A Regressed Villain: Heroines, Villainesses and Me?

Inside Sector 17, the once-bustling streets of City A fell silent as televisions flickered on in homes, cafés, and storefronts. A wave of breaking news headlines flooded every screen, capturing the attention of the masses.

Channel 7 News:

"Shocking revelations! Lin Diego, a prominent local figure, has been apprehended for murder after leaked footage surfaces! Authorities respond swiftly—more details ahead!"

Sector Spotlight Network:

"Cold-blooded crime in Sector 17! Lin Diego's shocking act caught on video—local police confirm detention. Could this be the scandal of the year?"

Pulse News 24:

"Disturbing video evidence leaked: Lin Diego seen in a fatal confrontation. Experts weigh in on potential motives as Sector 17 reels from the news."

Across the flickering screens, clips of the leaked video played on repeat—grainy footage showing a shadowy figure unmistakably identified as Lin Diego. His face, though obscured by a costume, was matched to the crime by authorities using advanced facial recognition technology provided by Croceaus.

The footage showed him striking the final, fatal blow in what appeared to be a cold and calculated act as he mercilessly penetrated the eyes and killed the boy in a gruesome way.

"NO!" Amrita's world shattered the moment the footage flashed across her screen. Her heart clenched, and her breath faltered. It was as if the world had come to an abrupt stop.

The young woman's legs buckled beneath her as she sank to the floor, her body trembling in shock.

A scream, barely a whisper, escaped her lips as the image of her brother's lifeless body filled her vision.

"No... no... no!" Amrita gasped, the words coming out in desperate, jagged breaths. Her hands gripped her head, her fingers digging into her scalp as if she could erase the pain.

Her eyes blurred with tears, but she could not tear her gaze from the haunting image, the face of the man who had done this.

Lin Diego.

The door slammed shut behind her, and the weight of grief crashed down, folding her in two. She collapsed onto the bed, the motion awkward and sluggish, as if her body had forgotten how to move properly.

Her chest heaved with sobs, but the sound felt hollow and muffled, as if her cries had no place in the world anymore.

Her brother, gone.

Taken from her by the hands of someone she had once trusted.

Knock knock.

A knock at the door jolted her back to the present. Her head snapped up, her eyes red and frantic. She froze, her breath caught in her throat.

Who...?

Another knock.

Stumbling to her feet, she wiped at her face, her fingers trembling as she wiped away the remnants of her grief.

She staggered toward the door, her every step uncertain, as if the ground beneath her wasn't sure if it wanted to support her.

When she opened the door, four figures stood before her, dressed in sleek black suits with glasses and walkie-talkies.

They didn't need to introduce themselves; the emblem on their lapels was enough.

"We are from the Croceaus Territory," one of them spoke, his tone cold and professional.

.

.

.

.

.

The sun blazed mercilessly over the arid plains of Tumbali, a village cradled by dust and despair in the heart of Kirosa, a struggling nation lost to time. Bakari's feet pounded against the cracked earth, his chest heaving as he sprinted through the narrow alleys of his home. The villagers barely looked up; their lives were too burdened with their own survival to notice his desperation.

Clutching a satchel to his side, Bakari's mind raced as fast as his legs. His mother's frail body haunted him—the fever that burned her, the ragged breaths that came with every cough. The local doctor had scribbled a name on a piece of paper and muttered about a medicine that might help. "Might" wasn't enough, but it was all Bakari had.

The chemist's shop stood at the edge of the village—a crooked shack of tin and faded wood, leaning as if exhausted by its own existence. Bakari burst through the door, startling the man behind the counter.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

"I need medicine," Bakari gasped, his voice raw. "For my mother. She's burning with fever, coughing blood. The doctor said this would help."

He shoved the paper across the counter. The chemist squinted at the barely legible scrawl, then sighed and turned to the sparse shelves behind him. A moment later, he placed a small glass bottle on the counter, its label faded but still legible.

"This is what you need," the chemist said, his tone flat. "Five thousand shillings."

Bakari froze. Five thousand shillings? That was more money than he'd seen in weeks. He fumbled in his satchel, pulling out crumpled bills and a few coins. He spread them across the counter, his hands trembling.

"This... this is all I have," Bakari whispered. "Please, I'll pay the rest later. She needs it now."

The chemist stared at the meager pile of money before rubbing his temples. After a pause, he scooped up the cash and slid the bottle toward Bakari.

"One dose," the chemist muttered. "That's all I can give you for this much."

Bakari nodded, gripping the bottle like a lifeline. "Thank you. This will help her... I hope."

As he stepped out of the shop, the oppressive heat hit him again, but so did the sound of voices nearby. He glanced toward a group of men lounging by the village well, their conversation carrying through the still air.

"Did you hear about the camp near the river?" one man said. "They're giving out free treatments."

"Free?" another man scoffed. "It's just another scam. The government loves their low-grade leftovers. Probably expired medicine or useless pills. Politicians pocket the rest."

Bakari's jaw tightened. The bitterness in their voices mirrored his own doubts. The government of Kirosa was a machine of greed, every cog turned by bribes and corruption. He couldn't imagine such a camp offering real help. But as he looked at the tiny bottle in his hand, the weight of it felt far too light. He had to try.

His feet moved before his doubts could stop him, carrying him toward the river.

---

The camp loomed on the horizon, a cluster of vibrant tents bustling with activity. A line of villagers stretched as far as Bakari could see, their faces weary but filled with a faint hope. Vans marked with a symbol he didn't recognize—two interlocking crescents encircled by stars—stood parked at the edge of the clearing.

Bakari hesitated, the voice in his head telling him this was a waste of time. But desperation drowned out reason, and he pushed forward, weaving through the crowd until he reached a man in a white coat. The doctor turned to him, his expression calm yet attentive.

"What's wrong?" the doctor asked, his voice steady but warm.

Bakari held out the bottle. "I bought this for my mother. She's sick—fever, coughing blood. The local doctor said this would help. Can I get more of it here?"

The doctor's brows furrowed as he took the bottle, examining it closely. His frown deepened, and when he spoke, his voice carried a sharp edge.

"Who told you to give her this?" the doctor demanded. "This isn't medicine for her condition—it's poison. Giving her this would only make her worse."

Bakari's breath hitched. "Poison? But... the doctor said..."

The doctor raised a hand, cutting him off. "Let us help her. We'll need to examine her right away. Come with me."

For a moment, Bakari's instincts screamed at him to refuse. Trusting strangers in a world that had only ever taken from him felt impossible. But the thought of his mother lying helpless back home pushed him to follow.

---

The van smelled of antiseptic, a stark contrast to the earthy air outside. Inside, the doctor worked quickly, asking for directions to Bakari's home. Minutes felt like hours as the vehicle rumbled across uneven terrain.

When they arrived, the doctor moved with precision. He examined Bakari's mother, taking her pulse, checking her breathing, and running tests with strange, advanced tools. Bakari hovered nearby, his heart pounding as he watched.

After what felt like an eternity, the doctor turned to him, a faint smile softening his features. "She'll be fine. She needs rest and proper care, but the fever will break soon. The medicine we've given her will work far better than what you bought."

Bakari stared at him, the relief washing over him so powerfully it left him weak. "Thank you," he whispered. "I don't know how to repay you."

The doctor chuckled lightly. "You don't have to. We're from the Croceaus Corporation of the Arinphiam Empire, working under the orders of Marquess Croceaus. We're here to help those in need. If you want to repay us, why not join us? Help us reach more patients. We'll pay you a fair salary."

Discover hidden stories at empire

Bakari glanced at his mother, her chest rising and falling steadily, her face finally peaceful. He clenched his fists, the weight of the moment settling in.

"I'll do it," he said firmly. "I'll help."

The doctor nodded, his smile growing. "Good. Together, we can make a difference."

And as the sun set over Tumbali, Bakari felt, for the first time, that his life held a purpose far greater than survival.

---

Near a camp belonging to the medical team, the doctor entered and saw a person with glasses standing there. As the doctor looked towards the CEO of the pharmaceuticals department—Mr. Freddie, who was from the processing territory—he was taken aback, prompting him to bow at a 90-degree angle. "S-sir, work is going well."

"I can see that. Now give me the report on those carrying AB plus blood group. I need to send the reports back to the territory."