The Villains Must Win-Chapter 124: Reid Graves 4

The boy scrambled to pull his pants up, his face turning beet red as people pulled out their phones, snapping pictures.

Someone in the crowd muttered, "Damn, wasn’t expecting a plot twist," while another whispered, "Yo, why’s he wearing cartoon boxers?"

Tabitha crossed her arms and watched him trip over his own feet as he bolted away. "Well, would you look at that? Turns out you’re the one in a rush to strip, not me," she mused, shaking her head.

By lunchtime, his photo had already gone viral in the school group chat, and the nickname Briefs Boy was officially born. Roman, watching from the sidelines, pinched the bridge of his nose. This was not how things were supposed to go.

Roman, watching from the sidelines, pinched the bridge of his nose. This was not how things were supposed to go.

By the end of the week, Roman’s friends were frustrated beyond belief.

Every attempt they made, she turned it into a joke, flipping their insults back on them with such ease that some students started rooting for her.

"Dude," one of them groaned, "I think we’re getting bullied back."

"I say we just go at it the hard way and show her who’s boss," one of the boys muttered, rubbing his bruised pride from yesterday’s failed attempt.

Roman sighed, already regretting associating with idiots. "Yeah? And how exactly do you plan on doing that? Punching her? Kicking her? You think that’ll work?"

"Well, yeah—"

"Bro. She bench-pressed your dignity yesterday, and you wanna throw hands?" Roman shook his head. "Go ahead, though. Let me know how that works out for you."

The next day, a group of boys surrounded Tabitha in the hallway, cracking their knuckles like some budget action-movie villains.

"Alright, fatty," one of them sneered. "You had your fun, but it’s time you learned why men run this place."

Tabitha blinked at them, unimpressed. "Oh, my bad, I didn’t realize ’men’ meant a bunch of insecure gym-class rejects."

That seemed to do it. One of them swung first—a solid punch aimed right at her gut. A punch that, unfortunately for him, landed with all the impact of a pillow fight. His knuckles sank into her layers of plush, and instead of a satisfying thud, there was just a soft, underwhelming boof.

The hallway fell silent.

Tabitha stared down at him, eyebrows raised. "Did you just . . . punch my stomach, or were you trying to cop a feel of this premium-grade softness? ’Cause, baby boy, if that’s your best shot, you might wanna hit the gym real quick."

Laughter erupted around them, students whispering and snickering as the guy’s face turned beet red.

The guy recoiled, shaking out his fist like he’d just hit a brick wall. "What the hell?!"

Another boy decided to go for a kick, aiming right at her thigh. Bad move. His foot practically bounced off, sending a jolt up his leg. "OW—why does she feel like a damn punching bag?!"

Tabitha let out a long, suffering sigh. "I dunno, maybe because I am one? Ever heard of ’shock absorption,’ geniuses?"

The boys hesitated, suddenly realizing that fighting her was like trying to fistfight a memory foam mattress.

"You done?" Tabitha asked, rolling her shoulders. "Or do I need to start swinging back? ’Cause trust me, boys, I don’t hold back."

The moment Tabitha charged, it was over.

Her fat jiggled with every thundering step, thighs clapping like an applause from the underworld itself. Her nostrils flared wide, sucking in air like a raging bull about to demolish a matador. Her eyes squinted into deadly slits, not because she was trying to be intimidating, but because, well, she was running and things got blurry when she moved too fast.

Her attackers took one look at this unstoppable force of chaos barreling toward them and panicked.

"Oh hell no—RUN!" one of them screeched, tripping over his own feet.

"She’s coming straight at us like a—LIKE A DAMN BOAR OF HELL!" another cried, practically sobbing as he turned tail.

The bravest of them tried to stand his ground, but the second Tabitha let out a battle cry (which honestly sounded like a mix between an angry warthog and a car skidding on wet pavement), his survival instincts kicked in. He abandoned his pride and bolted, screaming for his life.

By the time Tabitha finally skidded to a stop, panting with hands on her hips, the battlefield was empty. The only thing left behind was the faint smell of sweat and fear.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought," she panted, hands on her knees as she wheezed like an asthmatic walrus. Running? Yeah, no. If she had to keep this up, she wasn’t going to die from bullying—she was going to die from cardio.

Roman, watching from the corner with his arms crossed, sighed again. "Idiots."

From then on, the guys left Tabitha alone—not because they suddenly grew morals, but because she just wasn’t worth the trouble.

They couldn’t insult her, and they sure as hell couldn’t beat her. It was like trying to fight a human wrecking ball—every insult, every shove, every dumbass attempt at intimidation just bounced right off her and smacked them back in the face.

There was no fun in it anymore. No easy prey. So they did what all cowards do when they couldn’t win: they moved on. freёweɓnovel.com

And just like that, in the span of a week, Tabby Chubby transformed into Tabitha the Badass. Not exactly the title she had been aiming for, but hey, it worked.

More importantly, she was finally free. No more sneers in the hallways. No more drinks "accidentally" spilled on her uniform. No more cruel whispers behind her back—well, okay, the whispers were still there, but now they carried a different tone. A mixture of fear, admiration, and sheer disbelief.

The once chubby girl who slouched through the halls, drowning in insecurities, had evolved. Now, she strutted—head high, shoulders back, multi-colored hair flashing like a neon f** you* to societal expectations.

She had gone from a walking target to an unapproachable legend. People admired her, sure, but mostly from a distance. Especially the underdogs—the ones who used to get shoved into lockers or laughed out of the cafeteria. They saw her as a beacon of hope. A symbol that maybe, just maybe, they could fight back.

But even with all the newfound respect, Tabitha was still a loner. She didn’t need a fan club. She didn’t need a pity party. She had bigger things to focus on.

The bullies? That was just the opening act. Now, it was time to get her villain.