How Could the Villainous Young Master Be a Saintess?

He was no longer the Vinny of back then. Or rather, the him of now and the Vinny in the original were as different as clear water and muddy—already two people with nothing to do with each other.

Vinny slid a step back. A long gust lifted his pale-blue hair and tugged at the lotus-hem of his uniform skirt.

Worthy of the Carillian Academy, huh? This Alaia’s punch carried a serious gale. Even missing, the wind slapped his cheek stinging. Of course, maybe his cheeks were too tender, so the wind hurt.

If Aesphyra were here, she’d probably needle him: “Classmate Vinny’s skin is thicker than the city wall—by rights it shouldn’t hurt, no?”

Thinking that got Vinny riled.

How could he let that white-furred nutball who digs pits for him strut so arrogantly?! He had to make her apologize. Hard.

At that thought, Vinny’s movements turned razor-quick.

Then take a look—at what he, the capital’s reformed scoundrel, had been through these past months and one semester, and how much he’d advanced and grown.

After Vinny slipped her strike, Alaia didn’t rush. In truth, as long as Vinny yielded ground, he’d fall into her rhythm for sure.

Alaia had already mapped out her follow-up. She would absolutely see this pale-blue country girl off the stage in “glorious” fashion.

Missing once, Alaia chased. Heel stamped forward; a driving knee strike followed, shadowing Vinny’s motion.

This one came straight for his abdomen.

Vinny’s pupils tightened; even his mind flashed a big, bold danger sign.

This woman’s moves were vicious, huh??

Vinny lifted his leg and blocked Alaia’s knee. It felt like a thousand-pound iron weight slammed his shin—his knee went numb.

Seeing that, Alaia’s lips tilted with the arc of someone holding the winning ticket.

She knew she had this won.

Vinny drew his leg back, knee tingling, a wobble in his stance. Force should be mutual, yet Alaia looked utterly unscathed as she pressed the assault.

Is this woman made of iron??

Vinny was stunned—until he caught the slight tremor in her own leg. She’d taken a huge force too, same as him; she simply didn’t care, brushing it off.

A fight style that didn’t spare the body.

Locking eyes, Vinny saw the mad battle-glow in Alaia’s gaze and knew this woman wasn’t ordinary.

Looks like he’d kicked a steel plate this time.

The Carillian Academy truly hid tigers and dragons. By rights, among these contestants no one should outrank him, yet the ones popping up could all really fight.

Fine—he’d nearly forgotten Vanessa had “carried” him into the top twenty-three before enrollment.

Vinny wanted to keep retreating. The stage was big; if he couldn’t win head-on, he could always yield space—there was room to spare.

Alaia had no intention of allowing it. She’d long predicted his desire to back off and came on in relentless pursuit, not giving him that wish.

She wasn’t going to let this blue-haired little rabbit run.

Just as Vinny meant to fall back, the air at his back plunged in temperature. A surge of killing cold hit. He snapped a glance over his shoulder—and at some point, an ice wall had risen behind him, cutting off the way.

That was an Ice Wall—ice-element magic.

Vinny braked in time. If he’d slammed into that wall, he’d have stuck—and then, under countless eyes, he’d be the mosquito glued to the spiderweb.

But not retreating wasn’t an option: Alaia’s offense was ferocious, overbearing. She even started laughing wildly, mumbling things like, “Little rabbit, try running again??”

So... was she a full-blown sadist?

Vinny didn’t sit and wait to die like some talentless donkey. His eyes sharpened. A semester spent skirting the line between life and death had honed his combat sense and improvisation; they flared now, and he quickly found a counter.

He spread one hand, palm thrusting back. An ice chain shot from his palm, hooked the top of the ice wall, then cinched tight, yanking him up and over.

Through it, Vinny faced Alaia the whole time, the chain drawing him farther from her by the second. Clearing the wall, he even flipped midair like a carp leaping the gate; pale-blue hair flew, and ice-motes of similar hue scattered down.

“Oh-oh?!”

“That girl named Vinnia—so cool!”

“Wow! Big sis is so cool—love her!”

“Thought she was just a vase. Guess she’s got skills?”

“‘Just a vase’? Watch your mouth! Ahhh! Vinnia, you got this! The reason I was born was to wait for you, Vinnia!!”

Seeing Vinny slip her encirclement, Alaia stalled a beat, then fumed. Hearing the waves of praise from below only stoked her anger.

Like this, didn’t the whole momentum get stolen by the other side??

What should’ve been her golden moment had become someone else’s wedding dress!

“You wretched little rabbit—stealing my spotlight? Get off the stage this instant!” Alaia dispelled the obstructing ice wall and lunged straight at Vinny.

“The one exiting is you.” Vinny’s falsetto was chill. An ice chain snapped out, whisking past Alaia’s shoulder.

Alaia’s pupils shrank. By the competition rules, magic couldn’t be used to attack directly—only to assist. She genuinely had no idea what he intended.

Reality answered fast.

Vinny reeled the chain, rocketing toward Alaia.

Alaia moved to guard—but Vinny’s target wasn’t attacking her.

Midair, Vinny let out a frosty snort.

This idiot, sadist young lady—she was playing to win for the sake of winning and had completely forgotten the competition rules.

He had not.

He stamped off—ignoring her guard against fists and feet—and skimmed past overhead, planting a step on her shoulder, flipping behind her, and landing with a neat brush of the hair at his ear.

He’d woven that seamless sequence from Aesphyra’s and Vanessa’s movements.

“Oh-oh-oh! Big sis Vinnia is so cool—so cool!”

“As expected, Vinnia must be from a fallen noble house, right? That bearing—no way it’s faked!”

“Ha! Even Alaia, the usual tyrant, gets toyed with like a monkey?!”

“You—you!” Realizing she’d been used as a springboard for this pale-blue-haired girl’s cool act—and hearing the crowd—Alaia’s blood surged hot.

Her calm frayed.

She fancied she’d learned basically every low-level ice spell worth learning, but what on earth was this strange ice chain? She’d never seen it.

Even so, her ice affinity had to dwarf some country-bred, fallen noble!

“How dare you cross me! Do you know what that means?!” Alaia snarled. She slapped both hands to the floor—three ice walls surged up, boxing Vinny in on three sides.

This time, the walls were very tall, hard to vault.

“Come on—settle it with ice magic, you and me! Let’s see where you run now! You can’t run, little rabbit!” Alaia shouted.

“The one who can’t run is you.” Vinny flicked his hair, a hum of surplus confidence. “Without your family’s shelter, you’re nothing. Pathetic.”

“And you think you’re worthy to share a stage with this young lady?” Vinny tipped his chin, gazing down at Alaia with imperious disdain.

“Ya-ya-ya!” Alaia drove off the floor like a battering ram, cold flaring to freeze the space around them, cutting off Vinny’s escape.

Vinny had never planned to run.

He fired an ice chain from each hand, locking them into the stage on either side behind Alaia, then hauled them taut, slinging himself straight toward her.

“Out of my way. You think you can stop this young lady from taking the crown?!” His aura brimmed with ferocity and unquestionable self-belief. Coupled with that knife-edged tongue and refusal to yield, he overlapped near-perfectly with those villainous heiress archetypes from certain novels.

Watching Vinny blur in with a speed she’d never imagined, Alaia’s eyes flew wide.

“This is my turf. Now—get off my stage.” The ice chains snapped him in; Vinny’s kick struck before thunder could roll.

Alaia’s body reeled back—Vinny’s dashing strike booted her clean off the stage.

He’d pulled the force a shade; beyond sending her down, she wouldn’t be hurt.

Well... whether her pride took damage, no guarantees.

Could he beat her straight up? Hard to say. But kick her off the stage and win? Already done.

“That’s far enough!” the Referee called the result in time. With Alaia already knocked off, victor and defeated were plain.

After the kick, Vinny spun once midair and landed smooth—another fat wave of bonus points in the bag.

“Vinnia!”

They were chanting her name below. Vinny merely faced the audience after launching Alaia and said, “Remember to give this young lady a perfect score,” then turned to leave.

For him, none of this was hard. Since stepping onstage he’d been playing himself—he’d only swapped his self-reference from “this young master” to “this young lady,” that’s all.

[Virtue +80.]

[Current Virtue: 11324.]

...Again?

Who on earth was peeking at him? He’d been holding it in for so long??

Back in the lounge, the second segment had wrapped. Someone had fished Alaia off the floor; she now sat opposite Vinny, hair in disarray, glaring daggers.

Vinny couldn’t be bothered. Stares didn’t hurt. If looks could kill, he’d have been riddled with holes and ground to dust ages ago.

Not even enough to break his skin.

He only folded his arms, flicked her a glance, and took his eyes back.

Mm. Didn’t look injured. Good enough.

Next up was the final event of the pageant.

The talent performance.

Yes—the talent performance. In the end, this was a beauty pageant, not an endless brawl. The point was who had talent, who was well-rounded.

Anyone who knew Vinny knew there was nothing to worry about here—for a very simple reason: he couldn’t.

Vinny didn’t have a single talent. Which meant there was nothing to worry about at all for this last round.

What exactly was he supposed to “showcase”? Since childhood, when had he ever had the leeway to learn a talent?? And that sort of thing—he truly couldn’t learn it. He was completely tone-deaf to it. Zero interest.

Truly, when the book’s needed, you hate how little you’ve read. This was bad.

Contestants called by number went up one after another: someone at the piano, someone singing, another on the lute, another reciting verse. Vinny sat in the lounge looking steady as an old hound, and in truth panicking to death.

As expected of noble young ladies—their talents were endless, one after the next.

Now the counterfeit young lady was about to blow his cover??

Then again... something felt off.

By appearances, he absolutely looked like he could handle instruments. Yet he couldn’t play a single thing—couldn’t even sing. That was comedy.

So what would he do when it was his turn? Copy those verse-reciting ladies and, relying on his past-life years haunting certain forums, improvise some abstract bit?

Since that was his one “talent.”

No way, right??

Even Vinny felt if he actually did that, it would be too abstract.

Yeah, no.

So what to do??

If he didn’t perform, he’d basically get nothing this round.

What use were the earlier highs, then??

Time waited for no one. Before Vinny could find a counter, the prior contestants finished. His number came up.

“Next, let’s welcome Contestant Eighteen, Vinnia, to present her talent!”

Vinny stood, braced himself, lifted the curtain, and stepped out.

Facing the many stares and applause, Vinny knew he couldn’t improvise a talent from thin air.

Years of training from real noble daughters versus one flash of inspiration from a counterfeit? As if.

What was he going to do—be struck by lightning with talent and shred rock on the spot??

Therefore, Vinny had no intention of performing any talent.

Looking at the array of instruments onstage, he knew they and he were destined to pass like strangers.

The audience, meanwhile, were curious and eager to see what this proud, willful pale-blue-haired girl’s specialty was.

Vinny stepped up and said nothing. He didn’t move. The entire audience—and even the Judges—found it strange.

“Instruments are too ordinary. This young lady doesn’t follow the herd—and can’t be bothered to perform.” Vinny folded his arms, lifted his chin a touch, and addressed the crowd.