The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness

“One hundred and eighty-five times!”

Muen stared at the clock on the wall with bloodshot eyes, a weary face twitching into a faint smile.

“I finally lasted over thirty seconds against the assassin!”

No matter how you sliced it, that assassin was at least a Tier 3 Warrior. Meanwhile, Muen was barely a fledgling, stuck at the late stage of Tier 1, a rank he’d reached through sheer pay-to-win energy. The gap between them was astronomical. To be able to survive for thirty seconds in a real back-and-forth exchange meant Muen had pushed himself through a level of hardship most people couldn’t even imagine.

Those nearly two hundred deaths? Every single one of them felt terrifyingly real.

“Looks like I can’t keep training like this without limits.”

He rubbed his temples, trying to ease the stabbing pain that came from pushing his mind past its limits.

“If I keep this up, I’ll break down before I get any stronger.”

“Turns out using the Black Book isn’t completely free of consequences. Sure, I don’t actually die in there, but the mental drain is brutal.”

“But... it was worth it!”

Buzzing with anticipation, Muen pulled out the Black Book.

In the section that recorded his personal stats, two brand-new entries had appeared—records that weren’t there before.

[Dagger Combat Technique LV2]

[Shadow Step LV1]

“I’ve finally made it.”

Nearly two hundred deaths later, he’d finally crossed the insurmountable gap between tiers and caught a glimpse of the assassin’s techniques. And somewhere between that raw, primal fear of dying and the sheer desperation to live, he had stolen those skills for himself.

“It’s only the beginning. Still nothing compared to that assassin, but now that I’ve broken through, the rest will come a lot easier.”

He was confident. Give him enough time, and he’d take every one of that assassin’s techniques and make them his own.

“Heh... can’t wait to test it out.”

Muen got out of bed, moved the desk and chairs aside to make space, then rubbed his hands together nervously.

Sure, he’d used it plenty of times in the assassin sim, but that was within the Black Book’s constructed space. He had no idea if he could still pull it off smoothly in the real world.

“Whatever. I’ll never know unless I try.”

He sank his breath into his lower dantian.

Just like he’d done in those two hundred battles, he concentrated every shred of awareness into the soles, heels, and joints of his feet.

He felt a wave of heat gather underfoot, like something was about to erupt.

Now!

A flash of fierce light crossed Muen’s eyes. Every ounce of power he’d stored in his feet exploded like a volcanic blast.

In the blink of an eye—

His field of vision blurred as the scenery around him shifted, and the table that had been seven or eight meters away was suddenly right in front of him.

He’d done it!

“I did it...”

At first, Muen muttered in disbelief. But then the exhilaration hit him like an eruption, raw and unstoppable.

“I did it!”

He was practically shaking with joy.

He’d been randomly thrown into this dangerous, magic-saturated world—into the body of a trash-tier yellow-haired villain who could die any moment.

He had always felt deeply unsettled. Especially after the plot had gone completely off-script and his transmigrator knowledge had become useless, the anxiety sometimes escalated into full-blown dread.

But thank god, nothing had been set in stone yet. With the Black Book, even a spoiled waste like him could claw his way to power through sheer will.

This was just the beginning.

Muen clenched his fists, overwhelmed with emotion.

“If I work hard enough... even fate can be rewritten!”

... ℯℯ𝑙.

...

“...But pain in the feet can’t be rewritten.”

“Holy shit—it hurts! Fuck! Nobody told me this move makes your feet feel like they’re breaking!”

Barely a few seconds after his grand proclamation, Muen had already collapsed to the floor in a flood of tears.

He hadn’t expected Shadow Step to come with such a savage side effect. One use, and it felt like every bone in his feet had shattered.

“No... wait, maybe it’s not a side effect.”

“There’s no way even a cold-blooded assassin could tank this kind of pain without flinching.”

Then it hit him.

“My level’s too low. This isn’t something a Tier 1 should be learning—it’s a technique that’s supposed to be paired with battle aura!”

The first Tier of a Warrior was called Body Tempering. As the name implied, it was all about endlessly training the body to make it stronger.

Because of that, Tier 1 had virtually no entry barriers.

A noble with cash could hit the peak of Tier 1 just by combining expensive herbs with moderate physical training.

Even an average person could get stronger in Tier 1 just by lifting weights, doing pushups, and eating meat.

But the real dividing line came at Tier 2.

Once the body reached its physical peak, it would begin generating a new kind of internal energy—battle aura. Learning how to refine, temper, and wield this energy was what defined the second tier: Aura Cultivation.

Battle aura could wrap around weapons to amplify their power. When infused into the body, it greatly enhanced physical durability and strength.

With or without ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) battle aura, the difference was night and day for a warrior.

“Shadow Step, boiled down, is about channeling all your strength into your legs in one instant and detonating it. Of course that’s going to overload your feet.”

“You’d need battle aura to reinforce your body to handle that kind of impact.”

“In the Black Book, it was just my consciousness, so I didn’t have to care. But now that it’s real... my physical limits actually matter.”

“Damn it. I’m still too weak.”

Muen let out a heavy sigh.

But this time, he didn’t spiral into despair.

Sure, the reality check stung. But it was still a solid start.

At the very least, he now had confirmation: skills forged through Black Book simulations could carry over into the real world.

“Time to revise my strategy.”

Once the pain in his feet dulled a bit, he staggered to his desk.

He pulled out the “Grand Strategy Outline” he’d drafted not long ago and, after a brief pause, tossed it straight into the candle flame.

“No point in stressing about stuff that’s too far away. I need to focus on the now.”

He grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and began jotting down a new route based on his current situation.

“First off, I need a teacher.”

He picked up a quill and wrote:

1. Teacher.

Nearly two hundred fights with the assassin had done more than highlight his weaknesses—they’d exposed the limits of pure masochistic grind training.

Sure, he’d picked up plenty of survival instincts and awareness from it. But when it came to Shadow Step, the one move he wanted to master most, he’d made zero progress until he actually managed to see the assassin’s movements.

If he’d had a teacher guiding him through it step by step, he probably wouldn’t have had to die nearly as many times.

“Now that I think about it... isn’t the semester at Saint Maria Academy starting soon?”

The thought suddenly popped into his mind.

And if there was one thing Saint Maria Academy never lacked, it was excellent teachers.

But within a few seconds, he threw that idea out the window.

“School? Who needs that? I’m perfectly happy being a shut-in.”

“No way in hell am I crossing paths with the protagonist right now.”

“Not to mention, Celicia is also there.”

And besides—when it came to martial arts instructors, didn’t he already have a far better candidate?

Muen curled into a devilish grin and added a name next to “Teacher.”

Lorne Campbell.

His dear old half-off father.