Transmigrated as the Villain: I Will Destroy Fate

The first thing Ronan noticed about Grace was the way she was fidgeting.

That was odd. Grace was not the nervous type, from what he had both seen and heard. Then again, he did not know her all that well. He knew the original Grace, who perhaps would have acted like this, but the person in front of him was not Grace Light.

Ronan had a feeling she was like himself.

A transmigrator.

That being said, he was glad she finally approached him. If things continued, he would have approached her and just asked at this rate.

Ronan moved his eyes toward her own, smiling at her while keeping eye contact.

Grace instantly looked away from his eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked hesitantly.

"I am. I’m just feeling a little unwell."

Grace turned as if to leave, then suddenly slapped herself.

"I said I would do this! I can’t back down now!" She slapped her cheeks as she said this.

Ronan stared at her with a deadpan expression.

Yeah, this was not Grace Light.

With a smirk, Ronan leaned against the corridor wall. "Is this another love confession?"

He sighed dramatically. "Sorry, Grace. While you’re very beautiful, and the saintess candidate, I believe you would be best suited for the future hero."

"That’s not – I’m not–" Grace stuttered, her face flushing red. "I’m not confessing anything! Wait... how did you-?"

Grace paused. She obviously didn’t expect Ronan to say something like that. There hadn’t been a hero in ages.

Ronan’s smile widened slightly in mirth.

Grace took a breath, and her eyes hardened, though she still refused to look him in the eyes.

"I have to ask you an important question."

Grace paused.

"Are you like me? Are you a transm–"

"There he is!"

The shout came from down the corridor, cutting Grace off mid-word. Ronan turned his head toward the sound and found an extremely tall and burly male student marching toward them. The boy was a Class S student, and Ronan vaguely recognized him as a steel path mage.

The man – Brutas, what a cliche name for his type – raised his fist, which was clad in a gauntlet, and glared at Ronan with open hostility.

"Ronan Ashbourne!" Brutas bellowed. "I challenge you to a duel!"

Ronan didn’t even bother looking at him.

She was going to say transmigrator. She asked if I was like her.

Grace stepped back, her unfinished question hanging between them like smoke.

Brutas stomped closer, his boots loud against the stone floor. Several students in the corridor stopped to watch, whispers spreading like wildfire.

"Do not ignore me you bastard! You ranked up to Rank 2, didn’t you?" Brutas continued, his voice dripping with scorn. "You think you’re special now? You think you belong in Class S?"

Ronan said nothin, trying to think.

"I’ve been stuck at Rank 1 for months," Brutas snarled. "And you, a lazy, arrogant noble who barely passed the entrance exam, just waltz in here after a few weeks and claim you’ve advanced? That’s cheating. Or luck. Either way, I’m going to prove you don’t deserve to be here."

Ronan felt genuine irritation as this "Brutas" continues to bark without stop.

"Are you done?"

Brutas’s face flushed red. "I challenge you! Tomorrow. Training grounds. Noon. Everyone shall bear witness as I pummel you to the floor!""

"No."

The refusal was so flat, so immediate, that the corridor went silent.

"He said no?"

"Brutas is of House Pollundini, under the Ravencrest household."

"Does Ashbourne have no shame?"

Brutas stared at him. "What?"

"I said no." Ronan straightened from the wall and brushed imaginary dust from his sleeve. "I have no interest in proving anything to you."

Brutas’s gauntlet-clad fist tightened. "You’re refusing a duel? You’re a coward, then. I knew it. All Ashbournes are the same. Big names, no spine."

If Irene was here to listen to that, Brutas wouldn’t be standing here right now.

Ronan met his gaze without flinching.

"Call me whatever you want."

He turned back toward Grace, who was still standing there, frozen mid-step.

"Shall we finish that conversation?"

Grace opened her mouth, but Brutas stepped forward and grabbed Ronan’s shoulder, yanking him back.

"Don’t you dare walk away from me!"

Ronan glanced down at the hand on his shoulder.

Then he looked back at Brutas.

His smile did not reach his eyes.

"Remove your hand."

Brutas sneered. "Or what? You’ll run to your daddy? You’re pathetic, Ashbourne. Everyone knows it. You don’t belong here, and I’m going to–"

Ronan’s hand moved.

He grabbed Brutas’s wrist, twisted it sharply to the side, and used the momentum to pry the larger student’s hand off his shoulder.

The Steel Bone Armament had not only made his bones stronger, but he was stronger as a whole thanks to it.

Brutas stumbled forward, caught off-guard by the sudden shift in balance.

Ronan stepped back, releasing him.

"I said remove your hand."

Brutas spun around, fury blazing in his eyes. He raised his gauntlet again, mana beginning to gather around the steel. There was murder in his eyes.

"You little–!"

"Enough."

The voice was cold and authoritative.

Selene Voss stood at the end of the corridor, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable.

"Brutas. Step back."

Brutas hesitated, his fist still raised.

"Instructor, I was just–"

"Step. Back."

The command was not loud, but it carried weight. Brutas lowered his fist slowly, though his glare remained locked on Ronan.

Selene walked forward, her boots clicking against the stone.

"Duels are permitted at this Academy. However, issuing challenges in the middle of a corridor and physically grabbing another student is not."

She stopped in front of Brutas.

"If you want a duel, file the paperwork. Follow the proper channels. And control your temper, or I will remove you from Class S myself."

Brutas clenched his jaw but nodded stiffly.

"Yes, Instructor."

Selene’s gaze shifted to Ronan.

"And you. Stop provoking people."

Ronan raised an eyebrow. "I didn’t provoke anyone."

"Your existence provokes people, Ashbourne. Learn to manage it."

Ronan smiled faintly. "I’ll work on that."

Selene sighed, clearly unimpressed, then turned and walked away.

"All of you, back to your dorms or training. This corridor is not a spectacle hall."

The gathered students dispersed quickly, leaving only Ronan, Grace, and a still-fuming Brutas.

Brutas shot Ronan one last glare before stomping off in the opposite direction.

Silence settled again.

Ronan turned back to Grace.

"Now, where were we?"

Grace stared at him, her earlier nervousness replaced by something sharper – caution, maybe, or calculation. This was more like the Grace he assumed she was.

"You really are different," she said quietly.

Ronan tilted his head. "Different how?"

Was she talking about different compared to the original Ronan Ashbourne? Of course he was. She suspected he was a transmigrator, so why would be feel the need to say that?

Grace did not answer immediately. Her eyes searched his face, lingering on his expression, his posture, the way he held himself.

Finally, she shook her head.

"Never mind. It’s nothing."

She turned to leave.

"Grace."

She stopped but did not look back.

"If you want to ask me something," Ronan said calmly, "ask it directly. I don’t bite."

Grace glanced over her shoulder, her expression unreadable.

"Maybe another time."

Then she walked away, her footsteps soft against the stone.

Ronan watched her go.

He waited until she faded from view.

Then his smile faded.