An Uninteresting Woman

Class A of the Academy's first year was a gathering place for the prodigies who would one day carry the future of Tera on their shoulders.

Heirs of the Five Great Ducal Houses. Children of ancient noble bloodlines. And—very rarely—exceptional commoners.

Rea was one of those few.

Though her station was that of a commoner, she had never wanted for anything growing up. In his youth, her father had built a vast fortune through sheer business acumen, and along the way he had cultivated deep friendships with any number of nobles. Because of that, Rea had enjoyed opportunities for education that other commoner children—those destined for a lifetime of farm labor—could never have dreamed of.

Fortunately, she also possessed a remarkable gift for magic. That talent carried her through the Academy's narrow gates, and she enrolled at Dorothy Academy with her head held high.

Her father had one lifelong ambition: to see his family recognized as a proper noble house. The path from commoner to nobility was brutal. Wealth alone was never enough. One had to awaken mana, then earn the recognition of the Council through distinguished service on the front lines. He had placed that dream on his daughter's shoulders, and he spared no expense ensuring she received the finest education the Academy could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠offer—costly magic textbooks, rare materials, even private tutors.

Rea herself never found those expectations particularly burdensome. If anything, they felt like a natural goal, a future she was fully capable of claiming. After all, she had the talent for it. Even after enrollment, she maintained top-tier grades, and the professors' praise never stopped coming.

And yet… sometimes, she was lonely.

No matter how gifted she was, no matter how firm her purpose, she was still a girl with feelings of her own. Her childhood had been spent alone, buried in magical training with not a single friend to her name. Entering the Academy had changed little. Some students quietly looked down on her for being a commoner; others eyed her with wariness and envy for her grades. There was no one she could truly open her heart to.

From early on, her only comfort—her only hobby—had been reading. In reality she was a loner, but inside books she could meet countless people and wander through countless worlds. She read everything she could get her hands on, devouring every genre imaginable: heroic sagas of knights, adventure chronicles of mages, even the romances of the nobility.

But as time went on, the stories began to feel increasingly similar. Increasingly predictable. A virtuous protagonist overcoming hardship to defeat a villain. Love and friendship conquering all. Touching the first few times—but after enough repetition, unbearably dull.

Then, one day, a novel found her as if by fate.

The Villainess Needs No Salvation.

Novels with "villainess" in the title were common enough. Most featured a kind girl wrongly accused who sought revenge, or who regressed and lived a new life. This one was different. Unlike those tired clichés, it laid bare the life of a genuine villainess with unflinching honesty.

The protagonist was evil itself. She used people without a shred of mercy, stopped at nothing for her own gain, and systematically, cruelly destroyed anyone who stood in her way—a thoroughly wicked woman down to her very roots. There was no excuse for her actions. No room for pity. In the end, after a lifetime of atrocities, everything came to light, and she met the most wretched, agonizing death imaginable—surrounded by those she had ruined.

And even in that miserable end, she showed not a flicker of regret or remorse. She accepted death with her head held high, laughing at the world.

Most people would have found the extreme subject matter repulsive. But to Rea, who had been starving for something new and fresh, the novel was a feast. Free of the stale hero's journey and the tired moral of good triumphing over evil, it laid bare the darkest, most twisted desires of the human heart—and she was utterly captivated.

Without quite realizing it, Rea began taking an interest in real-world villainesses as well.

Not that she admired evil for its own sake. What drew her in was not the process of wicked deeds, but the single inevitable narrative that ran through them all: the ending. Being crushed beneath the weight of one's own accumulated sins. Meeting the most wretched, solitary end imaginable. Paying the full price of one's choices with no excuses, no salvation. That, to Rea, was the perfect full stop to a story.

In that sense, Yeon Bennet struck her as the perfect protagonist for the tale she had been searching for all this time. The countless misdeeds known across all of Tera. Abandoned by her own family. Subjected to every form of harassment and contempt at the Academy. All of it seemed like the perfect foreshadowing of a villainess's miserable end.

A single room—a privilege reserved for those who maintained the highest grades, or who came from the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠most prestigious houses. Rea was a commoner, but her outstanding academic record had earned her that privilege. Her room was arranged with neat, personal taste, one wall dominated by a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf.

Stepping inside, Rea set down her bag and went straight to her desk. On one corner of it, newspaper clippings about Yeon Bennet's various crimes had been carefully cut out and pasted, like a scrapbook.

Sensational headlines, and in the corner of each article, a faintly rendered portrait of Yeon. Rea gently traced a fingertip over the face in the portrait. Cold and arrogant—yet somehow hollow-eyed. It overlapped perfectly with the image of the "true villainess" she had been so captivated by in fiction.

But not anymore.

"…You're less interesting than I expected."

Rea murmured the words softly toward the portrait.

When she had asked for an autograph, she had expected Yeon Bennet to hurl the book to the floor with a look of pure contempt and sneer, Why should I sign anything for a commoner like you? That was the "true villainess" of her imagination.

But the real Yeon Bennet had simply worn a blank expression and, like a complete pushover, signed exactly as asked.

Today had been no different. A lowly commoner demanding desserts, demanding a fork, stringing together one unreasonable request after another—and though Yeon had looked faintly annoyed, she had ultimately done every last thing without a word of protest. On top of that, she seemed to get along surprisingly well with Rina, the candidate Saintess known for her kindness, bickering with her in a way that was almost… friendly.

None of it resembled the villainess Rea had been hoping for.

In truth, she had half-expected this. From the start of the term, the Yeon Bennet she had been observing was nothing like the genuine villainess she so desperately wanted. A proper villainess, like the protagonist of that novel, ought to have gathered followers within the Academy, schemed and politicked, flaunted her power, and gone around despising and tormenting commoners like Rea herself.

But Yeon had no followers at all. She rarely even initiated conversation with anyone. She spent most of her time alone, always eating by herself in the farthest corner of the dining hall—that image lingered clearly in Rea's memory. She had never once seen Yeon pick a fight with anyone first. Only when other students provoked her would she respond roughly, and even then with clear reluctance. She never started trouble. Never went out of her way to hurt anyone.

Of course, given her dreadful reputation, even those passive reactions were enough to set the rumor mill spinning. But from where Rea stood, it only raised the question of whether this could possibly be the same villainess from the stories.

And after being grouped with her for the practical assignment, Rea was certain.

Yeon Bennet was not some overwhelming embodiment of charismatic evil. She was just… a little blank. A little clumsy. The kind of girl who got pushed around easily.

"Haa… how does someone with a personality like that end up tangled in such horrible incidents…"

Rea sighed under her breath.

Model student, almost? No—her Academy life was simply so devoid of presence that it stood in stark contrast to the past. The incidents she was said to have caused were real enough. Summoning Contamination. Putting her house and the Academy in danger. And recently… something so indecent she could barely bring herself to think of it…

The memory of that particular incident made Rea's face flush faintly without her meaning to.

Well. She could more or less guess how it had gone. Some faction must have used that stupid, naive—no, that pushover of a girl from behind the scenes. Approached her for her background and her unusual abilities, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stoked her foolish desires just enough, used her exactly as they pleased, then quietly vanished the moment things blew up. A scenario so obvious it barely needed imagining.

Being used didn't erase her guilt, so Rea felt no particular sympathy… but once she realized the girl was simply a fool, all interest drained away. She could no longer find any of the narrative charm she had been searching for.

Rea picked up the newspaper clipping with Yeon's portrait from her desk. She meant to throw it in the trash. There was no reason to keep caring about this fake villainess.

"……."

But just above the wastebasket, her hand hesitated. Rea looked down at the portrait for a moment, as if deliberating—then let out a small snort of laughter.

"Hmm… well, she is easy on the eyes, at least."

With that, she slipped the portrait between the pages of her thick magical theory textbook instead of discarding it.

The musty reek of mold. The creak of warped floorboards. A landscape utterly unlike the elegant single room—as if it belonged to another world entirely.

In the dusty, abandoned dormitory room Yeon had newly been assigned, only the faint moonlight seeping through the cracks in the window barely held back the dark.

And beneath that moonlight, an unbelievable scene was unfolding.

Professor Emilla, her eyes bloodshot, was kneeling on the floor directly in front of Yeon Bennet.

"P-Professor…? You really don't have to do this…"

Yeon stammered, flustered and at a complete loss—but Emilla gave no answer. Instead, she suddenly began slamming her forehead hard against the solid wooden floor.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

"I'm… I'm so sorry, my lady…!"

The dull ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠impacts shattered the silence, echoing through the room.

"No, I told you it's fine! You're bleeding! Stop it! Aaagh!!!"