The 2nd Detention Facility (1)

“Haa.”

Eller let out a long sigh as he pulled on a guard’s uniform that had no business being on his body.

Stuck in the awkward middle of both seniority and rank within the organization, he had been saddled with the role of manager of the 1st Detention Facility.

The title of manager sounded impressive enough, but in practice there was nothing special about the job. His one and only duty was to transfer any inmates who showed promise to the 2nd Detention Facility.

Which was exactly why he was so confused right now—thanks to the lunatic who had killed someone and then tried to deny it.

He had explained it clearly before incarceration. The condition for transfer out of the 1st Detention Facility was murder. So committing murder meant the guy wanted to move on to the next stage, didn’t it?

Look at the ones who had already been transferred to the 2nd Detention Facility. They had agonized over how to leave the deepest impression possible and had even gone so far as acts that bordered on performance art.

The one-week time limit was almost up. Anyone still left in the 1st Detention Facility after today would be returned to society—failed the exam, pure and simple. Guys who hesitated over a mere murder had clearly chosen the wrong profession.

That was why Eller was so flustered. He couldn’t decide whether to believe the strange bastard still insisting on his own innocence.

Was the guy really being framed?

Eller studied the man carefully. Tall, solidly built frame with a coppery cast to his skin. A posture so slanted it was the furthest thing from neat. Honestly, he was pretty handsome. Society probably called that kind of look decadent charm.

“Hmm.”

Maybe it was because Eller had been staring in silence for so long, but those sharp, listless eyes finally turned his way. The moment Eller felt the fierce hunger burning inside them, he understood.

This bastard was a killer. He was certain of it.

“Number 5874. You’re being transferred to the 2nd Detention Facility.”

The guard’s order came down. Without the faintest idea what was going on, I followed the corridor reserved for staff and arrived at the 2nd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Detention Facility. Then I was shown to my room.

“Whoa!”

It was still a tiny cell with iron bars, but it was a single room. Compared to the place I’d just left, it was far cleaner. While I cheerfully spread out the bedding, a guard approached.

“Hands.”

He held out a key, so I thrust my hands forward at once. With a crisp click the thick red restraints came off. Instantly, glowing text floated before my eyes.

The moment the nullifying restraints vanished, the text appeared right in front of me—an ability-purchase shop mode that existed solely because there was nowhere else to spend achievement points!

I raced through the text as fast as I could.

While I was checking my ability, the guard moved beyond the floating text. From his back pocket he produced a pair of handcuffs.

I’d played the game, so I knew. Those crimson-tinted cuffs also had a nullification function. Weaker than the massive restraints I’d been wearing, but still more than enough to shut down a Level 3 ability like mine.

Not yet. The second those cuffs went on, the shop would close. I didn’t have the luxury of leisurely comparing abilities. I had to upgrade what I already possessed, right now.

I scrambled backward and searched the shop for Avilon’s Sword. Raising it from Level 3 to Level 4 cost 500 points.

“You son of a bitch!!!”

“Guh!!”

In the blink of an eye the distance vanished and a fist slammed into my gut. My knees folded automatically; I hit the floor forehead-first, kneeling.

Didn’t matter. If it delayed the ability nullification even a little, I was willing to take a few more hits.

I stretched out a finger and purchased the upgrade for Avilon’s Sword. The text changed at once. Raising it from Level 4 to Level 5 cost 1,000 points. After the last purchase I had 950 left—exactly fifty short.

No. Precisely speaking, fifty points remained. And there was a villain standing right in front of me. Kill this bastard and I’d gain a hundred. Was I going to let a chance ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to grow slip away?

Just tough it out for a week. That was the only order that had come down from the organization. That was why Na Dong-wook was here. At least, being a guard for the 1st Detention Facility meant his shift would end ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the earliest, and he had clung to that small consolation.

As the days crawled by he realized how worthless that consolation really was. Time refused to move. Rounding up the idiots stuffed full of romantic delusions about being villains, taking roll, and escorting them around—that was the entire extent of Na Dong-wook’s duties.

No women, no booze, no one worth killing. It was practically an exercise in total abstinence. The slower time passed, the higher the unvented irritation piled up.

And now, with the appearance of a brat who refused to put on the handcuffs, Na Dong-wook smiled. His Level 4 Instant Acceleration drove a fist into the kid and dropped him.

Yeah. This was the feeling. The thrill of trampling the weak. He’d needed this.

What the hell was the organization even thinking, giving trash like these a chance? Those idiots at the top couldn’t recognize real talent like him, stuck at the bottom of the ladder, and made him play guard instead. With eyesight and ability that bad, of course half the members had died in that catastrophe—all because of a single person. No, a single animal.

The memory of that day’s humiliation rose unbidden and his irritation exploded. Na Dong-wook kicked the crawling figure. Even when the kid cleverly crossed his arms to block, it was useless.

Thwack!

“Keuhk!”

He used Instant Acceleration with exquisite timing, battering the brat from every angle until the kid finally burst into tears and clutched at Na Dong-wook’s pant leg as if it were some lifeline that would save him.

“Fuck, a few hits and you already tuck your tail? Stop wasting my—”

Na Dong-wook had been about to forgive him. Or rather, pretend to. He planned to wait until the kid’s face relaxed in relief that the violence had stopped, then deliver one good solid kick.

But that plan never came to fruition.

Ssshk!

“Huh?”

It was a bizarre sensation—like an invisible snake brushing past. Something formless stole his right leg.

“Aaaaargh!!”

His body collapsed to the floor of its own accord. Both hands clamped around the middle of his thigh. Below that, there was simply nothing left.

“Ahh. So this is how you use it.”

In an instant the positions were reversed. The man rose with a confident face while Na Dong-wook sobbed on the ground.

“W-wait—!”

“Fuck off.”

The man swept his hand from right to left, and Na Dong-wook’s head flew from his shoulders.

Avilon’s Sword rose to Level 5. And for the Villain Dispatch achievement I received 300 points. Looks like the system awards points on a sliding scale according to notoriety. An imaginary rapist of Olivia and a Villain Academy guard were clearly different levels of evil reputation.

“Now what?”

I’d done it in a fit of temper. Would Villain Academy really be lenient about a guard’s death? I wasn’t sure. As far as I remembered, this game’s world followed the law of the strong. Hierarchy and seniority could go fuck themselves; only raw ability decided who stood above whom. So if a lower-ranked guy got himself killed somewhere, they’d just blame him for being weak, right?

But the organization taking revenge on the one who killed that underling was a different matter entirely. And if a guard died at an inmate’s hands and they did nothing? Then every other inmate would start hunting guards. The ones who had already made it through the 1st Detention Facility were bastards who had already killed people, after all.

“Fuck.”

While preparing for the transfer I’d overheard that the goal of the 2nd Detention Facility was to score points with executives of the Villain Alliance. I had no idea how villains and reward-and-penalty points were supposed to relate, but maybe being an organization meant you still needed some social skills.

Fuck all of that. I just wanted to get laid.

“Hss.”

I looked over my blood-soaked room, then shifted my gaze to the wall. A small window with iron bars was set into the thick stone. Maybe I could manage it now. The ultimate goal was escape, after all. Wasn’t this more certain than steadily climbing facility by facility?

Fuck it. Let’s try.

I closed my eyes and pictured it—the maximum output of sword qi I could produce, aimed at that wall. Imagining the building split cleanly in two, I swept my hand upward from below.

Ssshk!!

“Not even close.”

A clear trajectory was carved into the thick wall. But that was all. The wall itself didn’t break. Instead my skull felt ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ready to split. Without the slightest resistance, blood gushed from my nose and ran down my chin. The thick, metallic taste flooding my throat made me cough, and more blood burst out. So this was what happened when you carelessly spammed a superpower. That lesson sank into my body as I collapsed.

My consciousness faded.