My Sister Is The Villainess

I woke up at eight in the morning to the sound of hammering.

For a few seconds, I lay there staring at the ceiling, still caught somewhere between sleep and consciousness. The room was quiet otherwise, but every few moments another sharp knock echoed through the manor, followed by the scrape of something heavy being dragged across the floor. Then came a muffled voice from somewhere below, giving instructions before the hammering started again.

I pulled the blanket away and sat up.

Whatever they were doing downstairs, they clearly had no intention of letting me sleep through it.

I rubbed my eyes before getting out of bed. The floor felt cold beneath my feet, and the morning air that slipped through the gaps around the windows did little to improve my mood. I walked toward the bedroom door and opened it.

The noise immediately became clearer.

Footsteps moved across the lower floor in every direction, occasionally accompanied by the clatter of tools or the dull thud of something being placed against the wall. Voices overlapped with one another, some belonging to workers and others to servants, creating the sort of organized chaos that usually meant something had gone terribly wrong the day before.

I headed downstairs to see what was going on.

The scene waiting for me was hardly surprising.

The damage from the previous night was already being dealt with. A few workers were repairing the corridor, replacing sections of damaged wood and examining the walls for anything that needed further attention. One man was crouched near the floor, carefully fitting a new piece of wood into place, while another inspected the surrounding wall with a small hammer.

Several servants moved around them carrying buckets, tools, pieces of furniture, and whatever else was required.

The manor had effectively become a temporary construction site.

Mr. Rowan stood nearby, overseeing everything with the same composed expression he wore regardless of the situation. Whether he was arranging breakfast, receiving guests, or dealing with supernatural disasters inside the manor, the man’s expression rarely seemed to change.

He noticed me coming down and gave a slight bow.

I returned the gesture before making my way toward one of the bathrooms.

A warm bath helped wake me properly.

The heat gradually chased away the remaining traces of sleep, and by the time I stepped out, I felt considerably more awake than I had when I first left my room. I dried myself, changed into a clean white shirt, black coat, and black trousers, then left the bathroom and made my way toward the dining room.

Breakfast had already been prepared.

Mr. Rowan had arranged several sausages and pork chops on a large plate, accompanied by sliced apples, grapes, and a few other pieces of fresh fruit. Beside them sat a steaming cup of black tea, thin wisps of steam rising from its surface.

I sat down and picked up the cup first.

The tea was strong and slightly bitter.

Exactly what I needed.

I took another sip, letting the warmth settle before beginning to eat. The sausages had been browned until their skins were slightly crisp, giving way to the softer meat underneath. The pork chops were tender beneath their seasoned surface, carrying enough flavor that they didn’t need anything else added to them.

I alternated between the meat and fruit, occasionally taking another sip of tea.

The sweetness of the apples and grapes helped balance the heavier taste of the meat, while the tea cleared whatever remained of the sluggishness in my head. It was a simple breakfast, but after the previous night’s events, I wasn’t particularly interested in anything complicated.

By the time I finished, only a few pieces of fruit remained on the plate.

I ate those as well before setting my fork down.

Mr. Rowan, who had been standing nearby, spoke once I had finished.

”Your carriage is ready, young master.”

I picked up the napkin and wiped my mouth before standing.

”Thanks.”

He gave another small bow.

I left the dining room and made my way outside.

The carriage was already waiting in front of the manor.

I climbed inside, settling into the familiar seat as the driver took his position. A moment later, the horses began moving, and the carriage rolled away from the manor.

The wheels rattled softly against the stone road as we joined the morning traffic.

Kingsmere was already awake.

Shopkeepers were opening their doors, servants hurried along the streets carrying out their morning duties, and carriages passed one another with increasing frequency. Sunlight reflected from the windows of the surrounding buildings, while the last traces of morning mist gradually disappeared above the streets.

I leaned against the carriage seat and watched the city pass through the window.

There was something different about Kingsmere in the morning.

The streets around my home were considerably quieter, but the closer we came to the academy, the more crowded everything became. Students could be seen walking toward the same destination from different directions, some accompanied by their families and others by servants.

The carriages became more numerous as well.

Several bore the crests of noble families, their polished bodies standing out among the ordinary vehicles moving through the streets. One after another, they stopped near the academy gates, allowing students to step out before moving aside for the next carriage.

I watched the familiar scene through the window without much interest.

The journey wasn’t particularly long, but it gave me enough time to observe the city before we reached our destination.

Eventually, the carriage began slowing down.

The horses came to a stop.

”We’ve arrived, young master.”

I opened the door and stepped outside.

The Royal Academy stood before me.

Its enormous gates were already surrounded by students and their families, with servants moving between carriages and students gathering in small groups. Conversations filled the entrance, mixing with the sounds of footsteps and the occasional command from a carriage driver.

It was considerably livelier than the streets near my home.

I adjusted my coat and prepared to head inside.

Then I saw him.

A boy was walking toward the academy beside his father.

He had snow-white hair. His eyes were blue like the ocean.

I stopped in my tracks and for a moment, I couldn’t understand why.

There was nothing particularly strange about seeing another student entering the academy. The entrance was crowded with them, and dozens of unfamiliar faces passed through the gates every morning.

Yet my attention remained fixed on him.

Something inside me went completely still.

My eyes followed the boy as he walked beside his father, completely unaware of me. He looked ordinary enough from where I stood. There was nothing supernatural about the way he moved, nothing that would have made me notice him if I hadn’t already known who he was.

But I knew that face.

Not because I had encountered him before.

Not because there was anything distinctive enough about his appearance to make him immediately memorable.

I knew him because I had seen him before.

My heartbeat seemed to disappear for a moment.

The sounds around me gradually became distant. The conversations, footsteps, and movement of carriages all blurred into the background as my attention narrowed entirely onto the boy walking toward the academy gates.

He was supposed to be here.

I had known this moment would eventually come.

Even so, knowing something would happen and actually experiencing it were two completely different things.

He was the person around whom the story had been built.

The person whose journey I had once followed as a reader.

Back then, he had been nothing more than a character.

A figure existing on pages that I could close whenever I wanted.

There had been no reason to imagine that one day I would stand in the same world and watch him walk past me.

But here he was.

Standing in front of me.

Walking through the academy gates as though this were simply another ordinary morning.

My throat became dry.

I couldn’t move.

For a brief moment, I simply stood there, staring after him.

The boy disappeared through the gates without ever looking in my direction.

I remained where I was.

Then, slowly, the thought finally surfaced in my mind.

’The protagonist...’