A Regressed Villain: Heroines, Villainesses and Me?

The Diego Estate's private hospital was quite a sight in the middle of City A, Sector 1.

Its shiny glass exterior sparkled under the bright midday sun, with the estate's crest prominently displayed above the entrance.

Luxury cars lined the street, and the low hum of engines filled the air as security personnel kept a watchful eye around the area.

Out of nowhere, another car pulled up, surrounded by a fleet of four sleek black vehicles. It came to a stop with impressive precision, enough to leave a trail of rubber marks beneath the path.

The door swung open, and out stepped a woman.

Her icy blue hair fell gracefully down her back, creating a striking contrast with her sharp, piercing grayish eyes. (*She is in the cover picture of the book.)

She exuded a commanding presence that was colder than winter itself.

Giving her tailored coat a quick adjustment, she walked purposefully into the building, the sound of her heels echoing against the immaculate marble floors.

The hospital staff automatically stepped aside, knowing exactly who she was—Astarra Diego.

There were no friendly greetings or small talk, just her determined stride toward the elevator that would take her to the fourth floor.

Without bothering to knock, she entered a private room, her eyes instantly landing on the man lounging on the hospital bed.

He seemed to be indulging in a lazy moment, holding an almost devoured apple in his hand.

The scent in the room wasn't exactly inviting, and he didn't seem shy about letting a little flatulence slip out.

"Seriously?" Astarra's cold voice cut through like a whip, instantly breaking his nonchalant vibe.

He blinked at her, still a bit caught off guard with his mouth full. "Uh... just an accident?" he joked weakly, trying to muster a grin. But the memories of the auction house hit him hard; losing consciousness from that violent recoil had left his whole body aching. Thanks to some advanced tech, though, he was on the mend.

Honestly, he knew all about this woman's arrival, courtesy of his secretary. Still, he played it off like this so she wouldn't start asking questions about Bordy, who, as it turned out, was dead now. Besides acting uncaring, he felt there was no other option on the table.

Astarra narrowed her gaze, intensely scrutinizing the man she'd chosen as her husband. He was acting like a complete fool, and it was frustrating. After all, she had made sure he stayed alive by letting Bordy accompany him, which was no small feat given the Sertsul family's history.

Even after all these years together, she found herself needing to be extra cautious to keep things from spiraling out of control. Just a few days ago, the Sertsul family had put a hit out on him, and all those years of peace she'd built crumbled in an instant. She thought she was being smart by letting Bordy tag along with him.

But then, yesterday, the awful news broke—Bordy was dead. An Empyreal with top-notch training taken out by some second-rate Sertsul assassins? It felt like a twisted joke.

Astarra shot him a look filled with anger and malice, clearly aimed at Diego, who flinched. He was still trying to maintain that lighthearted, demure front as if to mask what he'd attempted to do and to downplay Bordy's death.

It wasn't going to work, though.

"I'm not asking why you took Bordy, but what I need to know is—" her eyes narrowed dangerously, "—who killed him?"

'!?'

"W-were you already aware?" he stammered, sweat starting to bead on his forehead. The grin vanished from Diego's face as shock took hold of him. The apple he was holding slipped from his fingers and rolled across the tiled floor.

Diego had always thought that, given this woman's poor health—something she often mentioned—he should not reveal that he had received a threat from the Sertsul family about assassination.

This whole time, he thought that without any help from the Ravan family, especially this woman, he'd be able to handle it himself.

Only he could really understand what it felt like to be looked down on by her all the time; he just wanted a chance to prove himself.

Prove that he would be able to handle something trivial like this.

"Diego, don't forget your place. Just tell me who killed Bordy." Astarra stepped closer, pressing a hand down on the table where a knife lay among some fruit.

'!'

"Astarr—!?!"

With a swift movement, she picked up the knife and, without hesitation, yanked Diego's hand forward.

SCKHLT

Even though he was muscular, her grip was strong, and she plunged the knife into his palm.

"AaaRgghhh!!—Astarra! Stop!" Diego's eyes widened, pain shooting through him as he felt the sharp blade digging in, making him feel utterly helpless.

Her delicate hand, pale and twig-like, held his wrist tightly, not allowing him to move as he trembled in agony.

"Who killed Bordy?" Astarra pressed again, her voice steady despite the chaos, twisting the knife just enough to make Diego scream.

The hospital room was soundproof, so no one outside had any idea what was happening inside.

"St-stop!" Diego felt the blood rush to his face, the vines of fear creeping around his neck as she dug the knife deeper. It was like he could feel it piercing the wooden drawer behind him, pinning his hand there. Cornered and knowing he had no choice, he finally shouted, "Ah! I-it was Williams! N-no, it was Marquess Croceaus!"

badump

A moment of silence hung in the air before Astarra's heart skipped a beat.

"H-huh?" Her grayish eyes flickered with hesitation; there was the slightest hint of surprise as she paused, looking at Diego's pained expression.

He was trying to push her hand away, desperate to free himself, but his strength was no match for hers.

Things had clearly become more complicated than she expected. 'What is he doing in free city?'

"Aarghh—Skchlt!" Diego cried out as Astarra yanked the knife away.

His palm was torn, blood gushing out as he grabbed it with his other hand, eyes pouring with tears—both from pain and emotion.

'No....' Astarra turned sharply, ready to leave the hospital room, her mind swirling with turmoil after what Diego had just revealed.

But she paused when she heard his voice again, barely above a whisper.

"A-astarra, I-i did this for you. I-i just wanted to—" Diego wanted to tell her that he wanted to prove himself.

He wanted to tell her that he was the perfect man she could ever have.

Even if she saw him as nothing more than a servant all these years, he would still choose to have acted out that deal with the pregnant woman.

Diego could clearly remember the first time he laid eyes on her; she looked like a goddess, so stunning that all other women just faded from his memory.

Explore more at empire

It was one-sided love at its finest.

And the reason she suggested that he act as her husband was as if he received everything he could ask for.

"Sigh... Diego," Astarra exhaled, not even glancing back. Her tone was icy as she said, "Know your place."

The only sound left in the room was the fading echo of her footsteps. Diego clenched his fists, looking down.

It was 19 years ago when she first came to him, claiming he should act as her husband, and he had played the part.

Now, staring at all those wasted years, where he tried so hard to be the best husband—doing everything from taking out competitors to bribing officials, all in hopes that one day she'd ask him for money to get back at her family's heir position—it all felt useless.

He held onto the hope that she might eventually realize he was the one for her, though he wondered if it was merely his unreciprocated feelings for her.

Nor was he able to gather the wealth he desired—much smaller than what she herself earned.

In the midst of the defeat and helplessness, lowering his head, he murmured, "I... know."

----

Astarra Diego stepped out of the hospital, the sleek glass doors sliding shut behind her as she inhaled the crisp morning air.

Tack tack.

The sharp click of her heels echoed on the concrete like a metronome, establishing the tone for her authoritative and cold presence.

Adjusting her tailored coat, her icy blue hair swayed gently in the light breeze, almost as if it were spun from frost itself.

As she strode past the luxury cars parked outside, she muttered a single word—"Alastria"—and it lingered in the air for a moment, heavy with intent.

SWOOOSH

Suddenly, it felt as though the world around her shifted, as if reality itself had shivered at her command.

She stumbled slightly, turning to catch a glimpse of her reflection in a polished glass window nearby.

But it wasn't merely her familiar image looking back.

It was a distorted version of herself, a twin with exaggerated features and that same icy blue gaze, shimmering with something that felt otherworldly.

Then, bizarrely, the reflection narrowed its gaze, as if confused by being called forth after all these years. "What happened?"

"You said he would never step foot in Free City," Astarra inquired coldly, indifferent to the guards standing ten steps away, their backs turned to her—as if granting her the liberty to converse with herself. She sought confirmation of what she had heard two decades ago.

A time when the man in question had been barely a three-year-old child.

"What? You mean Avendial? Of course, he will certainly be dealing with the death of that Swordmaster—" The reflection seemed bewildered at Astarra's voice, yet its confusion didn't prevent it from reaffirming the very words it had spoken all those years ago.

"He killed one of my bodyguards, and soon he will find out about that..." Astarra's cold gaze brimmed with threat and malice, directed squarely at her reflection—or more accurately, at her ability. The expression on her face hardened, as if she were sculpted from ice.

"If he finds out..." she whispered, her mind racing with the chaos that would ensue if that man were to uncover the truth. Astarra's voice dripped with venomous intent, so potent it felt capable of poisoning even the gods as she threatened, "…I will kill myself."

At that, the reflection's look of confusion morphed into shock, a hint of panic flickering in its widening eyes. "Wait! He won't! He'd never even suspect! Do you think he'd doubt that Lin is his so—"

"Silence." Her voice snapped like a whip, and the reflection fell into silence, its expression reverting to a blank canvas.

The air grew charged, trembling at the prospect of her next move. Her jaws clenched, her eyes wide, shimmering with an intense glare as she shouted, "Don't even mention it!"