A Regressed Villain: Heroines, Villainesses and Me?

:: Hi, this is from the city hospital. Your mother has been diagnosed with advanced lung cancer—stage four, to be exact. We urgently need you to arrange 1,200 Imperial Crowns for her treatment, or we may have to discharge her. ::

"I—I will arrange it soon," a man replied, seated on his bike, holding the phone with both hands as he absorbed the devastating news from the city hospital where his mother was receiving treatment. His eyes seemed hollow, dark circles forming beneath his helmet, and his hands trembled ever so slightly. It was evident that the toll of his job as a construction worker weighed heavily on him.

He looked weary, as if life had drained him of all vitality.

Despite his muscular build, his exhaustion was palpable. His voice dripped with a hollow emptiness as he spoke, and he nodded as he listened to the hospital staff on the other end of the line.

:: We need the payment within half an hour, or she will be removed from her room. ::

"I understand," he replied, his voice barely a whisper, devoid of emotion. He ended the call and stared at his phone's screen, which displayed a bank balance of just 180 Imperial Crowns.

Tring~

"Hello?" Another call buzzed in, this time from the Chief, as Leo slowly lifted his phone with trepidation, his mind racing at the thought of asking for an advance on his pay to cover his mother's treatment.

:: Leo, I heard your mother is in need of urgent care. ::

"Y-yes, Chief," he stammered, sitting on his not-so-expensive bike. The Chief's concern made Leo acutely aware that news of his mother's health had made its way around, likely through his colleagues—men he considered friends.

:: You should have asked me for help too, you know? Was the money you borrowed from the others enough? ::

"No, Chief, I—I just can't bring myself to ask for it," Leo admitted. He sat on his bike, the glass of his helmet reflecting a steady stream of cars rushing past him on the main highway.

It reminded him of two diverging paths: one made of cheap asphalt, representing his current situation, and the other—smooth and well-paved—symbolizing the status he believed he could never reach.

He felt inferior, reluctant to step out of line and ask for help from someone he regarded as his superior.

:: I understand, Leo. I'd like to help you, but I've already distributed the salaries to the other employees today, and the most I can manage is your last paycheck of 200 Imperial Crowns. ::

"I don't understand, Chief?" Leo felt a shiver run down his spine as he sensed the hesitance in the Chief's voice. Something wasn't right, and his gut told him that bad news was on the horizon.

:: You see, the owner has announced bankruptcy, and it looks like our construction company is on the verge of closing its doors for good. ::

'Ah, yes, I see,' Leo thought as the Chief's words sank in. He remembered that the struggling company had been teetering on the brink for a while, battling against larger, more powerful competitors. Despite everyone's hard work, it had ultimately been for naught.

"I understand, Chief," was all he could muster in response, feeling a sense of defeat wash over him. He appreciated that his Chief was being understanding amid the chaos.

Given his dismal luck—where good fortune seemed perpetually out of reach—he found a small sliver of solace in receiving even those 200 Imperial Crowns.

They were certainly a mere fraction of what he needed, but in a world where everything seemed to be slipping away, it was better than nothing.

It was already remarkable that a construction company was managing to stay afloat with so many workers and engineers, especially after not securing any major projects for a year.

The reason for this precarious survival lay with the owner, a kind old man who had been paying his employees minimum wages by selling off his own assets.

:: I am sending the amount now, and I hope you don't blame the company's owner. ::

"No, Chief, it's fine," Leo replied, holding the phone tightly to his ear, his helmet barely containing his nerves.

In that moment, he could only curse his own bad luck—a fate so bleak that it often felt as if misfortune was drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

:: I understand, thank you for your work, Leo. If only the owner hadn't been scammed because of his kindness, we would have enough funds to sustain operations for a few more months. ::

"I understand…" Leo murmured before cutting the call. He looked at the screen as a notification popped up, revealing a transfer of 200 Imperial Crowns to his bank account.

He closed his eyes, contemplating his life, a tangled maze of misfortune.

Since the age of five, tragedy had shadowed him: his father had died due to circumstances he felt responsible for, leaving his mother to fend for them both.

She took up work in factories, mainly dealing with glass, but soon fell ill, diagnosed with cancer.

School was no refuge; Leo struggled with his studies, failing every exam he took despite his efforts.

At the tender age of twelve, he decided to abandon formal education altogether, opting for manual labor.

He felt devoid of talent, cursed with a streak of bad luck, and burdened by a life riddled with regrets.

While others might have envisioned options before them, he saw only a narrow path strewn with hardship, inflicting pain on those around him.

Vroom

Exhaustion weighed heavily on his mind, yet his body was unscathed. He twisted the throttle and accelerated onto the main highway.

The dividing line between the roads was obscured by thick trees, leaving him unaware of the vehicles approaching from both directions.

Since the lane he was entering was one way, he remained blissfully ignorant of the danger he was drifting into.

Beep! Beep!

"MOVE!!!" A voice shouted, accompanied by the blaring of horns.

Leo instinctively turned his head, only to find a truck barreling towards him from the wrong side, mere inches from his face.

In those fleeting seconds, all the memories of his life—regrets, pains, and the chains of suffering—flashed before his eyes, intertwined with the faces of those he had let down, particularly his mother, who depended on him.

An overwhelming sense of acceptance washed over him; perhaps death would bring the peace that life had denied him.

Bang!

"Argh…! Kugh!" The impact was instant, propelling him and his bike apart as the vehicle shattered the fragile construction of the machine.

Leo's body was flung across the asphalt, his bones fracturing under the brutal force as he tumbled uncontrollably.

As he rolled, the world inverted, a chaotic blur of light and shadow—something he had grown accustomed to in his tumultuous life.

Finally, he felt his momentum slow as he was thrown twenty meters from the truck, which skidded to a stop, its driver desperately trying to regain control.

Behind it, cars collided in a cacophony of screeching tires and shattering glass.

Amidst the cacophony of distant sounds, he lay on the asphalt in a bloody state, his eyes drifting across the scenery for what felt like the last time.

His skin was parched, coated in dirt, devoid of any hint of the life he once led. Like many other ordinary people burdened by the weight of work, he found an odd sense of solace in the thought that perhaps he was dying.

Yet, a sudden memory flickered to life before him: the image of his mother.

A single tear escaped his eye as he clenched his teeth, the realization crashing over him like a wave: he couldn't die—not like this.