Save a Failed Idol's Life - Chapter 41: The Person Who Remembers Me

{Author Of Old-World Extra}There was nothing special about my life... except for how I died.I went out in the dumbest, most ridiculous way possible; even a dog’s death would’ve made for a better sight.But hey, that wasn’t even the weird part. Not by a long shot.For whatever reason, my soul had gotten ripped out and shoved into the body of some “Villain” in a faraway land.Yep, you heard that right. A clichéd “Villain.” And I’ve got ten days before he’s publicly executed.This guy—well, I—used to be a Beggar.One that grew into a Seeker, then a Magi, then a Professor, and then...A Sultan.The one ruler of the entire world.Now? I’m stuck facing the people I used to love, ready to pay for all the “evil” I’ve done.Fate seemed hellbent on ending me, no matter where I went, but just as I was about to give up...A Script appeared before my mind’s eye.{Would you like to witness your real history, your Path?}{Would you like to make it past your Promised Day?}{Would you like to become a True King?}{If so, repeat after me…}It gave me one word—ancient, powerful, and clear.“BASSORĀH!”Many paths came together.—This is a story about suffering. Anger. And Forgiveness.Extra Tags: Drama, Reaction, Misunderstanding, Transmigration. Time Travel.

I became the childhood friend of the protagonist in a novel. The childhood friend who died from taking drugs.

Have you ever wished you exactly knew how to accomplish your dreams? Not feeling the slightest doubt anymore? Being aware at any time how every choice, action and decision of yours affects your future?

“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.