An Unwritten Story [Villainous Power Couple, LitRPG]

The ancient trees that had once supported winding, suspended streets were reduced to charcoal by a raging fire. The buildings that once stood proud fell one by one, burying the laughter of a thousand families beneath crushing stone.

A father scooped his injured child from the ground and fled toward the exit of Cerma. As he sprinted, he saw other families desperately trying to escape the mayhem as well.

“Daddy… I don’t want to die,” the boy in his arms mumbled, covering his ears.

The man looked down at him, offering a bitter smile. “…Don’t worry, darling, daddy will somehow get you out of here.” He shielded the boy’s head to hide his own tears. “If... if we don’t make it... we’ll see mom again—”

A charred hand clamped onto his ankle, jerking him to a halt. A woman lay on the ground near a collapsed house, and trapped inside the burning rubble was her child.

“Please… help my child—I beg of you!” the woman screamed, clinging to the man’s leg.

The man tightened his grip around his son and squeezed his eyes shut before shaking his leg free, pushing the woman’s hand away, and continuing his flight.

I’m sorry… he thought.

Then, as he took the next step through the wreckage of a ruined building, a figure wearing a devil’s smile rose from the debris.

Noa dragged himself upright, planting his ruined boots into the ashes of the fallen civilization. Slowly, he turned his head. Purple irises, floating in pitch-black sclera, locked onto the man.

Monster—! was the only thought he could muster as he began running in the opposite direction.

The hammer of his heartbeat echoed in Noa’s ears, rattling against his ribs. His body was a map of ruined flesh—blood and soot pooling over lacerations, while severe burn marks seared his skin, preventing the tissue from healing.

He pressed a trembling palm over his chest, and the drumbeat echoed again, louder and more erratic.

My heart… it’s about to break?

Through the black smoke of the dying city, the gargantuan silhouette of the dragon shifted. Its vertical slit pupils, burning with an amber rage, cut through the ash like twin suns to lock onto him.

The crimson dragon turned its massive head, its jaws parting with a groan as a radiating heat began to pool in the back of its throat.

Staring back at the beast, a wide grin split Noa’s face. His eyes—pitch-black sclera framing purple irises—flared with a sinister delight.

“Fucking lizard,” Noa spat, tasting the bitter mix of ash and copper on his tongue. “You really pushed me to my limits.”

He took a step forward, his ruined boot crunching against the rubble. Then another. And then, he was laughing—a wild, echoing sound of madness that challenged the roar of the beast.

He lunged forward, throwing his weight into a strike, his overworked arms gathering into a clenched fist.

A dying spark threw itself into the heart of a wildfire, both eager to consume what little remained of a city already reduced to ash.

---

A pale finger drummed a slow, rhythmic beat against the wooden desk, the clicks slicing through the silence of the room.

“Count Fain, time is lives~” a female voice chimed, her tone dripping with playful amusement.

Count Fain slumped in his high-backed chair, though the luxurious leather did nothing to soothe his mounting panic. The office was swallowed by shadows, illuminated only by the flickering glow of the burning city and the roaring calamity outside the window.

What do I do?! The count squeezed his eyes shut, sweat pouring down his face. Three hours. That’s how long until the capital’s heroes arrive. By then, everyone will be dead. He lifted his forest-green eyes toward the woman sitting across from him. Is this really my only option? No! Think, damn it, think of something else—

Suddenly, the pale finger hit its tip against the wooden desk once again.

“The civilians are dying~ and their precious count is just sitting here doing nothing~” the woman sang, mocking his despair. “What will he do~? Oh, what will he ever do~?”

Vionette sat opposite him. Her crimson eyes glowed with wicked amusement in the dim light, her silver-white hair cascading past her waist in contrast against the dark room. Her fingers continued to idle on the desk while her other arm rested on the chair, propping up her chin with a loose fist. Her legs were crossed casually as she waited for Fain’s answer.

[Warning! The condition of user Noa Ravel is critical!]

A translucent blue window flickered into existence in front of her face.

Don’t worry, system, he’ll somehow win, she thought as she shifted her gaze toward the glass window overlooking the burning city. It’s called plot armor.

“So, Count Fain, what’s your choice?” she asked, extending a hand across the desk, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Your people are going to end up as ashes if you don’t make up your mind quickly. Is that what you want?”

“N-no, but…” The count clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white.

“Then c’mon, speed it up. Answer me before everyone dies.”

‘Everyone will die.’

The words echoed in the count’s mind as he stared into her piercing crimson eyes. He looked at her extended hand, then back up to meet her gaze, his thoughts thrashing.

“I… will sign the Soul Contract.”

A prey reached into a snake’s nest.

***

Four years prior,

I am Aoi Misora—just another high-schooler trying to survive the everyday battlefield known as teenage life.

The hallway buzzed like a disturbed hive. Lockers slammed with metallic thuds, rubber soles squeaked against the polished floor, and bursts of laughter flared and died in volatile waves. The air smelled faintly of dry chalk dust and the warmth of cafeteria bread.

It was an environment suffocating in its own normalcy.

I walked down that same hallway, my face catching the energetic light of the morning sun as it fell over the threshold, before I eventually reached the doors of my classroom and stopped.

That is…

I turned around, my eyes locking onto a boy who had just drifted past me into the room.

Silently watching from my spot near the door, I saw him approach a small group clustered near the windows. He moved with a strange, detached sort of lightness, completely isolated from the morning rush.

“Hey, how you doing?” he said, offering an easy smile and a casual wave of his hand.

The students froze instantly, as if an invisible hand had pressed a pause button on reality. The ambient chatter near the window died in an instant.

One of them forced a paper-thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes, while a few others simply quietly got away from the scene, slipping into the background without a word.

“Uh… yeah… good to see you,” a clunky boy replied, his voice cracking halfway through the short sentence.

Another adjusted his bag strap with rigid movements, while a third pretended to check his phone, though I could see the screen was as black as the silent night.

Then, after a few seconds of awkward silence, they scattered, like birds sensing a predator’s shadow rippling over the grass. Whispers trailed behind them like a toxic wake.

I watched the entire exchange from my spot near the door, curiosity coiling deep inside my chest like a cat stretching in the sunlight.

There was something… wrong about him. Not wrong in a moral way, nor even wrong in a dangerous way.

His eyes were always the first thing anyone would see—deep black sclera, as though midnight had spilled into them and permanently stained the whites, framing faint purple irises that were dim and distant, like stars glimpsed through deep water. They were not cosmetic contact lenses, nor were they artificial. They were just… there.

He wasn’t unconditionally rude, nor was he a criminal or a pervert. If anything, he was polite; he listened intently to the teachers, took notes, and answered whenever he was called on.

Yet, around him, there existed an invisible wall—a vast chasm that felt like the distance between the high sky and the earth below.

Whenever I tried to talk to him, a chilling, strange weight settled heavily in my chest. It felt as if gravity itself thickened in his immediate presence. I would open my mouth, prepared with something casual—“Did you finish the homework?” or “What page are we on?”—and then the words would simply die in my throat before they were ever born.

And I knew for a fact that everyone else felt it too.

Even the loudest boys—those who treated the classroom like their personal stage—lowered their voices when passing his desk.

No one bullied him; they just collectively acted like he didn’t exist.

Sometimes our eyes met by accident, and when that happened, something inside me tightened every single time. There was no anger, malice, or mockery in his gaze. It was just a bottomless pitch of suffocating boredom, as if he had already given up on his life entirely.

I couldn’t explain it, but I wanted to understand him. Not because I was scared, and not because I was fascinated. Just… because he existed like a question without punctuation.

And I’ve always hated unanswered questions.

---

Again… I got ignored, again! Is it because of these black eyes?

Shinra Noa leaned back in his chair, watching the back of a student’s head as the guy practically sprinted away from his desk toward the safety of the blackboard.

He let his mouth turn down in an annoyed scowl, propping his chin in his open palm.

Doctors had insisted the unusual color of his eyes was merely some rare blood condition, and that it was harmless. “Nothing to worry about,” they’d assured him with professional smiles.

But to Noa, the world itself felt like the true illness.

Every single day repeated itself: wake up, wear the uniform, go to school, listen to boring lectures, take useless notes, wait for the bell to ring, go back home, wake up tomorrow, and repeat it all over again.

This endless, predictable routine felt like a set of soft chains wrapped tightly around his limbs—both comfortable and suffocating.

Everyone avoided him for some reason, whether it was in school, in a convenience store, or just walking down the open street. It was only natural that he wouldn’t have any friends in a place like this.

I don’t know if this lonely-ass shit is because of these eyes, Noa thought, nodding with a slight smile inside his own head. And even if it is, I don’t really hate it cuz they are kind of cool.

He glanced lazily around the classroom. Students bent low over notebooks, some scrolled through phones beneath their desks while thinking they were subtle, and others whispered about test scores, love confessions, and the fragile social hierarchies that would dissolve the moment they graduated.

There we go again… seriously, just stop it! He noticed her watching him yet again. Why are you just staring at the lonely me? Just come over and talk to me if you want, bitch!

Aoi Misora, a girl with amber eyes that didn’t flinch, sat two rows away from him, staring at him of all people through the crowd. She had silver hair, its short strands neatly framing her face while longer strands fell down her back like a shimmering waterfall of moonlight.

Noa turned his face away from her gaze and let his hands rest loosely on the desk, leaning back as the sunlight spilled through the glass window. Golden dust motes drifted lazily in the air, turning the mundane classroom into a surreal snow globe of ordinary existence.

School was predictable, people were predictable, even his boredom was predictable.

After I die… will I go to another world, like in those novels? Noa thought, his novel fanatic side spinning wild imaginations in his mind. Truck-kun, glowing magic circles, a goddess with poor management skills. Honestly, any of those will be fucking good.

Mentally, he was rubbing his hands together like a mastermind, thoroughly enjoying his inner fantasy playground. On the outside, he was still just staring blankly at the blackboard, rotting in his seat.

Then, suddenly—

Cracks appeared below Noa’s feet—not through the concrete, but through the literal fabric of space itself.

He looked around in a slow panic as jagged fractures of reality tore across the entire classroom.

Desks stretched like melted wax, walls twisted violently as though the room had suddenly become liquid, and the terrified voices of scared students warped, elongated, and snapped like broken tape.

Then space shattered completely, replacing the classroom with an infinite void of nothing but whiteness.

Some screamed at the top of their lungs, others grabbed their friends’ arms so tightly their knuckles turned white, and the teacher shouted something, but the words dissolved instantly into empty static.

What the hell…? Noa’s eyes widened in shock, but then they calmed down, almost amused.

Just like the exact way a reader feels when the boring prologue ends and the plot finally begins, he felt an intense surge of intrigue.

Is this what I think it is? He thought with a wide, unhinged grin. The classic otherworld summon.

Symbols drifted through the air like the fragmented remains of a long-forgotten, mythic language. At the center stood a majestic being that perfectly reflected the concept of a ‘god’: its form spiritual, both its body and face covered in a thick white fog, the silhouette itself physically larger than a mountain range.

Its voice did not travel through the air; instead, it bloomed majestically inside their minds.

The weakest cried openly on the invisible floor, and one student fainted in a dramatic fashion, which would have been impressive under normal circumstances. The teacher, Takeda Nahori—a man with his hair tied back into a ponytail and a slight beard—tried desperately to calm everyone in the class with his voice.

Yet, amidst this chaos, there was also an ‘extraordinary’ bunch that did not panic and listened to the being’s words with cold calculation.

“Protagonists, huh.” Noa, looking at the set of calm students, muttered under his breath.

The being continued:

After finishing, the being extended its one enormous hand towards the group of students that seemed like a tiny colony of ants.

From the being’s palm, light descended like a rainstorm before slowly touching each student individually, as if selecting someone that fit their hidden recommendations.

Dude, the plot is going way too quickly, Noa thought as he watched a sphere of light come directly towards him as well.

This light came near his chest and Noa instinctively closed his hands near it. Then, the light pressed forwards against his chest before disappearing, just like how it happened to the others around him.

Mmm…? I don’t feel anything new though. Noa looked at his own body and hands, waiting for something to happen.

“What is this blue panel in front of me?!” someone shouted in a mixture of terror and awe.

“Ohhh… there’s a panel in front of me too! Do you guys see this?”

“No, but I have a voice inside my head!” shouted another, wide-eyed. “…It’s kind of annoying.”

Noa watched with quite the puzzled look. The light had approached him, touched him, and merged with him. But no window appeared, nor was there a voice inside his mind.

...what’s going on? A sudden, cold spike of panic hit his chest. Hey system, you there, bro?

The godlike entity spoke once more.

As its whispers lingered around them like a solemn vow, its body disappeared and the white world shattered.

***

Far beyond the reach of light and distance, a silent land drifted within the endless darkness.

Massive black crystal formations floated motionlessly in the void like fragmented remains of a broken world. Some stretched endlessly upward like frozen pillars, while others hung upside down in a void with no visible direction.

Upon one of those enormous crystal structures sat a throne carved from a dark, translucent stone that seemed to swallow the ambient void.

And standing directly beside that throne was a woman with cascading black hair that contained swirling stars, galaxies, and one blackhole inside its strands, her eyes a brilliant, stark white in contrast to her starry silhouette.

Her laughter was soft, almost fond, echoing quietly into the dark. “He really did break it accidentally…”

***

The students suddenly found themselves standing inside a vast, luxurious hall.

The floors were crafted from polished white marble that flawlessly reflected their trembling, disheveled figures. Silk banners hung from towering stone columns, and massive golden chandeliers glittered overhead like captive constellations brought down from the sky.

Anxiety spread through the displaced class like black ink dropping into a glass of pure water.

“W-wait… where is this?”

“What happened to the school?”

“Who was that before?”

“I—I’m a little scared…”

They were terrified and hyperventilating, yet a desperate hope clung to their minds, convincing them that this was either a prank or that a rescue team would arrive at any moment.

Takeda Nahori stood stiffly at the front of the group. His glasses caught the light of the chandeliers as he adjusted the bridge with noticeably shaking fingers.

They probably gave us these Systems to grow stronger as their pawns. We won’t be going home anytime soon, and I don’t intend to either. Noa looked around at his classmates with a malicious smirk. I won’t let any of you fuckers go back either.

Just as he stepped into this ‘otherworld’, something inside him had shifted. It was as if invisible chains had fallen away, and strength flowed quietly into his limbs.

Surrounding the otherworldly students stood fifteen mages in ceremonial robes, exhaustion written across their faces. Sweat clung to their brows, and Aether flickered in the air like the fading scent of lightning after a storm.

Are they the ones who summoned us? Noa thought, his purple eyes narrowing as he closely observed the scene. Then why did a god appear before?

“Welcome!” The voice echoed with authority through the high hall.

Seated upon a raised golden throne at the end of the hall was a man built like a living monument: broad shoulders, a muscular frame, and a crown resting upon a thick mane of dark hair. The piercing gaze of his black eyes was as sharp and unforgiving as a drawn blade. Arrogant pride sat upon his shoulders as comfortably as his royal robes.

They were inside a throne room filled with knights in radiating silver armor.

The students instinctively glanced at the blades, then back at the throne in terror. Takeda Nahori took a deep breath and stepped forward, swallowing hard to maintain his composure.

“May we know… where we are?” His voice remained steady—but barely.

“You are in the kingdom of Cyradis, a kingdom in the northern region,” the king figure replied, his lips pulling back into a wide and proud smile.

And then—without a single word of warning—the world blurred.

A knight beside Noa moved his body so fast that it almost seemed like an illusion. The knight had drawn his sword out in a flash, its cold blade trajectory heading right towards Noa’s throat.

What the fuck—

Noa saw it.

He saw the lethal trajectory, the blinding flash of the metal—but his body was hopelessly behind. Instinctively, he managed to forcefully throw his weight backward by a single, desperate step, his fists tightening so hard his nails bit into his palms.

Steel hissed as it left the scabbard, the shining blade curving in a blinding arc before stopping just at Noa’s neck—close enough that he could feel the cool breath of metal against his skin.

The hall instantly fell into a deathly silence. Even the glittering chandeliers overhead seemed to hold their light just a little tighter.