I walked over and sat beside him at the table.
"I said… which answer? Which question?" I asked, still unsure what he meant.
He looked at me and said calmly, "If you are the hero, then who is the villain?"
I was shocked. That question hit me hard—how did he know what was spinning in my mind?
"Who are you?" I asked.
He gave a small smirk and replied, "I'm the monster."
I laughed nervously, trying to take it as a joke.
But he looked serious. "If you really want to know who the villain is," he said, leaning closer, "then listen carefully."
I nodded. "Yes. I want to know."
He smiled—a horrible, crooked smile—and said,
"People who tease you.
People who don't like you.
People who don't accept you in society…
Those people are the real villains to you."
I stared at him. "If people see me as the villain, then maybe I really am one," I said quietly. "Maybe I'm not the hero after all."
He replied, "Just think about one thing… what makes a hero a hero?"
"I don't know," I answered. "A hero is just… a hero."
"Is it because we only ever hear their side of the story?" he asked. "If the villain told their story, maybe they wouldn't be the villain. Maybe they'd be the hero."
At that moment, I couldn't think of anything else. My mind was completely blank.
He and I stood up and walked home—without saying another word.