The Villains Must Win-Chapter 126: Reid Graves 6

Reid narrowed his eyes, tapping a pen against his chin. "So, what happened?"

Tabitha blinked. "What do you mean?"

Reid gestured at her vaguely, like he was presenting evidence to a jury. "This. You. One second you were dodging bullies like an NPC in stealth mode, and now you’re out here flipping the whole social hierarchy on its head." He paused. "Did you get struck by lightning? Fall into a vat of radioactive confidence? Because I ran the calculations, and statistically speaking, this level of character development shouldn’t be possible in such a short time frame."

Tabitha snorted. "Wouldn’t you like to know, science boy?"

"I really would," Reid admitted, adjusting his glasses. "For research purposes."

She grinned, stepping closer until she was just a little too close for comfort. "Then keep watching. You might just learn a thing or two."

Reid swallowed. Huh. That was . . . unexpected.

He’d set out to analyze her, but somehow, she’d turned the tables on him. And judging by the way his pulse suddenly picked up, he had the distinct feeling that studying Tabitha was going to be far more complicated than any equation he’d ever solved.

Reid chuckled, finally breaking into a full smile. "Alright, you’re in. But only because I’m deeply curious to figure out why you’ve undergone a complete and abrupt psychological transformation, defying all known cognitive development theories. Either you’ve experienced a traumatic catalyst resulting in hyper-reactive personality restructuring, or you’ve simply been possessed by an otherworldly entity with a penchant for controlled chaos."

Tabitha grinned, showing off her sharp canines, her eyes squinting upward in amusement. "Cool. So where do I sign up? And how does this club work exactly?"

The other club members exchanged wary glances, gulping in unison as she beamed at them like a predator sizing up its prey. One guy actually looked at the door, calculating the probability of a safe escape. Spoiler: it wasn’t high.

Reid, on the other hand, just pushed up his glasses, the glint on the lenses making him look even more like a mad scientist. "Our club operates on an intellectual meritocracy, wherein contributions are evaluated based on the objective value they bring to our collective academic pursuits. Essentially, the retention of your membership is contingent upon your ability to engage in cerebral discourse, solve complex theoretical problems, and demonstrate a rudimentary grasp of at least three STEM-related fields."

Tabitha blinked. Once. Twice. Then tilted her head. "I understood, like, two words of that," she said, completely unfazed.

Reid huffed a laugh. "Then you’re off to a better start than most."

Tabitha plopped down into an empty seat, stretching her legs out. "Perfect. Let’s get this nerd fest rolling."

The other members braced themselves. The era of peace in the math and science club had officially ended.

"I’m sorry I’m late," said an angelic voice, and as if by magic, the tense atmosphere in the club melted into something softer, more relaxed.

Gwendolyn had arrived.

Her brown hair was tied into two neat braids, much like Tabitha’s, but while Tabitha’s gave the unfortunate impression of an overgrown lady stubbornly clinging to childhood aesthetics, Gwendolyn’s messy braids somehow looked effortlessly charming. They framed her delicate features perfectly—round face, big brown eyes, and soft, rosy lips that made her look like a porcelain doll come to life.

She was kind, smart, and undeniably adorable.

Reid’s eyes immediately brightened at the sight of her, and the club members—who had greeted Tabitha with the enthusiasm of someone spotting a tax collector at their doorstep—were now all sporting their most welcoming, borderline worshipful smiles.

"Oh . . ." Gwendolyn’s gaze landed on Tabitha with cheerful curiosity. "Do we have a new member?"

She was the only girl in the club, so a new female recruit was clearly a rare and exciting event.

Though no one seemed particularly thrilled about Tabitha joining, Gwendolyn was the only one who looked genuinely happy about it.

Tabitha met her gaze and gave a casual nod. "Yo. Name’s Tabitha."

Gwendolyn smiled warmly, extending a hand. "Gwendolyn."

The two shook hands.

To Tabitha’s surprise, she felt . . . nothing. No irritation, no instinctive urge to establish dominance, none of the usual pettiness she felt toward other girls. Unlike the usual fake-princess types she’d encountered in the previous worlds, Gwendolyn seemed genuinely nice.

As long as she kept her distance from Reid, they could actually be good friends.

Or so she thought—until the club discussion started, and it became painfully obvious that Reid and Gwendolyn practically had their own little world.

The moment they launched into their conversation, it was like watching two AI supercomputers communicating in a secret code.

"The coefficient of thermal expansion in the polymer matrix should account for the—"

"—elastic modulus, right! But only if we factor in the tensile strength under extreme duress. Otherwise, it destabilizes the—"

"—exactly! That’s why the quantum field theory approach makes more sense in this scenario."

Tabitha blinked. Were they speaking English? Was this a math and science club or a portal to another dimension?

Not one to be left out, she casually leaned in. "Oh yeah, totally. But, uh, did anyone consider the . . . centripetal parabola factor?"

A beat of silence. Then, all eyes turned to her.

Reid pushed up his glasses, clearly intrigued. "The . . . what?"

Tabitha crossed her arms, nodding wisely, though she had no idea what she had just said. "You know. The, uh, quantum parabola . . . theorem."

Gwendolyn tilted her head. "I don’t think that’s—"

"Pfft," Tabitha scoffed, waving a hand. "C’mon, guys, keep up. Am I the only genius here?"

Reid’s lips twitched, and Gwendolyn looked like she was trying not to giggle.

The other club members, meanwhile, were just relieved that, for once, they weren’t the ones struggling to keep up with the conversation.

After an hour of relentless brain torture, Tabitha felt like her skull was about to crack open. She had faced bullies, survived cafeteria food, and even outrun gym class laps—but nothing, nothing compared to the mental agony she was experiencing right now.

There were too many numbers. Too many words. Too many equations that sounded like spells from a cursed textbook. The air itself felt thick with math. Her vision blurred. Her stomach churned. Was this what it felt like to die?

The things I do to win . . .