"You… Sylas Evermoor are a disgrace."
The words hit me like a hammer to the chest.
I blinked slowly, trying to make sense of my surroundings.
My vision swam, unfocused at first, before settling on the one who had spoken — an elderly man standing at the center of a raised dais, his voice echoing through a grand hall carved from black stone and polished marble.
He had a balding head with long strands of white hair swept back like a lion's mane, and a beard to match.
His posture was ramrod straight, and his presence was... oppressive, like a coiled serpent sizing up its prey.
But it wasn't just him.
As my eyes adjusted, I realized I wasn't alone.
Rows of people lined the chamber — nobles, elders, highborns in long robes and house crests.
Men and women of the same bloodline, all looking at me with the same expression etched onto their faces: contempt.
Not pity. Not disappointment. Just loathing.
My heartbeat quickened. I opened my mouth to speak, only to hesitate. My throat felt dry — as if I hadn't had water in days.
'What the hell is going on?'
The man on the dais continued speaking, voice dripping with disdain.
"You have not disgraced the family name once, but on countless occasions. You've stained the legacy of the Evermoor Clan with your arrogance, your incompetence, and your cruelty. Even beyond these halls, your reputation is vile."
Evermoor…?
The name sent a jolt through me.
I knew that name. I remembered it. I used to read it — in a novel. A fantasy novel. A trashy, plot-armored, cliché-riddled mess I mocked online during one of my late-night rant sessions.
But… I wasn't just reading about it now.
I was in it.
How the hell did that happen?
That realization trickled in slowly, like a drop of cold water sliding down the back of my neck.
Confusion gave way to discomfort… and then dread.
'Wait. Wait, no. No way.'
My eyes darted toward my hands.
They were pale and refined like that of a rich boy, clad in black embroidered long sleeves.
I looked down at my clothes — a black and silver noble's coat trimmed with obsidian lining.
The texture felt expensive, the fabric heavy, but unfamiliar. My legs felt weak. My breathing hitched.
And my head…
Memories that weren't mine swirled in like a tidal wave. Sword duels. Ballrooms. Screaming servants.
A cruel smirk on my face as I barked orders.
Flames.
Blood.
No. No, no, no, no…
This wasn't possible. This couldn't be real.
Evermoor… Sylas Evermoor…?
The villain.
The first villain. The guy everyone hated.
The arrogant noble who tried to rape the heroine in the first arc, only to get publicly humiliated and exiled before the real story even started.
He was the tutorial boss. A narrative speed bump.
He wasn't supposed to matter.
But I'm him…?
I finally found my voice, rough and unfamiliar.
"Excuse me—"
"Silence!" the old man thundered, his voice laced with magic.
A crushing weight pressed down on my shoulders, forcing me back a step.
My lungs seized.
Every nerve screamed.
I could feel his killing intent and it was suffocating.
The courtroom fell silent. The air itself seemed to still.
If I spoke again, out of turn, he'd kill me.
No questions. No hesitation.
I gritted my teeth and nodded slowly, swallowing my words. My mind raced, but I forced myself to stay calm.
The man — who I now recognized as the clan patriarch, Gareth Evermoor, Sylas's grandfather — continued as if nothing had happened.
"The clan and I have reached a unanimous decision. Your title as heir is hereby revoked. Your privileges stripped. From this day forward, you are no longer of House Evermoor."
There was a collective murmur of agreement. A few smug smiles. A snicker from somewhere on the left.
I should have been devastated. Angry. Terrified.
But instead… I felt relief.
'Yes. Good. Kick me out. I don't want to be part of this cursed family anyway.'
In the original novel, the Evermoor Clan gets obliterated. Assassinations. Betrayals. A demon raid that wipes them off the map.
Their fall becomes a mere plot device to give the protagonist another tragic backstory.
Five years, maybe less. That's all they had left.
'Better to be thrown out now and watch the fireworks from afar.'
I looked up, eyes scanning the crowd. All these people glaring at me with scorn… they didn't even realize they were walking corpses.
Let them think I was disgraced.
Let them believe I was finished.
"I accept," I said.
The chamber gasped in unison, shocked at how easily I gave up my name, my title, my legacy.
I turned and walked away without another word, down the steps, out of the hall, my mind still spinning from the sheer absurdity of it all.
I soon returned to my chambers — or what was left of them — I took a long look around.
The room was elegant, but stripped bare.
Tapestries gone.
Family crests removed.
Only the essentials remained: a half-made bed, a desk, and a single item resting on a silk pillow — a dimensional ring.
I approached it cautiously and picked it up. The moment it touched my skin, I felt the surge of mana linking it to my core.
Inside were coins, a few enchanted items, some scrolls… and way too many perfume bottles.
Seriously, how much cologne did this guy use?
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall, trying to process everything.
'This is real. This isn't a dream. I've been reincarnated… into a world destined for destruction.'
I chuckled weakly.
"I'm so screwed."
The room was silent.
The shadows lengthened as the sun set outside.
Somewhere beyond these walls, the world was spinning as always.
The story was beginning.
The protagonist was still on his way to the capital, blissfully unaware of the chaos to come.
And here I was.
'I won't survive like this. Not with a villain's name. Not in this broken world.'
"I need something," I muttered. "Anything. A chance. A cheat. A system. I don't care how cliché it is. I won't survive without one."
I let out a long breath and looked up at the ceiling.
"Please, fate… if you're listening…"
A sound rang through the air — ding — clear and crystalline, like a notification chime.
Then, a glowing blue window appeared before my eyes.
[Gacha System Initializing…]
I stared.
Wait. Gacha?