Young Master's PoV: Woke Up As A Villain In A Game One Day

Chapter 82 Mission Briefing [III]

A few days later…

It was Sunday.

The Academy City was quieter than usual.

Most Cadets were resting in their rooms, enjoying their first reprieve since the academic year started.

Some extremely extroverted ones were out meeting friends and socializing.

Meanwhile, a few bookworms had their noses buried in their books. They were studying even on their day off.

I, personally, was in the gym.

In fact, I had been spending a lot of time in the training facilities over the past few days.

After fighting the Draken twins and then facing my sister, I was forced to confront one undeniable truth.

I wasn't as strong as some of the main characters.

Sure, I didn't go all out, but Alice and Willem had still managed to push me back.

Thalia also managed to hold her ground, confidently matching me blow for blow despite the advantages I had in our fight.

Then there were other characters like Michael and Alexia who could probably beat me outright in an unrestrained combat situation.

Actually, the list of people who were stronger than me in my year wasn't very long. There were only a handful of Awakened first-years who could give me a challenging fight.

So, it shouldn't have been such a big deal.

And to be honest, it wasn't.

I wasn't trying to surpass the main characters, after all. That wasn't my goal.

My goal was to survive the story.

To influence the plot enough to come out on top.

To keep winning by doing whatever it took.

Because in a cruel world like this, losing might as well mean dying.

I understood all of that.

But I also knew that strength was the only thing that truly mattered in this world.

If I wanted to survive, I couldn't afford to get complacent.

I had to keep growing, keep adapting, and keep getting stronger.

So here I was, with nothing better to do, practicing my weapon arts against a combat dummy.

The combat dummy groaned as I slammed my training sword against its side, the force of the impact causing it to lurch backward.

I stepped back, wiped the sweat off my brow, and adjusted my stance.

The gym was nearly empty, save for a few other Cadets working on their own training regimens.

The soft clangs of weights hitting the ground and harsh grunts of workout filled the air.

I pivoted on my heel and executed a wide slash at my incoming opponent.

The combat dummy reacted quickly by blocking the strike with a mechanical arm that sparked on impact.

Its movements were methodical but predictable, something I both appreciated and resented.

It wasn't the same as fighting a real opponent.

But it was tough to beat, nonetheless.

I lashed out with my other sword — yes, I was trying dual-wielding — and thrust my training blade toward the dummy's face.

The mechanical enemy caught my weapon with its free hand, forcing me to take a step back. So, I did the logical thing — slammed my leg into its chest.

The combat dummy staggered back from the force of my kick, losing its grip on my training blade.

That was the opening I needed.

I slashed at its neck, but even while off-balance, the dummy managed to block my strike with a hasty swing of its arm.

However, it wasn't in any position to block my follow-up. So I bent low and struck at its knees with all the force I could muster.

My sword broke through the dummy's mechanical joint, cleaving its leg clean off and sending it toppling over like a broken mannequin.

The dummy fell to its knees, and as soon as it did, I severed its neck with my other sword.

Its detached head clattered to the tiled floor, rolling a few times before coming to a stop.

Meanwhile, the headless body collapsed at my feet, sparking wires spilling out from its neck.

I stood over the defeated dummy, grinning like an idiot.

A victorious idiot.

"Do you enjoy bullying robots or something?" a familiar voice called out from behind me. "That is the fifth combat dummy you broke this week."

I turned to see a handsome young man leaning casually against a nearby treadmill, smirking like he owned the place.

He was dressed in a sleeveless hoodie and gym shorts, looking annoyingly photogenic, as usual.

That was Ray Warner.

We had apparently hit it off after our first meeting.

Since I helped Ray get on the same team as a royal Princess and gave him a luxury bottle of scotch for no reason at all, he decided we were friends.

And since he was undeniably more handsome than me and I had no guy friends to speak of — or any friends at all — I was more than happy to have him in my company.

In fact, I begged him to be my best friend. In the end, he took pity on me and agreed.

At least, that's the version Ray likes to believe.

In reality, I wanted nothing to do with him, but he kept approaching me, insisting we hang out.

Eventually, I gave up and said yes because arguing with him was more exhausting than tolerating him.

Besides, we used the same training facilities so I'd be seeing him all the time, and I didn't want to change gyms.

Also, having a popular guy like him around could come in handy one day. So, where was the harm?

"What's the problem?" I asked, wiping the sweat off my brow. "It's not like we have to pay for any broken equipment."

He raised an eyebrow, smirking wider. "No, but it's starting to seem like you're breaking them out of spite now. Do you perhaps have a vendetta against machines?"

I rolled my eyes. "You wouldn't understand. It's called dedication."

"Sure," he said, strolling into the octagon-shaped combat ring where I was. "Next time, maybe try fighting something that can hit back. I hear the vending machines are getting feisty."

I let out a tired sigh. Having this guy around was exhausting.

•••

After another hour of working out, we finally left the gym and started heading back to our dorms.

The evening air was cool, and the streets were relatively quiet.

As we walked, we passed a popular café with a small crowd gathered on the sidewalk.

They were laughing loudly, almost uncontrollably, while cheering and hooting at someone.

"Come on! Just do that monkey dance for us once, and we'll leave you alone. We promise!"

"Yeah, Lord Under-Itch, give us a performance!"

"No, no, he can't do it! Leave him alone guys… because he first needs a boy's underwear to rub himself!"

And they erupted into raucous laughter once again.

Ray and I glanced toward the commotion, and I noticed someone unexpected there.

Standing in the middle of the small crowd, surrounded by their jeers and teases, was a familiar figure.

Jake.

His face was flushed red and he was clutching a shopping bag to his chest. He had a black bruise on his left cheek, and patches of bandages covered his body from head to toe.

His emerald eyes glistened under the streetlights, betraying how close he was to crying.

As we came closer, our gazes met just for a moment.

I allowed myself to look back at him for half a second, then kept walking.

The group quieted briefly as I walked by them, their laughter dying in the air. For a moment, I thought they might stop altogether.

Then, like clockwork, they resumed their taunting.

"Go on, buddy! Aren't you the famous brief thief? Prove it! Steal someone's underwear right here!"

"Or maybe you need a boy to model for you first? Come on, pick one!"

"Don't be shy, Jake! You've got a whole audience waiting! If you don't steal someone's undies right now, we'll have to make you strip and steal yours!"

Soon, the crowd began chanting, "Strip or steal! Strip or steal! Strip or steal!"

The noise faded into the background as we walked on.

And thank the heavens for that! Because that whole scene was downright embarrassing.

I mean, those people didn't even know how to bully someone properly!

Fucking amateurs.

I shook my head, though Ray seemed to misinterpret my expression.

"Oh, right. I heard you guys knew each other," he said, sounding apologetic. "Should we, like… go back and help him?"

"Nah," I waved my hand dismissively. "I told him not to do anything stupid. He still did. That's on him."

Ray visibly relaxed. "Thank the Monarchs, because it wouldn't be good for my public image if I associate myself with him after… you know, after… well, what he did?"

Oh, I definitely knew what he did.

That idiot.

I specifically told him to leave Michael alone.

Protagonists like those in stories like this have plot armor.

You can call it divine intervention, or maybe just the heavens showing their favoritism…

Whatever it is, main characters like Michael are always ridiculously lucky. If you go against them, it's like fate itself decides to smack you down.

So why even bother?

But of course, Jake didn't listen to me.

Because noble brats like him are also fated.

Fated to be stupid cannon fodders.

I would've been the same, but luckily, my past life memories saved me from that pitfall.

As I was mentally shaking my head at Jake's stupidity, Ray kept rambling, unaware that I was barely paying attention.

"I mean, not only did he pretty much commit social suicide with that underwear stunt in public, but he also challenged Michael to a duel."

I blinked.

But before I could ask for clarification, Ray kept going.

"What was he thinking, challenging one of the Top Ten to a fight? Did you see him crying by the end, basically begging Michael to stop?"

Huh?

What now?

I couldn't help but ask. "Wait, when did this happen?"

Ray turned to me, shocked by my confusion. "Yesterday! It's been the talk of the town ever since!"

"Ahh!" I slapped my hand to my forehead. "I went to bed early yesterday and only woke up this afternoon."

Ray frowned. "You didn't come to the Academy?"

"Nope. I'm the Ace. I can skip as many classes as I want, so I've skipped a few." I gloated. "A few days, that is."

So that was what I missed, huh?

Jake challenged Michael to a duel — and lost, embarrassingly, in front of everyone.

Yeah, even if I wanted to help him, there was no saving him now.

His social life was toast, his reputation in tatters, and the whole Academy was ganging up on him.

He was a dead weight. Even more than he was before.

"Anyway," Ray said, changing the subject. "You wanna hit up this new sports bar I found? We could grab some drinks, flirt with some cute seniors—"

"Yeah," I immediately shut him down. "As much fun as that sounds — and it doesn't — I can't."

"Why not? What's more fun than a night of drinks and flirting with pretty seniors?" Ray scowled, his expression shifting to a pout, then something thoughtful. "Oh, wait! Is it today?"

I nodded. "Yes. My Squad will leave for our first assigned mission tonight."

And that was going to be fun.