There's no villain without a story.
To anyone who's read their fair share of web novels, that line can sound either profound or hopelessly cliché, depending on how you take it.
A villain's backstory is always long-winded and full of excuses.
Watching readers might sigh and mutter about "redemption laundering" or whatever else they call it.
But for those who find themselves genuinely moved by such a story—
it becomes something else entirely. A tool that makes you wonder, wistfully, what might have happened if that villain had simply walked a different path.
And more often than not, I was the latter kind of person.
"...Huh?"
The moment I realized that such a villain had been standing right beside me all along was the day I turned twenty-two and reached the 7th Circle.
The Beloved Young Lady.
That was the name of this world I'd been reborn into—and once, the title of a web novel I used to devour.
And as anyone who's read their share of romance fantasy would know, this kind of world always has what's commonly called a "villainess."
'Lyriette Argent.'
My niece—Baal Argent's niece—and, in the original story, the very first villainess to appear.
Lyriette tormented the heroine, Tiana, and stood in her way at every turn, all while inadvertently serving as the stepping stone that deepened the bond between Tiana and the male lead, Leon Bahart.
'She really was my favorite character.'
Even though she was a villain, she was still the character I loved most.
Because Lyriette had a story that broke my heart.
To explain, I'd have to start with her background.
Lyriette was born the youngest child of House Argent, one of the empire's most renowned swordsman lineages.
But tragically, her mother passed away during childbirth.
And lost in grief over losing his beloved wife, her father, Edmund Argent, grew distant—and their relationship crumbled from that point on.
Later, due to various political interests, her father remarried, and the stepmother began tormenting Lyriette behind closed doors.
Even her older brother Abel—only two years her senior—was gifted with the sword, but his character left much to be desired. Instead of protecting his little sister, he was all too happy to join in on the abuse.
Starved of affection, she entered the academy and, shortly after, met the male lead, Leon, and confessed her feelings to him.
But Leon already had a lover in Tiana, and so he rejected her.
In the end, that rejection drove Lyriette down a dark path—she tried to tear the two of them apart, and eventually tried to consume even her own house, before meeting her death. That was the original story.
'I actually cried when she died.'
They say there's no evil without a reason, but even accounting for that, Lyriette's story was heartbreaking beyond measure.
Just from the rare glimpses of her true self she showed toward Leon, the boy she loved, it was clear she wasn't really such a bad kid at heart.
She simply never received love, and so never learned how to express it.
And she was clumsy—awkward—the first time she ever met someone who treated her like an ordinary person.
What if she'd grown up under better parents?
What if she'd had someone to protect her?
What if even just one person had trusted her and stood by her side until the very end?
She was the first character who ever made me think such thoughts.
And that's why I made my choice.
"Guess I'll go pay her a visit."
I decided to guide Lyriette—now my niece—onto the right path.
***
The family estate, which I hadn't visited in a long while, was still needlessly enormous.
Enough that I understood, in hindsight, why I used to get lost here as a child.
"Young Master! You've returned. I heard the news. Congratulations!"
"Thanks, Derek. How's your son doing, by the way?"
I'd asked about his family without thinking, and Derek the guard's face twisted oddly.
Oh, right.
Right, this wasn't really my personality to begin with.
Without meaning to, I'd slipped into acting like Yoo Shin-woo instead of Baal Argent.
Well, there's nothing to be done about it now.
As of today, I'm bidding farewell to that gloomy second son of the duke's house who had zero interest in other people's business and spent all his time buried in books.
"Y-yes! He's growing up healthy. He's even starting to talk a bit now."
"Good to hear. Would you mind showing me the way, then?"
Eager to avoid his oddly probing gaze, I stepped inside without prolonging the small talk any further.
It had been about two years since I last returned home.
I'd moved out the moment I came of age.
Nothing much seems to have changed in the meantime.
Come to think of it, even I have to admit—I have no patience whatsoever.
The moment I remembered this was the world of The Beloved Young Lady, I came straight here to see Lyriette.
That's basically lightning-fast decision-making, bordering on reckless.
Is this why I always found the protagonists in web novels so frustrating to watch?
Fretting about how their actions might ripple into an uncertain future.
Rambling about not wanting to get tangled up in the main characters' story, as if that were ever going to happen—I'd wanted to throw a punch at the page more times than I could count.
'I'm just not built that way.'
Of course, I don't intend to meddle in the affairs of the main cast for the sake of it.
If anything, I'm probably closer to a bystander myself.
But even so, I'm not the type who can just sit back and watch an unsatisfying turn of events unfold without lifting a finger.
"It's been a while, Baal. You, coming back to the main house? The sun must be rising in the west tomorrow."
In the parlor, my older brother, Edmund Argent, greeted me with a rather gentle smile.
He was old enough to be my senior by a full zodiac cycle, so there had always been an odd distance between us—close, yet not quite.
Judging by the dark circles under his eyes, that infernal depression and insomnia of his hadn't improved one bit.
It's been years since his wife passed.
A solid decade by now, at least. At this point, I'm starting to think it's less love and more some kind of illness.
Of course, I can't presume to measure the grief of losing someone you love.
In a way, you could even call it romantic.
But even so, isn't this crossing the line a little too far?
If the one who was meant to go has gone, then the one who's still living ought to actually live.
He's long since inherited the family headship—what does he think he's doing, carrying on like this?
"Yes, it has been a while, Brother. Have you been well?"
"Same as always, I suppose. Anyway, I heard the news. You've already reached the 7th Circle? Father must be smiling down from the heavens."
"I hope so."
My father, Victor Argent, was the archetypal warrior and loyal subject.
He lived and breathed swordsmanship, and served the empire with a devotion beyond compare.
Which is precisely why he never much cared for my existence.
I was the black sheep of House Argent, the family known as "the Sword of the Empire."
I hadn't a shred of talent for swordsmanship—not even an ant's tear's worth.
Nor had I ever shown any particular loyalty to the empire.
I simply lived and breathed magic, and nothing else.
Right.
If Father lived and breathed the sword, and Brother lived and breathed love—
then I was the one who lived and breathed magic.
Three generations of men, all obsessed with something different. Makes you wonder if this house is on its last legs.
"So, what brings you here today?"
"Wanted to see your face after all this time, and I figured I'd visit my niece as well."
"Niece? You mean Abel?"
Abel was the name of his eldest son.
His personality was rotten to the core, but the little brat had a good sense of where he could and couldn't act like that—so even at the tender age of twelve, he always put on his friendliest, most obliging smile whenever he was in front of me.
If my memories of my past life hadn't returned, I probably would've thought of him as just a socially gifted kid too.
That's how good he was at reading a room.
Not to mention his swordsmanship—no need to even mention that.
In the original story, he was once called the future greatest sword of the empire.
He was probably the one bright spot in Edmund's otherwise despairing life.
"No, not Abel. Isn't there another child?"
At my question, Edmund's brow furrowed for a moment before smoothing back out.
As though he were retracing some faded memory.
"Another child? You don't mean Lyriette, do you?"
"Yes."
"What business could you possibly have with that girl?"
"Does an uncle need a reason to want to see his niece's face? So, where is she right now?"
"In her room, I'd imagine."
It wasn't even a guess, really.
More like—it was none of his concern where she was.
Right. This is exactly the kind of man he is.
My brother, that useless excuse for a man.
It's not that he actively dislikes Lyriette.
To be precise, he's simply indifferent.
He just doesn't look at her.
The moment the wife he loved beyond all else passed away, and he came to trace the cause back to his own blood—
Edmund Argent had fallen from grace.
Anyway, her room, then.
Guess I'll go see her myself.
"Is that so? Then if you'll excuse me."
I rose from my seat before my tea had even had the chance to cool.
Feels a bit like I'm playing Guan Yu, storming off mid-conversation.
"Well, well, old man. Been a while."
"Oh, Young Master! What brings you here?"
A middle-aged man appeared as I crossed the corridor, and I raised a hand in greeting.
Gilbert.
Our family's butler, a man who had faithfully served the house since my father Victor's time.
That said, he wasn't exactly a saint either.
Because he, too, was one of the bystanders who let Lyriette sink into that state without lifting a finger.
Tch. Thinking about it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
He used to be the person I most enjoyed catching up with whenever I came home.
But today, for some reason, I don't much feel like keeping his company for long.
"Just here to see my niece for a moment. Is Lyriette in her room?"
"Lady Lyriette, you mean?"
"That's right."
Gilbert's eyes narrowed slightly.
Then he stepped aside and gave a bow.
"She's studying in her room. Allow me to show you the way."
"I'd appreciate that."
"Yes, sir."
I followed quietly behind Gilbert, and it took quite a while to get there.
A room tucked away in a rather secluded corner of the second floor.
As though someone had deliberately placed it there to keep her isolated from the rest of the house.
That was Lyriette's room.
Come to think of it, I'd met Lyriette a handful of times before, but this was my first time actually visiting her room.
Has she really been living alone, in a place like this, all this time?
"Here we are."
"It's quite far off, isn't it."
"..."
Gilbert seemed to catch the implication behind my words and looked away without a word.
Then he stepped up to the door and gave a careful knock.
"Lady Lyriette. Young Master Baal has come to see you."
—My uncle...?
"Yes."
—Oh, um, that's fine. Please, tell him to come in.
Perhaps she was startled by the sudden news that the uncle who'd left home—and rarely even visited the family, let alone her—had suddenly shown up.
The voice from the other side of the door was clearly laced with confusion.
Creak.
Soon, with a grating sound, the door swung open.
It hadn't been oiled properly, apparently, because the noise was thoroughly unpleasant.
As the room came into view, the first thought that crossed my mind was simple.
'This is bleak.'
Was this really the kind of room a child in her early teens should be living in?
There wasn't a single decoration to speak of.
Maybe it was meant to give the impression that she wasn't being neglected—or maybe it was simply that, being House Argent, even the furniture had to be of fine quality regardless—but the bed, the wardrobe, and the other wooden furnishings were undeniably luxurious.
Which, if anything, only made the emptiness feel more jarring.
"U-uncle. It's been a while."
A girl rose quietly from within the bleak room and approached me, bowing gently in greeting.
Unlike my own indistinct gray hair, hers was lush and brightly gleaming silver.
And her eyes—lake-blue, just like her mother's.
Her manner was composed and courteous, mature beyond her years.
But she couldn't quite hide the faint ripple stirring beneath that calm surface.
No doubt the presence of an uncle she hadn't seen in so long made her uneasy.
Her small hands were clenched tight, and the effort she was putting into hiding her feelings was almost precarious to watch.
"Yes, it's been a while, hasn't it, my dear niece. Have you been well?"
I offered Lyriette the warmest smile I could manage, hoping to put her at ease.