Daily Life of a Transmigrating Villain

Damien stood outside the dilapidated hut, his eyes surveying its battered exterior. He reached for the door, intending to open it, but to his surprise, it came crashing down, splintering on the ground while he still clutched the doorknob in his hand. The loud noise startled two thugs inside.

"Man, you just broke the damn door!" one of them shouted, a cigarette hanging from his lips. The second thug, a scruffy man with a tattooed arm and a noticeable scar snaking down his face, added, "Yeah, pal, that door wasn't cheap. You're going to pay for that!"

A wave of amusement washed over Damien. The two thugs, clearly trying to intimidate him, seemed utterly clueless. Maintaining a calm smile, he simply replied, "I'm here to see your boss. I'm looking for a loan."

They exchanged quick, uncertain glances, sensing the lack of fear radiating from Damien. "Oh, loans! Why didn't you say so?" the scarred thug said, his tone shifting. "Come on in."

They guided Damien through the derelict hut and into a small office that appeared to belong to a completely different realm. The contrast was striking. The room was air-conditioned, impeccably clean, and furnished with plush sofas, a pristine white carpet, and a large, imposing desk.

Behind it sat a malnourished-looking man, sporting a surgical mask and exuding an air of distaste for the surrounding mess.

The man adjusted his glasses as Damien approached. His thin frame gave off an almost sickly threat. Standing up, he gestured for Damien to take a seat. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

Damien complied, adopting a relaxed pose while two muscular men—each easily five times the boss's size and three times Damien's—loomed menacingly behind him. Their cold expressions and unwavering stares didn't escape Damien's notice.

"So," the thin man began, his voice quiet yet commanding, "how can I assist you?"

"I need money," Damien responded, his tone steady and composed, despite the palpable threat hanging in the air.

The boss smiled faintly beneath his mask. "Of course, we can assist you. However, our interest rate is set at 30%. Non-negotiable." The room fell into an expectant silence as he awaited Damien's reaction. The goons behind him shifted, tensing and prepared for any sign of discontent. Yet, Damien remained utterly calm, leaning back in his chair.

"That works for me," Damien replied, his tone calm and composed. His air of nonchalance prompted the boss and the two burly men flanking him to exchange amused glances, their faces morphing into smirks as if they had just ensnared an easy mark. They regarded Damien with mocking eyes, convinced he was nothing more than a fool.

Unfazed by their derision, Damien maintained his steady demeanor. The boss leaned forward slightly, intrigued. "So, how much are you looking for?"

"Five million," Damien stated, not skipping a beat.

The room fell into an icy silence. The boss's eyes widened in disbelief as he shot up from his chair. The two thugs, usually unruffled in any situation, exchanged startled looks. Five million? It was an outrageous figure—far beyond anything they would ever consider lending to an unknown person.

Sure, they could scrape together that amount, but it was practically everything they possessed, and the thought of loaning it out? Utterly impossible.

The boss's expression twisted into a scowl, his features hardening. "You think we're stupid? Are you playing games with us?"

One of the hulking thugs stepped forward, his fists already clenched. "Boss, let me handle this. I'll make sure this guy understands how we operate."

The second thug chimed in, his voice dripping with menace. "Yeah, boss. Just give me a shot at this joker."

Before either could advance, Damien interjected, his voice slicing through the palpable tension. "My name is Damien Raphael, heir to the Raphael Group, the one who was cast aside."

The moment those words left his lips, the room again fell silent. The boss's eyes narrowed as they zeroed in on Damien, studying him with newfound intensity. His sidekicks exchanged anxious glances, clearly taken aback by the revelation.

A dangerous glint flashed in the boss's eyes, his lips curling into a slow, cunning smile. "So, why should I lend money to someone like you? Especially given that you've been rejected by your own family."

Damien remained unmoved. He leaned back casually, crossing his legs on the sofa, resting his head on his hands, and allowing a smile laced with arrogance to creep onto his face. "Because you're all foolish, which is why you're poor."

The two thugs behind the boss bristled, their fists tightening in anger. One of them growled, "How dare you speak to us that way!"

Damien hardly spared them a glance, shaking his head in mild amusement. "Honestly. You're just ignorant. The Raphael family has made it clear that I wasn't hired because they want me to forge my own empire. I need the loan for that. And even if I delay repayment, I'll simply ask my family to cover it.

We all know how it goes—you can never truly abandon family, right?"

His words struck a chord. The boss leaned back in his chair, a contemplative expression crossing his face. His fingers drummed thoughtfully against his chin as he mulled over the weight of Damien's statement. The thugs, too, appeared to be processing what he had just conveyed, realizing the reality of his situation was more complex than they initially thought.

The boss leaned back in his chair, studying Damien with a cautious grin. "Alright. I can get you the money, but it won't be all at once. You'll receive it in three installments—two million today, two million tomorrow, and the final one million the day after." His eyes narrowed, assessing Damien's reaction.

Without hesitation, Damien nodded in agreement.

"Good," the boss said, gesturing toward his desk. "Now, sign the contract."

Damien raised an eyebrow. "Why would I sign a contract for five million when you're only handing over two million right now? At the very least, you should add a clause that reflects the actual amount being given."

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The boss chuckled, finding amusement in Damien's cleverness. "Ha! You're sharp, I'll give you that. Fine, we'll draft that clause."

With a wave of his hand, the contract was amended, and once the changes were complete, Damien picked up the pen and signed his name.

"Give him the two million," the boss commanded one of his henchmen.

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