Corporate Villainy: Trample Protagonists as a Minor Villain's Dad

"Huff... Huff..."

Liam stumbled through the alley behind his apartment, sweat streaking down his face, his eyes wide and bloodshot like a cornered rat. He'd run full speed from Rina's place, the weight of humiliation and rage pressing on his back like a phantom claw.

The world kept tilting sideways. Words seemed to echo in his head seconds after he thought them.

His chest heaved like bellows. His shirt clung to him, soaked through. Each step felt like walking through thick mud, his coordination shot to hell.

"Damn it... HOW CAN THIS SHIT HAPPEN TO ME?!"

He screamed it upward, spittle flying from his cracked lips.

This was supposed to be his second chance—his goddamn victory lap. School beauties throwing themselves at him, weak corporate empires crumbling under his heel. That was how the story was supposed to go.

But instead—

Rina had looked at him like he was some kind of disease.

Vincent—that bastard fossil—had played everyone like they were puppets. And Liam? He'd been the dancing monkey, performing for their sick amusement.

"All because of that bastard," Liam snarled, staggering toward the gate. His hand shot out to steady himself against the brick wall, leaving a streak of sweat and blood from his split knuckles. "He's poisoning her mind. Poisoning all of them against me."

The gate loomed ahead, red bricks stained with city grime. He reached for the handle—and missed completely. His depth perception was screwed. Everything seemed too close and too far away at the same time.

That metallic taste coated his tongue again, stronger now. Like sucking on pennies. His mouth felt wrong, too dry, like his saliva had turned to paste. And his thoughts... Christ, his thoughts kept fragmenting, coming in choppy waves that didn't connect properly.

It had been getting worse since he came back from the academy two days ago. At school, he'd felt sharp one day, then sluggish the next—a strange cycle he couldn't understand. His mind would float, disconnected, like it was drifting just above his skull.

But now that he was home? The floating sensation was fading, replaced by this crushing clarity that made everything hurt. Every sound was too sharp, every light too bright. His body felt like it was coming apart at the seams.

Even the damn tap water had tasted like chemicals at the academy.

His vision blurred. The world spun. He dropped to his knees beside the apartment gate, dry-heaving as his stomach tried to turn itself inside out.

Then—

"Liam?"

The voice cut through the fog in his skull like a blade.

He turned his head slowly, movement making him nauseous.

Helena stood across the street, one hand clutched to her coat, her face a mask of relief and growing horror as she took in his condition.

And just behind her, moving with practiced precision—

Three uniformed officers.

Not shouting. Not rushing.

Just... inevitable.

"Liam Darrow," the lead officer said, his tone professionally neutral, "you are under investigation for possession of illicit narcotic compounds, tampering with controlled materials, and academic endangerment within Celestial Academy premises."

The words hit Liam's ears like they were coming through water. Distorted. Delayed.

"No..." he muttered, the word slurring slightly. "No, no, no, damn no—"

Helena rushed forward, throwing herself between them with desperate maternal fury. "Wait! There must be some mistake! He's just a boy!"

Her voice cracked on the last word, and Liam felt something twist in his chest that might have been guilt if he'd been capable of such reflection.

The officers didn't reach for their cuffs immediately.

But the silence around them was damning.

Liam looked up at his mother through bleary eyes, then at the officers with their calm, professional expressions.

And then—

He laughed.

A low, bitter sound that held no humor whatsoever.

Because for the first time in two lifetimes, he realized just how completely and utterly screwed he actually was.

"There's been a mistake," Helena said, stepping forward with trembling hands but steel in her voice. "My son wouldn't... he couldn't do something like that."

The lead officer's expression remained unchanged. Professional. Almost sympathetic. "We understand your concern, ma'am. But we have substantial evidence connecting him to this incident."

He produced a slim tablet from his coat—no dramatic flourishes, just clean, bureaucratic truth. The screen angled toward her showed security footage: Liam, hoodie pulled up, nervously placing a small wrapped package into an open locker.

Helena squinted at the footage, confusion clear on her face. "What is that?"

The second officer continued in the same neutral tone, "The package contained Class-D hallucinogens. Concealed inside what appeared to be a harmless gift. No fingerprints on the package, but spiritual residue analysis matches items from his dormitory—specifically his laundry satchel and personal water filtration unit."

Helena's eyes widened and head snapped toward her son.

Liam was swaying on his knees, eyes glassy and unfocused, sweat pouring down his face despite the cool evening air. His fingers twitched spasmodically at his sides.

"You can't be serious," he slurred, words running together. "That wasn't... I didn't... wasn't my fault."

A third officer stepped forward, tablet in hand. "We also received a formal statement from one Kaliya Patel. He claims you've been exhibiting erratic behavior for weeks, including substance abuse and obsessive conduct toward the victim. His exact words were: 'Liam kept talking about making Rina his woman, like she belonged to him or something. Said she owed him.'"

Liam's head jerked up, some clarity cutting through the chemical fog. "That little piece of crap! Kaliya's lying through his teeth! I never said—I didn't mean it like—!"

"Lower your voice," one officer warned sharply. "You're not under arrest yet. Don't give us a reason to change that."

Helena stared at her son—really looked at him for what felt like the first time in months. The cracked, bleeding lips. The red-rimmed eyes with pupils that couldn't seem to focus properly. The sour stench of sweat and something chemical rising off him in waves.

This wasn't just exhaustion or stress.

This was withdrawal.

"Liam..." she whispered, her voice breaking. "What's happening to you?"

Liam turned to her like she'd slapped him. "Don't look at me like that! You should be on my side! That bastard Vincent—he's behind all this crap! He turned Kaliya against me, he turned everyone! He's rigging the whole story!"

"The story?" Helena echoed, confusion and horror warring in her voice.

"YES!" Liam's voice cracked like a whip. "This isn't how it's supposed to go! I'm supposed to win! I'm supposed to—"

"That's enough," the lead officer cut him off sharply. "This is textbook narcotic psychosis."

Helena stepped between them again, desperation making her voice sharp. "Please, wait! He's not dangerous—not really. He's confused, sick. Something's been wrong with him for weeks. I didn't understand why, but now... if we test him, we can prove he's ill, not criminal."

The officers exchanged glances. The lead one nodded slowly. "A substance scan would clarify the situation. If he tests clean, we hold the charges pending Mr. Patel's formal deposition."

Helena turned to her son, reaching toward him with shaking hands. "Please, take the test. For me. Prove them wrong."

Liam stared at her through the chemical haze, jaw working soundlessly for several seconds. His thoughts felt like they were moving through molasses, but some primal survival instinct was screaming at him.

Finally, he growled, "Fine. Whatever. I've got nothing to hide."

The officers prepared the scanning device—a handheld bar of copper-etched stone, no magical flourishes, just clinical efficiency. They raised it toward his wrist.

That's when a smooth, familiar voice drifted from the shadows behind them.

"If I may be so bold, I'd like to ensure the young man is treated fairly."

Vincent Cornelius stepped into the light with measured calm, his expression unreadable but somehow conveying both authority and concern.

Helena looked up at him with eyes full of desperate hope.

And Liam?

Liam's blood turned to ice water in his veins.

Because in that crystalline moment of drug-addled clarity—he knew.

He'd already lost.

🔔 System Notification

▶ Helena Favorability towards Vincent: 79(+4)

▶ Liam LP: -50 ▶ Vincent LP: +50 ▶ VP: +100

🔔 System Notification

▶ Protagonist(Liam) has suffered mental damage

▶ Liam LP: -50 ▶ Vincent LP: +50 ▶ VP: +150

P.S.— Helena's favorability increased from 71 to 75 during her interaction on job. VP and LP have been adjusted.