Villainess X Villain: They are obsessed with each other!-Chapter 66 -: 65 Showtime!

Meanwhile, back at Royal Arcane Academy...

High above the huge open-air auditorium, the edges of the building stretched out wide like giant overhangs.

They looked almost like roofs, but they weren’t wide enough to cover the whole place.

Anyone up there could still feel the cool night wind blowing freely.

On one of those wide edges sat a guy, doubled over and coughing so hard it sounded like his lungs were about to explode.

"Cough! Cough! Cough!"

"Damn it!!" he roared through gritted teeth, both hands clamped over his eyes like they were on fire.

"That idiot... should have used some anesthesia or something!"

He couldn’t scream out loud, not with thousands of students packed below, chatting, laughing, and waiting for the election speeches.

The candidates were already on the brightly lit platform. One wrong noise and everyone would look up.

So he rolled around on the rough stone like a headless chicken, clutching his face, kicking his legs, and biting back every curse he wanted to yell.

After a few miserable minutes of pure agony, he finally stopped moving. He lay there panting.

"Huff... huff... huff... huff!"

He pushed himself up slowly, hands still shaking. "Damn... I didn’t think it would hurt ’this’ bad."

He bent over, breathing hard, then reached down and picked up a plain white mask from the ground.

He wiped some sweat (and maybe a little blood) off his face before slipping the mask on.

Standing up, he walked to the very edge of the overhang.

His blonde hair caught the night breeze and fluttered behind him like a flag.

He let out a long, tired sigh.

"Okay... let’s see..."

He leaned forward a bit, sharp eyes scanning the sea of students below.

"Hmm? Where’s Rose?"

His gaze narrowed as he searched the crowd. After just a second or two, he spotted her.

There she was, Rosalina, sitting right on the candidate platform.

Legs crossed, chin in her hand, looking super bored and a little annoyed, like she’d rather be anywhere else.

A small smirk tugged at his lips under the mask.

"There she is."

Even from way up here, he could see her perfectly, her pouty expression, the way she tapped her foot impatiently, the tiny sigh she let out when someone else started talking.

He settled down on the edge, legs dangling over the drop, and rested his chin in his hands.

"Let’s just pass the time watching her," he muttered to himself, voice soft and amused.

Meanwhile, down on the ground inside the massive open-air auditorium, the crowd was going absolutely wild.

A stunning white-haired girl with soft, muddy-brown eyes stood at the speaker’s stand, her voice clear and confident as she wrapped up her speech.

Her name was Zenifar Rose, one of the top three candidates fighting for Student Council President.

"If I become the Student Council President," she said firmly,

"I will introduce reservations. Through reservations, commoners will finally get proper representation in all the academy’s curriculum activities and events."

"No more being pushed to the side. Everyone deserves a fair chance!"

"Zenifar! Zenifar! Zenifar!"

The students from commoner backgrounds jumped up and down, shouting her name like she was their hero.

Fists pumped in the air, faces lit up with hope.

But not everyone was happy.

A group of sharper-minded students (the ones who actually thought things through) muttered angrily under their breath.

"What kind of joke is this?" one whispered. "Does she have dung for brains?"

"Right? If we start reservations, the whole academy turns into boneless chicken — no strength, no standards."

"It should be merit-based, not background-based. Way to ruin everything!"

Zenifar Rose heard the criticism. She didn’t even flinch.

She kept her gentle smile plastered on her face while inside her thoughts turned cold.

’Humans are truly greedy,’ she thought with deep contempt.

’I come from noble lineage myself, but I understand this perfectly. These people have no real ambition for the country.’

’No ideals for themselves. The moment they see personal benefits, they run toward it like dogs. Pathetic.’

Still, she stayed perfectly composed on the outside, elegant, kind, untouchable.

"That is all," she finished sweetly. "I hope you vote for the future of the academy."

She gave a warm, benevolent smile that made half the crowd swoon, then picked up her script and walked gracefully back to her seat.

Right beside her sat Alia Ruth, calm, confident, and watching everything with sharp eyes.

A little farther away sat Rosalina Valentina, arms crossed, looking bored.

The three top candidates didn’t exchange a single word.

The crowd’s cheers slowly died down.

Alia Ruth took a deep breath, stood up smoothly, and walked toward the speaker’s stand with steady, purposeful steps.

The lights dimmed slightly on the platform as the spotlight followed her.

Everyone quieted down.

Alia Ruth reached the stand, placed her notes down neatly, and looked out at the sea of faces, commoners, nobles, everyone mixed together.

She smiled, not fake and sweet like Zenifar’s, but real, strong, and full of quiet fire.

Then she began to speak.

"Everyone is equal," she began.

"There is no need for reservations. What we need is merit-based selection, always."

She looked out at the sea of faces, calm and unflinching.

"The majority of commoners across the three floating continents are financially stable now."

"Most families can afford basic education and training. So why force reservations when they aren’t truly needed?"

Zenifar Rose, sitting nearby, narrowed her eyes sideways. ’She’s hitting the nail right on the head...’ she thought bitterly, fingers tightening around her script.

Alia kept going, voice rising just enough to carry to every corner of the auditorium.

"Instead of reservations, the academy should give real financial support, scholarships, loans, emergency funds, to anyone who actually struggles with money. That helps without lowering standards."

She leaned forward slightly.

"Reservations are a curse. They ruin everything they touch."

The crowd started to murmur. Some nodded slowly. Others frowned.

Alia gave a small, knowing smile.

"For example... imagine you’re in real danger. A pack of Zlycons attacks you, Which group would you want rushing in to save you?"

She paused, letting the question hang.

"A team that earned their rank and power through hard work and skill... or a team that got their positions just because of reservations?"

The entire auditorium went dead quiet.

You could hear people breathing. Everyone pictured it, the terror, the stakes, the split-second choice.

Alia let the silence stretch for a heartbeat.

"Honestly?" she said softly. "I would pick the first option. The one earned through merit. Every single time."

A ripple of agreement moved through the crowd, nods, quiet "yeah"s, even some commoners looking thoughtful.

"What matters," Alia continued, "is that everyone gets the same fair opportunity at the start. After that... it should be merit. Pure and simple."

She straightened up, eyes bright.

"So my proposal is simple. If I win this election, I will—"

*BOOM!!*

A massive explosion ripped through the night sky.

The ground shook.

Dust and smoke billowed up from somewhere near the edge of the academy grounds, about 400 meters away, exactly where the masked group had planned.

Then came the roar.

"ROARRRRR!!!!!"

It wasn’t human. It was deep, guttural, monstrous, the kind of sound that made your blood freeze and your stomach drop.

Screams erupted from the crowd.

Students jumped to their feet. Chairs toppled. Some ran toward the exits.

Up on the high roof edge, Julius snapped upright.

His masked face turned toward the explosion.

The pain in his eyes was forgotten.

A slow, dangerous grin spread under the white mask.

"Finally," he muttered. "Showtime."