Why Am I The Villain?! Reincarnated in My Favorite Novel-Chapter 38: The Unyielding Spark in the Dark

The metal door screeched as Agent Lafan shoved it open with her shoulder.

"Is this a joke?" she snapped, slamming her hands on the commander’s desk. The old man didn’t even glance up from his holographic screen, where coded reports flickered in blue.

"The investigation’s closed. A special unit will take over."

Lafan straightened, her cheeks burning. "The nobles don’t get to—"

Clack. The commander’s stylus hit the desk. His icy eyes locked onto hers, and she stepped back despite herself.

"Agent Lafan." The warning in his voice made the air shiver. "You’re forgetting your place."

A tense silence settled, broken only by the hum of the vents. The commander slowly turned his head toward the other side of the room.

"Surprising that you’re the one staying quiet, Owen."

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, Owen raised an eyebrow, amused, as Lafan spun toward him.

"Why aren’t you saying anything?!"

A smirk tugged at Owen’s lips. "Because I already know how much this country stinks of injustice." He pushed off the wall, adjusting his gloves. "And because words..." His golden eyes gleamed in the dim light. "...haven’t changed a damn thing in centuries."

The commander stood, his chair scraping. "Owen. Don’t do anything stupid."

But Owen was already at the door. "Tell yourself I’m just following procedure," he muttered before vanishing.

"Don’t worry, old man. No one can say I didn’t try to play by the rules... for once."

---

The acrid stench of mold clung to the skin. Owen strolled forward, hands in his pockets, whistling a tuneless melody. The walls oozed a greenish substance that breathed—literally. He paused at a fork in the path, a grin spreading across his face.

"So... this is the place?"

His reflection in a stagnant puddle warped, replaced by the memory of a bloodied woman pinned to the ground. "Choose: die... or live as a traitor for your precious organization."

Owen scratched his neck, wincing.

"Well, here I am."

The moldy smell didn’t relent—it grew sharper with every step.

A grate creaked somewhere above, followed by a rapid rustle.

He stopped, eyes fixed ahead. Three seconds later, a metal door shot up a few yards away.

The roar of gunfire drowned out everything, even his whistling.

Rat-tat-tat-tat!

Bullets screamed toward him, tearing through the air, slamming into walls and floor in a metallic cacophony. A cloud of dust erupted. But Owen didn’t flinch—not a muscle. When the shooting stopped, he brushed the dust off his shoulder with a lazy swipe and stepped into the corridor’s pale light.

Silence fell.

"So... that was your way of saying hi?" he said, his tone flat, almost amused. He raised a hand in a casual wave at the frozen silhouettes in the shadows. "I’m here with a grievance. I’d like to speak to your boss."

A low growl rippled through the room. The twitchier ones hesitated. Then a woman’s voice, sharp as a whip, cut through:

"Lower your weapons."

Clicks followed—magazines sliding out, fingers easing off triggers. A woman stepped from the shadows, her posture rigid, clad in a tailored coat, her gaze hard.

"You’ve got a grievance? You waltz into our base and want to talk?" She crossed her arms. "You’ve got balls."

Owen shrugged. "You work with what you’ve got."

"And what do you want, exactly?"

He stepped closer, slow, until their eyes met. "I don’t give a damn about your schemes. Your trafficking, your deals, your little shadow wars. Knock yourselves out." He stopped. His voice turned cold, sharp as a blade at the throat. "But one of yours went after my little brother."

Murmurs rose among the goons. Some looked away. Others froze. The woman’s brow furrowed.

"And? You expect us to hand him over on a platter? We don’t even know who did it."

"That’s your job to figure out, isn’t it?"

Her eyes narrowed, but her voice stayed steady. "What I can offer... is compensation. We’ll give you money—more than enough for your brother’s care and then some. Fair deal, right?"

A ripple passed through the room.

The air seemed to compress, a low, vibrating pulse sweeping the space. The walls trembled faintly. Neon lights flickered. The puddle at Owen’s feet quivered, as if afraid.

The woman paled.

"Are you screwing with me?" he asked, too calm. "You think your cash can buy back what you dared to do?"

She stumbled back a step, then shouted, "This is urgent!"

All eyes turned to the back of the room. A massive figure, seated in the shadows until now, slowly raised its head. Yonghoul growled, stretched his muscular arms, and sighed.

But he didn’t move.

"Do something, damn it!" the woman yelled, panicked. "The contract says you’re supposed to step in when—"

"Don’t care." Yonghoul’s voice was deep, weary. "Be grateful I’m even tolerating your presence."

The woman gritted her teeth, her gaze darting between Owen and Yonghoul. Then, as if struck by a revelation, she pointed at Owen. "This isn’t a joke! This guy... he’s a warden. Don’t you want to fight powerful warriors?!"

A heavy silence fell.

Owen grinned. "A deviant, huh? Rare to see one working with scum like this."

Yonghoul raised an eyebrow. "And you? She says you’re one too." 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

"Hm." Owen cracked his neck. "Maybe. Wanna find out?"

A smirk split Yonghoul’s face. He stood at last.

"You really that strong?" he asked, stopping five yards from Owen.

"You’ll see when you try to hit me," Owen replied, hands still in his pockets.

The ground shook a second before the impact. Yonghoul lunged, his fist—an anvil of flesh—screaming toward Owen with a feral hiss.

Owen, true to form, didn’t budge. He’d take the hit, let it slide to prove his worth. But his instincts, honed by years of survival, screamed.

At the last second, his arm shot up, almost against his will.

CRACK.

The shockwave from the block unleashed a gust of filthy air, rattling walls and making the neons flicker. A vein pulsed at Owen’s temple. He’d parried, sure... but at what cost? His arm, numb to the shoulder, trembled under the impact. A thin crack spiderwebbed across the floor from their feet to the nearest wall.

Yonghoul let out a grunt, equal parts satisfaction and respect.

"Not bad... You held up."

Owen clenched his jaw, then exhaled through his nose, a crooked grin spreading.

"You hit like a damn beast."

He glanced at his arm, shook his hand to wake the nerves, and met Yonghoul’s eyes with a calm defiance. Dust drifted down around them, like a curtain after the opening act.

The woman in the coat cursed, pointing at them.

"You’re gonna wreck everything, damn it!"

Yonghoul didn’t spare her a glance. He tilted his head toward Owen.

"Fight me. For real this time. I’m sick of being bored. If I like you, I’ll make sure the ones who touched your brother are delivered to you. Personally."

Owen let out a bright, almost cheerful laugh.

"You sound pretty confident. But tell me... if I put you down, how you gonna manage that from a stretcher?"

Yonghoul’s laugh was a guttural rumble that shook the walls. He bared his teeth in a predatory grin.

"I like you."

Then, without warning, Owen launched himself.

No buildup, no signal—just a sharp, pure strike, fast as an arrow of rage. His fist sliced through the air and smashed into Yonghoul’s face with catastrophic force.

BOOM.

The impact shattered the floor beneath them into fragments. Yonghoul’s head snapped back, but his body didn’t budge—an unyielding statue.

A trickle of blood slipped from the corner of his mouth. He straightened slowly, eyes locked on Owen’s. And he grinned again.

A wide, unhinged grin.

"Yes... YES!" he roared, arms spread wide. "This is what I’ve been waiting for!"

Owen stepped back half a pace, fists raised.

"Then stop talking."

They moved at once.

Their fists collided in the center of the room with such force that a circular shockwave swept through the base like a storm. The woman was flung against a wall; others in the hideout tumbled to the ground, some dazed, others screaming in panic.

Neon lights shattered one by one. Darkness swallowed the room, pierced only by flashes from the titans’ relentless blows.

BOOM. BAM. CRACK.

The metal groaned under the strain.

"More!" Yonghoul bellowed with every hit Owen landed. "Show me what you’ve got!"

The floor cracked beneath them. A pipe burst on the side, spewing scalding steam into the room.

Owen caught his breath for a second, muttering, "Knocking you out’s gonna be a pain."

Yonghoul roared with laughter.

He charged again, fist first. Owen dodged by a hair, rolling across the floor, springing up in a fluid spin.

A shockwave pulverized part of the ceiling.

The walls began to hum. Rats fled in droves, sensing the chaos closing in.

The fight raged on. The few still standing scrambled to get clear, to escape.

A louder crash echoed.

Yonghoul staggered back several steps. His coat was gone, his skin bruised deep purple, his eyes brighter than ever.

"You’re good. Too good to let you walk away now."

Owen wiped blood from a split lip, spat, and chuckled.

"Is that a promise or a threat?"

The woman, barely back on her feet, screamed, "You’re gonna reduce this place to rubble, damn it!"

Yonghoul glanced her way, as if just remembering she existed.

"Shut up. You keep talking, I’ll kill you."

He nodded at Owen.

"This guy’s worth more of my time than any of you."

She opened her mouth to argue but didn’t get the chance.

Owen stepped forward, one hand raised, the other in his pocket.

"Had enough yet?"

Yonghoul crossed his arms.

"You’ve convinced me. Survive one more minute against me, and I’ll deliver the ones who touched your brother. You have my word."

Owen grinned.

"Bring them to me now, then. Because in a minute... you won’t be conscious."

They launched at each other again.