Spartan Reincarnation - Chapter 11: Rations

She is one of the best thieves that the world has seen in the 24th century. However, not even in her wildest dreams had she imagine that she’d be reincarnated as a good-for-nothing orphaned Seventh Miss of the Vermilion Bird Family. She finds herself stuck in a family that mistreats her, as well as an unfamiliar place with no support system.

Yukima Azuma—charismatic, confident, and utterly unforgettable. He was the man every girl wanted but could never truly keep. One by one, they fell for him, only to be left with memories they couldn’t erase.Kasumigaoka Utaha: “I was his first, the one who taught him love… only for him to use it on other women.”Sawamura Eriri: “If I hadn’t been such a tsundere, maybe things would have been different.”Yukinoshita Yukino: “He was my light in the darkness, the only one who ever truly saw me.”Yukinoshita Haruno: “That bastard ran away after taking everything from me.”Hoshino Ai: “My only true love. The one I can never replace.”And when asked about their relationship with him?“Ex-girlfriend.”But to the women still in his life?Sora Ginko, Kato Megumi, Sagiri, Bocchi, Shinomiya Kaguya, Kirisu Mafuyu, Suou Yuki, Alya—“Thieving cats.”Because no matter how much time passed, no matter how far he went—one truth remained: Yukima Azuma was the one man they could never forget.

I became a miserably weak aristocrat in the web novel ‘SSS-Class Knight’.

With a body that can drop at a moment’s notice, no less.

‘Let’s live for now. Let’s fight on.’

I have to survive, even without knowing the ending.

“Villains aren’t born, they’re made...blah...blah...”Cute quote. Stick it on your Tumblr header next to your anime pfp.You boys love your villain stories, don’t you?You want carnage. Chaos. Control. You want a dark throne, a cold smirk, and a woman kneeling at your feet begging for mercy.But you?You don’t want to lift a damn finger.You’ll cheer for the villain as he kills a god, but cry when he gets betrayed.You call it “plot armor” when the hero survives—but call it “art” when the villain does the impossible.You’re not fans of villains.You’re fetishists.You want the violence, but not the silence after it.You want domination, but not the burden of being hated.You want power, but only if the story forgives you for it.You don’t read these stories to understand evil.You read them because you think you're too good to win the normal way.“Villains don’t play fair.”Exactly. That’s why you love them.Because you wouldn’t last a day in a world where strength mattered and excuses didn’t.You don’t want a villain’s life.You want his results.You want to watch him burn the world for a woman.But you’d cry if a girl left you on read.So tell me—What exactly are you rooting for?At least unlike you, I support heroes—the ones with boobs.You know the type.Tits squeezed into latex, thighs tight in spandex, preaching virtue with cum-drunk eyes the moment they fall into my arms but always end up screaming my name instead.She flies above cities, saving lives like it’s her job.But at night? She crashes into my arms, trembling, moaning, clawing at my back like I’m the only real thing she’s ever touched.Her cape drops before her guard does.But I don't need to tear it off.She hands it over herself—bit by bit, kiss by kiss, lie by beautiful lie.You ever felt a heroine's breath hitch in your ear as she begs you to stop pretending you're the bad guy?Ever watched the symbol of hope ride you like you're the last man left after the world ended?That's not conquest.That’s devotion, baby.Unfiltered. Undeniable.And the irony?They fall the hardest.Because no villain ever tried to understand them. No hero ever dared to see past the shine and into the ache beneath.But I do.I whisper into the cracks of their perfection.I plant kisses where they hide their pain.I fuck them where they forget to wear their strength.And when they break—when their moans turn to prayers, when their strength melts into submission—That’s when I rise.I’m not just some brooding misfit out for revenge, or a misunderstood loner sitting around hoping for a shot at redemption.I’m not a villain.I’m the SUPERVILLAIN—the kind your heroines moan for when the cameras are off and the capes are crumpled on my floor.