What's happening?
Why is it dark?
Oh… right.
Where am I?
Wh—who am I?
Pain suddenly assaulted me.
It came fast—overwhelming—then disappeared just as quickly, leaving my head ringing and my body numb.
"Hey, trash! You done yet?"
A rough voice snapped me back to reality.
"You were so mighty earlier in class!" the voice continued mockingly. "An E-Class like you dares to antagonize me in public?! Me?! A C-rank hero?!"
I forced my eyes open.
A fist rushed straight toward my face.
Pain exploded again as the blow landed.
"Hey, Barlow, stop!" a fat teen standing beside him said nervously. "The teachers are coming. We better go!"
Yep.
That's me.
Lying on the floor. Face throbbing. Pride in negative numbers.
You're probably thinking this is a villain story, right?
Nooooo.
You're wrong.
Well—kind of.
I mean, look at the title. Yeah, yeah, it's misleading. On purpose. Sue me.
Actually—don't. In this world, lawsuits are probably sponsored too.
Because this place?
It's run by heroes.
Not the kind you're thinking of. Not noble, not selfless, not symbols of hope.
No—marketable heroes.
Heroes with rankings. Heroes with merch. Heroes with cameras conveniently nearby whenever something explodes.
And villains?
Oh, don't worry. They exist too.
Also marketable.
See, balance is important. Can't have heroes without villains, right? Bad for ratings. Worse for funding.
And before you ask—no.
There's no DC here. No Marvel. No comics at all.
Heck, there aren't even novels.
No manga.
No web novels.
No light novels with stupidly long titles explaining the entire plot.
Tragic, I know.
You might be wondering why I'm doing this little fourth-wall-breaking soliloquy while bleeding on a classroom floor.
Simple.
I like Deadpool.
And more importantly—
This story?
This is how I brought true mayhem to a world that thought it already understood chaos.
Because they had powers.
They had heroes.
They had villains.
What they didn't have…
…was someone who knew how the story should go.
The memories came all at once.
Not gently.
Not politely.
They slammed into my head like a corrupted download finally deciding to finish.
Names. Faces. Schedules. Embarrassments I didn't earn. Fear I didn't choose.
I clenched my teeth as the pain flared—then faded just as fast, leaving behind something worse than a headache.
Understanding.
Ah…
So this kid died while getting beaten up, huh?
Figures.
[Hmm… poor kid. Don't worry. I'll live your life for you.]
Not out of kindness.
Not out of justice.
Mostly because it'd be a waste not to.
And wow.
This is seriously messed up.
Heroes and villains here? Cut from the same cloth. Different labels, same ego. Same hunger for attention. Same obsession with ranks and public opinion.
Digging through this body's memories felt like scrolling through a world with all the powers and none of the imagination.
Schools that trained "heroes" like corporate interns.
Rankings discussed more than ethics.
Bullies protected by titles and future endorsements.
And the strangest part?
There were no stories.
No comics passed around.
No fictional heroes to inspire people.
No cautionary tales about what happens when power goes unchecked.
Nothing.
It was like a world that discovered superpowers first… and forgot to invent fiction.
Which meant no one here knew how this usually ends.
I stared at the ceiling, breathing slowly, feeling bruises bloom across a body that wasn't mine—but was now.
Heroes. Villains. Rankings. Markets.
No myths.
No legends.
No genre awareness.
I exhaled, a faint smile tugging at my swollen lips.
[Yeah… this world's gonna be fun.]
And very, very educational.
For them.
The teacher arrived not long after.
He didn't ask questions.
Didn't raise his voice.
Didn't even look surprised.
He just sighed—like this was paperwork he'd already filled out too many times.
I was helped to my feet, escorted down the hallway, and dropped off at the nurse's office like a damaged item being returned.
Ice packs. Disinfectant. A couple of muttered reminders about "keeping incidents quiet."
I was treated.
Then I was let out early.
Just like that.
No apology.
No punishment.
No justice.
Guess a future C-rank hero mattered more than an E-class nobody.
By the time I got back to my one-bedroom apartment, the sun was already dipping low, painting the city gold in that fake, cinematic way.
The place was small. Clean. Empty.
And then—
Another memory surfaced.
This one didn't hurt.
It just burned.
I was orphaned young.
Parents killed in the middle of a hero and villain fight.
Collateral damage.
Wrong place. Wrong time. Wrong importance.
The news had called it unfortunate.
The heroes called it unavoidable.
The villains didn't even bother acknowledging it.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, jaw tight.
…Fuck those assholes.
Heroes. Villains. Same stage. Same spotlight. Different costumes.
They break cities. They ruin lives. Then they smile for the cameras and call it balance.
I leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
Alright then.
If that's how this world works…
Let's think.
How do I teach this place the true meaning of being a "villain"?
Not the marketable kind.
Not the disposable kind.
Not the kind they could parade around for ratings.
No.
A villain they couldn't control.
First things first.
My power.
Hmm…
That's weird.
No—really weird.
I focused, letting the rest of the memories surface. The official documents. The evaluation report. The neat little digital stamp burned into this body's past.
Ability Rank: E
Classification: Creation-Type (Defective)
…I blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Are you fucking kidding me?
Creation-type.
The kind of power that, back in my old world, would've been treated like a god-tier ability. Reality-warping. Plot-breaking. Endgame material.
And they slapped an E-rank on it?
What the hell is wrong with people here?!
I sat up straight, heart thumping—not from anger, but from disbelief—as I dug deeper into the memory of the ability test.
My power was simple in concept.
I could create things.
Objects. Phenomena. Even abstract constructs.
But—here came the "defect," according to the evaluators—it only worked if people believed in it.
Not wished.
Not hoped.
Not followed orders.
Believed.
Genuinely.
If enough people accepted that something should exist, that it made sense to exist, then reality would follow along and make it real.
No belief?
Nothing happens.
Weak belief?
Unstable creation.
Doubt?
Immediate failure.
The evaluators scoffed at it.
"Too conditional."
"Too unreliable."
"Useless in solo combat."
"Depends on others—trash-tier."
So they ranked it E.
E for entertainment fodder.
E for irrelevant.
E for safe.
I laughed quietly in my empty apartment.
They weren't wrong about one thing.
This power was absolutely useless…
If you thought like them.
But I didn't.
Because belief isn't rare.
It's everywhere.
Crowds believe in heroes.
Cities believe in symbols.
Nations believe in narratives.
And this world?
This world runs entirely on public perception.
They didn't give me an E-rank power.
They gave me a power that scales with mass hysteria.
With fear.
With awe.
With stories.
And the funniest part?
This world doesn't even know what a story is.
I covered my eyes, grinning.
Yeah.
They really messed up.
Hmm… alright.
Let's see how I'm gonna use this power.
I stared at absolutely nothing for a solid minute.
Then another.
No dramatic lightning.
No evil laughter echoing through the room.
Just silence.
And then—
Click.
An idea snapped into place so cleanly it almost made me laugh.
[Yes!!! This is it. I guess being a geek in my past life really paid off now, hehehe.]
I rolled off the bed and powered up the old computer sitting on the desk.
It whirred.
Slowly.
Painfully.
I cracked my knuckles and started digging—networks, forums, databases, anything related to technology, media, information flow.
And the more I looked…
…the more confused I got.
Wait.
No—seriously?
This world's IT industry was waaay behind my previous life.
Primitive interfaces.
Barebones networks.
Centralized systems everywhere.
Security that relied more on authority than actual architecture.
It was like they stopped innovating the moment superpowers showed up.
Why build better systems when you can punch problems away, right?
No decentralized platforms.
No viral culture.
No real anonymity.
Information moved slow.
Belief moved even slower.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the flickering screen.
…Seriously?
A world that runs on public perception.
A power that works on belief.
And an information ecosystem this underdeveloped?
I started laughing.
Soft at first.
Then louder.
Oh.
Oh this was perfect.
They didn't just underestimate my power.
They built an entire world that made it inevitable.
Yeah.
This was going to be fun.
got to work.
Not on anything flashy.
Not on anything destructive.
Just… groundwork.
Lines of thought stacking over each other, ideas clicking into place faster than my fingers could keep up. Whatever I was making, it wasn't meant to hurt anyone. No data wiped. No systems burned.
Damage was crude.
Fear, on the other hand?
Fear scales.
What I created was simple in intent—a self-spreading digital whisper. Something that moved quietly, passed along not because it forced itself to, but because people shared it.
Curiosity did the heavy lifting.
When someone opened it, that's when it happened.
The screen would go dark.
Then a voice.
Distorted. Masked. Calm.
Not loud. Not angry.
Certain.
A figure cloaked in shadow would appear, face hidden, eyes nothing more than pale shapes in the dark.
> "This world belongs to heroes," the voice would say.
"So let's see what happens… when it learns to believe in a villain."
No threats of bombs.
No demands for money.
Just a name.
Noir.
A promise that I existed.
That I was watching.
That I didn't need to be found.
And before anyone could trace it—
Gone.
Clean. Empty. Like it had never been there at all.
I leaned back in my chair, fingers laced behind my head, staring at the ceiling.
Heh.
People didn't need proof.
They just needed a story.
A rumor.
A shadow.
A name whispered just often enough to stick.
And once they started talking?
Once they started believing?
I smiled.
[Welcome to the stage.]
Once the first whispers were out there, I didn't stop.
I nudged them.
Carefully.
I set up automated accounts—nothing fancy, nothing obvious. Just noise. Background chatter. People who noticed things and talked a little too much.
Rumors don't need evidence.
They need repetition.
Someone would post:
> "Did you see that message?"
Another would reply:
> "My cousin did. Said it vanished right after."
Then someone else:
> "I heard it calls itself Noir."
I didn't tell them what to think.
I let them fill in the gaps.
Some said I was a hacker.
Others swore I was a villain testing the waters.
A few claimed I was an urban legend—something born from glitches and paranoia.
Perfect.
You gotta have a spark before it spreads like wildfire, right?
And sparks don't look like explosions.
They look like coincidence.
Like uncertainty.
Like people arguing over whether something is real.
I watched the conversations branch, mutate, collide. Fear mixed with excitement. Skepticism rubbing shoulders with anticipation.
Belief was forming.
Not strong yet.
Not enough to create anything meaningful.
But it was alive.
I closed my laptop and leaned back, staring at the dim ceiling light of my apartment.
Heroes had press conferences.
Villains had public arrests.
Me?
I had rumors.
And a name.
Noir.
I chuckled quietly.
Yeah.
This was how it starts.
Not with destruction...
.....but with people wondering if they should be afraid.