Old money families did not disown their children loudly.
There were no arguments, no tears, no slammed doors.
They erased you quietly—with a signature,a sealed envelope,and a decision already approved long before you were informed.
I learned this at nineteen, standing in the west wing of the Valemont Estate, where portraits of my ancestors stared past me as if I had already become irrelevant.
"By unanimous vote," my grandfather said, folding his hands atop the ebony cane,"your status as a Valemont heir is hereby revoked."
No one else spoke.
My uncles avoided my eyes.My cousins watched with restrained interest, like spectators at a predictable execution.
I did not ask why.
Old money never explained itself to what it discarded.
Instead, I asked, "Is it final?"
My grandfather nodded. "You were… an unfortunate variable."
That was the word they chose for me.
Variable.
Not failure.Not disappointment.Not mistake.
A statistical anomaly in a lineage that had ruled banks, energy grids, and private armies for over a century.
I bowed my head, because that was what a Valemont was taught to do—even at the moment of death.
"I understand."
That seemed to please them.
I left the estate with a single suitcase.
My accounts were frozen before I reached the gates.
My biometric access was revoked before I reached the road.
By nightfall, the world I had been born into no longer acknowledged my existence.
That was when the voice spoke.
[World Correction System Initialized.][Subject Identified: Antagonist Candidate.]
I stopped walking.
The street was empty. The city lights of Ashbourne shimmered in the distance like a mirage I would never reach.
"Antagonist?" I murmured.
[You possess traits statistically incompatible with the designated Protagonist.][Correction required.]
A cold sensation crawled up my spine—not fear, but recognition.
So that was it.
The family had not cast me out because I was weak.
They had sensed what the system now confirmed.
I did not belong in the story they were meant to win.
Memories surfaced unbidden.
The way opportunities slipped from my hands at the last moment.The way my "brilliant" plans were always credited to someone else.The way the world subtly resisted me, again and again.
Not coincidence.
Curation.
"Let me guess," I said quietly. "I'm meant to lose."
[Correct.][Your function is to apply pressure to the Protagonist's growth.][Failure is mandatory.]
I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was efficient.
"So if I refuse?"
There was a pause.
Then—
[Refusal detected.][Initiating Penalty Protocol.]
Pain exploded behind my eyes.
My knees buckled. I tasted blood.
Something inside me—something fundamental—was being torn away.
[Innate Talent: Strategic Cognition — Reclaimed.]
The pain stopped as abruptly as it began.
I lay on the pavement, breathing hard, suddenly aware that the world felt… duller.
Slower.
Less precise.
They weren't asking.
They were enforcing.
I understood then.
This system did not reward ambition.It did not care about morality.It did not even care about justice.
It cared only about narrative stability.
Heroes rose.Villains fell.And I had been assigned my place.
Slowly, I stood.
Wiped the blood from my mouth.
"All right," I said.
"If you want a villain—"
The city lights flickered, as if listening.
"I'll give you one."
[Antagonistic Intent Confirmed.][Antagonist Completion: 3%]
For the first time that night—
I felt the world stop pushing back.
And that was when I realized the truth.
The system did not fear heroes.
It feared a villain who understood the rules.