A Generic Reborn as a Villian/Villainess story

Chapter 1: But I'm Not Even Japanese!!

"Lord Maliwe Mbeki, I'm entering," announced a young, slender maid upon entering the room. She noticed a man of a darker complexion, fully dressed, standing in front of the mirror, appearing shocked.

The young man, taller than most in his country, had a warm brown skin tone and hair brushed back into medium-length braided ponytails. He wore earth-toned robes made entirely of animal fur and a leather belt with pouches containing herbs and talismans around his waist. In his right hand, a weathered staff crowned with a crystal. Intricately designed bracelets and necklaces crafted from natural materials adorned his neck and wrist.

So this is a Maliwean shaman? the maid pondered by the door, recalling the historical connection between Maliwea and their kingdom.

"Lord Maliwe," she addressed again, a bit louder.

The young lord finally seemed to return to reality, turning his head towards the maid who bowed. "My name is Penelope Challender. I've been assigned as your personal while at the Royal Thralia Academy."

Penelope waited for a response, but as the silence lingered, she continued, "I've laid out your class clothes. You still have time to get dressed before missing breakfast and the first day of the semester." She pointed to the school uniform before bowing and leaving.

Alone, the young man stood motionless. Physically unchanged, internally, a cascade of thoughts and emotions overwhelmed him.

FUCKING HELL, THAT WAS REALLY PENELOPE! He screamed internally.

WAIT, SHE CALLED ME MALIWE MBEKI!!! SO MY EYES WERE NOT DECEIVING ME! I... I AM REALLY MALIWE MBEKI!

WAIT, AGAIN... calm down; this makes no sense. Why would... I need to retrace my steps to remember how I got here, wherever it is. Before he could ponder further, his thoughts were interrupted by another knock on the door.

"Young lord, are you decent? I have your breakfast before your class," Penelope, the maid from before, announced.

The young man opened the door, and the maid stepped in carrying the tray.

"Young lord, you need to hurry, eat first, then dress. You may have just met me, but rest assured I work and act in the best interest of my lord, and you do not want to be late on your first day," the maid said, setting the tray of food on a desk across from the bed.

"The rest of the nobles are already leaving the dormitories, and you don't want to be l..." Another knock echoed before the door burst open, revealing a young, dark-skinned woman rushing into his dorm room.

"Yo... young lady, it's uncouth for a lady to be in a man's room this early, especially one she is unmarried too, even if the man is your brother!" A much older maid followed, attempting to maintain decorum.

"Stay away from me, you old witch, and I'm not wearing that stupid frilly skirt! I am of the warrior caste of the Maliwea kingdom, not some doll for you to play dress-up with!" The assertive words preceded her swift move to stand behind her brother.

Her attire featured a fur thigh-long skirt, and her raven-black, frizzy hair gracefully fell to her shoulders. Brown eyes glared at the older maid, who held a more feminine dress and corset. "I am a warrior, not some... doll!" she declared with conviction.

"Enough," Maliwe spoke for the first time that morning. Zahara is a headstrong and prideful woman. Like most of the Maliwea, she isn't one to just bend her will and do something she doesn't want to unless told by a power or authority she acknowledges as greater than her own. Throughout the entire story, the main controlling **** until her **** at the hands of the hero's party is listening to her brother Maliwe.

"I remind you that we are guests here, at the whims of this nation, by our father's request. You are to act respectfully and follow their customs and cultures even if it seems weird to us. Have I made myself clear?"

"B... but, older one," Zahara tried to mumble out an argument.

"Have. I. Made. Myself. Clear?" He repeated.

With a lowered head and a sigh of resignation, the Maliwean woman walked to the older maid, snatching the dress out of her hands before heading back to her own room, leaving only Penelope and Maliwe Mbeki alone in his room in silence.

Glad to see she didn't notice any difference in her brother, but I need to do the same. I need to hurry and get dressed; I can try to piece all this together later, he thought as he quickly undressed out of his shaman robes and turned towards the bed. At that moment, he realized Penelope was still standing there, with a crimson red blush burning on her cheeks as her eyes couldn't help but take in all of his muscular physiques above and below the waist.

What a morning, Maliwe thought, strolling alongside his sister from the noble's dorm towards the royal academy, both clad in the distinguished academy's attire. Maliwe sported a deep navy blue velvet jacket adorned with intricate golden embroidery, symbolizing the academy's prestige. The jacket featured a high collar and wide cuffs embellished with delicate stitch patterns.

The lower half boasted tailored trousers crafted from a luxurious fabric, with a gold-embroidered belt cinching the waist to emphasize sophistication. Completing the ensemble, his feet were adorned with polished black leather dress shoes.

In the female uniform, Zahara donned a thigh-length skirt made from flowing fabric in a rich jewel tone of royal sapphire. The fitted bodice featured delicate embroidery, mirroring the enchanting motifs of the skirt. The neckline, modest yet alluring, framed the collarbone with delicate borders.

Long sleeves, flaring slightly at the wrists, imbued the ensemble with an ethereal quality reminiscent of a sorceress's robe. To complement the outfit, Zahara wore ankle-length boots crafted from supple leather, dyed to match the skirt's color.

As the dark-skinned sibling duo walked, they became the center of attention for the aristocracy, drawing admiring gazes from the onlookers. Among the curious stares and whispered conversations of the aristocracy, Maliwe and Zahara made their way through the royal academy's grand corridors.

As they reached the academy's entrance hall, Maliwe couldn't help but notice the vibrant tapestries depicting the history of magical arts adorning the walls. It triggered a fleeting memory of his past as a young man stepping past the doors into high school.

"Hey, Jamal!" A feminine voice called out, but before he could see the girl's face, he was pulled out of the memory by Zahara pulling onto the back of his sleeve.

"Older one, why do the pale faces continue to stare at us? Do they not know we can see them? It's really starting to piss me off." The younger sibling said in a lower voice as her already agitated expression started to turn worse.

"Just control yourself; do not release your blessing of flames here. Just suck it up, younger one; a Maliwea warrior should be able to ignore something so insignificant."

Zahara simply nodded, but Maliwe could see a slight heat haze forming around her.

Entering the hall, the academy's headmaster welcomed the new students before dismissing them to their homerooms. The siblings followed the flow of students, making their way to the designated classroom, where they were met with curious glances and hushed whispers.

Alright, the first day of class is where Maliwe is supposed to run into the first few main and important characters, the hero chosen, he thought as his eyes scanned across the room. Many aristocrats were already seated with those they already knew or were comfortable with.

The first day of the first class was one of introduction, allowing the aristocratic teens to get to know who was who.

Maliwe observed the room, his eyes catching a glimpse of a peculiar group. Among them was a young man with striking features and an air of confidence. Tall and regal with neatly groomed brown hair and piercing blue eyes.

Cedric Ardent, the Crown Prince himself, Maliwe thought, shocked initially. Still, physically, he never lost his composed demeanor despite the swirling thoughts in his mind.

The prince's gaze met Maliwe Mbeki's, causing the royal figure to gracefully rise and navigate through the crowd with regal ease, drawing the attention of those around.

In the hushed anticipation of the room, the prince approached the young shaman, their worlds colliding in a moment that seemed to hold unspoken significance.

With a princely aura enveloping him, Cedric Ardent extended a hand in greeting. "Maliwe Mbeki, isn't it?" His voice held a blend of curiosity and diplomatic charm.

Maliwe rose from his seat before accepting the handshake. "Indeed, Prince Cedric Ardent," he replied, holding his head high and meeting the prince's gaze.

While Cedric Ardent may be the crown prince of this country, he does not hold a higher status than Maliwe Mbeki in a sense. The Maliwea don't have a royal or ruling family in the same way. They are governed by a meritocratic caste system, where boys inherit their fathers' caste, and daughters inherit their mothers'. Movement within the system is determined by significant achievements or accumulated failures.

The Maliwean caste system is structured as follows: At the top of society is the Staff Bearer Caste, the ruling power of Maliwea. They serve as religious and spiritual leaders, directly linking the spiritual and metaphysical realms. This group is further divided into two parties: the Grand High Shamans and the shaman class.

The next highest caste is the Warrior Caste, consisting of fighters, soldiers, law enforcers, and defenders of the realm. Some are trained from birth, while others have proven their worth to the extent of earning a caste change. They command the second-highest respect, surpassed only by the shamans. Following them is the Merchant Caste, recognizing that a nation requires a well-established economy to thrive regardless of spiritual or military strength.

The fourth tier is the Artisan Caste, composed of skilled craftsmen and builders who form the backbone of society. Lastly, there are the Casteless individuals born without a caste or demoted to the bottom of the system. Struggling to survive and escaping this caste is the most challenging once someone is casteless. monologued internally as he shook the prince's hand.

"I am pleased to witness your acceptance of our invitation at last. For some time, we have endeavored to secure a representative student from Maliwea to attend our academy, fostering a meaningful connection between our two nations."

"Yes, I'm aware. Even my father, a grand Shaman and the High Spiritcaller, supported the idea. Still, in Maliwea, the process isn't always straightforward. Suppose at least three of the other six high shamans are not persuaded of the merit of something. In that case, it can remain indefinitely in discussion or be postponed. My younger sibling and I are here because I volunteered to come, demonstrating that the High Spiritcaller's faith in the Thralia Kingdom is well-placed." _And to achieve that, I must identify who might be foolish enough to poison my father before graduating year. _The young Maliwean thought, maintaining eye contact. Cedric smiled politely in response.

"Then I wish you a pleasant and prosperous stay here," Cedric replied, taking a step back. As he turned to return to his group, his gaze fell upon the Maliwean woman.

"A warrior, is it not? And a beautiful one at that," he added, extending his hand but not quite reaching the Maliwean woman, "Zahara, is it?"

"Zahara Mbeki, daughter of the high spirit caller of the Maliwean Kingdom and of the Warrior Caste," she answered, placing her hand into his.

"Prince Cedric Ardent," he answered, leaning down, brushing her hand against his lips. "Meeting such a radiant and spirited beauty is an honor and a privilege."

Maliwe's eyes subtly rolled, a silent acknowledgment of the impending trouble. Playing with fire, he mused inwardly. Provoking Zahara like this is a surefire way to ignite her temper, and I'd rather avoid the ensuing flames.

To Maliwe's surprise, Zahara greeted Prince Cedric Ardent with a gentle smile, her response composed and respectful. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Prince Cedric Ardent. I look forward to the opportunity to get better acquainted. However, for now, I must adhere to the guidance of the older one," she conveyed with a hint of formality.

With a casual nod, the prince rejoined his entourage. Maliwe glanced around the room, realizing that their interaction with the prince had captivated everyone's attention.

We're still the newcomers, standing out like a beacon from another land, Maliwe contemplated. It's wise for us to gracefully exit this spotlight before... His thought was abruptly cut off as a man and a woman approached, eager to engage with the intriguing newcomers.

The first figure stood tall, his silver hair neatly cropped and matching silver eyes emanating an air of confidence. Beside him, a woman barely reaching his chest boasted blonde, cascading curls that framed her features. Her ample curves, captivating blue eyes, and plush lips conveyed a delicate yet alluring allure, drawing the attention of every onlooker in the vicinity.

The hero chosen by god Damian Stormrider and the future saint chosen by god Elara Meadows... and wow, has she always been that damn thick? No, stay in character, Jamal... but seriously, that's like a black man's kryptonite; if she bends over in that skirt, I might not be able to keep it down. The internal monologue continued, all while Maliwe maintained the stoic expression he was known for in the story.

"You have the look of nobility about you," Marquess Damian Stormrider commented.

"By your people's standard, that would not be inaccurate," Maliwe answered in a calm, controlled voice. "In the Maliwean Kingdom, we are governed by a meritocracy, not an aristocracy."

"Ah, a nation ruled by the worth of the individual and the contributions they make," Marquess Damian commented, raising his hand.

"You speak as if you're familiar with the concept."

"I have heard the stories, the tales of nations far beyond our own boundaries."

"And what is the opinion of the nobility here?" Maliwe asked, glancing at the nearby noblemen and their curious stares.

"I have not been here long enough nor seen enough to properly build an opinion," he responded.

"A fair response."

"My name is Damian Stormrider, chosen hero of the goddess Elara and the future hero of this kingdom,"

Damian stated, taking a step back.

"I am Elara Meadows, the future saintess in training to the goddess Elara. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Maliwe Mbeki, shaman and eldest child of the High Spiritcaller," he said with a single nod.

Zahara Mbeki, warrior and youngest child of the High Spiritcaller," she introduced herself.

"Pleased to meet you, Lady Zahara." Says the two nobles.

"Just Zahara will do. I'm not much of a fan of being called a lady." She responds,

"I see; how about a more informal setting is preferable?"

"Perhaps later; this class is drawing to a close, isn't it?" Maliwe remarked as he rose from his seat, his sister promptly following suit.

"May we meet again, farewell." The duos said to each other.

As the first class concluded, Maliwe and Zahara excused themselves, navigating the crowded hallways with practiced ease. The noble duo continued to draw curious glances, the aura of mystery surrounding them not fading with time.

Entering the academy's vast courtyard, Maliwe contemplated what his next move needed to be. The next event in the story is a duel where Zahara humiliates a few male nobles. Should he allow such an event to continue, or should he interfere?

There are too many variables to consider, he contemplated. For now, I will let the events unfold naturally. If necessary, I will step in.

The siblings made their way to the center of the courtyard, the area designated as a training ground.

The courtyard gradually filled with students, and soon after, the professor entered—an imposing figure, a tall and robust knight with a weathered demeanor. His presence commanded attention as he initiated the lecture, outlining the class's structure involving a blend of mock battles and training exercises.

"On your first day, we'll engage in a series of mock duels. We have an array of wooden weapons for you to select, and I'll intervene if any skirmish crosses acceptable boundaries. This initial exercise is designed to assess your current abilities as warriors, serving as a foundation for your physical development," the knight declared, prompting a murmur among the students. It became apparent that roughly half of the aristocrats present were unfamiliar or inexperienced with wielding a sword, while a few displayed a more seasoned physique and stature, indicating some prior combat training.

"Ah, and yes, even you noble ladies must participate. Now, who is rea—" Before the knight could finish his sentence, Zahara had already confidently stepped onto the field.

"Well then, Zahara. Select the weapon you're most comfortable with," the knight said, gesturing towards the rack of wooden weapons.

Rather than reaching for a wooden weapon, Zahara extended her hand, and flames gracefully enveloped her arm and fingers. As the fire concentrated in the palm of her hand, they took shape and solidified into a short spear, poised for the upcoming mock battle.

"Tamper your flames, younger one!" Maliwe called out to his sister, prompting her to adjust the head of the short spear. The flames transformed, shaping into a medium-sized wooden ball instead of an arrow, a more controlled choice for the mock battle ahead.

As the modified weapon took form, Zahara acknowledged her brother's command with a nod. The fiery energy that initially emanated from the weapon now settled into a contained intensity.

"Who will volunteer to face her?" the knight inquired, scanning the courtyard. Most of the male students averted their gazes, **** to be seen raising a weapon against a girl. Meanwhile, the female nobles appeared disinterested in such physical activities, their attention elsewhere.

"If no one is willing, then I shall decide who will be her opponent for one of you." The knight said.

"Then allow me to be her opponent. " A voice rang out from the crowd.

All heads turned to the source, a tall and muscular boy with a regal air around him.

"It will be my pleasure to test the skills of a female warrior," the boy said, drawing a wooden sword from the weapons rack.

"Well then, the two of you may take your positions," the knight instructed.

Zahara and the boy strode forward, facing each other from a distance.

Maliwe observed from the sidelines with a measured solemnity as three female nobles hastily approached him.

"Sir Maliwe," one of the girls began, stumbling over her words, "a...are you really just going to sit and let your sister fight that guy?" One asked.

"Indeed, I've already instructed her to temper herself. If I sense her becoming overly agitated, I'll intervene directly," Maliwe responded.

However, it just occurred to me—I'm clueless about wielding Maliwe's magic, Jamal! Nor do I possess the skills of a Maliwean warrior! How on earth am I going to rein her in? He thought to himself, a hint of panic creeping into his internal dialogue.

"She doesn't stand a chance against that guy," another girl whispered.

"Isn't she some kind of princess? Why would she do this? That guy is a noble from a military family," the third girl commented.

"Ready?" the knight asked.

"Ready." the boy replied.

"Ready." The dark-skinned girl replied

"Go!"

The boy struck first, moving in swiftly with a diagonal swing.

Zahara deftly sidestepped the attack, showcasing her agility. In response, she precisely swung the fiery wooden iwisa club, aiming for the boy's side. The clash of wooden weapons echoed in the courtyard.

Maliwe observed closely, gauging the intensity of his sister's actions. As the mock duel unfolded, it was obvious that Zahara possessed both skill and finesse that was expected from someone born directly into the warrior caste.

The boy, despite his initial confidence, struggled to match Zahara's fluid movements. Each strike he attempted was parried or evaded with ease. While most of the spectators viewed her in awe, Maliwe already knew she was toying with the boy from the military family.

The boy, determined to make an impact, launched a powerful overhead swing. Zahara effortlessly ducked under the attack, swiftly countering with a low sweep that knocked the boy off balance. He stumbled, barely managing to stay on his feet.

She continues pushing him closer to the edge. Unseen to the audience, a mocking grin covered Zahara's face, which started to frustrate the boy. Fueled by pride and frustration, the boy lunged forward in a final attempt.

With a calm demeanor, Zahara sidestepped once more, allowing the boy's momentum to carry him past her as she spun. In a swift motion, she tapped the back of his head with the iwisa club, causing him to collapse to the ground and be knocked out.

A hush fell over the courtyard, a brief pause pregnant with the aftermath of Zahara's decisive victory. However, the ensuing reaction was a tumultuous blend of astonished whispers and scornful laughter directed at the defeated military noble.

Amidst the mockery, an undercurrent of frustration welled up within Zahara. Despite emerging victorious, the laughter and disdain from some of the onlookers tossed at the defeated noble wasn't because he lost but to a woman. This disrespect was an insult to the warrior she was, and a heatwave began to form around her.

Maliwe, sensing his sister's rising anger, stepped forward. "Enough," he declared, his voice cutting through the courtyard as he placed one hand on his sister's shoulder. "I know not how you treat the women of your people who dedicate themselves to the way of a warrior, but let me give you all one warning. Never mock a Maliwean warrior the way you all just did unless you have the courage to put your own life on the line in a real duel to the ****." Maliwe turned his head towards Zahara, "You brought honor to your caste today; Mother will be proud. Now return to your place; I shall fight next."

With those words, Zahara nodded, acknowledging her brother's guidance. She retraced her steps, regaining her composure as she walked away from the training grounds; each step she took left burnt footprints on the courtyard ground.

Maliwe, now the center of attention, stepped into the cleared area. The onlookers are still processing the unexpected turn of events.

"Instructor, may we use any weapon of our choosing as long as we refrain from causing lethal or serious harm to our opponents?" Maliwe sought clarification before proceeding.

"Yeah, that's fine. These mock battles serve as tests, and the closer they simulate actual combat or your genuine fighting style, the better it is for me to assess the situation," the knight responded. At the same time, the academy nursing unit finished removing the **** noble.

As Maliwe stood on the dueling ground, waiting for who would be named his opponent, it was being murmured amongst the crowd that he picked no weapon. The crowd's curiosity heightened as they speculated about Maliwe's choice not to select a weapon. The knight, intrigued by the young shaman's decision, scanned the group for a willing opponent.

Something about this body... it's as if it wanted to move on its own. Damn, I hope this intuition is accurate. He pondered, turning his gaze toward his sister. To his surprise, she not only returned to their original position but wore a self-knowing smile.

"I'll face him," a voice rang out, and the crowd parted to reveal a young noble with a confident demeanor.

"Very well, step forward," the knight instructed, gesturing for the noble to approach.

Maliwe maintained his composed stance, his eyes locking onto his opponent. As the noble approached, he brandished a wooden sword, confident in his choice of weapon.

"Ready?" the knight asked.

"Ready." the noble replied.

"Ready." The Maliwe replied

"Go!" The knight yelled.

The noble wasted no time, launching himself towards Maliwe with a series of swift and calculated strikes. In contrast, Maliwe remained rooted, a tranquil figure amidst the storm, observing the oncoming noble as though contemplating whether to embrace the impact head-on.

Moments later, Maliwe's lips parted, ushering in a palpable shift in the courtyard's atmosphere. The entire space seemed to hold its breath as the atmospheric temperature plummeted. In the wake of this change, crystalline shards materialized, coalescing into an intricate pattern resembling a dragon's claw.

Swiftly, the ice construct enveloped the charging noble, its icy digits taking shape and curling around him, firmly anchoring him to the ground. As Maliwe continued to channel his mystical prowess, the shards multiplied, weaving together into a majestic ice dragon that loomed over the scene, capturing the attention of every onlooker.

The courtyard fell into stunned silence as Maliwe's display of magic unfolded. The noble, encased in the icy grip of the construct, struggled in vain to break free.

"An impressive use of elemental magic," the knight remarked, breaking the silence. "But this is a mock battle, not a spectacle. Release him."

Maliwe nodded, dispersing the ice construct and freeing his immobilized opponent. The noble stumbled backward, clearly shaken by the unexpected turn of events.

"You've demonstrated a potent form of magic, Maliwe Mbeki," the knight acknowledged. "However, it's crucial to remember that physical combat holds equal importance in our training. In future duels, consider engaging with your opponents using more conventional means."

Maliwe raised an eyebrow, a subtle expression of dissent. "Did we not just clarify that this was a mock battle designed to assess our capabilities? Have I not explicitly sought clarification on how you wanted us to approach these fights? Anything less than utilizing my magical abilities would have provided an incomplete evaluation, wouldn't you agree?" he responded with calm assertiveness.

The knight, though momentarily taken aback, conceded with a nod. "Fair point, Maliwe Mbeki. Carry on with your training, and let this serve as a lesson for all students. Magic is a formidable asset, but mastery of both magical and physical skills ensures a well-rounded warrior."

With that, the shaman dispelled the magic he had cast and made his way back to their sister's side, buzzing with discussions about the unexpected display of Maliwe's magic. The noble who faced him, still regaining his composure, muttered a mixture of admiration and resentment.

Zahara stifled her laughter, watching with amusement as her brother showcased his power during the mock battle. The laughter bubbled just beneath the surface as the sparring continued, persisting until the final moments of the class. As the knight signaled the end of the session, the students started making their way to the cafeteria, and Zahara, still amused, followed the flow of the crowd alongside her brother.

Damn, I hope that is the correct choice with Maliwe's body. It practically moved on its own, and I went along with it. But relying on that isn't a sustainable strategy for survival. And that ice magic—initially, I didn't pay much attention. Still, now that I think back, I think I heard a chorus of tiny giggles and saw countless eyes fixated on me. I need to unravel how to control this power... Jamal's thoughts raced, unaware of Kahara silently observing him with a curious gaze.

Kahara, still wielding the weapon she conjured from flames, playfully poked Maliwe in the back of his head with it. "Hey, snap out of your thoughts, eldest," she teased, attempting to grab his attention.

Maliwe turned to his sister.

With a cheeky grin, she smiled at him before saying, "Don't you think you should've tampered with your ice?"

Maliwe chuckled in response to his sister's comment. "Perhaps," he responded with a chuckle.

This cheeky little... Jamal thought before stopping.

The siblings shared a light-hearted laugh, setting a harmonious tone as they navigated through the remainder of the school day without encountering any notable incidents.

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A/N: Yep, there's another one, but unlike my other stories, this one will be SFW, and I've kinda been wanting to try to write one of these stories for a while now.