I, Johnson Joffrey, received the Best Villain System as soon as I transmigrated. At that time, I was wondering about one thing: would there be a Best Hero System in this world?
I understand, I get it, this is fate's arrangement for me!
However, if this transmigrator has a Hero System, he's not doing anything a hero would do. I got the Villain System, and basically, I achieve my goals little by little on my own.
What about him? What is he doing?
Damn it!
If I can get the arrow, half of my dream will be realized; all my hopes are riding on it.
Polnareff, I, Johnson Joffrey, am the ultimate owner of the arrow!
—
Trish Una was born in Olbia in the spring-summer transition of 1985.
It's only about a month until her birthday. She sat in the second-to-last seat by the window, her aquamarine eyes gazing at the distant playground, where students from several classes, dressed in white athletic wear, were having physical education class.
Tsk tsk, so tiring.
Thinking this, she propped her head lazily with her hand, feeling a bit sleepy; school was so exhausting.
If only she could be a star, she thought, pulling out a small mirror to examine her appearance. Her pink curly hair naturally curled across her forehead, a neat bob, giving her a youthful, girlish vibe, and her development was also quite good.
She was indeed much, much prettier than most girls.
But she was just as ordinary.
Her mother had been hospitalized due to excessive worry; she didn't know how serious it was, perhaps just a cold.
Her mother was a rich girl from Rome, but because of an out-of-wedlock pregnancy, she stayed in Sardinia forever.
Her maternal grandfather was a famous politician who wouldn't accept an unmarried, pregnant daughter to tarnish his reputation. At the same time, her mother, who was naturally delicate and proud, remained fixated on the father she had never met.
Her impression of her father was zero; whenever she asked about him, her mother was always vague, but year after year, she sat in the small villa in Cagliari Bay, like a trapped canary, waiting for the time to sing.
I really want to be a big star, Trish thought, her imagination soaring, filled with a teenager's fantasies.
Trish lay sprawled on her desk; the Weather around ten in the morning always made one want to go back to sleep.
Because this was spring fatigue! Wasn't spring meant for feeling sleepy? She heard that students in America and Japan even had spring break, unlike in Italy.
"Trish Una!" Teacher Moneika, pushing up his glasses, suddenly called out to her, making her tremble. He looked at the teacher, flustered.
Her beautiful right cheek already had a red mark from being pressed against the desk, which only made her classmates laugh at her.
It was her own fault; even though she was just an illegitimate daughter, she drank water from France and used Givenchy No. 2 blush. It was truly infuriating.
"You're already a middle schooler, what kind of behavior is this? Una! Stand up!"
Trish looked at her classmates' smiles, and with a mix of disbelief and indignant shame, she shakily stood up.
If I were a big star, if I were rich, I would definitely teach these guys a lesson!
"Teacher!" The blonde girl in the front row suddenly said, "Please make sure Trish leaves. The sour smell in here will probably bother her!"
"Hahahahaha!"
Trish clenched her fists and lowered her head slightly.
"Moorna, keep your voice down. Trish's father, who runs a star agency in Rome, will beat you up," a brown-haired sycophant said with a laugh.
Teacher Moneika did not scold the good student in the front row. Instead, he said with a hint of sarcasm, "Why aren't you wearing your uniform today? Is it because you think you're already very beautiful?"
"Hmm? Answer me!"
"Because… the uniform is being washed…"
"What?! A little louder?!"
"Oh, Teacher, Trish probably wants to go to Senior Dano's party. Of course she has to dress well to… hook him."
"Hey! Moorna!" Trish's deskmate, a black-haired girl, exclaimed, "That's going too far!"
The blonde-haired, blue-eyed Moorna showed no apology; instead, she sneered.
"How terrible," Teacher Moneika adjusted his glasses. "If you don't study hard and always act like a little Spice Girl, you won't achieve your wishes just by fantasizing and bragging. Go stand by the door."
Moorna smiled, watching Trish slowly walk out the door.
"Bang!!"
The classroom door was suddenly flung open, and a handsome man walked in. Behind him, what appeared to be his subordinates, to everyone's surprise, put a revolver – enough to make anyone shriek – into his embrace.
Then he pulled out a photo, his somewhat anxious gaze falling upon the astonished Trish, and said:
"Are you our Boss's daughter, Trish Una?"
The man's words were like a clap of thunder crashing into the classroom.
"Boss, huh? He just said Boss, didn't he?! Trish's dad really is the Boss!"
Trish watched the unfolding events, utterly bewildered. All her classmates looked at her with envy.
"Miss Trish, the Boss himself ordered us to come pick you up."