He's the hero and I am just a Villain

Dante stood in front of Zaden, his presence like a looming shadow of righteousness.

And I—

I was still on the floor.

Wait. Why was I still on the floor?!

I immediately scrambled to my feet, dusting off my clothes with what little dignity I had left. My back still ached from Zaden's earlier punch, but I wasn't about to sit around looking pathetic while the script unfolded before me.

Dante's voice boomed through the cafeteria like a war drum.

"You think you're a thug? Huh?!"

The sheer force of it sent a ripple through the crowd. Students held their breath. The weight of his words crashed down like a divine decree.

And Zaden?

Zaden rolled his eyes.

Of course, he did. But even then, he didn't argue back.

Because who would? Who in their right mind would go against Dante Ashbourne, the hero of this story, the academy's golden boy, the unbeatable, the unstoppable—

I sighed. This was my own fault.

I created this version of Dante—the guy who could make even the most terrifying delinquent bite his tongue with a single glare.

"Guys, look." I began, raising my hands in a gesture of peace. "Let's all calm down, yeah? From now on, we can all just live in peace. I won't disturb any of you. Not you." I pointed at Zaden. "Not you." I pointed at Dante. "Not even all of you!" I swept my arm toward the entire cafeteria.

Silence.

I smiled nervously. Yes. This is good. This is progress.

And then—

"This is a cafeteria, not your home."

Dante's voice cut through the air like a blade. "You are not going to bully the weak. If you want to fight so badly, then fight me."

His eyes burned into Zaden, anger simmering beneath his usually composed expression.

But hold on—

Did they not hear me?

I blinked.

I waved a hand.

Nothing.

They weren't even looking at me.

My stomach sank. Wait, wait, wait.

I tried again. "Guys?! Hello?!"

No reaction.

They just stood there, glaring at each other like two storm clouds about to collide, as if I wasn't even here.

A horrifying realization hit me.

The story—it was still following the script.

Everything was progressing exactly as I had written. Every line, every action—it was locked in place.

And my words? My attempts to steer this scene in a different direction?

They didn't exist.

I wasn't part of this moment.

I wasn't supposed to speak.

I wasn't supposed to intervene.

…So what would happen if I did?

I grinned. Let's test this theory.

I jumped in front of them.

I waved my arms.

I even started dancing—twirling, stomping, waving my hands like a maniac while belting out, "You hear me, guys? So tell me now!"

Nothing.

They did not even blink.

I clapped my hands in front of Dante's face.

I poked Zaden's shoulder.

I even spun around dramatically, flipping my nonexistent cape like some grand stage performer.

Still nothing.

It was like time itself had frozen.

I stopped, panting slightly.

Then, slowly, I walked back to my original spot and shut my mouth.

And just like that—

"You are not going to bully the weak."

Dante's voice echoed again.

The moment resumed as if nothing had happened.

I felt a shiver crawl down my spine.

The world only moved when I followed the script.

I was bound to the story.

Bound to Its Rules.

Whether I liked it or not.

"Move. Now." Dante's voice was firm, cutting through the cafeteria's tense silence. His sharp gaze locked onto Zaden, who stood frozen in place. "And if I ever see you bullying him again, you already know what will happen."

A subtle shift passed through Zaden's expression—something between irritation and reluctant fear. His jaw clenched as he averted his gaze, clearly swallowing back whatever insult was on the tip of his tongue. And then, so quietly it was almost a whisper, he muttered,

"But don't you hate him too? Why are you protecting him now?"

Dante didn't even blink. "Because I just hate his personality," he said, voice unwavering. "That doesn't give me the right to put my hands on him."

There it was. The hero's righteous, cheesy speech.

And, right on cue—the cafeteria erupted into applause.

Hands clapped in unison, the sound echoing off the walls like a perfectly scripted scene. Students nodded at each other in admiration. A few whispered amongst themselves about how noble Dante was.

I even spotted a girl dramatically wiping away fake tears.

I had never felt so nauseous in my entire life.

Zaden, now publicly humiliated, gritted his teeth and did a quick scan of the room. He had no way to salvage this. No way to flip the script back in his favor. So, with a heavy sigh, he straightened his uniform, turned on his heel, and stormed off. His lackeys scrambled after him like beaten dogs, eager to escape the shame of their defeat.

Dante, standing victorious, finally turned to face me.

And that's when I saw it. Again.

That stupid light.

The protagonist aura.

A soft, golden glow radiated behind him, casting an almost ethereal light around his figure.

I sighed. Of course.

Then—something flickered in the corner of my vision.

A darker glow.

I turned my head slightly, and sure enough—there was light behind me too. But instead of golden rays of justice, mine burned in deep crimson and black, flickering like embers in the dark.

Seriously?

All because I was the villain?