The villain, grim and broken, hurled a teacup at me. "Get out," he snarled. "Are you deaf?" I met his murderous gaze and, taking his hand, slowly traced two words onto his palm: I’m deaf. My System shrieked in my mind. “Host, what are you doing?!” “The only way to win him over is to be even more broken than he is.” I blinked at the villain, my eyes wide with a carefully crafted innocence, and continued to spell out my message. “I have a heart condition. Could you please… not be so mean?” A violent tremor shot through his hand. 1 “First a redemption mission, now a conquest mission. Are you guys sure you’ve got the right person?” I grumbled, carrying a tea tray down the second-floor hallway of the opulent mansion, the plush carpet muffling my footsteps. My conversation was purely internal, a back-and-forth with the System in my head. “And don’t forget which division I’m from.” “We haven’t forgotten, we promise! But you’re the only agent in the Transmigration Bureau with a 100% success rate, and this world is down to its last chance. If you fail, this reality collapses…” the System whined, its tone reminiscent of a spurned lover. “We don’t know what’s wrong with this villain. His Corruption Level isn’t even that high, but he’s just… unconquerable.” “I’ve read the files. You’ve all been using the wrong approach,” I said, nearing the bedroom at the end of the long hall. “This is a conquest mission, but every agent before me tried to redeem him.” The System sounded confused. “But for a corrupted villain, isn’t redemption the ultimate form of conquest?” “Not for him. He’s different. His darkness comes from betrayal—his own brother, the one he loved most, orchestrated the car crash that stole his legs and everything he ever owned.” “So? How does that make him different?” I stopped before the heavy oak door and tilted my head. “He was born a golden boy, the heir to a fortune, showered with love his entire life. To him, your brand of ‘redemption’ feels like pity. A handout. And he doesn’t need your pity.” “Then… what does he need?” the System asked. A slow smile crept across my face. I raised my hand and knocked. A single word roared from within the room: “Out.” Even through the thick wood, the raw, explosive fury in that voice was unmistakable. “When he’s like this, no one can get near him! Host, you’d better…” A soft creak cut off the System’s frantic warning. I had already pushed the door open and stepped inside. 2 The moment I entered, my eyes were drawn to the man in the wheelchair. His face was a masterpiece of sculpted angles, his brow sharp and severe. A thin sheen of sweat clung to his forehead, and the pained tension in his expression lent a tragic, fragile beauty to his otherwise cold features. His hands were gripping the armrests, his knuckles white as he struggled to push himself up. At the sound of the door, he froze, his head snapping up. His eyes, naturally shaped for charm and warmth, were now swirling with a dark, simmering rage. This was the villain of this world: Adrian Thorne. “Get. Out,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. I paused, blinking in feigned confusion, then walked past him toward a small side table to pour a cup of tea. Before he could roar at me again, I was holding it out to him. Adrian’s face was a mask of pure loathing. He snatched the cup from my hand and, in one violent motion, smashed it against my leg. The force of the movement sent scalding tea splashing across the back of his own hand, turning the skin an angry red in an instant. “I told you to get out! Are you deaf?” he roared. I glanced down at my soaked pants, then looked back up, meeting his murderous glare without flinching. Without warning, I reached out, took his hand, and turned it palm-up. “What are you—” Before he could pull away, my finger was tracing letters onto his skin. One slow, deliberate stroke at a time. I’m. Deaf. Adrian’s struggles ceased. After a long silence, the System screamed in my mind. “Host, what are you DOING?!” “Making myself more pathetic than him. It’s the only way.” While answering the System, I pulled a small notepad and pen from my pocket—prepared in advance, of course—and scribbled a few words. Then, blinking with wide, innocent eyes, I pressed the notepad into his hand. He looked down. His gaze fell upon the single line. “I have a heart condition. Could you please not be so mean?” A violent, uncontrollable tremor shot through Adrian’s hand. 3 Adrian Thorne was nothing like the villains who were forged in fire and misery from birth. He was the heir to the Northstar Corporation, born into staggering wealth and privilege, raised by loving parents. He had been a golden boy—bright, gentle, and kind. Five years ago, when his father’s illegitimate son, Jack, was brought into the family, Adrian had even welcomed him with open arms, treating him like a true brother. But no one in the Thorne family knew that Jack was a monster in sheep’s clothing. He played the part of the harmless, grateful outsider, slowly earning their trust while following Adrian into the corporate world. But five years wasn’t enough to tame the viper they’d welcomed into their home. When the time was right, Jack orchestrated two car crashes. The first killed Adrian’s parents instantly. The second left Adrian paralyzed from the waist down. Then, with a truly sadistic flourish, Jack kept Adrian a prisoner in the family mansion, forcing him to watch as he seized control of Northstar Corporation and even stole his fiancée. Jack was the true villain of this story, a textbook sociopath who dominated the early narrative. His pure, unadulterated evil only served to highlight how tragically compelling Adrian became when, pushed to the brink, he finally broke and became something far more terrifying. My arrival was perfectly timed. Adrian was a caged animal, Jack had solidified his power, and he was in the process of claiming Adrian’s fiancée for himself. I glanced at Adrian’s long, elegant fingers, the knuckles stark white as he crumpled the note. I knew, with certainty, that his Corruption Level was probably hovering at less than fifty percent. Just as I thought this, his hand moved. He took the pen from me and, after a brief pause, wrote two words. “Leave.” He didn't say "get out" this time. “Host, it’s working!” the System chirped. I ignored its glee, my own eyes filling with manufactured tears as I took the notepad back. I bit my lip, my expression one of pure hurt. “I’m sorry.” After writing the words, I cast one last, wounded look at Adrian and turned to leave. “System,” I commanded internally, “give me some whip marks on my legs. Make them look like they were scalded and are now bleeding.” “Huh?” The System was baffled but complied. “Done.” The moment I took my first step, I buckled, doubling over as if in agony. “Make the blood drip onto the floor.” In my peripheral vision, I saw a trickle of red snake down my pant leg and pool on the pristine floorboards. The effect was a little… dramatic. My brow twitched. This was a bit much, even for me. Then, from behind me, came Adrian’s urgent voice. “Wait.” 4 I took another faltering step, putting on a full performance of ‘I’m in agony, but I’m trying to hide it, but I can’t, and oh, the shame.’ Adrian, remembering I was “deaf,” shoved his wheelchair forward, blocking my path. “Your leg…” he started, then stopped, frustrated. He snatched the notepad and scribbled, “What happened to your leg?” He followed it up with another question. “Do you know sign language?” A single tear rolled down my cheek as I began to sign. “My leg… it was already injured. The hot water just…” I trailed off, glancing meaningfully at the red, angry patch on the back of his hand. Adrian’s face darkened, his expression stormier than a thundercloud. He pointed to a nearby sofa. “Sit.” He then wheeled himself over to the phone by his bed and dialed a number. “Get the doctor up here. Now.” “Tsk, tsk. He’s a wreck himself, and he can still feel guilty for someone else. No wonder the readers used to call him a saint. And no wonder his brother played him for such a fool,” I mused to the System, my face a perfect mask of pitiable suffering. “That’s only because he hasn’t fully turned yet,” the System whispered back. “In the future, he’s basically Satan…” The future Satan hung up the phone and wheeled himself back over to me. He just sat there, lips pressed into a thin line, his deep eyes scrutinizing me as if trying to solve a puzzle. He was deciding what to do with me. I decided to strike first. I signed my pre-planned story: “I escaped and collapsed at the gates. The butler found me and brought me here.” “He told me to serve you. He said if I pleased you, I could stay.” It wasn't a stretch. Every caregiver Adrian had was driven away within two days. The butler was desperate enough to hire a stray. “Please, don’t make me leave,” I signed, my hands trembling. “I don’t want to be dragged back there…” I left the sentence hanging, a perfect piece of bait. As expected, Adrian took it. “Back where? Where did you escape from?” “I don’t know what it was called. It was a red-brick estate. There were so many women locked inside. Men would come every day and… take their pick.” “The ones they took… some never came back. The ones who did… their clothes were always torn…” Adrian’s expression shifted, his face paling. I knew he’d filled in the blanks exactly as I wanted. “Because I can’t hear or scream for help, they weren’t watching me as closely.” I looked at him, my eyes wide and fearful. After a long moment, he finally signed back. “Your injuries…” “Before the red house… my foster father… he was violent…” Before Adrian could respond, the System cut in. “Host, don’t you think you’re laying it on a bit thick?” “Doesn’t matter. Buffs stacked to the max.” This was nothing. I might be losing a few story-patching points, but Adrian had lost his legs. I could be far, far more broken than this. 5 Jack was truly twisted. He kept Adrian imprisoned in the mansion, yet he didn't mistreat him in the conventional sense. The food, the servants, the medical care—all were top-notch. When the doctor came to examine my leg, he had to roll up my pants. The moment the grotesque wound was exposed, Adrian flinched and sharply looked away. It was a masterpiece of illusion: a crisscrossing network of old and new scars. Across one section, angry red whip marks, blistered and split open, wept blood that traced patterns like dark ivy down my calf. It was gruesome. I was very pleased with the effect. I seized the opportunity to dismantle his defenses even further. “The injury won’t affect my work,” I signed desperately. “Please… please don’t send me away.” Adrian, true to his saintly reputation, couldn't do it. Even half-corrupted, he let me stay at the Thorne mansion to recover. But the betrayal had left its mark. He let me stay, but that was all. He never asked me to serve him, never inquired about my recovery. It was as if he had forgotten I existed. A new maid was even hired to attend to him, and after two days, she was still here. The System was having a meltdown. “Host! Why aren’t you making a move on the target? He has a new maid!” I was living my best life, sprawled out on a luxurious bed, watching TV and eating imported fruit. “Relax. Conquest is all about timing.” “He has someone else to take care of him now! How are you going to get close?” I rolled my eyes. “I’m here to conquer him, not to be his maid. Someone else doing the grunt work is a good thing.” “…” The System went silent, fuming. It wasn't until late that night, just after I'd fallen asleep, that it shrieked in my mind again. “Host, fire! The mansion is on fire!” I shot out of bed like a coiled spring, my eyes darting around the room, searching for the source. “Not here! It’s the villain’s room!” I knew this scene. It was one of Jack’s cruel games. The servants would be inexplicably deep in sleep, leaving Adrian to struggle for his life alone. He would painstakingly drag himself to the door, only to find it locked from the outside. The “rescuers” would arrive at the last possible second, pulling him from the brink of death. “This fire is supposed to leave him with severe burns and disfigure his face,” the System said urgently. I was calmly pouring myself a glass of water. “Host, go save him!” I took a long, slow sip and yawned. “See? The timing,” I said, a slow smile spreading across my face, “is perfect.” 6 Thick, black smoke was already seeping from under Adrian’s door. I calmly inserted a key into the lock. It didn't turn. “Host, stop trying! It’s key number 3!” the System yelled. Hearing this, I promptly inserted key number 4. “Let him cook for a little longer. The closer he is to death, the more memorable his rescue will be.” The System sounded like it was having a stroke. “Tell me when he’s dragged himself halfway across the room.” A moment later, the System’s voice was frantic. “He’s there! He’s made it halfway!” I pulled out key number 3. The instant the door swung open, I hunched over, my face a mask of panic, and plunged into the inferno. The smoke was a thick, choking blanket, but I spotted him immediately—a crumpled figure on the floor. His face and clothes were smeared with soot, his hands clawing uselessly at the polished floorboards as flames licked at the walls around him like hungry beasts. He was a wreck. When he looked up and saw me, his first instinct was to snarl, “Get… out.” His voice was a raw, animalistic rasp. I faltered for a fraction of a second, then lunged toward him, grabbing him by the shoulders. He tried to push me away. “Go…” His strength was gone, but I used the weak shove as an excuse to stumble backward, my face turned upward in theatrical alarm. “System, now! Drop the chandelier on me!” CRASH! The heavy crystal fixture slammed into my head, its jagged edges raking across my face as it fell, carving a deep, bloody gash from my temple to my cheek. While Adrian was still reeling from the shock, I grit my teeth against the (simulated) pain, hauled him onto my shoulder, and charged out of the room. “Host, what in the world are you doing?!” “I’m already here. Might as well get a disfiguring scar out of it,” I replied, my mind clear and exhilarated. “He’s going to feel so damn guilty about this.” As the System fell into a stunned silence, I carried Adrian to the top of the grand staircase. The commotion had finally been loud enough to rouse the “sleeping” servants, who were now making their way upstairs. The moment I saw them, I let out a sigh of relief, closed my eyes, and let myself collapse. But I didn't hit the hard floor. Just before I went down, a pair of arms wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me into a protective embrace. I fell into a chest that smelled of smoke and ash, and I could feel the arms holding me tremble. “See? He’s worried,” I told the System smugly. “Host… you have no heart,” it whimpered. “Of course not,” I replied coolly. “I’m having a heart attack, remember?” 7 I woke from a deep, satisfying sleep to the sound of someone coughing. My eyes fluttered open and met Adrian’s. His face was pale and drawn with exhaustion. He had a fist pressed to his mouth, trying to stifle the coughs. When he saw I was awake, he tried even harder to suppress them, but failed. He signed shakily, his body wracked with spasms. “Are you… okay? Does anything hurt?” I stared at him, momentarily stunned. “Host, Adrian has been sitting by your side for two days and two nights,” the System said, its voice dripping with resentment. “There’s only one doctor in the mansion. He made the doctor treat you first, and neglected his own condition. He inhaled too much smoke. He’s probably going to have permanent lung damage…” A sudden wave of irritation washed over me. “System, who is your host? Me, or Adrian Thorne?” The System let the truth slip. “You’re the head of the Annihilation Division. You’re infinitely more dangerous than he is…” “So you do know who I am. Which means you also know I’ve dismantled more than ten systems with my bare hands.” The System immediately shut up and scurried away into the recesses of my mind. I raised a hand to rub my temples, trying to quell an unfamiliar flicker of annoyance. Before my fingers could touch my skin, another hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. Adrian’s eyes were dark pools of intensity as he stared at my face. A flash of pure fury crossed his features. “It will heal,” he signed, his movements firm and resolute. He released my wrist. “I’ll find the best doctors. I won’t let it scar.” I only then noticed the bandages covering the left side of my face, from my eye down to my jaw. The chandelier had done its job perfectly. “It’s okay. My face doesn’t matter,” I signed back, my expression soft, my eyes curving into a gentle smile. “As long as you’re safe.” Adrian froze, his lips parting slightly. He quickly looked away, but not before I saw the tips of his fingers curl into a fist on his lap. “I wasn’t going to kick you out,” he said, his voice a low murmur, before switching back to sign language. “You… you didn’t have to do that.” “I didn’t do it to stay.” I held his gaze, my own expression sincere and unwavering. “I came here for you.” After I finished signing, I beamed at him and formed a large, deliberate heart with my hands. Adrian’s pupils contracted sharply. He turned his head away, a muscle twitching in his jaw. But on his lap, his fingers slowly, almost imperceptibly, uncurled.
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