How to Become a Villain (1)

My smartphone screen was filled with memos crammed by date—notes I had absolutely no memory of writing.

"...What the hell is this?"

I scrolled through them slowly. The more I read, the harder it was to contain my shock. These anonymous entries were more than enough to jolt dormant memories back to life. It didn't take long to spot the common thread.

One set involved incidents tied to the hero Flame Mist—Baek Yuha herself. The other linked to events that rocked the entire Republic of Korea.

Two entries stood out, heavily emphasized.

"The Red Mask serial killings..."

The brutal murders of 17 innocent civilians in A District's back alleys by the D-rank villain Red Mask. March 12th marked the first victim's death.

I remembered this case for one reason alone: Yuha, a rookie hero at the time—aka Flame Mist—had her name dragged through the mud over it for a while.

Even after I'd yelled at her one-sidedly and run off, I'd obsessively followed every scrap of news about her for some reason. Talk about creepy.

Anyway, she'd taken the brunt of the media firestorm in place of the incompetent Hero Management Bureau. A District was her patrol zone, and they'd crucified her for only discovering the scene after the villain had committed the crime and fled.

Looking back now, it was absurd. Yuha was just an apprentice hero, still a student. Dumping all the blame on a kid like that? She was even covering multiple zones short-staffed.

Not that I had any room to judge others. Considering who hurt her the most...

"But still..."

What were these memos, exactly? No matter how hard I racked my brain, I had zero recollection of writing them. And from my current timeline, none of these events had even happened yet.

...Maybe I'd lost my mind. After everything I'd been through, it wouldn't be surprising.

"Whatever."

I brushed off the nagging doubt. That wasn't what mattered now. What counted was that I knew these events were coming—and I knew them precisely.

The type of incident, the exact dates, locations, even key figures involved. Nothing was easier to counter than a crime forewarned.

Normal human memory is unreliable, distorted by bias. These notes fixed both issues crystal clear. Plus, many traced back to roots feeding the apocalypse five years from now.

In other words, some of the headaches plaguing me had just eased up. I'd found my direction.

I focused on the highlighted memo again.

This was my immediate target. Stop the first murder, and the A District Red Mask serial killings never happen. No backlash against Flame Mist. One early chain binding her hero career snaps free.

Yuha herself avoids the guilt over victims or public scorn.

Three weeks until March 12th. Plenty of time. I could pull it off...

"...Ah."

But I let out another sigh. The original problem still gnawed at me.

...How, exactly?

"So, there might be a serial killing in A District on the 12th next month..."

-Hey, you punk! I'm swamped here—quit the prank calls! One more time and I'll arrest you for obstructing official duties!

Tu, tu...

The payphone spat out a dead tone. I hung up the receiver with a limp hand.

Damn, what an asshole. Is this how the people's guardians treat citizens?

...Fair enough. If I were the cop, I'd react the same. With security worsening daily and workloads crushing them, any anonymous tip screams prank.

"...Sigh."

I checked my smartphone app. "DCInside Hero Minor Gallery" popped up at the top. Aka HiMaGal, the go-to community for all things active heroes. Even pros lurked here for intel, or so the rumors went. True anonymity made it impossible to verify, but...

Point was, perfect spot for an anonymous heads-up to the masses.

Recent posts scrolled peacefully. Even in my past life's rock bottom, these mundane threads offered slim comfort. Until the DCInside HQ raid torched it all amid the chaos.

My warning post already had three replies. Heart pounding with hope, I checked it—praying some law-abiding citizen or passing hero had heeded my plea.

"Haa..."

Another defeated sigh. No surprise—no one took it seriously.

Of course not. But then... what now? Management Bureau, police, HiMaGal. Zero takers.

...Even if someone did bite, I'd be screwed explaining my foreknowledge. Best case, they don't peg me as an accomplice.

That first "joking" reply? Spot on. HiMaGal's anonymity drew trolls—including disguised villains. Heroes griped at anonymously, propaganda-style. Jokes ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠flew that 70% of users were secret villains.

...Point is, if villains saw my warning, they might actually scrap plans. Repeat that, and the future I knew warps unpredictably. My actions already diverged from the past; minimizing changes preserved my edge—my only weapon.

"Guess I gotta handle it solo somehow... but..."

This powerless body cursed me before, but now in a new way. Never hated being ordinary more than today. If only I'd awakened as a superhuman...

"...Wait."

A thought flashed. I reopened my phone. The mystery memos lingered.

I shifted from the first memo to the second.

"...Why only these two highlighted?"

Red Mask was a week away tops. But if it was just "handle the urgent one," why include the Doctor's lab—months out?

"...Why, though?"

The Doctor—famous enough stray dogs knew his name. Future Archvillain. Key player in dooming this world. Though his faction hadn't surfaced yet, he was already a Hero Management Bureau most-wanted: S-rank villain mad scientist.

Spot-on name. Authority—modern society's bedrock, an unsolved supernatural force. Superhumans (heroes and villains) wielded it. He alone mass-produced them artificially worldwide: "Artificial Superhuman Creation Surgery."

Authority gaps fueled inequality. He bridged it—but at what cost? Kidnapping, gruesome human experiments, no hesitation. Low success rate piled bodies: hundreds known victims, thousands by apocalypse.

Survivors? Nine in ten shattered mentally: murderous urges, hallucinations, split personalities, emotional instability. Most turned villain.

Doctor didn't blink. Ethics? Order? Not his game.

Marionette—who chained and tormented my final days—got her powers from him. Reunited as Archvillains, she demanded he operate on me too. "Useless except your face," she'd sneered.

Shot down flat. Authority tied to the mind; mine was too broken by her. Guaranteed failure.

I'd heard it all from my coma depths. Enraged, she sliced off my right ear in spite.

"...Fuck."

Chills just thinking about ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it. That bitch especially—I'd catch and crush her somehow.

Anyway, the memo date marked his lab's first bust: right under Hero Management Bureau noses. Shockwaves hit. Even arrest failed—he vanished like a ghost, tipped off somehow.

Bureau corruption started here. And right now? He was still holed up there. Months until the raid.

"...Ah."

It clicked. I alone knew his hideout. He alone could grant what I lacked.

Power. Authority.

"Gotta do it myself..."

Eyes closed, I pondered. Realization dawned quick: even hesitation wasted time. One conclusion repeated.

-Drip, drip.

-Bubble, bubble...

Lights dim enough to barely make out shapes. Tanks swirled glowing green fluid; flasks boiled, spewing pale steam.

Withered fingers, toes, organs, eyeballs filled jars. Undeniably human.

Center: a suspicious operating table crusted with dark stains. And I was already strapped atop it, limbs bound tight. No consent given.

-Clank, clank.

Someone rummaging tools turned. Dim light hit a middle-aged man: long mustache, glasses.

Squeez, squeez.

S-rank villain Doctor purged air from a thick syringe needle, speaking indifferently.

"So, how'd you find this place?"