Chapter 1: The 152nd Defeat
I first beheld him not long after my fifteenth birthday.
‘I am Phileon Elvert, the third son of Duke Elvert.’
Hair as dark as midnight. Skin as pale as ivory. Violet eyes, half-lidded, as though brimming with boredom.
I could not clearly perceive his features from such a distance, and yet—even from afar—his beauty was undeniable, radiant beyond dispute.
Of course, he was the protagonist of a romantic fantasy novel, and so such magnificence was only natural.
‘That old man, Count Delike, never ceases to praise him as the genius of the century.’
Count Delike was his maternal grandfather—the great sorcerer who had repelled the first great monster invasion twenty years ago.
The one who had stopped the second wave was my own guardian, Count Volks.
Nearly the same age. Nearly the same ability. … Nearly the same achievements. Do you understand now?
Why the two houses had grown into bitter rivals.
“You must never lose to Phileon, Lady Raylee. You must repay your grandfather’s honor!”
So declared Fiona, my maid, her gaze fixed on Phileon with seething hatred as her hands clenched tightly.
All I could do was nod with a bitter smile. Naturally, I had much I might have said.
For formally, I hailed from a branch so distant that I ought to call my grandfather Guardian or Lord of the House, never Grandfather.
And Phileon—being the story’s protagonist—was indeed a once-in-a-millennium genius.
Moreover, though the head of the house presently showed me some measure of favor, once—
‘Once Phileon steals first place from me, he will look upon me as though I were no more than an insect.’
And because ‘Raylee Volks’ would inevitably come to resent Phileon, that hatred would fester intolerably before his brilliance.
In the end, her venom would be unleashed upon the Female Lead—Phileon’s disciple. As you well know, there is always such a figure in every tale.
The villainess. The one who opposes the Female Lead, harassing her with pettiness at every turn.
That was the role ascribed to me—Raylee Volks.
‘I must change this fate.’
At the age of fifteen, I had already resolved to align myself with the protagonist.
For the guardian who, in the original tale, was revealed as the ‘mastermind behind the curtain’ was none other than Count Volks—my guardian.
Upon beholding Phileon, who eclipsed him even in the prime of youth, Count Volks, seized by the same envy and inferiority that consumed Raylee, reached forth his hand to summon the Demon King to slay him.
But in that ritual, the Count was struck by power from another realm and perished. The Demon King himself manifested in the human world, nearly destroying it—only to be stopped by the combined might of the hero and the Female Lead.
Such was the story of the romantic fantasy: I Became the Beloved Disciple of the Archmage.
Therefore…
‘Unless I sever my ties with Count Volks as swiftly as possible, I shall not survive.’ While ignoring Fiona’s ceaseless prattle, I began devising a plan to draw near to him.
By fortune’s grace, I soon found the opportunity.
“Hello? I am Raylee Volks.”
When I discovered him alone, I stepped forward with boldness and extended my hand.
“I know our families are far from friendly, but I wish to be on good terms with you. I am sincere.”
“…You wish to approach me?”
“Yes.”
His violet eyes widened slightly, as if he had heard something wholly unforeseen.
But that fleeting look of surprise soon vanished.
“Those I keep near fall into two categories: those stronger than I, or those who obey my command.”
“…What?”
“But if you were to become my subordinate, I imagine your grandfather would detest it dearly.”
Phileon’s eyes narrowed as he curved his lips into a breathtaking, cruelly beautiful smile.
“Would that truly be acceptable, Raylee?”
I, too, smiled with confidence.
“Then I simply must become stronger than you, mustn’t I?”
And so, we strode at once to the training grounds.
The moment I requested a sparring match, word spread like wildfire. Crowds of trainees gathered, and even the senior faculty of the academy came to witness.
Events moved swiftly—and then came…
My defeat.
“…How unbearably dull.”
The outcome was one I had never foreseen.
I knew, of course, that Phileon was an unrivaled prodigy, a once-in-a-millennium genius.
Yet at that time, he had not even begun true study of the arcane. It was said Count Delike had deliberately restrained his training, fearing he might lose his passion for magic. He was not yet beyond his fifteenth year.
Whereas I— I bore fifteen years of this current life, and twenty-five more from the life before. I was older, wiser. I had assimilated into this world utterly and studied with desperate obsession.
Since I had entered the Tower of Magic at eleven, I had never once relinquished the first position among the apprentices…
“I could not even use you as a servant. You are far too weak.”
From that day forward, my clashes with Phileon never ceased.
I never again requested a duel, but our rivalry continued ceaselessly through the academy’s tests and evaluations.
And yet—
Defeat.
Defeat.
And another defeat thereafter.
An endless chain of losses.
Defeat.
The official record: 153 matches—0 victories, 2 draws, and 151 defeats.
This was the disastrous record I had accumulated over the past five years of clashing with Phileon.
Much had changed during that span of time.
My family had grown restless, drowning me in criticism, and Count Volx showered me with insults far harsher than those written in the original tale. The other sorcerers were no different.
And in the Grand Magic Tournament of my twentieth year…
“Wow, you truly excel at nothing…”
That was where I tasted my one-hundred-and-fifty-second defeat.
“You really are remarkable. Five years have passed, and you’re still standing in the exact same place.”
“…..”
“But I will commend you on one thing—your tenacity. Honestly, I never thought you’d even bother to show up today.”
“…..”
“Despite all those defeats, you still came here to face me. And though I ignored you every time, you never once lashed out in anger. So… I have a question.”
Phileon leaned down, his gaze sinking into mine as he asked in a low, almost teasing tone:
“Do you love me?”
That was the moment my patience finally shattered.
“Shut up!!!”
“Everyone says that.”
“I’ll kill you!!!”
Professors rushed forward to restrain me as I lost every shred of composure. Phileon followed us out of the arena, trailing me like a shadow.
No matter how far I went, his words pursued me:
“No matter how I think of it, I can’t find any other explanation.”
“Someone—please, get this fool away from me…”
“Why not just be honest?”
And thus began Phileon’s endless torment.
Yes, torment—because from that day on, he came to me every single day, only to ask the same cursed question.
It usually went something like this:
“Rayley. I think I need to take on a disciple.”
“And what has that to do with me?”
“Grandfather said he found a talented girl. He told me I might improve while training her. Isn’t that amusing?”
“Ah, and again I ask—what does that have to do with me?”
“…So can I take her in?”
“Why are you asking me?”
“Because you lo—”
“I already told you I do not!!!”
Almost all our conversations spiraled into this maddening pattern.
“What training? He only said that so you’d grow up and stop behaving like a child!”
“Ah, so that means I’m already strong enough?”
“Get out of my sight!!”
“I knew you’d say that.”
He would smile throughout these exchanges, as if relishing them—clear proof that this was nothing but a new form of harassment.
Whenever boredom struck, he would seek me out, knowing full well that no matter how I tried, I could never defeat him.
And the cruelest irony of all? Despite all his words, he did indeed take on a disciple in the end.
I met her the day she joined the Magic Tower.
She was breathtakingly beautiful.
As my gaze lingered on her flowing pink hair, a single thought struck me with awe:
‘Has the time finally come for the Female Lead to make her entrance?’
“Raylee.”
Phileon, standing proudly at her side, hurried toward me.
“I kept refusing, but my grandfather—”
“There’s no need to explain. I couldn’t care less.”
“You’re angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
In truth, my mood was strangely pleasant. After all, when you behold something beautiful, joy rises naturally within you, does it not?
“You look wonderful together. Best of luck.”
I offered them my sincerest blessing, though Phileon’s expression twisted in an odd, unreadable way.
I ignored it.
I had far more pressing matters.
“The story is unfolding exactly as in the original novel.”
The sorcerers of House Delike scorned me as the villainess, for daring to challenge Phileon.
Though I had approached him countless times, he never once became my friend.
And only days ago, Count Volx demanded that I hand over all documents regarding the Demon King sealed within the tower.
I refused, hiding behind one excuse after another, yet the other sorcerers delivered the documents in my stead.
Soon after, he came to me personally, threatening that if I did not participate in the coming experiment, he would never let me be.
And now, with the Female Lead entering Phileon’s tutelage…
The events were destined to accelerate.
“And I shall not survive them.”
No matter how I tried, no matter how desperately I struggled, the outcome always mirrored the original story.
I could never alter its course.
In that case…
“At the very least, I shall choose the manner of my death.”
