Young Master's PoV: Woke Up As A Villain In A Game One Day-Chapter 161: Flipping The Board [II]

I pulled back my fists, feeling the sickening sound of bones crunching under my knuckles for the last time as Jake fell unconscious.

I stood up.

The Rite of Valor was over.

Just like that.

Yet, something didn't sit right with me for some reason.

I exhaled, stepping off Jake's unconscious body.

The moment I did, his head lolled to the side, blood pooling from his busted lips.

His face — swollen, bruised, and mangled — was barely recognizable anymore. A broken tooth lay beside him on the bloodstained ground.

I didn't bother looking twice.

Instead, I gently rolled my shoulders, and my gaze shifted to my right arm — more specifically, toward my shoulder where Jake had managed to hit me.

Blood had poured out from an open wound there and painted my vest red.

To be honest, I let him do that.

But still.

The brutal force behind his punch was actually very impressive.

My guess was that he was as strong as Michael was before the start of the Academy. And it wasn't just his strength but his speed that had improved so much as well.

Not to mention his endurance.

If I had bashed anyone else's head with a concrete mace that big, the match would've ended right then and there with the other participant being hospitalized for a fractured skull.

But Jake tanked the hit and still had enough power in him to stay conscious.

That alone was worth noting.

But what really unsettled me was the fact that till my very last punch knocked him out, Jake didn't show an ounce of fear.

His forest-green eyes were clouded with dark rage.

I wasn't used to that.

Normally, when I beat down my opponents, they show at least a hint of terror.

A flinch.

A moment of hesitation.

Some primal instinct kicking in, warning them they were fighting something beyond them.

But Jake…

Even as his face caved in under my fists, even as he choked on his own blood, he didn't look afraid. If anything, he looked… determined.

Like a man etching a grudge into his very bones.

That anger, that resentment…

That unwavering conviction…

It wasn't natural.

Something was wrong with him.

Not only his rate of progress was suspiciously fast, but his unshakable intent felt… forced.

Almost manufactured.

It was as if someone had fuelled his rage, nurtured it, and then twisted it into something that wouldn't break, no matter how hard I hit him.

Brainwash.

Yes, that was the right term.

It was as if someone had brainwashed him.

The problem was that I had seen it all happen before.

In the game, Asmodeus did the same thing to Samael.

The Lord of Temptations twisted his victim's mind by constantly whispering poison into his thoughts.

He stoked Samael's hatred, fed his insecurities, and made him believe his rage was his own when, in truth, it was a leash.

And Jake was showing all the same symptoms.

…But it didn't make sense.

If the Summoning Card of Asmodeus was still where it was supposed to be at this point in the story, untouched and unclaimed…

Then how the hell was Jake displaying signs of being under the influence of the Seventh Demon Prince?

How was it even possible?

No. It wasn't possible.

—Drip. Drip. Drip.

Which meant someone else was behind this.

But who? Or what?

If it wasn't Asmodeus, then there were only a handful of other explanations.

Some Awakened with a mental-type Origin Card? A powerful illusionist? A handler with a grip tight enough to twist Jake's emotions into something unbreakable?

Or maybe a cursed artifact? A forbidden relic that had somehow fallen into his hands?

…Or something worse?

Tch.

Whatever it was, I had a bad feeling about it.

At first, I had thought I'd let Michael deal with Jake.

But now I was starting to reconsider.

Because going by what happened today, if Jake became a real threat, it would be a problem for me too.

And judging by how fast he was growing, that day wasn't far off.

—Drip. Drip. Drip.

I blinked.

A rhythmic splashing sound broke my train of thought and pulled me back to reality.

I looked down.

Blood — Jake's blood — was dripping from my knuckles, one drop at a time, painting the ground crimson.

"Argh," I groaned. "Disgusting."

The moment I said that, as if on cue, two hands carefully took mine in their grip and pressed a clean handkerchief against my bloodied knuckles, wiping them clean.

Glancing up, I saw Juliana.

She didn't say a word.

Her touch was firm yet gentle, and her hands moved with the practice of someone who had done this many times before.

Because she had.

The crisp white of the handkerchief darkened with each pass.

I watched her, waiting for a quip, a sneer, some biting remark. But she remained silent.

Uncharacteristically so.

Her azure blue eyes flicked up, meeting mine for the briefest moment before shifting to my right shoulder.

"You're bleeding," she noted.

I glimpsed back down at the wound once more, then gave a shrug.

"Let's get you to the medical ward," Juliana suggested.

But instead of answering right away, I let her finish wiping the blood from my knuckles before pulling my hands back.

"No need," I shook my head. "I'm heading to my room."

She looked up, ready to argue. "But—"

I silenced her with a look and turned on my heel.

Around us, the gathered Cadets all had different reactions to what just happened. Some were whispering in hushed voices, others had already started walking off, while a few were still recording everything on their phones.

Ignoring them all, I strode away.

•••

We reached my room in no more than fifteen minutes.

My mind was still occupied with the same thoughts as before.

Juliana followed me in silence, her footsteps light and measured.

I pushed open the door to my apartment, stepping inside without bothering to turn on the lights. The faint glow from the setting sun outside filtered through the windows, casting long stretches of light and shadow across the room.

Juliana followed and closed the door behind her with a quiet click.

I exhaled and slouched back on the living room sofa.

Meanwhile, Juliana brought bandages and disinfectant before coming to stand right in front of me.

I gave her a confused stare. "What?"

"Take off your vest," she replied.

I blinked, crossing my arms over my chest like some damsel about to be in distress. "At least buy me dinner first."

Juliana sighed, clearly unimpressed by my unfunny joke. "Take it off."

I held her gaze for a second longer, but she didn't waver.

Finally, with a dramatic roll of my eyes, I stood up and snatched the bandages from her. "I'll do it myself."

Juliana looked like she was ready to argue again, but before she could even utter a word, I started walking toward my bedroom.

And as soon as my back turned to her, I slipped off my vest and tossed it onto the floor.

"If you want to be useful," I said, pointing lazily at the discarded fabric, "take that to the laundry."

Juliana hesitated.

"Oh, and," I continued without stopping, climbing the stairs to my bedroom, "there was supposed to be a press conference today. Tell the academy I have a concussion, so I'm in no state to attend."

I could physically feel her debating whether to obey quietly or call me out. In the end, she chose the latter. A mistake.

"But you are hurt in your shoulder, Young Master. That's not how concussions work," she pointed out.

"That's how lying works," I scoffed, stepping into my bedroom and locking the door behind me.

There was a beat of silence.

Then, just as expected, a muffled sigh was heard from the other side of the door.

"Fine," Juliana muttered, exasperated.

I smirked, shaking my head.

Tossing the bandages onto my bedside table, I approached the large mirror in my room. It was large enough to cover nearly an entire wall — because, really, what better way to start the day than by admiring my own face?

Was it a bit narcissistic? Well, sue me!

My smirk widened into a grin as I stared at my reflection.

Sharp jawline. Lean yet well-built frame. Shredded abs. And a face so striking it could make even gods question their self-worth. Truly, I was a sight to behold.

Then, my gaze shifted to my right shoulder which was sticky with dried blood.

…But there was not a single wound in sight.

Yes, the blood was fake.

After returning from Ishtara, I asked Ivan to deliver me a vial of artificial blood.

And before the duel with Jake started, I slipped that vial inside my vest.

From there, it was just a matter of letting Jake land a hit and selling the act. Both of which I did.

I knew Juliana would take the bait.

She would have planned to disinfect my supposed wound — a wound that did not even exist in reality — then take the used cotton with her to extract my blood from it.

But instead of a single cotton swab, I handed her my entire vest, drenched in what she believed to be my blood.

Now, all I had to do was wait.

Soon, she would use Rexed. She would then discard him. And when her plan to claim freedom collapsed—

Follow current novℯls on ƒгeewёbnovel.com.

I'd be right there, ready to collect my prize.

This was my last move against her.

And with it, I had won.