Surviving In This Filthy World As A Novel Villain

As they talked, footsteps came softly down the stairs. A woman in her thirties walked down with a relaxed sway, her sharp features softened by the loose sweater she wore.

After losing her fiancé in a plane crash years ago, she had found comfort in her father's home.

"Exactly, Dad!" she said, her voice full of frustration as she reached the last step.

"I've told you so many times—this doctor is a fake, but you never listened. You even called me 'all hair and no brains.' Remember that?" She grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl, peeling it quickly and angrily before taking a big bite.

"And now you've promised Lena to him? To a killer? That's just crazy!"

The old man's hand struck the armrest with a loud crack, the sharp sound cutting through the room. He turned in his chair, his cloudy eyes burning with anger as he glared at the couple before him. "Are you two trying to put me in my grave?" he barked, his voice unsteady but full of force. "When I was at death's door, that miracle doctor saved me. He's my savior—mine!"

His daughter-in-law pressed her lips into a thin line, her elegant fingers twisting the edge of her silk scarf.

Your savior, maybe—but not ours, she thought bitterly. Why should my daughter be tied to him? Why not someone else?

The forced engagement had troubled her from the start, but when she learned that this so-called doctor had treated two people—only for both to die—her frustration turned to fury.

She had watched the livestream from the livestream, unable to resist looking into the man her father-in-law had chosen for her sweet Lena.

What she saw sent a chill through her. A doctor? No—this man was a disaster waiting to happen, a reckless fraud who played with needles and left nothing but death behind him.

His hands trembled as he leaned forward, his voice calm but edged with urgency. "Look, maybe the doctor who saved you was the real deal—I'll give you that. But his apprentice? He's not the same. Plenty of rich kids waste their family's legacy—what makes you think he's any different? Medicine isn't something you just inherit." He shook his head, disbelief clear in his expression.

"Since he started practicing, he's 'saved' two people—both elderly—and both of them died. A real doctor charges money to heal people. This guy? He just leaves bodies behind."

His words dripped with sarcasm. How many more old men could this so-called miracle worker find to 'rescue' before people caught on?

Across the room, a woman tossed aside a banana peel and grabbed a crisp, seedless cucumber from the bowl, biting off a chunk.

"Last time you got him out of trouble, it cost us a fortune in favors—fine, we handled it. But this time? He killed one of the father of the Wade Family head. And now his family is swearing they'll make sure he rots in prison." She spoke quickly, her voice slightly muffled by the bite of cucumber, but her point hit hard.

The old man sighed, his bony hands tightening around the handle of his cane as he pushed himself up from the armchair. Slowly, he shuffled to the window, gazing out at the dark sky scattered with stars.

"I know," he said quietly, his voice growing steadier. "Even if he's a disaster, his teacher isn't. We have to get him out—no matter what it takes."

He had seen it with his own eyes: the man who trained him possessed skills that defied reason—medicine so advanced it could pull someone back from the brink of death or extend a life beyond its natural course. That kind of genius wasn't luck, and it certainly wasn't something a fraud could fake.

"Dad, do you even hear yourself right now?" The broad-shouldered man shot up from the leather couch, moving as if a spring had snapped inside him.

His boots thudded against the polished hardwood as he strode toward his father, who remained seated by the fireplace, calm as ever.

"You're willing to drag us into a war with a dangerous family—all for some worthless nobody who isn't even worth the air he breathes?"

Getting that man out of detention wasn't just a favor—it was an insult to the other family involved. Sure, they weren't as powerful, not by a long shot, but they weren't the kind to forgive and forget. They had sharp claws and an even sharper memory. Picking this fight meant lighting a fuse that could burn slow and ugly, and he could already smell the smoke.

"Dad, listen," his daughter's voice cut through the thick tension like a blade. She tossed the half-eaten cucumber onto the coffee table with a dull thud and rushed to his side, gripping his sleeve tightly. Her eyes were wide with concern. "That family may not be as strong as us, but why start a fight we don't need? We have enough problems as it is. The big players in the city are already circling, just waiting for us to make a mistake."

She wasn't wrong. She ran one of the family's businesses, and right now, she was in the middle of closing a deal that could define her year. That family was her key partner—the perfect ally to seal it. If this situation spiraled out of control, months of late nights and careful planning would go up in smoke.

The old man didn't react. He simply leaned back, his weathered face catching the flicker of the firelight as he gazed at the ceiling, as if the answers were hidden in the shadows. "My mind's made up," he said, his voice quiet but firm, carrying the weight of a lifetime of difficult choices. "This is the last time I step in. After this, he's on his own. Our family washes its hands of him."

He let out a slow, heavy sigh, and for a moment, it was as if the decision had drained the life from him. His shoulders slumped, his figure seemed smaller, older—like another line had just been etched into his already worn face.

No one argued. When he spoke like that, it was final. His word was stone—unbreakable, unmovable.