Road To Revenge: Obtaining a villain system

008. The Reward

Niccolo sat in the driver’s seat, his fingers still curled around the steering wheel as if letting go would somehow shatter the fragile reality he was clinging to. His breathing was uneven, shallow at first, then deep and deliberate, the way someone might breathe when they’re trying not to think too hard about what just happened.

The voice in his head spoke again— calm, composed, with a tone that didn’t match the weight of its words.

> "Congratulations on completing your first task.”<

He blinked slowly, gripping the wheel tighter. “Alright. What happens now?” He managed to ask in a calm tone.

> “Now it is time for you to receive your reward.”<

The words hung in the air, like mist in the early hours of morning— impossible to hold but impossible to ignore.

Niccolo frowned, leaning back in his seat. “I didn’t know there’d be a reward.” His voice was cautious, almost suspicious.

> “There is. There always is. But first, the rules.”<

The voice wasn’t rushed. It spoke as though it had all the time in the world, and Niccolo would have to listen whether he liked it or not.

> “You will complete ten different tasks within the space of ten months. One task per month. After each one, you’ll receive a reward. If you refuse or fail to complete a task… you will be punished.”<

Niccolo’s stomach tightened. “Punished? How?”

> “You’ll find out if the time comes.”<

Something in the way the voice said that made Niccolo's skin prickle. It wasn’t threatening in the way a man with a knife might be. No —it was quieter, more subtle. Like the shadow of a bird passing over the ground, a reminder of something that might swoop down at any moment.

The voice went on;

> “When the ten months are over I will leave you. Your body will be yours alone and you will be free to do whatever you want. Whatever you earn while completing your task is yours to keep. Whatever you lose… will remain lost. Until then, Niccolo, you belong to me. I can use your body whenever I choose, and you are bound to obey me.”

Niccolo swallowed, his throat dry. “And if I say no?”

The silence that followed wasn’t just silence —it was empty, like sound had been vacuumed out of the world. His heart thudded loud in his chest. Then, softly:

> “We wouldn’t be having this conversation if you had a choice.”<

Niccolo looked out the windshield. The street was almost empty, save for a single streetlamp flickering in the distance. Somewhere far off, a siren wailed faintly, swallowed by the night.

His mind was racing. Ten tasks. Ten months. Rewards and punishments. Belonging to someone— or something —he couldn’t see.

“What’s my reward?” he asked finally. His voice was flat, tired.

> “For completing your first task— putting your life in danger to save a stranger —you receive the ability of regeneration.”

Niccolo frowned. “Regeneration?”

> “The ability to heal from injuries. Faster than normal. Stronger than normal. It won’t make you immortal, but… it will keep you alive longer than most.”<

Niccolo almost laughed, but it wasn’t humor —it was disbelief. “That’s not… that’s not possible.”

> “Accept it, and see for yourself.”<

He hesitated, running his hand along the back of his neck. “And if I don’t?”

>”Then it won't be given to you. Note that even after completing a task, it is up to you to either accept or reject a reward.”<

Niccolo’s jaw clenched. His ribs were hurting— a deep, sharp ache that made every breath a reminder of the fight earlier. His legs throbbed. His right cheek burned when he moved it. He could feel a cut above his eyebrow. He was already exhausted and regeneration was sounding pretty good.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll take it.”

The moment he agreed, something shifted.

It started in his chest.—a warmth, low and pulsing, like the first spread of heat from strong whiskey. Then it grew, radiating outward through his ribs, crawling into his shoulders, down his arms. But it wasn’t just warmth —it was pain, too. Sharp, electric pain that surged through every place he’d been hurt.

His ribs flared with agony, his legs cramped so hard he almost doubled over in the seat. His cheek burned like it had been pressed against an open flame. For ten seconds, it was unbearable— white hot, blinding pain that made his vision swim.

And then, just as suddenly, it was gone.

Niccolo’s breath came in quick gasps. His fingers flexed experimentally. He sat up straighter —and his ribs didn’t protest. He touched his cheek. Smooth skin. No tenderness. No swelling.

His eyes darted to the rearview mirror. The cut above his eyebrow? Gone. The bruising on his jaw? Gone. His skin was as if nothing had ever happened. It might have been his imagination but he could have sworn it looked even more smooth.

He stared at himself for a long moment, hardly recognizing the man in the mirror —not because his face had changed, but because what he’d just experienced was impossible.

“This… this isn’t real,” he whispered.

> “Real enough to keep you alive.”<

Niccolo’s hands were shaking now —not from fear, but from the rush of adrenaline and the strange, almost addictive relief of being whole again.

> “The next task will come next month. Until then… live as you wish.”<

And just like that, the voice was gone.

Not faded —gone. The way a candle is snuffed out in a single breath.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Niccolo sat there for a long time, the engine still idling. He could hear the faint hum of the streetlamp outside, the occasional rattle of a loose sign in the wind. But no voice. No whisper. No unseen presence curling through his thoughts.

He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or unsettled.

Finally, he straightened in his seat and gripped the wheel. He didn’t know where he was going. Didn’t know what he was supposed to do with a month of freedom before the next mysterious “task” arrived.

But he knew one thing: whatever had just happened, his life wasn’t his own anymore.

He pressed his foot to the pedal, the car rolling forward into the night. The city stretched ahead of him— lights in the distance, streets slick with the remnants of rain, shadows pooling in alleyways.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, a thought he didn’t want to acknowledge lingered.

If the first task had nearly killed him… what would the tenth be?