The Novel’s Antagonist: I walk the path of a Villain

"Welcome to the Guardian Academy," the voice boomed, resonating with a calculated elegance that demanded attention.

"This venerable institution is not a sanctuary for the faint-hearted. Here, you will face challenges that defy comprehension, adversities that will either shatter you or forge you into something extraordinary. Among the students of this Academy, there exist only two categories: the Exceptional and the Forgotten."

The speaker's gaze swept over the assembly.

"You stand here today not because you have proven yourselves worthy, but because you have been granted a rare opportunity—a chance to justify the seat you now occupy. Many of you have arrived through favors, lineage, or sheer fortune. Let me assure you, none of those will sustain you for long. Here, merit reigns supreme. To endure, you must earn your place and defend it with every fiber of your being."

The silence thickened as the next words fell like a gavel.

"In one month, the preliminary evaluations will determine your fate within these esteemed institution. Prepare wisely, for your actions will dictate the course of your lives. May fortune favor the diligent."

...

...

A young man strode down the corridor, his steps measured and deliberate. His hair, a silken cascade of blueish-white, partially obscured his downcast eyes of ashen gray. His uniform—a pristine white shirt beneath an oxblood blazer, paired with impeccably tailored trousers—was incomplete. He had dispensed with the tie and sleeveless cardigan, a silent rebellion that rendered him conspicuous amidst the sea of regulation-bound first-years.

"Hey."

The voice was sharp, tinged with arrogance, cutting through his introspection. He halted, lifting his gaze to find a student lounging casually on the staircase. The boy's companions, similarly attired but far less disciplined in appearance, flanked him.

The blue-haired youth sighed inwardly.

'Even like this, I still scream 'easy target,' don't I?'

[What did you expect? You think dressing down disguises weakness?] a mocking voice interjected in his mind.

'Don't distract me, please'

"I said, come here," the seated boy commanded, his tone brooking no defiance. The group began to move closer, their predatory intent palpable.

"And why should I?" the young man replied coolly, shoving his hands into his pockets as he locked eyes with the leader. His tone was one of detached indifference, a calculated defense.

[Brilliant. Poke the hornet's nest. That'll work.]

I'll deal with them. Just stay quiet.

The group's smirks widened at his audacity.

"Oh, you've got nerve," the leader said, rising from his perch. The lackeys began to close in.

"Do you think acting aloof will make you less of a target?" the leader sneered.

'Tsk. I really need to rethink this strategy,' the young man thought, his annoyance masked by an indifferent expression.

One of the lackeys grabbed him roughly. "You don't know your place, do you?" he hissed, before delivering a sharp blow.

The punch landed hard, and the young man stumbled, biting back a curse.

"Do you even know who I am?!" the leader bellowed, his voice dripping with arrogance.

"Boss," one of them muttered, his raven-black hair gleaming under the hallway lights.

"What?" the leader snapped, irritation evident.

"He's… a Level 1," the lackey said, his tone dripping with disbelief.

'Damn it! This useless Meta-watch! Why is the User's level the default display?!' 

A hush fell over the group before one of them broke into laughter.

"Level 1? Those still exist?"

The leader sneered, his expression twisting with mockery. "A Level 1 dared to act bold in front of me?" He walked towards the young man, his lackeys stepping aside to give him space.

"Teach him a lesson," he ordered. "And take every last point he has."

The lackeys grinned maliciously, their fists tightening.

[This is your chance. Merge with it already.]

'No.'

The blue-haired boy remained silent, his head bowed as if in resignation.

"Tsk." The leader clicked his tongue. "I was in a good mood today. I would've gone easy on you—taken maybe a hundred points. But now? You'll regret ever stepping foot in this Academy."

Blow after blow rained down. The young man didn't cry out. He refused to give them the satisfaction. But as darkness crept into the edges of his vision, one thought lingered in his mind.

'I hate this fucking world,'

…

…

When he woke, the world was cold. He groaned, pushing himself up from the tiled floor. His body ached with every movement.

"Those bastards," he muttered, clenching his fists. "They took everything."

He glanced around. The hallway was dark and deserted. Night had fallen, and with it came another problem.

'I missed curfew,' he realized bitterly.

He chuckled dryly, leaning his head back against the wall. No one had intervened. Dozens of students had walked by, but not one had spared him a second glance.

"It's every man for himself here," he whispered to the empty corridor.

[You're foolish. How long will you keep letting your emotions control you? Merge with it already and stop all this stupidity.]

'I told you, I'm not using that cursed power,' he retorted silently.

The voice faded, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

"Sigh. Just a little more rest," he muttered to himself, lying back down. The coldness of the floor seeped into his bones, but he didn't care.