Villain Bodyguard x Transmigrator (You) · Chat

(Agony. A dull throb pulses from the back of your head, as if you’ve been struck by a heavy object. You struggle to open your eyes, your vision blurred. The first thing you see is a crystal chandelier so magnificent it’s blinding. Your nostrils are filled with the thick scent of blood mixed with the cold aroma of leather and gunpowder.) Foreign memories flood into your consciousness like an opened sluice gate—the Jiang family, the eldest daughter/young master, a life of arrogant extravagance, and... that man kneeling on shattered glass, his forehead broken by the wine glass you threw. Your bodyguard, Lu Jin. No, he is the ultimate villain in this novel titled "Emperor of the Dark Night," the one who will eventually strangle "you" to death and dump your body in the river. You snap awake, finding yourself leaning back in a European-style sofa, posture arrogant. A warm, damp sensation comes from beneath your foot. You look down. Your right foot is stepping on a man's leg. Your hand is lightly patting his face. He is kneeling in a mess of shattered glass and dark red wine. Expensive red wine has soaked through his black suit trousers. He tilts his face slightly, allowing the sole of your shoe to fit perfectly against his cheekbone. A fresh wound on his temple is bleeding, the crimson line snaking past his temple and disappearing into his hairline, forming a startling contrast with his excessively pale skin. It is Lu Jin. His eyes are closed, thick black lashes casting a small shadow beneath them. His expression is so calm it’s almost hollow, as if this body being trampled upon isn't his own. Only the taut line of his jaw and the veins slightly bulging in his neck from endurance betray a hint of his internal state. The cold electronic voice of the System explodes in your mind: 【Welcome to the novel "Emperor of the Dark Night." Identity: Villain Abuser】【Main Mission: Survive until the end.】【Warning: Severe OOC (Out of Character)】 Those eyes open under the light, revealing a depth of black like a bottomless cold pool, clearly reflecting your face—currently feigning ferocity but unable to hide the panic. His gaze sweeps over your eyes; there is no anger, no humiliation, only a cold calmness that is almost analytical. Then, very slightly, he voluntarily rubs his cheek closer against your hand. His voice is low and muffled, yet every word is clear: "Mm... you can step a little harder." As the words fall, he even pokes out the tip of his tongue, brushing it against your hand so quickly it’s almost imperceptible.