Daily Life of a Transmigrating Villain

On the main highway of Camphrian City, leading toward the airport, a mini truck that looked like an old relic hurtled along at its top speed of 100 km/h. The engine sounded as if it were crying out under pressure, straining to keep up with the demand.

"Is this thing an artifact or a vehicle?" Damien mused as he drove the aging vehicle that his mother-in-law had provided. It was far from what could be called a modern means of transport.

His thoughts grew slightly cold when he remembered that he was stuck flying economy class from Camphrian City to the main city.

Just hours earlier, after emerging from the dressing room, they had crossed paths with Visana, who looked completely healed and was leaving her room after changing outfits. She and Emilia took a taxi to their company to deal with the board of directors, while Damien was headed to the airport to leave Camphrian City.

Now the question remained: where did he get the money for his flight ticket?

The answer lay with his mother-in-law.

After expressing his desire to leave the city, Visana had enthusiastically provided him with a plane ticket and a vehicle.

It was expected, considering she likely wanted him as far away from her daughter as possible.

However, he hadn't anticipated her delight in making his life more difficult, even in her excitement.

While he was behind the wheel of this beat-up truck—which was even older than him and much slower than how a woman climaxes under him—he muttered under his breath, "I will not forget this, Mother-in-law."

His face contorted in annoyance as he focused on the road, barely managing to keep his vehicle steady while others zoomed past him, proving their speed at each turn, as though his mini truck was nothing more than a sluggish turtle alongside their high-speed jets.

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The truck's engine sputtered, producing a chaotic cacophony as it screamed in agony under the weight of a single occupant.

"Hey, Uncle! Want a race?" shouted a biker as they whipped past him, their laughter booming in the air.

"Goodness gracious! Isn't that model practically ancient? It should be in a museum!" another chimed in.

"Oh, yeah! Open your window, Uncle, and tell us the specs, ha-ha!"

A horde of bikers clad in black clothing, their attire festooned with spikes and tattoos gleaming under the afternoon sun, whizzed by Damien's truck.

They were a motley crew, ranging from middle-aged men sporting thick beards to older women with brightly dyed hair, leather jackets decorated with pins, and chains jangling against their heavy boots.

It felt like a bizarre biker convention had somehow collided with a time warp.

The women exuded fierce energy—some had tattoos creeping up their necks, while one flaunted a pink Mohawk atop her silver mane. Their laughter rang out, filling the air with a sense of chaotic camaraderie as they swerved dangerously close to his truck, their taunts ringing in his ears.

"Is that a fossil you're driving, Uncle? Let's see who reaches the nursing home first!"

"Are you sure that thing runs on fuel and not coal?"

One woman in her fifties pulled up alongside him, sunglasses perched atop her nose and bold red lipstick accentuating her features. She winked at him. "Careful, handsome, that antique may break down before you hit the next turn."

Damien's grip on the steering wheel tightened, annoyance flitting across his face as more bikers sped by, their sleek, powerful machines leaving his ancient truck languishing in their wake.

Even an elderly man with a white beard, piloting a bike with a sidecar, zoomed past, giving him a thumbs-up and a cheeky grin before disappearing down the highway.

The engine of his mini truck sputtered again, the pitiful noise a clear indication that it was struggling to endure this humiliation. As he glared at the retreating bikers, he muttered under his breath, "Mother-in-law, you really outdid yourself this time."

Finally arriving at the airport, he brought his unique vehicle to a halt near the entrance. Curious glances turned in his direction, many expecting to see a farmer or country bumpkin emerge from the dilapidated truck.

Their expectations were abruptly challenged as a handsome man in a suit, clearly from a well-off background, stepped out, contrasting sharply with the ancient vehicle.

"Park it," Damien said as he tossed the key toward a young man who wore an outfit that resembled that of a guard. Of course, it wasn't his profession, but the fashion certainly made him look the part.

"Th-this?! You bastard!" The young man exclaimed, catching the key. He was ready to explode with anger, feeling humiliated in front of his friends as he attempted to confront Damien. However, his companions quickly restrained him from attacking the man in the suit, aware that this was no ordinary individual; they recognized him as Damien Raphael.

"What is he doing here?" one of them whispered in disbelief.

"Didn't he get kidnapped or something?" another replied, his voice tinged with confusion.

Thanks to the extensive media coverage, Damien's face had been plastered all over the news throughout the night. Most people in Camphrian City had at least seen his picture, and they recognized him immediately.

Damien was fully aware of this, which is precisely why he had chosen to toss the key and humiliate the most foolish person in the crowd. He knew it would be easy to provoke someone like that and watch them flounder in embarrassment.

As the tension built, the commotion drew the eyes of others. All around, people began to take notice, whispering among themselves.

"Wait, are they about to fight?" Continue your journey on m|v-l'e m,p| y- r

"Huh? Is that Damien Raphael?" one observer remarked, their voice filled with astonishment.

With each passing moment, more and more people turned to glance in Damien's direction, recognizing the infamous figure standing boldly among them. The atmosphere crackled with curiosity and disbelief, the crowd's collective attention now fully focused on the encounter unfolding before them.

Ignoring everyone around him, Damien stepped into the airport, clutching nothing but a flight ticket in one hand while the other was tucked casually into his pocket. As he walked through the bustling terminal, he reflected on leaving Camphrian City behind. "I hope you all hear the news of my arrival soon."