Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives

Chapter 1921: Be Careful Who You Believe

Villain Ch 1921. Be Careful Who You Believe

What Sophia didn’t know—what her pretty little ring light couldn’t capture—was that while she sobbed on stream, while she counted coins and cracked her voice for sympathy, the real world didn’t just sit still.

The public moved.

Some people fell for it, sure. Believed every shaky breath and wet-eyed whisper. Threw gifts and hashtags at her like digital confetti. But some?

Some paused.

Some thought.

And in that pause, they searched.

Not for drama.

But for data.

For context.

For truth.

Because someone always does.

And it was there—buried, scattered, obscured—but it was there.

The file name mismatch.

The odd metadata.

The two different angles.

The clip she swore was real… despite the fact she had posted the first cropped version herself.

And while Sophia spiraled into her chaotic ballet of mascara tears and gaslighting, elsewhere—

Liam, Darren, the lawyer, and Mr. Bell sat in silence.

Thick, loaded silence. The kind that hums under fluorescent lighting and behind blackout blinds. The kind you only feel when something big is on the table. Something that could shatter a reputation or save one.

The law office wasn’t fancy. But it was clean. Clinical. Smelled like printer ink, polished wood, and faint cologne that came from money and old secrets.

Darren sat stiff, arms crossed, leg bouncing. Liam leaned forward, elbows on his knees, a deep frown etched into his face. The lawyer had a laptop open and a mountain of printed transcripts beside him, some highlighted in red. And Mr. Bell?

Mr. Bell sat perfectly still. Pinstripe suit. Silver ring on one hand. Watch worth more than some people’s rent ticking quietly beneath his cuff.

“Let’s begin,” the lawyer said, fingers tapping across the keyboard.

“She’s already spinning the narrative,” Liam muttered. “Fake-crying every five minutes.”

“Don’t worry,” the lawyer said coolly. “And the video edits we’ve prepped are already reaching a wider audience. Once public opinion fractures, the doubt becomes louder.”

Darren exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face. “I still can’t believe it. The girl we thought was innocent… wasn’t.”

Liam scoffed quietly, bitter. “Yeah. Back when she was still with Allen, I thought he was the problem. That he was cold, too smart for his own good, emotionally distant.” He shook his head. “I actually felt bad for her when they broke up. I thought, poor girl. Poor sweet Sophia. She deserves better.”

“We simped for her for two years,” Darren muttered, tone full of irony. “Defended her. Took her side in every fight. Thought we were protecting her.”

Liam leaned back in his chair, jaw tense. “But look at us now.”

Darren let out a laugh—dry, mirthless. “Man… if we weren’t the ones getting dragged right now, I’d probably feel sorry for her too.”

The lawyer clicked on a tab and flipped the screen to face them. It showed analytics. Thread charts. Engagement loops. Hashtag reach.

“Sophia’s video pulled two-point-six million views in under twelve hours. Her donation count has passed five thousand dollars. But—” He tapped again. “—the second wave’s kicking in. Doubt. Counter-narratives. Influencer commentary videos from neutral parties.”

Mr. Bell finally spoke. His voice was calm. Deep. Measured.

“The problem with the internet,” he said, “isn’t the lie. It’s the momentum. People don’t care what’s real. They care what’s first.”

“We were second,” Liam said quietly.

The lawyer nodded. “People start questioning what they saw. What they remember. Soon, even her audience doesn’t know what’s real.”

“And the buzzer accounts?” Mr. Bell asked.

“Activated. Trending threads are being redirected toward deepfake awareness. Victim credibility debates. Comparisons to previous scam cases. The narrative we’re pushing is: ‘be careful who you believe.’”

Liam scoffed. “And people are still tipping her.”

“For now,” the lawyer said. “But cracks are forming. Here.” He clicked. A video popped up—some middle-tier commentary YuTuber leaning into their mic.

“She said it was fake, then real, then back to trauma. I’m not saying she’s lying,” the influencer said, smirking, “but you know who else cried on camera? That chick who faked cancer and took $80k in gift cards.”

Another clip.

“She’s crying. Fine. But where’s the proof?”

Darren rubbed his face. “God.”

“We warned her,” Liam muttered. “We told her not to post it.”

“And now she’s got it,” Darren said bitterly.

“For now,” Bell reminded them. “She wins if this ends in emotion. We don’t fight on that battlefield.”

“So we stick to facts?” Liam asked.

“We stick to structure,” the lawyer corrected. “Order. Rationality. Let her collapse under her own contradictions.”

Mr. Bell finally leaned forward, tapping the table lightly. “And if she doesn’t?”

The lawyer didn’t blink. “She will. Crying is powerful. But doubt is louder.”

Silence settled again.

This time, less heavy. More… focused. Like they could see the shape of the war now.

Darren looked up. “So what’s next?”

The lawyer began to list it out. Calm. Sharp. A bullet-point operation:

“Releasing a statement tonight,” the lawyer said, eyes sharp behind the screen glow. “Recorded video. Both of you. Stay calm. Controlled. Honest—but framed.”

Liam nodded slowly. “No attacking her?”

“No,” the lawyer replied. “You don’t accuse. You defend. You explain. Clear tone. Rational language. Let her be the one unraveling.”

Mr. Bell stood at the window, hands in his pockets, suit immaculate, watching the skyline bleed gold into shadow. “Thirty-six hours,” he said flatly. “That’s how long this storm stays hot before the algorithm shifts to something new. If she collapses under scrutiny, we win. If not—” he turned, gaze glinting cold— “you better look like survivors.”

The lawyer closed the laptop slowly and looked at both Liam and Darren. “We say it clearly: the video was manipulated. It was AI-generated from the start. There was never a rape. Never coercion. The truth? She slandered you both after you refused to help her get back in Allen Goldborne’s good graces.”

Darren frowned, sitting up straighter. “So we are going to drag Allen into this?”

“I mean…” Liam hesitated. “Is that even smart? What if he doesn’t want to speak? What if he doesn’t back it up?”

The lawyer didn’t even blink. “He doesn’t have to. The timeline speaks for itself.”

Mr. Bell returned to the table, voice low and even. “She dated him two years ago. She betrayed him—publicly. Then he vanished. Quit everything. He didn’t just disappear from tournaments. He wiped socials, ghosted everyone. Right after her.”

“The public forgot,” the lawyer added. “But the archive didn’t. Threads still exist. Comment logs. Fan theories. They’ll dig it up. People always do.”

“And once they do,” Bell said, “they’ll see it. He won the tournament, got humiliated by her, and disappeared. The betrayal timeline matches.”

Darren rubbed his temples. “So we show that this isn’t about justice. It’s about Allen.”

The lawyer nodded. “She wants his money. His attention. Maybe both.”

“She came to us first,” Liam muttered. “Begged us to talk to him. Said she made a mistake. That he was her ticket out.”

“And when we didn’t help,” Darren added, bitterly, “this started.”

The lawyer pointed at them. “Exactly. That’s your story. It’s factual. It’s provable. And it hits harder than emotion. Her stream is full of crying. Yours will be full of receipts.”

“Do we name her?” Liam asked.

“No. The footage is out. People know. You just stay civil. Professional. Speak like two guys who are exhausted but finally telling the truth. Let the audience connect the dots.”

Mr. Bell paced once, then stopped. “We’re not slandering. We’re reminding. People respect control. If she screams and you stay calm? That contrast sells.”

The lawyer leaned forward. “The video edit we release alongside your statement shows the AI artifacts. The desync. The bad lighting. The stitching line from the merged files. And we accompany that with the message: ‘This is why you don’t rush judgment online.’ Simple. Clean.”

“And Allen?” Darren asked again, quieter this time. “If he does come forward?”

“Then it’s over,” the lawyer said. “She’ll be done in one move.”

“But if he doesn’t?” Liam said.

“Then the timeline still works,” Mr. Bell said. “His silence becomes part of the narrative. The quiet proves her guilt. If he wanted to protect her, he would have. But I bet he won’t.”

The room settled into silence again. Not heavy. Focused.

Liam let out a low breath. “We really doing this?”

“You already are,” the lawyer replied. “But now… you’re doing it smart.”

Mr. Bell gave them one final look, eyes cool. “Make the video. Tonight. Speak truth. Speak calm. And speak like men who were nearly ruined by a lie.”

He walked toward the door.

“But not anymore,” he added.

And left.

The click of the door echoed. And the room, now dimming in the early evening light, felt colder.

Darren cracked his knuckles. “Let’s shoot the damn thing.”

Liam nodded once. “And let the internet do what it does best.”

Dig.

Compare.

Remember.

Because this wasn’t just damage control.

This was a slow detonation.

And Sophia, for all her tears and streams—

wouldn’t see the shrapnel coming.

They nodded.

Meeting adjourned.

As they filed out of the law office, Darren exhaled into the dusk. The wind was sharp. City sounds returning. Notifications pinged on their phones, but now they knew what to expect. The battlefield was live—but this time, they weren’t victims of her game.

They had their own pieces in motion.

And the crowd might be loud, but logic— real logic— had just stepped onto the stage.

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