Xavier Cain lay in his hospital bed, bandaged up like a grumpy mummy, staring at the ceiling with a scowl that could curdle milk.
"Again?!" his mind screamed. "Why does this keep happening?!"
In his last life, his senior brother Marcus Mahatir had taken a nosedive—job lost, life a shambles, all thanks to Lugh Everveil's meddling.
Xavier had sworn this rebirth would rewrite that tragedy. But two days in? Marcus wasn't just down—he was out, locked up in a cell faster than you could say "oops."
Meanwhile, Xavier was stuck here, ribs cracked, pride bruised, and his grand comeback stalled before it even started.
"Two days reborn, and I've accomplished zilch!" he fumed. Hospitalized himself, and now Marcus jailed because of him?
It was like the universe had a personal vendetta, sharpening its claws just for him. "Is fate rooting for that smug jerk? Helping Lugh Everveil grind me into dust?!"
A wave of helplessness crashed over him, heavy as a wet blanket.
Was he doomed to lose again? To watch Lugh waltz off with everything—again?
"No!" he roared inwardly, fists clenching despite the pain. "Fate handed me this redo to fix every regret, to crush that devil once and for all! The curtain's just rising, Lugh Everveil—watch your back! I'll repay every ounce of misery you've dished out, tenfold, a hundredfold!"
___
Across town, Lugh Everveil lounged in his penthouse, sprawled across a velvet couch like a king on a throne.
His mind churned, plotting moves in this cosmic chess game.
Sure, he'd clipped one of Xavier Cain's trusty wings—Marcus was out of commission, cooling his heels behind bars.
But Lugh wasn't popping champagne just yet.
Xavier was no ordinary foe—he was destiny's golden boy, the kind who'd bounce back from a knockout punch with a grin and a counterattack.
"The guy's got plot armor thicker than a tank," Lugh mused, twirling a pen between his fingers.
Give Xavier a sliver of daylight, and he'd claw his way back to the top, shining brighter than ever.
Taking him out personally? Tempting, but nah—too risky.
Lugh wasn't just juggling one protagonist—he had a whole roster of them, plus a gaggle of villains, all itching to topple him.
These jokers were slippery, blessed by luck and shielded by the universe itself.
Show one crack in his armor, and they'd pounce, tearing him down with glee.
They could flop a dozen times and still get up swinging.
Him? One slip, and it was game over—curtains, lights out, see ya.
So, Lugh played it smart—clean, slick, and untouchable.
No loose ends, no dirty hands.
Why swing the axe yourself when you could nudge someone else into doing it?
Keep it pristine, and he'd stay golden.
Maybe not invincible, but darn close to unbeatable.
Plus, let's be real—getting his hands dirty was beneath him.
"I'm a villain with class," he smirked.
In his last life, he'd toyed with those protagonists like a cat with a ball of yarn—schemes so slick they'd begged for mercy, dubbing him the Chaos King.
A legend!
Now, reborn with extra tricks up his sleeve, was he really going to fumble against them?
"Pfft, please."
"Slow and steady wins the race," he hummed, hopping up with a spring in his step.
Time to pay a visit to Snow Enterprises' hospital—and his favorite dinner buddy.
___
Jessica Snow was buried in paperwork when Lugh sauntered in, all charm and mischief.
She looked up, her emerald eyes narrowing as she spotted him.
"Heard you were at the scene—caught up in that mess with Marcus Mahatir. Spill it—what went down?"
Lugh plopped into a chair, leaning back with a grin.
"Picture this: I'm strolling in to check on Xavier—poor guy's my pet project, you know—when bam! A scream rips through the ward, so shrill it could've shattered glass! Echoed through the whole dang building!"
Jessica's brows shot up. "A scream?"
"Oh yeah," Lugh nodded, painting the scene with flair.
"I charge in with a posse of nurses and docs, and there's Marcus Mahatir, wielding a silver needle the size of a frickin' javelin! He's jammed it into Xavier's chest—seven, eight centimeters deep, right by the ticker! Scary stuff!"
She leaned forward, hooked. "Then what?"
"We swarm him, pin him down like a pack of heroes! Marcus is flailing, swearing he's 'saving' Xavier, but ten minutes later, the cops roll in and cart him off. That's the gist—wild, right?"
Lugh kept it straight—no embellishments, no skimping—just the facts with a dash of pizzazz.
Jessica frowned, tapping a pen against her desk.
"Why would Marcus try to off him? I heard they're tight—like brothers. Doesn't add up."
"Right?" Lugh shrugged.
"He kept hollering he was helping, not hurting. But come on—who 'helps' with a needle that big, stabbed that deep near the heart? Nuts!"
Jessica sighed, slumping back.
"I still can't buy it. Marcus seemed solid—but the evidence? The witnesses? It's a mess. Motive's foggy, but it looks bad."
"Real bad," Lugh agreed.
"So, what's the play?"
She tossed her hands up, exasperated.
"What play? It's already a PR nightmare for the hospital. Who'd trust a doc like that? We're suspending him, digging into it. If he's cleared later, we'll find some excuse to cut him loose anyway."
"Smart move," Lugh said, then perked up, clapping his hands.
"Enough gloom—dinner time! I scoped out a new joint, word is the food's killer. Let's go taste-test it!"
Jessica rolled her eyes, mock-scolding.
"Eat, eat, eat—that's all you think about!"
"So, you in or what?" he teased, winking.
"Duh, of course I'm in!" she shot back, grabbing her bag. "Gotta fuel up to keep this weight-loss dream alive!"
"Atta girl! Let's roll!" Lugh leapt up, leading the charge out the door.
___
Back in the hospital, Xavier stewed in his bed, fury simmering hotter than a summer sidewalk.
Marcus—his rock, his brother—had tanked harder this time around, all because of Lugh's slimy paws.
"Why's it worse now?!" he raged silently.
Last life, Marcus lost his gig and scraped by.
This life? Straight to jail in two days flat!
And Xavier? He'd done squat but land in here, ribs busted, watching his plans crumble.
"Lugh's laughing somewhere, I know it," he seethed.
That devil had the universe on speed dial, twisting everything against him.
But Xavier wasn't waving the white flag—not yet.
This rebirth was his shot to flip the script, and he'd claw his way to victory, no matter the odds.
---
Lugh, meanwhile, strutted into the new restaurant with Jessica, all swagger and appetite.
The place buzzed with chatter, the air thick with savory scents—roasted meats, fresh bread, the works.
They slid into a booth, menus in hand, and Lugh couldn't help but smirk.
Marcus was out, Xavier was down, and here he was, dining with a knockout.
Villain life didn't get sweeter.
Jessica flicked a fry at him mid-meal, grinning.
"You're too chipper—what's cooking in that head of yours?"
"Just savoring the win," he quipped, dodging the fry with a laugh.
"Ive got you—best date ever."
"Not a date!" she huffed, but her blush said otherwise.
"Sure, sure—call it a 'strategic dinner,'" he teased, popping a fry into his mouth.
The city hummed outside, oblivious to the stakes.
Xavier plotted from his bed, Lugh schemed over steak, and Jessica pretended this wasn't the highlight of her week.
The game was afoot, and nobody was backing down.