniture, and I noticed a desk sitting in the corner.

"Where... am I?"

I remembered being in the car with my family, on the way to the office, before... Ugh.

Another headache hit me, the same throbbing pain I'd felt since I woke up.

*I need to find out where I am.*

I pushed the blankets aside. I was dressed in simple gray and black pajamas over my bare skin.

"Wait... My body?"

A quick look at myself made me freeze. "Is this even my body?"

My skin was pale and my physique was perfect, without any fat. I wasn't exactly fat before, but I had some soft spots. What I was looking at now was completely different from my actual body.

Suddenly, fear began to set in...

The maid, still standing still in the corner, noticed my reaction. She bowed quickly and looked at me with concern.

"My lord, are you unwell? You've been acting strangely since you woke up..."

"Your Lord...?" I said, unable to understand what I was hearing.

"Where am I? Some medieval play?"

"Wait... What did you call me earlier?"

A terrifying thought began to form, and a wave of horror moved through my body.

The maid tilted her head at my question. "What did I call you? Do you mean 'Your Excellency'?"

"No—*before that*!" I scrambled across the bed toward her, closing the gap.

Seeing my desperation, she flinched and started to stammer, "F-forgive me, my lord. Perhaps I erred in addressing you. I beg your pardon—"

I cut her off with a shout, "Stop the nonsense and tell me the fuckin name you called me!"

I lost all restraint in that moment—overwhelmed by panic and the stabbing pain. A part of me already *knew* the answer, but I tried to deny it... until her next words hit me like a bolt of lightning.

She backed away, shaking, and whispered,

"L-Lord Starlight..."

"Starlight..."

I repeated the name, my voice trembling.

"Impossible..."

This has to be a dream, right?

What kind of sick joke is this? If this is a prank, it isn't funny.

Starlight—that name only existed in one place: The land of survival, the very novel I had spent years writing.

I jumped out of bed and ordered the terrified maid to find me a mirror. She looked at me like I had lost my mind but managed to stammer, "T-there's a connected bathroom, my lord... beyond that door."

I ran inside before she could even finish. The bathroom was incredibly fancy, fit for royalty. But I didn't care. I dashed to the large mirror—and stopped dead.

My greatest fear was looking back at me.

"Who... are you?" I whispered, touching the glass.

The person in the reflection was a stranger: black hair, perfectly styled despite my state; large, dark eyes; and a face that was unnaturally perfect. It wasn't me.

I felt sick to my stomach. The headache returned even stronger—like a blade twisting in my brain—as a cold, robotic voice spoke near my ear:

[Synchronization initiated.]

[User memory adjusted.]

[Frey Starlight.]

The final name made everything click. Frey Starlight.

He wasn't just any character from "The land of survival."

He was the most hated villain in the entire book.

The one who dies in 101 out of 100 possible endings.

With that realization, I lost consciousness completely, the terrible truth being the last thing I heard.