Road To Revenge: Obtaining a villain system

014. Official: In A Relationship

Niccolo couldn’t get any sleep that night. He tossed and turned on his bed, the sheets growing damp with sweat as his mind spiraled between two heavy burdens: the mayor’s enticing offer and the voice’s chilling demand. One was a path of opportunity, a chance at power and perhaps security. The other was a road paved in shadows and blood.

His thoughts pulled him back and forth. He pictured the mayor’s face across the mahogany table, the weight in his voice when he promised Niccolo two wishes, any wishes at all. What kind of man had that sort of influence? More importantly, what kind of future could Niccolo carve for himself if he dared to accept?

But every time he tried to follow that fantasy, the voice returned to claw him back down into reality. The task. The impossible, suffocating task. He was supposed to spend a whole month in a stranger’s mansion, playing the role of a servant, quietly earning trust… only to betray it with poison. The thought churned in his stomach like spoiled food.

How was he supposed to kill a man he didn’t even know? he thought, staring at the ceiling. And what if he got caught? What if he failed?

The word “punishment” echoed in his skull. The voice had refused to reveal what it meant, and that mystery terrified him more than death itself. His imagination filled the silence with possibilities —torments worse than anything Kimberly and his boss had put him through.

In the end, fear made the choice for him. As much as Niccolo hated the idea of killing, survival demanded it. He had to be alive to get his revenge, he reminded himself, clenching his fists. Kimberly and that bastard boss won’t get away with humiliating him. If this was the price, then so be it.

Sometime after midnight, he drifted into a fitful sleep.

And that was when the dream came.

He found himself standing in a foggy street, the lamps glowing faintly as if smothered by smoke. Ahead of him stood another version of himself. The sight was unsettling —the figure had his face, his body, his tired eyes, but his smile was sharper, crueler, as though it had been carved with a knife.

The other Niccolo held out a tiny pouch. “You’ll need this,” he said, his voice calm but firm. Niccolo glanced down and saw the pouch was filled with a fine white powder. It shimmered faintly, almost alive.

“What is it?” Niccolo asked.

“Your key,” the reflection replied. “Just a pinch in his food or drink every day. Slow. Patient. Let it hollow him out until nothing’s left.”

Niccolo hesitated, the pouch feeling strangely heavy in his hands. “And if I don’t?”

The other him leaned close, their eyes locking. His smile faded into something cold. “Then you’ll learn what punishment really means.”

Then the figure whispered an address into his ear, the numbers and location coordinate branding themselves into his mind. As the fog thickened around them, the doppelganger repeated the words: One month. No failure.

Niccolo woke with a jolt, heart pounding, his sheets twisted around his body. For a moment he felt something in his hand, and to his shock when he opened his hand, the pouch still laid in his palm. The memory of the weight of his dream still lingering.

By morning, he had made his decision.

He called Ariana. His voice shook slightly as he said, “I’m ready. I’ll take your offer. I’ll keep acting as your boyfriend… but I need a month before I can be fully yours. There’s something personal I have to handle first.”

The joy in Ariana’s reply was clear as day. Her laugh was light, almost musical, and she didn’t even try to hide her excitement. “Niccolo, you have no idea how happy this makes me. I’ll wait as long as you need. Meet me this morning— we’ll make it official.”

They chose a cafe in the heart of the city, a place with wide glass windows and a steady stream of customers. Niccolo arrived first, nerves gnawing at him, but when Ariana swept through the doors, all eyes turned toward her. She carried herself with effortless grace, her blonde hair— looking almost golden— catching the sunlight, her designer coat drawing admiration.

Heads turned. Whispers followed. And Niccolo realized just how much attention Ariana commanded simply by existing.

When she reached his table, her smile was radiant. “You don’t know how many people have been waiting for this,” she teased, sliding into the seat across from him.

Niccolo managed a chuckle. “So you’re saying I’m late to the party?”

“I’m saying the party’s about to start.”

Their conversation flowed easily, but Niccolo couldn’t ignore the people around them— several discreetly holding up their phones, taking photos of the pair. He saw flashes of curiosity, envy, even recognition in their eyes. By the time their food arrived, he noticed a couple of teenagers near the window openly recording them.

Niccolo decided to seize the moment. He reached across the table, took Ariana’s hand in his, and lifted it to his lips. Her fingers were soft and warm, and when he kissed them, a small gasp escaped the cafe crowd.

By the time breakfast ended, dozens of pictures had already surfaced online. Niccolo scrolled through them on his phone and couldn’t help but marvel at how quickly they spread. One particular shot— him kissing Ariana’s hand with her smiling like royalty— was already trending.

With a sly grin, he reposted it on his own account, adding the caption: Can’t have a quiet breakfast when you’re dating a celebrity.

Almost instantly, comments flooded in— former work colleagues, strangers, even acquaintances who had ignored him before. Everyone wanted a piece of the story.

When Ariana suggested they change their relationship statuses together, Niccolo hesitated only for a heartbeat before agreeing. With a few taps, both profiles shifted from single to in a relationship. The symbolic weight of it hit him harder than expected.

As they left the cafe, Ariana looped her arm through his. Cameras followed, eyes lingered, and Niccolo forced himself to smile. He played the role convincingly, but deep inside, a storm raged. Every step he took beside her reminded him of the address burning in his memory.

By the time he finally broke away from Ariana with an excuse about errands, his smile had faded. He pulled out his phone, opened his maps, and entered the address the voice had given him.

Niccolo’s throat tightened. His second task had begun.

He stood still for a long moment, staring at his phone, the weight of the dream still heavy in his chest. In that address lived a man he was destined —commanded —to kill.

And the clock on his month had already started ticking.