Villain With The Absolute Evil Sytem

The faint smell of alcohol lingered in the air, accompanied by the soft hum of chatter and clinking glasses. Lumian stepped inside the pub , his sharp eyes scanning the room until they landed on Michael. 

Michael sat in his usual spot, surrounded by a fortress of empty bottles and scattered shot glasses. His disheveled appearance hadn't changed since their last encounter. 

Lumian scoffed softly, took a deep breath, and then plastered a bright smile across his face. He strode confidently to Michael's table and slid into the seat beside him. 

Michael glanced at him, squinting slightly as though trying to place his face. "Oh, it's you," he muttered before downing another shot. 

Lumian nodded. 

Michael picked up another bottle and tilted it towards Lumian. "Drink?" 

"I'll pass," Lumian replied, shaking his head. 

Michael shrugged and poured himself another drink. "Suit yourself." 

As Michael drank, Lumian studied him carefully. 'If I hadn't been saved, is this the man who would've ended my life?'he thought grimly. 

Breaking the silence, Michael raised an eyebrow. "What brings you here, stranger? Morning isn't exactly prime drinking time, especially for someone who doesn't drink." 

Lumian leaned back in his chair. "I already told you my name and I came here for you," he said plainly. 

Michael smirked. "For me? What do you want with a washed-up guy like me?" 

Lumian's tone shifted, friendly yet calculated. "I'm new in town and figured having a friend wouldn't hurt." 

Michael chuckled, the sound hollow. "And what about me says I'm the ideal friend?" 

"I've got a feeling we're more alike than you think," Lumian said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Besides, I can tell you're more than just Michael, the alcoholic . Much more." 

Michael froze, his glass midway to his lips. His eyes locked onto Lumian's, an unsettling intensity behind them. For a moment, Lumian wondered if he had pushed too hard. 

Then Michael smiled and tipped back his drink. "You might be right," he said, setting the empty glass down with a clink. "I *am* more than just Michael, the drinker." 

Lumian tensed internally. 'Is he really about to reveal his secret identity? So easily?'

Michael threw his arms up dramatically. "I'm Michael, the *super drinker!*" 

Lumian's face deadpanned, his disappointment evident. Michael burst into laughter, slapping the table as if he had told the funniest joke in the world. 

"Ha! You were expecting something else, weren't you?" Michael nudged Lumian with his elbow. 

Lumian forced a smile. "Not at all," he lied. 

Michael's laughter faded, and his expression turned surprisingly sober. "Truth is, there's nothing super about me," he said quietly. "Hell, I'm not even average. I am scum" 

Lumian scoffed, feigning empathy. "That's not true," he said, leaning forward. 

The conversation between the two stretched on for hours. Michael did most of the talking, ranting about his mundane job, his strained relationship with his wife, and his thoughts on heroes, villains, and crime. He rambled endlessly, but never once mentioned the name 'Lumian'.

Finally, Michael leaned back in his chair, sighing heavily. "You say you need a friend? Then do a friendly deed and pay for my drinks, alright?" 

Before Lumian could respond, Michael staggered out of the pub, leaving him alone at the table littered with bottles. 

Lumian stared at the mess. "I'm not paying for this shit," he muttered, signaling the waiter. "Put it on Michael's tab." 

As he stepped outside, he sighed in frustration. 'Still nothing. It's like the bastard's erased me from his mind. A hero, my ass.'

He clenched his fists. 'I'll have to push harder next time.'

--- 

Lumian's next stop was the gym. The familiar scent of sweat and iron greeted him as he stepped inside. However, he immediately noticed a change—the receptionist was no longer the fit woman he had seen before. Instead, a towering, muscular man manned the desk. 

After checking in, Lumian hit the weights, only to notice something peculiar. The dumbbells felt far lighter than they should have. 

'I've gotten stronger. Much stronger.'

He smiled to himself, pushing through his sets with ease. After a while, his attention drifted to the room Angela had shown him before. 

Lumian stood, wiping his face with a towel. "Let's begin," he muttered, heading toward the studio. 

Inside, a yoga class was in session. Women and a few men moved gracefully, bending and stretching under Angela's guidance. Clad in tight workout gear, Angela demonstrated each pose with practiced ease, her movements were smooth and captivating. 

Lumian's eyes lingered on her as he made his way to the back of the room. 

A man beside him, noticing his gaze, leaned over. "She's hot, isn't she? She's the only reason I'm here. What I wouldn't give to—" 

The man stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Lumian's disinterested glare. 

"Uh, I guess that's not the best way to spark a conversation," he said awkwardly. "I'm Borne. And you are?" 

Lumian didn't respond, his focus still on Angela. 

Undeterred, Borne kept talking. He commented on Lumian's muscular frame, his height, and even speculated about why someone like him would bother with yoga. 

After several minutes of Borne's incessant chatter, Lumian decided he'd had enough. 

"Corruption," Lumian said calmly, placing a hand on Borne's shoulder. 

Under Lumian's influence and order, Borne stood and approached a woman in the downward dog pose. Without hesitation, he slapped her hard on her ass. 

The sound echoed through the room, freezing everyone in place. 

Chaos erupted. The woman spun around, slapping Borne across the face. Other students joined in, shouting and scolding him while Angela struggled to restore order. 

Lumian watched the scene unfold with a faint smirk. 

[You have received 50 CT]

Finally, he stepped forward. "Quiet, all of you," he commanded, his deep voice cutting through the commotion like a knife. 

The room fell silent as everyone turned to face him. The woman who had been slapped marched up to him, her face red with anger. 

"How dare you—" 

Her words died in her throat as she met Lumian's cold, piercing gaze. Her instincts kicked in and she dropped to her knees, trembling. "I-I'm sorry," she stammered. 

Angela stared at Lumian, wide-eyed. "Lumian?" 

He turned to her, flashing a bright smile. "Hey, Angela." 

Lumian helped the woman to her feet. "You should call it a day. You don't seem well." 

The woman hesitated but eventually nodded, leaving the room without another word. 

Lumian pointed at Borne. "You. Take her home or to the police station. Whatever she decides. And don't try anything. I'll find you if you do." 

Borne nodded hastily, leading the woman out.

'I actually don't care what you do with her, but a man has to look good, doesn't he'

With the chaos resolved, Lumian turned to Angela and bowed slightly. "You're welcome," he said. 

Angela blinked, snapping out of her daze. "Thank you," she said. "I'll make sure Borne never attends another class." 

"Wise choice," Lumian replied. 

Angela crossed her arms, eyeing him curiously. "What brings you to my class?" 

Lumian picked up a yoga mat and unrolled it. "Yoga," he said simply. 

Angela raised an eyebrow. "You? Yoga?" 

"Why does everyone say that?" Lumian sighed. "I'm not even that muscular. I'm just tall." 

Angela giggled. "You're cute when you whine." 

Lumian's lips twitched into a smile. 

"Well," Angela said, "if you're serious, your membership covers yoga. But you'll have to come back tomorrow." 

Lumian frowned. "Why? There's still an hour left today according to the pamphlets"

Angela chuckled. "Fine. But don't cry if it's too much for you." 

Lumian grinned. "Deal."