I Tamed The Psycho Villainess First

I have been blown into literal, microscopic pieces four times.

All because some brain-dead protagonist insisted on playing his stupid little reform the villain with love game.

For the first four loops, he cried his eyes dry, and the villain still flattened the world anyway.

Fifth loop.

Watching him prep his tear ducts to dive into the villain's parents' arms and play the victim, I didn't hesitate. I kicked him straight into a sewer drain.

Get lost.

If love can't tame this little monster, then my fists will have to teach her some manners.

The fifth time the wealthy Henderson couple came to the Greenwood Orphanage to adopt a child, Nicky was already squeezing the hem of his shirt, his eyes rimmed with red, preparing to launch himself into Richards arms. Hed been working on those tears all morning; they were right on the verge of spilling.

I stood right behind him, expressionless, and casually stuck my foot out.

Smack! Nicky made a spectacularly pathetic sound as he face-planted straight into a muddy puddle, muddy water splashing everywhere.

Before anyone could process what had just happened, I stepped forward, planting my foot squarely on Nickys back, and plastered a sweet, innocent, completely harmless smile across my face.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Henderson," I pitched my voice high, sounding sickeningly sweet. "Im Connor, the most well-behaved kid in this whole place."

Richard froze. Diana stared.

Only the semi-transparent chat overlay hovering in my vision began scrolling frantically like a broken stock ticker:

[LMAO holy shit, why is the Demon Child stepping up?]

[Didn't he beat up the orphanage bully just two days ago?]

[Seven years old and the undisputed king of the yard. Even the stray dogs lower their heads when he walks by.]

[If this kid gets adopted, the Henderson house is going to implode in three days.]

[I'm dying. But wait, is this the protagonist's fifth attempt at the quest?]

Yes. The fifth time.

Under my sole, Nicky was thrashing wildly in the mud, muffled, pig-like squeals escaping his throat. Without breaking my sweet smile, I shifted more weight onto my heel, grinding it right into his lower spine.

During the first four loops, Nicky had used this exact pathetic, tragic routine to worm his way into the Henderson family. Hed sworn up and down that he would plant the seeds of love and peace in the black heart of their naturally sociopathic daughter, Beatrix.

And how did that go?

The first time, she locked him in a cellar for three days and then, on a whim, blew up the harbor bridge. I happened to be selling flowers on that bridge. Vaporized.

The second time, he tried to hug her during one of her manic episodes and got his lung punctured with a kitchen knife. In her panic, she triggered a chemical plant alarm. I was working an illegal shift in that factory. Blown to pieces again.

The third time, the fourth time... Goddamn it.

I was just a nameless extra in this godforsaken story, yet Id been dragged down to a horrific, scattered death four times because of these two lunatics!

And let me tell you, getting blown to bits hurts like hell. That sheer despair of having your internal organs instantly vaporized by superheated gas, before you can even screamI experienced that four times. Four.

If love can't reform that little psycho, then it's my turn. After all, I know a thing or two about throwing a punch.

"Oh, my... what a bright-looking boy," Richard finally found his voice. Looking at my face, which was lightly splattered with mud, a flicker of paternal warmth softened his eyes.

Diana cleared her throat, her gaze drifting down to the writhing mud-man beneath my shoe. "What is that... under your foot?"

I glanced down. "Oh, this is just Nicky. He really, really loves playing in the mud."

I smiled with pure, unadulterated innocence. I lifted my foot and casually hauled Nicky out of the puddle by his collar.

Nickys face was caked in foul-smelling silt, bubbles blowing from his mouth. He snapped his eyes open, staring at me with the sheer, unbridled fury of a high-dimensional player whose spellcast had been rudely interrupted: "Connor! You absolute psych"

Quick as lightning, I clapped my hand over his mouth and pulled him into a tight, suffocating hug. "Oh, Nicky, I know you'll miss me! But this nice gentleman and lady... they look so warm. It's like I'm seeing the mom and dad from my dreams."

I managed to squeeze out two perfect, crystalline tears. It was an Oscar-worthy performance.

Richard was entirely sold. He was already on the verge of a nervous breakdown dealing with his psycho daughter at home; he desperately needed a sweet, sensible son to restore some balance to his life.

"We're taking him," Richard said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The director stood nearby, wiping cold sweat from his forehead. "Mr. Henderson... Connor is... well, he's a very energetic boy."

No shit. Last month, some street thugs came trying to shake down the neighborhood, and I chased them three blocks wielding a loose brick. Is that energetic? That's a feral honey badger.

"Energetic is good. It means he's healthy," Diana declared, sealing the deal.

The paperwork was finalized in record time. Before leaving, I went to the restroom to change my clothes. Nicky blocked the door. He had washed his face, but muddy water was still dripping from his hair, making him look like some vengeful swamp monster.

"Connor, do you have any idea what you're doing?" Nicky hissed, his voice dropping to a cold, menacing whisper. "This is my quest! Only I can save Beatrix! You're just a low-dimensional NPCwhat the hell are you interfering for?"

I shut off the squeaking faucet, turned around without a word, and slapped him across the face.

Crack! Sharp, clean, and incredibly loud.

Nicky spun halfway around from the force of it. He clutched his cheek, staring at me in sheer disbelief. "You... you hit me?"

"Damn right I did, you absolute moron."

I shook out my tingling wrist and stepped into his personal space. "Save her? With what? That brain of yours that's leaking radioactive waste? For four loops, what did you do besides cry and beg, 'Oh, big sister, please don't do this!'? Did you accomplish a single useful thing?"

I grabbed him by the collar, slamming him hard against the tiled wall. "I was blown to pieces four goddamn times because of your precious storyline. This time, you're going to stay right here in this orphanage, eating your bland cafeteria mush. If you so much as poke your head out to play hero, I'll send you to the afterlife myself."

A flash of genuine terror crossed Nicky's eyes, but he still tried to grit his teeth. "Beatrix is insane! She ends up killing her own parents! You think you're going to survive your first night in that house?"

"Don't lose sleep over it," I said, releasing his collar and smoothing out his crumpled shirt. "Monsters deserve bigger monsters. You don't reason with a rabid dog; you use a heavier stick."

I pushed open the restroom door. Diana was standing at the end of the hallway, waving me over. I instantly flipped the switch back to my sweet-child persona and trotted over.

The chat overlay flared wildly in the air:

[Holy shit, that slap felt so good to watch!]

[Sweet! I've wanted to punch Nicky's self-righteous face since loop one.]

[But can our Demon Child actually handle Beatrix? She isn't some orphanage weakling.]

[She's a seven-year-old genius who can cook up homemade explosives. Don't get cocky and get vaporized, kid.]

I watched the comments scroll, a cold smirk forming in my mind. Homemade explosives? How fitting. Before I got blown up in my past life, my day job in the underground market was bomb disposal.

We climbed into the Hendersons' stretched Rolls-Royce. The air conditioning was freezing. Richard took my hand, patting the back of it. There was a faint, guilty nervousness in his eyes.

"Connor, don't be scared when we get to the house. You have an older sister, Beatrix. She's..." He paused, seemingly digging through his vocabulary for any positive word he could find. "She's usually very quiet. Just... occasionally, she has a very... spirited personality."

Spirited? I rolled my eyes so hard they almost went into the back of my skull. Pushing her Ivy League private tutor out of a second-story window and breaking his legs, pouring concentrated acid into her nanny's thermos, dissecting the neighbor's purebred Tibetan Mastiff alive... You call that spirited? That is textbook antisocial personality disorder.

"That's okay, Dad!" I chimed happily. "I love spirited sisters. I'll make sure to take excellent care of her."

From the front passenger seat, Diana glanced at me through the rearview mirror. Her gaze was complicatedprobably thinking I was just a naive, foolish kid walking straight into a meat grinder.

The car glided smoothly into the gated enclave nestled in the hills. From a distance, I could see the massive European-style estate sprawling like a sleeping beast in the shadows.

The car had barely come to a halt, and before the chauffeur could even open the doorBOOM! A dull, heavy explosion echoed from the second floor of the villa, followed immediately by the sharp, agonizing screech of shattering glass.

Richards face drained of all color instantly. Diana threw her door open and bolted toward the house. I followed at a leisurely pace.

The moment I stepped through the grand double doors, a thick, choking stench of gasoline hit my nostrils.

The foyer was a war zone. Priceless Ming dynasty porcelain lay shattered across the marble floor; the luxury leather sofas were slashed to ribbons, their foam stuffing spilling out like guts.

Our middle-aged butler was clutching his bleeding forehead, practically crawling down the spiral staircase, shaking like a leaf. "Sir! Ma'am! Miss Beatrix... she's having another episode!"

The air in the foyer turned to ice. The maids and servants were huddled in the corners, terrified to make a sound.

I looked up, following the sweep of the grand staircase. Standing by the second-floor balustrade was a little girl.

That was Beatrix.

She was wearing a pristine, custom-tailored black dress, her long dark hair half-veiling her face. If you ignored the red plastic gas can she was casually dangling from her left hand, she looked like a delicate little Victorian princess.

Her skin was porcelain-pale, her features exquisitely delicate. But her eyes... those eyes were entirely devoid of life. They were like twin pools of stagnant water, hiding a violent, chaotic madness that threatened to swallow everything.

She was flicking a heavy silver Zippo in her right hand.

Flick. A flame danced. Snap. Darkness. In the absolute silence of the foyer, the rhythmic metallic clicking sounded like a countdown to execution.

The chat went absolutely wild:

[HIGH ALERT! HIGH ALERT!]

[Nicky literally pissed his pants at this part in the previous loops.]

[Beatrix's stare is unreal. Chills down my spine.]

[Get out of there, Demon Child! Don't try to face her head-on, she will actually light the place up!]

Richard was shaking with a mixture of terror and rage. He pointed a trembling finger upward. "Beatrix! What are you doing now? Put that lighter down!"

Beatrix tilted her head. She didn't even spare her father a glance. Instead, her eyes locked onto me, tracking me like a predator spotting prey. "Is this the new toy you bought me?" Her voice had the sweet clarity of a child, but her tone was bone-chillingly cold. "He looks kind of stupid."

A cruel, twisted smile touched her lips. "I'll count to three. Get out of my house, or I'll burn him along with the rest of this place." She raised the Zippo. Flick. The flame reflected in her pitch-black eyes.

Richard gasped, instinctively grabbing my shoulder to push me back toward the door. "Connor, get out! Go! Now!"

I didn't budge. I just stared up at that smug, arrogant little brat on the landing, and a wave of pure, unadulterated irritation surged straight to my head.

The phantom agony of being vaporized four times over screamed in my mind. This was the little parasite responsible.

I took a deep breath. Then, under the horrified stares of everyone in the room, I calmly unbuttoned the cheap, oversized jacket the orphanage had given me, slipped it off, and tossed it onto the ruined leather sofa.

"Connor? What are you doing?" Richard stammered.

I rolled my neck, my joints popping with a satisfying series of cracks. "Nothing, Dad. Just going up to introduce myself to my new sister."

I stepped forward, walking over the shards of glass and porcelain, heading straight for the stairs.

"Stop!" Diana yelled. "Are you insane? Come back here!"

I ignored her.

Beatrix watched me ascend. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, but it was quickly replaced by a deeper, manic glee. "You aren't afraid of dying?" She laughed, tossing the silver Zippo toward the Persian rug doused in gasoline. "Then burn."

The split second the lighter left her fingers, I burst into a sprint. Adrenaline flooding my seven-year-old body, I vaulted up the remaining steps like a predator. In mid-air, my foot connected perfectly with the falling lighter.

Clack! The silver Zippo flew backward like a bullet, smashing against the wall and breaking into pieces.

Beatrix froze. For the first time, her mask of cold, calculated indifference cracked.

Before she could even process the sight, I was in her face. The raw, terrifying strength of my past-life muscle memory exploded from this tiny seven-year-old frame.

I grabbed her by the collar of her expensive designer dress and shoved her back with everything I had.

Thud! Her back slammed hard against the solid oak balustrade.

I didn't give her a second to breathe. I clamped my hand around her throat, driving her upper body backward, dangling her out over the edge.

A collective gasp echoed from the foyer below.

Richard's eyes rolled back, and he fainted right onto the floor. The butler let out a screech like a dying chicken. "Miss Beatrix!"

Dangling five meters above the ground, Beatrix's feet lost contact with the floor. If I let go, she would plummet onto the hard marble below. It wouldn't kill her, but it would definitely shatter a few bones.

I looked down at her, watching the panic finally leak into her pale face. "Toy?" I bared my teeth in a savage grin. "Today, kid, I'm going to teach you what a real machine feels like."

The chat was moving so fast it was practically lagging:

[HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT!!!]

[Is this a drama? This feels like an action movie!]

[Incredible! Beat her down, Demon Child!]

[Oh my god, goosebumps! This is the best twist ever!]

Beatrix's face began to flush red from the lack of air. She clawed at my wrist, trying to pry my fingers loose. But it was useless. My grip was like a steel vice.

Just as I was about to haul her back and deliver a couple of solid slaps to her cheeks, she stopped struggling.

Her flushed face suddenly twisted into an incredibly eerie, manic grin. Looking at me, her eyes held no fear of deathonly a sick, triumphant madness.

Shit. What's that sound? My stomach dropped.

The next instant, her right hand, which had been hanging limply at her side, snapped up with terrifying speed.

A small, black object pressed firmly against my ribs.

Bzzzt. The low hum of electrical current crackled at point-blank range.

It was a custom-modified, high-voltage pocket taser.

Beatrix stared at me, her voice raspy but trembling with a sickening thrill. "Got you, little mouse."

She pulled the trigger without a second thought.

BZZZZT!

A high-voltage shock surged directly into my side. Blue arcs of electricity crackled between us.

Any normal seven-year-old would have been on the floor foaming at the mouth, losing control of their bladder. But my grip didn't waiver.

Damn.

Did it hurt? Absolutely. The sensation of my muscles seizing up surged straight up my spine. But compared to having my organs vaporized and my bones turned to ash four times? This electricity was nothing more than a cheap, crappy massage.

I locked my eyes onto hers and grinned. In my rush, I'd bitten my lip, and blood was smeared across my teeth. "That all the voltage you got?" my voice came out raw and mockingly cold. "Did you forget to eat breakfast?"

As Beatrixs pupils dilated in sheer, unadulterated horroras if she were looking at an actual demonI tightened my grip on her collar, hoisted her up, and drove my forehead violently into her nose.

Crack! The dull, sickening sound of cartilage meeting bone.

She let out a high-pitched shriek. Her hand went limp, and the modified taser slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the marble floor below and breaking in two. A torrent of dark red blood erupted from her nose, painting her pale, perfect face. I hauled her back over the railing like a wet rag and threw her hard onto the floor of the hallway.

Before she could even try to crawl away, I straddled her waist, pinned her down, and began raining slaps down on her face.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

The sharp cracks echoed loudly through the cavernous estate.

"You want to play with fire? You want to shock me? You think you're hot shit, huh?"

One blow after another. No fancy techniquesjust raw, therapeutic, physical education.