Reborn as the villain's obsession (BL)

Adrian Reeves had exactly two seconds left to live. Most people claimed their entire lives flashed before their eyes at the moment of death. Adrian's didn't. All he could think about was a fictional villain. Blinding headlights swallowed his vision as a deafening horn tore through the night. The truck was already too close. The last thought racing through his mind wasn't his unfinished dreams, his family, or the life he was about to lose. It was one man: Cassian Nyx—a villain who deserved better, not for his power, but because no one had ever truly stood beside him. For three years, Adrian had followed every chapter of Chronicles of the Celestial Hero—more than eight hundred chapters of wars, betrayals, bloodshed, and broken promises. Through it all, one character remained unforgettable: the most tragic character Adrian had ever read, the villain everyone feared, the man Adrian pitied most. Cassian had never been born evil. Once he'd stood at humanity's side, protecting the very kingdom that would later abandon him. The people he saved branded him a monster; the comrades he trusted betrayed him. By the time the world called him the Demon Lord, there was nothing left to save. Adrian still remembered the chapter where Cassian carried an injured girl out of a burning village, shielding her with his own body—only for the kingdom to accuse him, by sunset, of setting that very fire. Cassian became a monster. "Bullshit," Adrian had muttered, as hundreds of comments flooded beneath the final chapter, praising the ending. "How can you call this justice? He deserved a second chance... not an eternity alone." That had been his last comment. If I were in this world, I'd save the villain. Then the truck hit. Pain exploded through his body. The world shattered. Then only darkness and silence. No pain, no light, no sense of time—as though the universe itself had stopped breathing, until voices echoed through the void. "Interesting. This soul carries an unusual attachment—to a story." "Should we grant the wish? It would be amusing." "No. But I am curious to watch him try. Send him." An invisible force seized his consciousness, and he was falling. Faster, faster, until even the light disappeared, as though the heavens had thrown him into another world. Gasp! Adrian woke up screaming, bolting upright. For several seconds he couldn't breathe. The last thing he remembered was death. So why was he alive? His eyes darted around an unfamiliar room—painted murals of angels and demons across the ceiling, sunlight streaming through enormous silk-draped windows. "What the hell..." He threw aside the blankets and stumbled out of bed. The room was massive—larger than his entire apartment. A mirror stood against the far wall. Adrian rushed toward it, and froze. The reflection wasn't Adrian Reeves—silver-white hair framed a handsome face, blue-violet eyes shimmered beneath the morning light, features carved from marble. "No," his voice trembled. "No way." He touched his face. Smooth skin, a different jawline. "This isn't me..." He stumbled back until his legs struck the bed. People didn't wake up in different bodies—that only happened in novels. He pinched his arm hard. Ouch! Not a dream. "Am I losing my mind?!" His eyes searched the room: expensive paintings, shelves of books, a royal crest carved into the fireplace. His gaze shifted to the bedside table, where a leather-bound journal rested, gold lettering across the cover: Property of Prince Elian Ashford, Crown Prince of the Celestial Kingdom. The name felt hauntingly familiar—a minor, arrogant royal from Chronicles of the Celestial Hero. The realization struck him like another truck. He grabbed the journal. Inside, elegant handwriting filled the pages, and the date at the top read: Spring, Year 312. Adrian stared. The main story began in Year 327. "I'm fifteen years before the plot starts." Every tragedy, every betrayal, every death hadn't happened yet. The future remained unwritten. He had time—time to change Cassian's future... or make everything worse. A bitter laugh escaped him. "What kind of cosmic joke is this?" The face in the mirror belonged to Elian Ashford—the future enemy of Cassian Nyx, the prince history would remember as the man who destroyed him. He hadn't been reborn as the villain or the hero, but as the man destined to destroy the one person he wanted to save. Knock, knock. Adrian nearly jumped out of his skin. "Your Highness?" a servant called. "His Majesty requests your presence at breakfast." For a moment he simply stared at the door. None of this was a dream. "I'm coming," he called awkwardly. Someone else's life had become his own—he was supposed to be a prince now. After a struggle with clothes far too complicated for any normal human being, Adrian left his room. The palace was grander outside the bedroom—marble hallways, golden pillars, servants bowing as he passed. Every "Your Highness" made him resist the urge to answer, You're talking to the wrong person. Adrian Reeves was already dead. A maid guided him into an enormous dining hall, where King Alaric Ashford—Elian's father, silver hair streaked with gold—sat studying him over his teacup. "You seem distracted, Elian. You're barely touching your food." Adrian stiffened—he was Elian, not Adrian. "Just didn't sleep well," he replied carefully. The king nodded. "Understandable. Today is important." A strange feeling settled in Adrian's stomach. The original novel barely mentioned this period at all—which meant something had already changed. Before he could ask, the dining hall doors opened. A knight stepped inside and bowed, his face pale with dread. "Your Majesty. The delegation from the Demon Realm has arrived." The king frowned. "Earlier than expected." Adrian froze. The Demon Realm? This meeting never happened—not in the original novel, not fifteen years before the story began. A cold feeling crawled down his spine. "Their leader requests an audience," the knight said, voice trembling. "Escort them inside," the king said. The plot wasn't following the novel anymore. Heavy footsteps echoed through the hall. An unnatural silence fell; even the servants lowered their heads. The doors opened slowly with a deafening creak. Black boots stepped across the polished marble. Whoever had entered carried himself with the confidence of someone who feared nothing; the air itself seemed heavier, conversations dying instantly. Then Adrian saw him. Time seemed to stop. He had imagined meeting Cassian countless times while reading the novel—but never like this, never across a royal dining hall. His fingers tightened around the edge of the chair. No... It couldn't be. Walking at the front was a tall, elegant man dressed entirely in black, crimson eyes glowing like burning embers—more breathtaking than any illustration had ever captured. The future Demon Lord himself. Cassian Nyx wasn't supposed to be here. Adrian's blood ran cold. The novel he thought he knew had already been rewritten, and Cassian had arrived far, far too soon.