The Villain in the Novel Lives as the Second Best at the Academy

As the sun began to set, the slum sank deeper into darkness.

On the city outskirts, beyond the boundaries of the old town, this was a place no one visited.

A place where poverty wrapped around bodies, and survival became the highest virtue.

In narrow alleys without proper roads, collapsed bricks and waste had piled up, and water from sewers overflowed, wetting the ground beneath feet.

Shacks that could hardly be called buildings leaned precariously against each other, and from inside came faint groans and, occasionally, sounds of crying.

Most people passing on the streets were noticeably thin, wearing clothes patched together from a few pieces of cloth.

Some curled up against walls to sleep, while younger children gathered behind fallen wooden doors, enduring the cold with each other's body heat.

When winter came, more than half would disappear. Either falling ill, freezing to death, or being torn apart by others.

But this was a world of fantasy.

A place where another law existed that couldn't be explained by simple poverty. Shadows always moved between collapsed walls, and when night fell, beings of unidentifiable forms walked slowly.

Some called them 'the hungry ones,' and others simply called them 'ghosts.'

The only important fact was that people died easily where they were present.

In such a place, Arta returned with money again today.

Clink.

A few copper coins fell onto the table.

"Is this enough?"

The guy looked down at her with half-closed eyes. A man with one ear torn.

His face was deeply scarred, and his skin was rough. Had he been a blacksmith once? His knuckles were thick. He slowly reached out and picked up the coins.

"With one silver coin, I could give you something better."

"If this is enough, just hand it over."

The guy smirked, then pulled out a plate of food from behind.

It was a thin soup that was embarrassing to even call soup. A few potatoes floated in it, accompanied by a piece of bread with barely any saltiness.

There was almost no fat, and no sign of meat. But even that was a luxury in this place.

Arta silently picked up the spoon.

She scooped up a sip of the broth and put it in her mouth. A warm sensation wrapped around the tip of her tongue. It was bland. But her stomach welcomed even that.

Now she wasn't hungry.

That was enough.

While eating, the noise around her entered her ears.

"Did you hear? Another body was found in the western district."

"It's not even surprising anymore. Where was it this time?"

"Under the bridge. But it was a bit strange. They say there wasn't a drop of blood."

"...A vampire?"

"Maybe."

She tore the bread with an expressionless face. It was a familiar story.

Someone dying here was a common occurrence. And there was no need to be surprised that there was no blood.

Some were found with organs missing, and others were found with faces gone.

It was meaningless to debate whether it was the deed of humans or non-humans.

The living simply moved to survive.

She was one of them.

As she was almost finishing her food, someone plopped down in the seat next to her.

"Arta."

Arta.

A name she got in the slums. It didn't have any particular meaning.

She raised her head. Before her eyes was a young man with a thin face. His fingers were slender, and his eyes were sharp. He wore a small dagger at his waist.

"I hear you've been handling some money lately."

Arta looked at the man expressionlessly.

"So?"

"Want to do some work?"

"No."

"At least listen to what I have to say..."

She got up from her seat, putting the remaining bread in her mouth.

"Go find someone else."

Leaving only those words, Arta left.

Coming outside, cold air brushed her face. Stars were in the sky, but in the slums, there was no chance to see them.

In streets without streetlights, darkness swallowed everything, and children sitting in the narrow alleys looked at me as I passed by.

Hungry eyes.

Eyes trying to survive.

Arta looked at them for a moment, then searched her pocket and threw a few coins.

They were neither gold nor silver. But they would be enough to buy one loaf of bread.

"...Thank you."

The child spoke in a weak voice. She didn't answer.

Long ago, she too would have had eyes like those.

But now it's different.

She can now protect herself.

And the next day, she would go out to earn money again.

Somewhere, people would flounder in illusions.

Not knowing that the fear they felt wasn't real, they would tremble facing fake death and throw money.

And with that money, she would return again.

To survive in the slums.

She took another spoonful and drank the remaining broth.

The night was deepening.

She fell asleep with the slum habit of layering illusions.

When the next morning came, she could see a rather surprising scene.

Seeing an unfamiliar face in the slums was a rare occurrence.

This place was disconnected from the world beyond the walls. It wasn't a place where nobles or scholars could freely step in.

Their knowledge, power, even their money was meaningless here.

This was a place where only survivors lived, and if someone tried to establish a new order, they would be crushed and disappear immediately.

Nevertheless, that old man entered this place.

The man in a worn coat looked ordinary. Shabby clothes with a modest attitude.

But the dignified atmosphere he possessed was clearly different. Like someone who enters without hesitation despite knowing fully well they don't belong here.

If such a person entered the slums, they were bound to become a target.

And, unfortunately, he was passing in front of her on this street today.

Arta didn't miss it.

She was leaning against the wall.

Invisible threads spread from her fingertips. They were spectral entities without substance, whispering ghosts. Invisible hands cut through the air, enveloping the man.

So he wouldn't feel it.

So he wouldn't notice.

Arta quietly, very gradually, wove in the illusion.

With each step the man took, she slowly manipulated his senses.

The smell changed. The characteristic stench of the slums gradually disappeared, and instead, the smell of blood intensified. A faint scream could be heard from afar. A bizarre voice whispering in his ear slowly blurred his perception.

The man's footsteps paused momentarily.

That moment was crucial.

She slowly built up another layer of deeper illusion.

The alley disappeared, the path twisted, and it felt as if the ground beneath was floating up. For a moment, the floor sank, and dizziness swept in as if the sky and ground were flipping.

The moment he lost balance and fell, she intended to approach immediately and target his pocket.

But.

"Hmm."

With a short exclamation, suddenly everything collapsed.

Like thin glass shattering into pieces, the illusion she had built up broke apart in midair.

The man in front of her was looking down at her.

His pupils were deep.

"Excellent."

Arta instinctively took a step back.

What had he just done?

The illusion broke. Too easily. He didn't use magic. Not even a simple flow of magical power was felt. Yet her magic disappeared in an instant.

"Your reaction speed isn't bad either."

The man's face was still calm.

It was strange.

There was no fear.

Usually at such moments, the other person showed one of two reactions. Either surprise and anger, or terror and flight. But this man just looked on as if intrigued.

Arta realized something was wrong.

This man is not a simple passerby.

Then.

"Who are you?"

She opened her mouth.

The man smiled slightly.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking for your name first?"

She frowned at those words.

"...I have no reason to tell you."

The man nodded.

"Very well. Then I'll speak first."

He slowly pulled something out from inside his coat.

It was a shining seal.

The moment it appeared before her eyes, Arta's expression momentarily hardened.

The Academy.

An institution that trains magicians and warriors. A place where only those with talent can enroll, regardless of whether they are noble or commoner.

And this seal—

Was a token that only the chairman of the Academy could possess.

Arta frowned.

"Why is the Academy chairman... here?"

She unconsciously took up a defensive stance.

There's no reason for the Academy chairman to be here. Their place is in the safe zone inside the castle, not in a slum like this.

But now, this man is clearly here for a specific reason.

The fact that she didn't know what it was gave Arta a sense of unease.

She immediately calculated ways to escape.

But the man looked at her quietly and opened his mouth.

"If you ask why, the reason is simple."

The corner of his mouth rose faintly.

"To find talent."

Arta's eyes narrowed.

He took one step closer.

"I just saw your magic. Weaving illusions so intricately is not easy even for most magicians. If it's a method that manipulates the senses themselves, not just simple deception, it means you've already reached a considerable level."

She didn't respond.

The man continued.

"Especially the method you used is a very rare form. A technique that disrupts the flow of senses and overlays perception itself. This is not a simple illusion, but magic that directly affects the mind."

He slowly extended his hand.

"Would you like to enroll?"

Arta burst into laughter.

"...Are you joking right now?"

And looking at the extended hand, she said.

"You'll accept someone from the slums? Was there such a rule at the Academy?"

The man nodded.

"There isn't."

"...Then."

"That's why I'm saying I'll accept you as a special case."

Arta looked into his eyes.

There was sincerity there.

She was silent.

Enrollment?

It was an incredibly unrealistic story.

She had always fought just to survive. She took from others to avoid being taken from. She instilled fear to satisfy hunger.

But now...

Arta slowly raised her hand and brushed her forehead.

"...What if I say no?"

"Then I will leave."

The man was composed.

"But the opportunity won't come again."

She quietly pondered those words.

And—

"...Alright."

She firmly sealed her lips.

She knew well that if she took this hand, her life would completely change.

Nevertheless, Arta reached out her hand.