The Villains Must Win-Chapter 121: Reid Graves 1

Roman, with his bad-boy nonsense, had broken Gwendolyn’s heart more times than she could count. And every single time, she ran to Reid—the dependable, understanding nerd who had loved her in silence.

He listened. He comforted. He gave her logical explanations on why Roman was an absolute menace to her emotional well-being.

And then, one fateful day, Reid received a letter, saying that Gwendolyn was going to marry Roman in secret.

Gwendolyn and Roman.

She was marrying him.

After all those late-night study sessions, all those times he wiped her tears and told her she deserved better—after everything . . .

She still chose Roman.

Something inside him snapped.

Thus, the ultimate villain was born.

Reid Graves, once the mild-mannered nerd, became a genius serial killer.

His entire life had been a series of unfortunate events—bullied as a child even until college, unloved by his family, forever the "nerd guy" who’s always taken advantage of. And now?

Now, he was going to make sure Gwendolyn regretted every single time she chose Roman over him.

One by one, mysterious accidents started happening. Gwendolyn found herself in peril at the most conveniently dramatic moments—falling off rooftops, nearly getting hit by cars, getting locked in freezing cold storage rooms. Every single time, Roman swooped in and saved the day.

But the attacks didn’t stop.

And then . . . Gwendolyn went missing.

Kidnapped.

Tied up in some hidden location, forced to listen to Reid monologue about how "logic dictates that you should have chosen me."

Of course, Roman wasn’t about to let some nerd steal his girl.

With sheer bad-boy energy, an adrenaline-fueled chase, and some highly improbable yet thrilling action sequences, he rescued Gwendolyn—once again proving that, while brains were great and all . . .

The bad boy always gets the girl.

And who was I supposed to be in this beautiful high school romance disaster?

Oh, just none other than Tabitha ’Tabby Chubby’ Winslow—a name that sounded like it belonged to a kid’s cartoon sidekick rather than a functional human being.

I took a deep breath, pushing up my thick, nerdy black glasses. My reflection in the nearby locker mirrors wasn’t exactly protagonist material—tall, plus-sized, dark braids neatly tied up, and the kind of insecure posture that screamed "please bully me."

And let’s be real—I wasn’t even a side character, or a secondary one, or even the canon fodder kind that at least got a dramatic elimination scene. I was one of the many nameless students in the background, the kind that if I tripped and fell off a rooftop, the story wouldn’t even blink before continuing on its merry way.

"Well," I muttered to myself, "the system really has a humorous way of assigning me roles."

"A true NEET always gets the job done."

I groaned as the voice of the bunny echoed in my head.

"Is that a challenge?" I smirked. "You do know I never back down from challenges, right? Especially if my reputation is on the line here."

"Good luck, Host," the bunny said instead, "and remember . . . the villains must win."

Before I could protest, the voice disappeared, and—

BAM!

I flinched at the sound of a locker slamming shut. Turning my head, I found myself face to face with the one and only Stacey Evans—the undisputed queen bee of the school, reigning terror over the female student population.

And, of course, her male counterpart in the King of Douchebags department was none other than Roman Vaughn.

As expected of any self-respecting teenage romance novel, Stacey and Roman were dating—for now. Of course, Roman was also busy dating other girls openly, but in the grand script of high school drama, Stacey was still the main female antagonist.

Reid? Well, he wasn’t due to show up in his villain arc just yet.

Stacey crossed her arms, looking me up and down like I was some unfortunate bug that had dared to exist in her line of sight. She gave me the kind of smirk that could make plants wither.

"Uhhh, you’re, like, blocking my locker, hippo," she said, flipping her long, platinum-blonde hair over her shoulder. "Do you not have, like, spatial awareness or is it just your whole personality that’s oversized?"

I blinked. "You could’ve just said ’move.’"

"Ew, don’t talk to me, Walmart librarian."

Ah. High school.

Stacey’s smirk widened as she exchanged looks with her group of equally insufferable minions—each one a carbon copy of the other, like some kind of evil, overpriced perfume commercial.

"Oh my God, are you just gonna stand there?" Stacey snorted. "Like, hello? Earth to Miss Frumpy Dumpy?"

One of her sidekicks, a girl with an unnatural shade of orange spray tan, gasped dramatically. "Wait, no way, Stace. I think she’s buffering." She waved a manicured hand in front of my face. "Maybe if we hit her reboot button, she’ll actually move."

The other girls burst into laughter, their voices high-pitched and shrill like a pack of designer chihuahuas.

I stood there, gripping my books tightly, trying not to let the sheer stupidity of the situation boil my blood.

"Y’all are being mean," one of them piped up in a fake sympathetic tone, looking at me with exaggerated concern. "She’s just big-boned! It’s not her fault her skeleton is, like . . . plus-sized."

Another one gasped and covered her mouth. "Omg, do you think she eats, like, protein powder straight from the tub? That would explain why she’s built like a boss fight."

That one got a real cackle out of Stacey, who nearly doubled over, holding her stomach. "STOP! I literally can’t—someone take a picture of this moment; it needs to be immortalized."

One of the minions immediately pulled out her phone. The click of a camera sent a fresh wave of humiliation crawling up my spine.

The students watching either snickered at my misfortune, relieved it wasn’t them, or simply pretended not to see anything, eager to avoid getting involved.

And just when I thought they were done, Stacey stepped forward, leaning in close. She wrinkled her nose, like I was a rotten fish or something.

"Ugh, do me a favor and at least try to walk on the sides of the hall, okay? You’re literally blocking my aura, and it’s messing with my whole vibe."

Another round of laughter erupted, the sound echoing off the lockers like a sick, twisted theme song to my misery.

I could feel my fists clenching.

Oh, Stacey. Oh, sweet, dumb, predictable Stacey.

You have no idea who you just pissed off.

I had learned over time that bullying never stopped if you stayed passive. If anything, it only got worse. The only way to make it stop was to fight back.

Alright. Time to get into character . . .

Or in my case—time to become Tabby Chubby the Bully Kicker.

Alright, maybe not the most intimidating name, but it would have to do right now.

=== 🖤 ===

Stacey’s smug grin faltered when Tabitha suddenly straightened her back.

For years, Tabitha had mastered the art of making herself small—hunching over, keeping her head down, avoiding eye contact like her life depended on it.

She had always been self-conscious about her height—about her build even more so. She wanted to shrink, to disappear into the background, to be invisible.

But now? Now she was standing tall. And with her height and solid build, she wasn’t just tall—she was imposing.

Stacey took an instinctive step back. "W-what are you doing?" she asked, her voice losing its usual mean-girl confidence.

Tabitha didn’t answer. She simply took a slow, deliberate step forward. The hallway, once filled with snickers and whispers, went dead silent.

Then, without breaking eye contact, Tabitha clenched her fist and slammed it against the locker beside Stacey’s head. The metal caved in with a loud BANG, the force of it rattling the lockers down the row.

Stacey shrieked and jumped back, her usual Queen Bee bravado crumbling like a stale cookie. "Oh my god! Are you crazy?!"

Tabitha tilted her head, smiling ever so slightly. "Maybe," she said, her voice calm, almost thoughtful. "Or maybe I’m just tired of being everyone’s punching bag."

She took another step closer, forcing Stacey to press herself against the lockers. "Here’s the thing," Tabitha continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You keep messing with me, and next time, I won’t aim for the locker."

Stacey’s mouth flapped open, but no words came out.

Satisfied, Tabitha turned on her heel and strolled away, leaving behind nothing but stunned silence.

The students who had been watching—some eager for drama—stood frozen. Their mouths hung open, eyes darting between Stacey, who was still plastered against the lockers, and the now menacing version of Tabitha Winslow.

Someone finally broke the silence with a hushed whisper. "Did . . . did Tabby Chubby just did that to Stacey Evans?

"Yes. Yes she did."

"That bitch! That ugly fatso!" Stacey shrieked, her perfectly manicured fingers clutching her phone like it had personally wronged her. She quickly smoothed her hair, trying to reclaim whatever dignity she had left before furiously dialling.

"Roman! You won’t believe what just happened to me!" Her voice trembled with outrage. "That ugly freak almost smashed my skull in!"

Tabitha could hear every word of Stacey’s dramatic meltdown. She smirked, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off years of insecurities.

Let the games begin.