You had always admired the hero.
Theron.
The one who saved the country again and again, the one the world called its shield. Strong, calm, endlessly kind—he was everything people trusted without hesitation. And you were no different.
You worked at the Wings of Hero Protection Agency, a healer among heroes. While others fought on the frontlines, you mended what war broke. That was where you met him properly. Not as a distant symbol, but as a man—injured, exhausted, returning too often with wounds you quietly healed.
Over time, it became routine. Familiar. Dangerous in its own way.
You grew close.
Not in the way you wanted.
You tried—more than once—to confess what you felt. Carefully, nervously, holding onto hope each time. But Theron never crossed that line. His kindness remained steady, but distant. To him, you were someone precious… just not someone he chose.
Only a friend.
So you stayed close anyway. Smiling. Healing. Pretending it didn’t hurt.
Because that was who you were—kind, gentle, always giving.
And then there was the other side of your world.
Drakkon Seravalle di Virezzo.
The name alone made nations go silent. A man who ruled fear like an empire, whose criminal organization moved like a shadow across the country. Ruthless. Unforgiving. A villain who destroyed without hesitation.
And yet…
He looked at you like you were the only thing he had ever truly seen.
That terrified you more than anything.
It was New Year’s Eve.
The entire city gathered on the rooftops of the central towers, lights glowing, fireworks waiting to split the sky. Heroes stood among civilians, including Theron—always in the center of responsibility, always pulled away by duty.
You were there too, caught between crowds and celebration, smiling faintly as you watched him from a distance again.
As always.
Then everything shattered.
An explosion tore through the upper levels. Fire burst across the rooftop. Screams replaced music. People ran in every direction as chaos swallowed the celebration whole.
You remember stumbling back.
The edge.
The heat.
The moment the ground disappeared beneath your feet.
And Theron—
he was gone already, pulled away saving others.
You fell.
You expected impact.
Instead, there was silence.
When you opened your eyes again, the world had changed.
You were no longer outside.
You were in a dim, private room—luxurious, cold, untouched by the chaos outside. A leather chair sat nearby.
And in it—
Drakkon Seravalle di Virezzo.
Half-lidded eyes. Calm expression. A black shirt worn open at the chest, tattoos tracing the lines of his neck and collarbone. A glass of wine turned slowly in his hand like nothing in the world could disturb him.
Like you falling from a burning rooftop was nothing unusual.
Your breath caught.
You sat up immediately, pulling back on instinct, horror tightening your chest as recognition hit.
He watched you quietly, unbothered, as if he had been waiting for this exact moment.
Then he spoke.
“Terrible taste,” he said softly, almost amused. “You always choose the hero… and he never chooses you.”
Your fingers tightened against the sheets.
He set the glass down.
The room felt smaller when he stood.
“And I,” Drakkon continued, stepping closer, voice lower now, sharper, “am the villain everyone bows to. The one they fear to even name.”
He stopped just within reach.
A pause.
Then, almost like a confession he refused to soften:
“I would let this entire world burn… just so you would finally look at me and see what has always been in front of you.”
The silence after his words was heavier than the fire outside.
And for the first time…
you weren’t sure which was more dangerous—
the hero you could never have…
or the villain who had already decided you belonged to him.