I Became a Childhood Friend With the Villainous Saintess

Chapter 0 - Prologue

These days, readers have no interest in the backstories of villains.

They’ve already committed their misdeeds, and only after tasting failure do they start laying out their excuses like a defense.

Claims like ’villain was actually a good guy’ or ’it was the world that was evil’ are met with nothing but disdain.

Not even the finest performance by an A-list actor can save a lousy script or melodrama.

Attempts to sell sentiment through clumsy writing find no empathy from the audience.

Especially in an era like today’s.

If you can’t win the hearts of readers, even the fate of the heroine could twist and turn, leading to her demise.

It was a time when even prettiest of the girls had to struggle to survive in the world of fiction.

I, for one, was not the least bit curious about such matters.

But perhaps I should have thought differently.

It was not only the era of intense competition but also the era of random possession metas, where readers could find themselves transported into the novel.

In this meta, being possessed typically meant becoming an extra or a villain, as the chance of becoming the protagonist was virtually nonexistent. It was essential to be aware of one’s surroundings.

But still, to be honest, it felt unfair.

Just knowing you’re in a novel gives the possessor a tremendous advantage.

The world can’t always work in my favor, so it’s okay to compromise on who gets possessed. There’s no rule saying possession has to happen to someone well-off.

Besides, in this day and age, being the final boss pretty much guarantees a comfortable life for the possessor.

But what if this isn’t a well-written novel?

What if it’s one of those mass-produced romance fantasies where the female lead spends all day flirting with the handsome male leads?

What if all I’ve seen is the female and male leads showing off their love, but I’m destined to be the villain?

People these days really don’t care about the villain’s backstory.

The author of this novel knew that well enough not to include a single line about the villains’ stories in the book.

Even as the formidable enemies fell on the battlefield, and the wicked woman was beheaded at the gallows, they didn’t utter a word about their own stories.

Not even in their last words did they beg for a sliver of mercy.

Thanks to that, I knew what dessert the princess from the neighboring country liked, but not how the young lady before me would transform into the saint of an evil god. I knew about the crown prince’s childhood, but not why burn scars appeared on my body, though I knew why the noble young lady had a scar on her wrist.

My knowledge was all like this. I didn’t know what I needed, and even if I did, I couldn’t prepare for it.

No. Perhaps I was starting to understand a few things.

After all, a giant fireball was hurtling towards me from afar.

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