A faint ding sliced through the silence, just above his vision.
It wasn’t a sound in the air—it was in his mind, crisp and electronic, like an alert on a high-end trading app. Before him, floating at a perfectly arrogant forty-five-degree angle, hovered a translucent blue screen. Stylish. Smooth. Frighteningly well-branded.
[CORPORATE VILLAIN EXPANSION SYSTEM: BOOTING...]
Class Registered: "Villain Father (Cursed)"
Profile Integrity: 92% – Alignnt Confird
Primary Directive: DESTABILIZE FATED PLOTLINE.
Secondary Directive: GROW CORNELIUS HOLDINGS TO CITY-LEADING STATUS.
Welco, Vincent Cornelius. Let’s ruin a future.
Vincent stared at the text, calm as a glacier.
Inside? He was ntally clearing his calendar for the next decade.
"Of course this damn life has a price," he murmured under his breath.
Another ping.
[TARGET IDENTIFIED: Liam Darrow]
Narrative Class: Protagonist-Level Threat (Reborn)
Luck Points: 1120 LP
Recomnded Action: HUMILIATE OR CORRUPT TARGET.
Bonus: Do so within 20 minutes.
Reward: 300 VP | 50 LP | 5 "Petty Buff" (Temporary)
Vincent tapped his chin, eyes narrowed slightly.
Reincarnated? So I’m not the only one cheating...
He glanced at the door again.
Inside: his idiotic son, a script-chasing reincarnator, and a frazzled teacher one insult away from handing in his resignation.
Vincent’s lips curled into a smile so slight, so controlled, it could have been a reflex.
He whispered, "Alright let’s begin," then reached for the door handle.
The door creaked open.
Five heads turned. The air, already thick with tension, practically condensed.
Lucas sat with a puffed cheek, blood at the edge of his mouth. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes. Liam stood tall, chest puffed, wearing the look of a man who thought he’d just won sothing important. The teacher looked exhausted. Helena, seated near the window, rose slowly, hands folded in front of her with quiet grace.
Vincent took three steps into the room and stopped. His presence drew the air from the room like a vacuum.
"Which one of you," he asked smoothly, "was hit by my son?"
Lucas sniffled. "F-Father, you must avenge , he—"
CRACK.
Vincent’s palm landed cleanly on Lucas’s cheek. A clean, professional strike. Not too hard. Not gentle either.
Everyone froze.
CRACK. The other cheek.
"But he—"
CRACK.
The third slap silenced the room.
Lucas felt very aggrieved. Not only did he break his tooth. His father was also slapping him.
Vincent adjusted his cufflinks. "How dare you," he said, voice calm and steady, "bully a poor, fatherless boy with no background, no protection, and a mother who works harder than you ever have."
Liam’s eyebrows twitched. He opened his mouth, but Vincent raised one hand.
"You—a young master of the Cornelius family—used your status to bully soone with nothing. What’s next? Shaking down street vendors for pocket change? Slapping orphans in soup lines?"
Lucas shrank in place, sniffling.
The system chid:
[Mission Complete: Humiliate the Protagonist.]
[Narrative Confusion Achieved. Target LP: -100. VP Gained: 200. Public Sympathy Distorted.]
Vincent said while raising his hand again. "Let this be a lesson. Even trash deserves dignity."
The words were neutral, others didn’t notice but Liam understood the implication clear. Liam’s expression soured slightly. The lines weren’t playing out like he expected.
That’s when Helena moved. She stepped forward, gently grabbing Vincent’s wrist.
"That’s enough," she said, kind but firm. "He’s still your son."
Vincent paused.
Her hand was warm. Her grip steady, but not forceful.
He turned his head and looked at her, really looked. Not just the beauty, but the courage. The grace. The steadiness in a mont where everyone else held their breath.
Vincent blinked.
"Madam you are such a kind soul" he murmured. "So sweet and gentle in a world that rewards neither." he said already holding her hand gently.
Helena blushed faintly.
He leaned in slightly. "My son lost his mother ten years ago," he whispered. "He would have grown up better if he had soone like you."
Her lips parted slightly. But she didn’t move away.
[Affinity Shift: Helena Darrow → Mild Positive. Impression Registered: "Unexpectedly human." LP Siphoned: 50. VP: 100.]
Vincent stepped back, composed. As he passed her, he dropped a folded linen note into her purse. No words. Just movent. He didn’t look back.
In the Cornelius family car, silence wrapped the cabin like velvet.
Vincent reclined in his seat, lazily swirling a glass of crimson spirit wine. He looked relaxed, almost bored, though his eyes were thoughtful. Olivia sat across from him in the plush leather interior. She held her tablet like a shield, legs crossed in her usual crisp manner. Her posture was professional, her face neutral—almost.
"You’ve seen the initial dia reports?" she asked, not bothering with pleasantries.
"Ta them," Vincent replied.
"Should I leak the modified version?"
"Yes. Fra it as a misunderstanding. Emphasize my disappointnt. Blur the identities. Let the public make up their own drama."
Olivia nodded and started typing, her fingers quick and precise.
"What about the mother?"
"Send her a care package. Nothing with logos. Sothing elegant but modest. Include skincare, a gentle fragrance, and rose tonic."
Olivia hesitated for a fraction of a second. Her lips pressed into a faint line. "Of course," she said, too evenly.
She didn’t look up right away. When she did, her eyes lingered on Vincent a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if searching for sothing in his expression.
[Public Perception Warp: "Protagonist Shield Dented." VP 150 | LP 30 | Narrative Control: 1 Tier]
Vincent took another sip of his wine. He stared into the swirling liquid like it might hold answers. "The boy... he’s not just arrogant. He’s acting like he knows the script. Like he expects everything to go his way."
"What do you an?" Olivia asked quietly.
Vincent didn’t reply. He simply tilted the glass, watching the deep red ripple with thought. There was no need to answer her—not yet.
Olivia glanced at him again, more openly this ti. But when he didn’t et her gaze, she turned her eyes back to her screen, her expression once again smooth and unreadable.
Vincent stood alone in his study, firelight flickering across polished stone.
Two folders rested on his desk. One read: Liam Darrow – Narrative Risk. The other: Mother.
He smiled.
"Welco to the second life, Liam," he murmured. "Let’s see if you’re clever enough to keep it."
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