Next, I clicked on Skills.
[Skills - Dorian Valen]
[Basic Swordsmanship Lv. 1]
[Parry Lv. 1]
[Basic Elemental Magic Lv. 1]
[Mana Control Lv. 2]
[Magical Theory Lv. 1]
I stared at the list.
Swordsmanship—just the basics.
Enough to swing a blade and block if I'm lucky.
Magic—basic, but present.
A step above the average beginner.
Mana Control was a bit better than expected.
That could be useful.
I closed the screen.
The stats are not what I expected that of a villain character, but well...
I don't even know how the story goes, so I don't have the luxury to expect anything.
The Shop section would be the most interesting one, but I decided to check it later.
It would be best to observe my surroundings for now.
I closed the screen.
Villains don't start strong. They're forged.
Anyway, I didn't even know the story yet—just that I was in it. That alone meant things would get complicated.
The Shop tab blinked faintly at the corner of my screen.
I was tempted, I won't lie.
But spending my only two story points before I knew the rules of this world would be foolish. It's better to observe first. Study the board. Understand the pieces.
The lights in the hall dimmed slightly, shifting focus back to the stage. The headmaster had stepped aside. In his place, a group of students began walking up.
There were five of them—three males, two females—wearing uniforms trimmed in gold, their capes draped perfectly over one shoulder. Student Council.
Their presence alone demanded attention. Not because of magic or rank—but because they looked like they owned this place.
The one in front stepped forward, a girl with jet-black hair tied in a braid. Sharp violet eyes. Controlled movements. Voice clear, confident.
"Welcome, first years," she said. "I'm Alicia Rowan, Student Council President."
Her smile was rehearsed but flawless.
"You've entered a place that will test you in every way—mind, body, spirit. Some of you will rise. Some will break. We're here to ensure the worthy rise."
She let the silence settle before the next student stepped forward.
Introductions followed. The Vice President, a calm, cold boy named Marius. The Disciplinary Officer, a burly girl with a scarred jaw. The Treasurer, who barely spoke. And finally, the Secretary—soft-spoken, always smiling.
Each of them gave short, polished speeches filled with encouragement, honor, discipline. All the usual nonsense.
What caught my attention, though, was what they didn't say.
No mention of mercy. Or fairness. Or equality.
The subtext was clear: this place isn't here to teach. It's here to filter.
The council stepped down after their part, and the ceremony moved into the next phase: the Club Campaign.
A bored-looking professor—maybe the club overseer—announced it from the stage.
"All students are advised to join at least one club," he said. "Some are competitive. Others are… less so. But each club is a way to build your network, your strength, and your future."
One by one, club representatives took the stage.
The Sword Arts Club went first—flamboyant, energetic. They talked about discipline and mastery, inviting duelists and future knights.
Then came the Elemental Research Society—mumbling about theoretical magic, mana field studies, and applied runes.
The Beast Taming Club brought out a small wyvern on a leash, which nearly singed a row of students with its breath. That woke the sleepy ones.
I kept watching quietly, analyzing.
Every club was a faction. A political group in disguise. The members, the structure, the alliances—they were all forming early. It was like a mini empire within the Academy.
Then, about halfway through, something odd happened.
A club stepped onto the stage without being announced.
There were only three of them. All dressed in black uniforms that didn't match the others. No insignias. No banners.
The middle one—a tall noble-looking guy with pale hair and crimson eyes—took the mic.
He didn't smile.
"Our club has no name," he said. "No schedule. No posters."
His voice was low, but it echoed clearly.
"We do not recruit openly. We only choose. And if you're chosen… you'll know."
He looked around the hall, slowly, like picking prey from a crowd.
"Some traditions run deeper than others," he added. "Some games are older than this Academy itself."
Then, without waiting for applause or permission, the three of them walked off the stage and disappeared through a side door.
Silence followed.
No one asked questions. No one explained.
But I caught the brief glance between the council president and the pale-haired boy.
A flicker of recognition.
A buried threat.
So that was it.
A hidden club. A game older than the Academy.
They never said the name. But I had a feeling—
This was what the system meant when it labeled me Potential: Villain.
I wasn't here to play the usual school games.
I was here to survive a different one.
A bloodier one.
The Noble Blood Games.
And if I wanted to know what the hell this was, I would have to read the story.
Only then, would I be able to decipher the intricacies of this twisted academy.
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Author's Note :
I am open to criticisms, so feel free to comment what you think of the story so far.
Also, if you like the story, add it to your library.
Next Chapter : A Twister Club
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