I Reborn as the Villainess and Survived

Before I could think it through, he vaulted upward. Water splashed under our feet as he wrapped his blood-drenched outer robe around me; then he leaped again, landing us on the roof.

The guards had already poured into the courtyard. Maggie shouted, “Oh no—the lady has been taken by an attacker!” Swords flashed as the guards trained their blades on us. “Bold assassin! Surrender at once and release Lady Eleanor!”

I stared at the boy who tied the robe around me with one hand and sneered, “Surrounded on all sides—you think you can run?” He answered, cool as ever: “If that many people see you with your clothes askew, I’ll be a bit busy.”

In the middle of life or death, he was worried about my outfit?

Then Ethan produced two round objects from somewhere and tossed them to the ground. Thick, choking smoke billowed up.

Smoke bombs. Potent ones.

Great.

Had this kid planned ahead?

When I came back to myself, the world was streaking past. He held my waist with one arm and ran along eaves and walls with flawless lightness.

Every so often he’d say, proud and teasing: “Hold on if you don’t want to fall to your death.” “……”

I looked down at the ground, which alternated between far and near, and choked up.

I wrapped my arms around his back. From above, a familiar laugh drifted to us.

Damn it.

The outpost villa wasn’t as heavily guarded as the capital, but it still had layers of sentries. Every time someone tried to cut us off, Ethan fought with one hand while carrying me with the other—never giving me a real chance to escape.

Instead he rocked me until I felt queasy.

I was pathetic.

Without realizing it we ran into a wooded area. Could thousands of guards really lose him here?

Turns out the brat was a martial expert. I could only cry silently.

Ethan let us rest against a tree. I sulked but couldn’t wiggle free, and so got in a close-up dig: “Already tired? Not very impressive.” He didn’t answer; he did seem genuinely exhausted.

He leaned a little and let me rest against his chest, and I could feel his heartbeat speeding up.

For a long time no one spoke. Only the wind in the trees and an occasional bird cry filled the silence.

“You said it wasn’t your blood, didn’t you?”

Blood was seeping through his shirt, warm and soaking. Alarmed, I tried to step back, but he tightened his hold.

Ethan pressed my head down so I couldn’t look. “I lied.” His voice wasn’t like his usual tone; he sounded badly hurt. I didn’t know what to make of the moment. “An elite guard trying to kill the Crown Prince gets badly injured? You’re useless.” A faint, forced smile reached his lips. “Sister is worried about me, huh.” “I’m worried you won’t die and will keep hurting me.” He stroked my back softly. “Duke Nathaniel has many experts nearby—let alone the Crown Prince. Killing that many people in one go—getting hurt was to be expected.” What a madman.

“Hurt” was pouring out of him in bright, red streams.

I felt a chill. “Let me go. I can’t run either.” “No. If I hold you, it doesn’t hurt so much.” “Ha. You still feel pain? I think you’re about to bleed out.” I couldn’t fathom this person—he gets gravely wounded trying to assassinate the prince and instead of running for his life, he flirts with me?

And drags me along as dead weight. As if he didn’t want to die quickly enough.

“Shh—someone’s coming.” He made a shushing gesture. The pursuers were close.

I whispered, low for some reason: “Enough. We can’t escape.” Ethan didn’t answer. Gathering his strength, he sprang up and ran again.

Behind us shouted the chasing guards. He said mildly, “I can die, but I never admit defeat.” I do not want to die!

Wind slashed at us, cloaking us like capes.

It swept my words away.

We ran to a cliff edge and still hadn’t shaken off the pursuers. I thought, this is bad—and the next moment I was falling.

Someone grabbed me in free fall.

I was dead.

A pale, white doorway appeared and two dark attendants marched me through. The Lord of the Afterworld sat solemnly in the main hall, beard bristling.

He tapped his judgment board. “A few days late, but you’re finally dead.”

I was shoved to the floor to kowtow. “It’s a mistake! I just graduated! I haven’t found a job yet! I’m not Hazel Bennett!” The Lord flipped through a booklet and pulled out a photo of Hazel Bennett, holding it up right next to my face.

“It’s you. Quick—get her to drink Meng Po’s soup!” Gulp—gulp.

There were so many people waiting on the Bridge of Forgetfulness. I scanned the crowd and finally spotted that familiar face not far away.

I ran over, delighted, and tapped Ethan’s shoulder. “You’re dead too? Come on, let me cut in line.” He smiled until his eyes creased. “You stepped on my foot.” “Huh?”

I woke with a start. The cave was pitch-black. A few sticks burned weakly; my throat was bone dry.

The boy held a dagger and scraped at his chest, the flesh exposed and slick with blood.

Once-pristine chest muscles were shredded.

After a moment a bloody, mangled object fell to the ground—some unidentifiable hidden weapon.

He made no sound at all through the whole gruesome act. I stood stunned, not knowing whether I’d slept through a dream or watched reality.

“You awake?” Ethan looked at me; sweat had dampened his hair, but his expression wasn’t feral. “Sister, help me bandage this.” Compelled by some impulse, I moved closer, picked up the strips of cloth he’d already torn, and wrapped them around his wound.

I’m not good at this, but I managed to cover the wound.

The inverted, raw flesh frightened me.

I tied a tight knot; he hissed softly. “Careful, sister.” Ridiculous—like I hadn’t seen him gouge himself stone-faced.

“To hurt yourself like this…no wonder you don’t value other people’s lives.” He took my hand and rubbed my palm, voice small. “I was afraid you wouldn’t have the heart to cut me open—so I did it myself.” “You’re wrong. I’d eat you up and drink your blood if I could.” “You’re always welcome.”

Ethan opened his arms like he truly expected me to throw myself at him.

I jerked free, spun, and called him shameless. Outside, rain sealed the mountain and night devoured the moon.

A few steps took me to the cave mouth. I peered down—it dropped away into nothing.

We were in a small cave carved into a cliff face. He must have slipped in here along the vines while I was unconscious.

A convenient place to hide.

I sighed. “Without this cave, we’d have fallen to our deaths.” No answer. Turning back, I found the boy leaning against the wall, asleep, soft snores in the dim firelight.

The blaze painted shadows beneath his lashes; his pale face was paler now from blood loss.

He was just a normal kid—tired, able to sleep.

My eyes landed on the dagger thirty centimeters away—he’d tossed it aside.

The same dagger he used on the day I first arrived, when he cut my clothes to shame me.

A killing blade.

Three words formed inside me: kill him.

Timing, place—this was the perfect opportunity.

I moved slowly so as not to wake him and crouched to study the dagger’s pattern.

A fox totem—originally gold but now stained red.

I swallowed hard and gripped the dagger, angling it toward his heart.

Scenes replayed in my head: his mockery, his torment. I told myself I was killing a monster.

No room for hesitation.

But I hesitated.

I’d never killed even a fish. If I plunged the blade in, would it be fatal? If not, would he kill me instead?

And his smiling face—a ghost etched into my thoughts—refused to leave. How cruel a heart could hide behind such innocence?

Before I could decide, his wrist closed over mine again. With eyes still shut he murmured, “I was just gambling.” I blinked, and he opened his eyes slowly. “Jumping off the cliff could have worked, but sister…” He’d been answering my earlier thought, wrestling with himself so long that I’d already forgotten my decision.

“You really make me sad, sister.” The words cut as he lunged, pinning me. His hands cuffed my own to the ground.

I swore at my lost dagger, hating my earlier wavering.

He seemed to read my mind and coached me, voice oddly patient: “When you kill, you mustn’t feel pity.” That same teasing look made me grind my teeth. “Give me another chance and I won’t hesitate next time!” Ethan smiled, leaning in to murmur, “You don’t get that many chances.” “Since you hurt my heart, you should make it up to me.” I knew exactly what he meant and snapped, “Bastard! Let go of me.” He kissed my cheek. “You calling me that is so cute.” Then he did the beastly thing. I struggled until exhausted—my hands were already bound.

The rain hammered harder, loud enough to swallow everything.

Even after he’d gotten what he wanted, I couldn’t accept defeat and drove my head hard into his wound.

Crimson splashed as expected.

He paused, looked down at me, and smiled wickedly before retaliating, as if to claim me.

I was broken apart and could no longer fight.

At one point he said, “If you like a little thrill, sister, I’ll go all the way with you.” Ethan rolled with me on the cave floor; I even heard him groan as blood quickly soaked into my clothes.

I was dazed and helpless, spitting curses like a shrew: “You lunatic—do you want to die here?” He furrowed his brow, pained. “Isn’t this your fault? It hurts so much.” “Serves you right.” He held my waist tight and made me straddle him; the first thing I could do with freed hands was raise a fist to strike.

My raised hand cast a shadow. The boy didn’t dodge. Instead, sultry and unafraid, he said, “Hit me.”

The fire was dim; his face was nearly lost in the gloom.

My hand hovered—should I play along with him in this sick game?

He whispered, voice both wronged and pleading, “Can I have a kiss, sister?” His eyes begged for me to take the initiative, using his life as a bargaining chip.

The dark red intensified and I nearly fell for it.

Lucky for me, the dagger on the ground reminded me—only moments before, I’d planned to kill him.

Ethan tried tempting me and failed, then flipped us over so I was beneath him and kissed me again.

My thoughts were a scrambled mess, my mouth wet. I suddenly tasted saliva that wasn’t mine.

I stared at him, furious and sickened.

He didn’t let go, forcing me to swallow.

Panic and helplessness washed over me. I had no idea when this joined-at-the-hip nightmare would end.

Nor did I know if I was already sinking.

When I woke again, the sky was bright.

I’d been resting my head on his arm. I shifted slightly and the boy woke up.

He smiled at me. “My arm’s numb.”

“Congratulations. You’re one step closer to being paralyzed in bed,” I said, rolling my eyes and scrambling to sit up. If I could get out of his arms a second sooner, all the better.

But getting up brought a sharp ache that dragged a bad memory back to life—one I couldn’t easily shake.

He stayed where he was on the ground and asked, “What’s paralysis?”

“It means you can only lie in bed. You can’t move anywhere,” I said, my back to him, answering casually. He sounded like a curious child. “So… married couples can’t—?” “Exactly!” I snapped. Of all the rotten luck, this brat was young and full of dirty thoughts!

“I can’t be paralyzed.” He pushed off and leaped to his feet, suddenly full of energy.

He was definitely in a good mood today.

I hugged my knees, curled on the ground. “I thought you were going to bleed out yesterday.” Ethan walked to the cave’s mouth and scanned the outside. “In a place this barren, what would you do if I died?” “True—bring me out first, then die,” I said. Yesterday I’d wanted to kill him; I’d never planned a retreat.

He didn’t push it. He leaned close, studying me seriously. “Why do you hate me so much, sister?”

I sighed, dramatic and tired. “Ethan, I’ve only known you a few days. Look at what you’ve done to me—abuse, humiliation, and…no, I’m not going to pretend I don’t hate you.” He thought about it, eyes shifting, then said, “I don’t do this to others. I just like you.” “I can’t handle your kind of ‘like.’ Don’t like me anymore.” Like me?

Please. You like tormenting me.

I’d rehearsed my retorts so often they came out smooth. By now my mind had gone calm. If a dog bit me, I wasn’t going to bite it back. I was just unlucky.

Ethan’s face showed a little disappointment. At his age he probably hadn’t faced many rejections, let alone heartbreak.

Kids. They’ll get used to it, I told myself.

He was quiet for a moment, then put his hand on my shoulder. “Trust me. You can handle it.” …Yeah, okay. Do whatever you want.

Life and death make everything else meaningless.

We decided to leave this shelter that had no food or water.

The cliff was steep. Even with the vines, I couldn’t climb down by myself, so Ethan carried me as he descended.

He was lithe and quick, hopping and swinging. I couldn’t help thinking: youth is a gift.

Too bad the bottom was a wasteland—no fruit, nothing edible.

Perched on a tree branch, I watched him rummage through his gear, hoping for a biscuit or something.

Sure enough, he brightened and pulled something out, holding it up to me. “Half a ginseng root. Want to chew it?”

I rolled my eyes and shoved it back. “Save it to make soup when you’re close to dying.” He pocketed it, teasing, “Then I guess you’ll have to eat me.”

“Get lost.” He leaped down from the branch, glancing back with a smile. “I’m kidding, sister.” Then he opened his arms. “Come down.”

We were at least five meters up. I was a little afraid of heights and cursed him silently for not taking me down with him.

“Come on. I’ll catch you.” I didn’t trust him—he looked like the type to let me jump, then fumble and make me fall onto him so he could steal a kiss. So dramatic.

“I don’t need you. I’ll climb down myself!” How hard could climbing a tree be?

So I awkwardly clambered over the trunk in a thoroughly undignified way.

Muffled laughter came from below.

Laugh all you want.

“Screeech—” I landed in a star shape—arms and legs splayed.

A shadow moved above me. Ethan looked down, amused. “See? Didn’t I listen, sister?”

“Huh?” “You said you didn’t need me to catch you.” The little jerk!

Butt stinging, I sprang up and chased him, swatting at him.

He ran ahead, laughing, looking back to taunt me to run faster.

“Ethan! Wait for me!” He was happy to play chase, and I couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at my lips. Perfect.

When he ran out of sight I turned and sprinted back, full speed, to a little cave I’d scoped out earlier, and hid.

We went our separate ways. It was time to start a new life.

The cliff bottom had thick scrub and many caves. He might not find me, but I couldn’t stop worrying. If he did catch me… I shook my head, forcing myself not to picture him killing.

My stomach growled. I told it to wait: once he was gone I’d go find food and water.

Fear made time drag. Bored, I picked at the cave walls. I started to hear things—his voice calling my name in a way that turned terrifying.

It was a cramped, dark place… Ethan dragging a big knife, blade slick with blood. Limbs piled on the ground. His smile gone, he walked toward me viciously. “It’s your turn, sister.” “Ah!” I cried, chest heaving.

I looked around and saw no one. I’d dozed off from hunger and dreamed the nightmare.

Night fell. Clouds hid the moon; the stars were almost invisible. I stood up, legs weak. He hadn’t found me yet; maybe I was safe.

Relieved, I stepped out to look for food and water.

A scent made me stop.

Not many steps later, the bushes across the way rustled.

Everything quiet made my ears hyper-alert. Through the leaves, a pair of green eyes watched. Not fireflies—the steady gaze of a pack.

Wolves.

Panic froze me. Of course I’d end up the unlucky side character.

If I could reload, I’d have made a big fire and stayed in the cave like a good hiding spot.

Caught between options, a cold wind blew and dark shapes fell around the wolves. Wild roars rose up—lions? tigers? bears? Had I slept and woken up in an animal kingdom?

Mercy, this place was so starved that a living person had drawn them in. Guys, my scrap of meat isn’t enough for your hunger!

I felt every breath obscene. A bead of sweat trickled into my eye; I didn’t dare wipe it away as I imagined them pouncing.

Someone dropped silently in front of me, pressed a finger to my lips to hush me.

I mouthed wildly: take me with you.

Though being with Ethan was always dangerous, he was still better than these soulless beasts. Slightly better.

He cocked his head and pretended not to understand. I bit my lip and pointed at the wolves. He glanced over and said, deliberately, “So what?”

“You!” I began to scold him, but the beasts scented us and attacked.

Their hooves thundered and the cheer of an imminent feast rose.

Just when I thought my heart would burst, the ground gave way under our feet. Ethan made us leap and land in a very tall tree.

The beasts swarmed to the cave mouth but didn’t chase us up. They turned on each other—fighting, tearing. The scent of blood made me nauseous, but fear kept me from vomiting.

“Scared?” He tucked my stray hair behind my ear and leaned in, whispering, “Keep watching. It gets better.” Before long most of the predators were dead or dying.

Then hissing filled the air as twisting shapes attacked—snakes, their tongues flicking, wrapping around the corpses. Even the wolves and leopards couldn’t match the snakes’ agility. Eventually the fighting stopped. The venom-laced bodies lay still.

I shivered and glanced at Ethan. He held a little porcelain bottle between his fingers—light as if empty. From it drifted the exact scent I’d smelled at the cave mouth.

Ethan played with the bottle and suddenly flung it far, landing it near the snakes. They swarmed it, tongues lashing, trying to engulf it.

It clicked. Could he have lured them here?

A gust passed; the clouds broke and the moon hung nearly full. He lifted my chin with two fingers, cold. “If you try to run again, it won’t stop at this.” I stumbled and almost toppled into the snakes.

Quick as anything, Ethan caught my shoulders and steadied me, setting me back. He smiled softly. “Careful, sister.”

What kind of split personality was this—laying traps to drive me into danger, then rescuing me and saying nothing? If he’d just lied outright, he could have been the handsome savior.

My face drained of color. He rubbed my stiff cheek to soothe me. “I just wanted to watch the show with you. Don’t overthink it.” I grabbed his hand, cold sweat slicking my palms, feelings fierce.

Ethan seemed to read me. “Want to go down together?” Yes—I briefly wanted both of us swallowed by the snakes.

He didn’t pull away. Instead he put an arm around my shoulders to make me look downward. Moonlight revealed the purple-black flesh on the bitten beasts.

“Want to know what it’s like to be wrapped by snakes?” he asked slowly, with no fear—more like anticipation.

I squeezed his hand tighter.

“Heh—so sweaty.” He rubbed my palm and smiled. “Looks like you really were scared.” I couldn’t speak; my throat was dry.

His hand slid to my waist. “I found a house not far from here. Let’s stay there for the night.” When I looked at him, his face was calm—he’d shifted the subject as if nothing had happened.

“Have you been away from here?” I asked shakily. He nodded, noncommittal.

"If I’d come out earlier, wouldn’t that—" "Sister’s always had good luck." "Bastard!" Anger made me reckless. I threw my weight and pulled him, trying to topple us both down.

Damn it. I never wanted to be toyed with by him again.

In less than a second, shadows of leaves swam back into view, and the dark-red patterned snake reappeared.

So close I could have touched it.

But the boy found an opening and stepped on tiptoe.

The venomous snake slid past right in front of my face—and watched two big meals slip away.

He moved like he was flying. Wind roared in my ears; I shook like a sieve.

I didn’t even come to until we hit the ground again.

It was a little grove. Not far off, a candle burned—definitely a house nearby.

The terror evaporated.

I collapsed onto the dirt and cried like a child.

Ethan seemed taken aback by my breakdown. He crouched and patted my head. "Don't cry. How could I bear to let my sister die?" I ignored him and kept sobbing; all the grievances of the past days surged up.

"I’ve always been right here," he said. "No, no." Sobs choked me; I couldn’t form a whole sentence.

After a long moment, I croaked, "Just end it. Stop torturing me." He crouched opposite and put his hands on my shoulders, restless. "I won't lie to you again." I didn’t answer. He added, "You don't really think I meant to kill you, do you?"

"What else!" I snapped, almost hysterical.

"Don't you have any idea what you've done?" His irritation turned my fear into fury. I glared at him—if worse came to worst, I could always die. What then?

Ethan wiped my tears with his hand. "Don't be like this. Let's be friends again." I almost spat at him, but my throat was dry.

"When were we ever friends?" I shot back.

"Last night." He grinned, coaxing, and winked. "I’ll listen to you from now on, okay?" Slowly I calmed. I refused to cry in front of him anymore but kept my eyes rimmed red. "I don't believe you."

"Who’s there?" A voice called from the wooden cottage—a man with a crossbow and torch. When he saw us, bloody and human, he hesitated, unsure whether to step forward.

Ethan stood up calmly and put on an innocent smile. "We ran into a wild beast and barely escaped. May we stay the night?"

The old man relaxed. Seeing no other danger and me still wiping tears on the ground, he said, "Of course, come in." They were an old couple with a teenage daughter—they lived by hunting; trophies hung on the wall.

The cottage was small but cozy.

The woman brought two bowls of hot water. "Drink first. This part of the woods is remote—you don’t find food easily. My husband’s boiling noodles for you now; it won't be long." The bowls had a few chips—times were hard.

I thanked her and drank. It warmed me.

They were kind. "It takes two or three days to get to town from here. You two are lost?" the old man asked. I nodded; it was difficult to explain why we’d appeared in the woods.

Ethan took my hand and said with a smile, "We were traveling and accidentally came into the woods. We met a beast—thank you for saving us." The old woman waved her hand. "You were lucky. We’re old; we couldn't do much. Fangfang, go fetch some herbs." The daughter hurried off and returned with timid steps, placing healing herbs on the table. "Mama says this might only stop bleeding. I don't know if it’ll help," she said, addressing us but barely daring to look directly.

The girl was so innocent and sweet that I relaxed and regained my voice. "Thank you. This is enough. My name's Claire. And you?" The old woman smiled. "My husband's surname is Zhao." Then she glanced at our clasped hands. "Are you—" Only then did I realize my hand had been held. I jerked it back. "He's my brother—call him Ethan." The words were out before I could stop them. I dared not meet his eyes and caught a teasing look on his face.

Thankfully Mr. Zhao came in with a steaming bowl, looking embarrassed. "We don't have much left—just one bowl." Ethan waved me toward the food. "I'm not hungry. Sister, eat." Under their gaze, I couldn't refuse—having just claimed to be siblings, it would be odd not to look after him.

I yielded. "You should eat first." He pushed his luck. "But I twisted my wrist—let sister feed me." I shot him a glare of warning.

He only smiled crookedly.

I thought: you must be starving.

I ate the noodles quickly, mostly sipping the broth, then pushed the bowl across. "Here." He took it, grumbling, drinking with his left hand like a put-upon kid.

Good. If we’re putting on a show, we might as well commit.

From now on, treat your right hand as useless.

Across the table, the couple and their daughter watched us with varying expressions.

What a villainous sister I’d made.

There wasn't much room in the cottage—only two rooms. They gave us one; the family of three squeezed into the other.

Alone again, I sat on the bench by the door while Ethan sat on the bed applying herbs, awkwardly and sometimes bleeding through.

So he wasn’t healed—just put on a lively front.

"Help me wrap this, sister." "No." If I could, I'd refuse all contact.

"Ah!" The girl at the door cried out and turned red-faced. "Mama said to bring clothes for you two." Fangfang seemed flustered.

I hadn’t realized a half-naked man was in the room. I stepped forward to take the garments. "Thank you." Mr. and Mrs. Zhao were sweet; seeing our torn, blood-stained clothes, they’d found two sets of clean outfits.

Fangfang shut the door and stood awkwardly. I tossed one set to Ethan. "Put it on." "If you don't help bandage me, the clothes’ll get dirty." He sounded shameless. "They’ll think you're a bad sister." I swallowed irritation and hurried to dress his wounds, wrapping them tight to hide the blood.

Mr. Zhao carried in a basin of water and saw Ethan grimacing in pain. He placed the basin down with a chuckle. "Country folk are rough. Forgot to knock—sorry."

I smoothed my face and said, "It's fine. Thank you for having us." Mr. Zhao waved it off. "Don't worry. Make yourselves at home." He eyed Ethan's messy bandages. "Want me to help?" Ethan refused. "I made my sister angry; let it be." Ugh—what a little jerk.

Mr. Zhao gave me a look. "Young lady, take good care of your brother." Before I could retort, he left, leaving me stiff with anger.

I glared at Ethan. "Is this fun for you?"

"Yeah." He wore a satisfied smile and leaned toward me. "You better treat me well, sister." I shoved him. "Get dressed and get out." For once he didn’t argue—he did exactly as I said.

I dragged a stool to block the door and hurried to change—finally I didn’t have to wear his clothes anymore.

I wiped my face roughly. The mirror reflected a window. I shook my head. The beast and the snake wouldn’t leave my mind; I had no desire to hand myself to him.

I abandoned any thought of running and opened the door. They were all sitting at the table, laughing together—Ethan calling them uncle and aunt like a normal boy.

If it weren’t for… I drifted for a moment.

"Sis." His sweet call snapped me back.

Look, he’s a master liar.

Mrs. Zhao said, "You two are very good-looking—likely from a wealthy family." "Yes, we’re not locals. Father travels for business and is rarely home. Sister took me out to play; I often make her mad." Mr. Zhao nodded. "Families stay together. Rest. Tomorrow I’ll hunt something." After polite small talk, everyone drifted to their rooms.

Once the lights were out, I spoke quietly so as not to wake the Zhaos. "You really mean you'll do whatever I say?"

Moonlight striped the floor through the window.

"Of course," Ethan whispered, stepping closer. "But last time you obeyed me, you fell out of a tree. Think carefully." "Are you threatening me?" He shrugged like it was a joke. "I'm just afraid you won't mean what you say." "What would make me insincere?" I muttered. Then I told him, "Since you're listening to me, you should sleep on the floor." He pressed a hand to his chest in mock dignity. "But I'm injured." Good—exactly the excuse I wanted.

I grabbed a blanket. "Fine. I’ll sleep on the floor." As long as we weren't sharing a bed.

The moment I rose, he wrapped his arms around me from behind. "I can’t sleep without you, sister."

"Get off." I elbowed him, but he didn’t squirm away. "Don't struggle. My wound hurts." His voice was small and pitiful. "You lied to them first. I'm just going along," he murmured, laughing lowly. "Or what? If I didn’t say that, should I tell them you kidnapped me?" Ethan still smiled, but his words had an edge.

"If they knew the truth, they'd be dead." I twisted free and glared at him. "They're just an ordinary family. If you dare harm them—"

"What then?" His gaze held only amusement and certainty that I couldn't do anything.

I swallowed my rage and whispered, "I'm begging you."

The two rooms were close. I kept my voice low.

What wouldn’t this boy do?

Ethan abandoned the blanket and tightened his hold. "A little more begging suits a sister, right?" he crooned.

My heart sank. I knew I was trapped.

His breath brushed my forehead — cool, not warm. I asked, "You want me to kneel?"

"Hah, that's not necessary." In the moonlight, the boy lowered his head and pressed close to my ear, seductive when he spoke. "I want you. Stay by my side forever." Like a curse, his words poisoned me.

I knew I couldn't run.

After a long moment's hesitation, I finally answered, "Okay." Ethan, satisfied, scooped me up and carried me back to the bed. I faced away from him and let a few tears fall, hiding them in my hair so they wouldn't show.

"Tonight… could we not—" I bit my lip to keep my voice steady, but couldn't finish the sentence.

The boy wrapped one arm around my waist, buried his head in the hollow of my neck, and murmured, "Okay." It was hard to believe we could be so peaceful.

My mind churned and I couldn't sleep, afraid to move; luckily, he seemed tired and soon fell into a deep, sweet slumber.

Listening to his steady breathing, I drifted off too.

When I woke the next morning, I was alone in the bed.

Birds chirped by the window and flew off when they noticed me awake.

I pushed the door open and saw no one; in the courtyard I found the boy's familiar back.

As I stepped closer, he was wiping a dagger. His hands were stained with blood.

For a moment I froze — it had to be a dream.

I pinched my thigh. Damn, it hurt.

"Ethan!

You promised you wouldn't kill them!" I shouted.

"Kill who, Sister?" A girl's pure voice replied. I turned and saw Maggie holding cloth strips and herbs. "Brother cut himself while helping me cook."

"…"

"Cooking? Why are you holding a dagger?" I rubbed my eyes and finally noticed the wound on his hand where the blood came from.

Ethan pointed the dagger at the potatoes on the ground. "To peel them," he said.

I stared at the sky and wondered if the sun had risen in the west.

The vicious boy had reformed?

The reformed boy looked slightly disappointed. "I wanted to make Sister a meal. I'm clumsy," he said. The girl softened and, mustering courage, offered, "I'll help bandage it."

"No need."

"No, it's fine." At the same time we both spoke — Ethan and I. I took the herbs from Maggie's hand and smiled, "I'll do it." Maggie was reluctant; she probably didn't trust me as a sister.

Still, when I reached for the bandages she couldn't refuse and murmured, "Father and Mother went into town to buy food. Stay here these two days. If anything happens, call me." I nodded, thinking how kids back home were young for their age; Maggie might be a child in the modern world.

After she left, I sat opposite the "boy" and carefully wrapped his wound. I had misjudged him earlier.

"Sis, you're so stingy."

"Hm?"

"You won't let other women touch me." I glared up. "Don't be cheeky." Ethan laughed and I warned him softly. "Maggie comes from a good family. Don't harm her."

"I know." He reached out with his uninjured hand and gently stroked my cheek. "I'll only make trouble for you."

I tied the bandage neatly and stepped back out of his reach. "Why is there a fox engraved on your dagger?" I tried to change the subject.

He knew I was deflecting but didn't call me out. Patiently he explained, "My master left it to me before he left."

"And your master…?"

"My master was taken off by a fox spirit," he said simply.

I blinked, awkward. "You shouldn't speak that way about your master's wife."

He laughed. "Wife? My master chased a fox and never came back. He only left this dagger. It looked sharp, so I kept it." I nodded; the master sounded irresponsible.

What else had someone so young been through?

Lost in thought, Ethan leaned close. "Now that you finally care about me, ask anything. I'll tell you."

"No, no." I waved my hands and backed away — forgetting the stool behind me. I toppled backward.

My waist tightened as I landed in his strong arms. We met eyes and my heart skipped a beat. He whispered low and soft.

"Sis, your waist is so small, I can't get enough of holding you." The teasing line made me flush. I turned my face away, unable to meet him. "Let go. If Maggie sees this, how will we explain it?"

"Explain what?" Ethan suddenly straightened and smiled at the stunned girl not far off. "Explain that you saw this." He kissed my cheek. I was too shocked to know how to react; his hand around my waist tightened, unwilling to let go.

"Don't peek at me again. My sister would be upset," he said, and the blushing girl fled like someone whose secret heart had been exposed.

I admired Ethan's powers of observation and never expected him to be so blunt. "We're still staying at their place," I protested. He steadied me. "Then let's go. This place isn't safe."

I didn't yet grasp his meaning; I just didn't want to burden that household and followed him.

After a while, a fierce wind rose — the air like a storm about to break.

He pulled me to a stop and listened to the surroundings, a faint smile on his face. "I knew it."

"Knew what?" I asked, confused. He patted my head. "Do as I say and stay put."

Before he finished, several hundred men charged in from the opposite direction. The leader sat his horse prominently: Duke Nathaniel West.

"Bold scoundrels! Surrender!" shouted the men.

Ethan hid me behind him and, with a half-smile, said, "Duke West took a fall from his horse only two days ago — yet here he is."

Nathaniel West, as if afraid Ethan would speak more, gave an order and the troops attacked.

Ethan struck one man, grabbed his sword, and the fight erupted.

I instinctively took two steps back just as thunder cracked and the rain fell so hard it stung my skin.

Darkness shrouded the sky — the sun vanished beneath black clouds.

In moments the ground was littered with bodies; the rain washed the blood into streams flowing everywhere.

Ethan held his sword pointed at Nathaniel West. No one else remained alive; even Nathaniel's warhorse lay dead.

Rain or blood dripped from Ethan's blade.

"You should know they were no match for me," Nathaniel said, frowning. "You attempted to assassinate the Crown Prince. For that you should die. Stand down. More troops are coming."

Ethan sheathed his sword behind his back. "I was simply clearing your rivals." Seeing Nathaniel sweep his gaze around, Ethan added, "Don't worry. No one survives my blade."

"You've followed me five years. I thought I'd treated you well," Nathaniel said, furious. "You killed my brother, kidnapped my consort — now it's time to settle the score."

Ethan stepped closer to me and took my hand. "What's the point of all that hypocrisy now? But since we had five years, I won't kill you."

"You!" Nathaniel couldn't speak. He'd inadvertently revealed his fears in front of an enemy. Ethan smiled. "You're not eager for retribution; you're afraid others will learn I'm your covert guard and pin the assassin's crime on you. After all, even the horse fall was arranged by you, wasn't it?"

"Don't talk nonsense!" Nathaniel raged, sword raised but unwilling to close the gap — both knew the difference in skill.

Rain lashed Ethan's face; he remained unmoved. Calmly he said, "Instead of sneaking around to frame the Crown Prince, I'd rather kill directly. If you want something in life, you fight for it." He meant Nathaniel's hunger for the throne. He tightened his grip on my hand as he spoke.

The two men regarded each other in silence.

Finally Nathaniel lowered his sword. "Go."

Ethan gave a slight smile, looped an arm around my waist, and leapt away.

I knew the court hid many secret struggles. Hearing them exchange words filled me with dread — the situation was darker than I'd imagined.

Leaving the capital might be for the best.

We ran for most of the day and finally found refuge in a broken temple to wait out the storm.

I shivered. Ethan tried to make a fire but the wood was too damp.

"Sis, take off your wet clothes," he said.

I knew he meant well; hypothermia could be dangerous.

Still, I felt awkward. He sighed self-deprecatingly. "This is a holy place. I won't take advantage."

There was a rare guilt on his face that made me want to pity him.

I nodded, stripped, and wrapped myself in a fallen red curtain.

It barely warmed me. My lips turned purple and I slipped, collapsing to the ground.

Seeing that I was in danger, Ethan quickly took off his own clothes and held me. A rush of his inner energy warmed me, making my heart race and my head swim.

How long I blacked out, I couldn't say. When I came to, the small red curtain enveloped us. He looked like he'd found treasure and pressed his forehead to mine.

With a tone of bleak resolve he said, "I thought you'd died."

I managed a weak smile. He had really worried.

"I won't let you die," he said stubbornly, like a child.

I breathed slowly. "You don't die that easily."

Even so, I knew if he hadn't protected me with his inner energy, I would have been gone.

Our naked bodies warmed. I couldn't move or stay still — trapped between discomfort and gratitude.

In the awkward silence he said, coldly, "You went out of your way to protect that family and look how they repay us — trying to trade us for the lord's bounty."

There was murderous intent in his voice. I tried to counsel him, "Maybe Nathaniel just searched them by chance."

Ethan sneered. "Strangers came to the house then they hurried into town at dawn? Suspicious, no? Their daughter stayed home."

"To avoid arousing suspicion — they even risked their daughter," he said, serious. I hesitated. I didn't want to believe humans could stoop that low.

What I cared about wasn't strangers, really — it was that the boy before me killed so easily.

Seeing me silent, Ethan soothed, "As long as you're fine, that's what matters. Otherwise, they'd all pay."

I rolled my eyes. "You dragged me out there. If I died, you'd be to blame."

He pinched my waist and I squirmed, trying not to laugh. He murmured in my ear, "You didn't choose to go with Nathaniel earlier. That says everything."

"That's because you grabbed me!" I refused to admit that my panic had kept me from thinking.

He didn't press the point and muttered to himself, "In the end I'm still thankful to him."

"Thank him for letting you go?"

"Hah. If he hadn't, he'd be dead." I froze — my mind blanked.

Ethan flipped over and pinned me beneath him. "Thank him for not liking you," he murmured.

I shoved at the smirking face above me. "You—what did you just say—"

"What did I say, sister?" That same wicked, intoxicating voice. I swallowed, trying to remember how he’d promised whatever it was, but my memory blurred.

He bent and kissed me, soft and hot. "Sister, you're so cold. Let me warm you up." Tenderness wrapped around me like fire; there was no escape.

"But this is a temple!"

I suddenly remembered his earlier words, my mind teetering on the edge of reason and desire.

Ethan said, "Let the gods witness it—may they bless us to be together for all time." I struggled hard, but it was useless. Annoyed, I snapped, "You're lying again." He stopped talking and answered with a string of small kisses. With one harsh movement the red curtain tore with a ripping sound.

So we tangled, brazen and exposed.

Outside the rain eased, and the sunset painted the sky a soft orange.

My cheeks burned and I panted, "Stop—don't do this here." Even out in the nothingness of the temple, what if someone passed by? How could I bear the shame?

"Does sister mean—somewhere else?" Ethan asked with a wicked grin. I realized my voice had gone soft and suggestive; I must be feverish from the chill—my brain muddled.

I shook my head hard. He crowed, "Ah, so you don't want to move." I couldn't argue or fight him—boys had a hundred mischievous schemes.

What could I do? My heart was melting bit by bit. Maybe it wasn't so terrible.

For the first time, I stopped dodging and turned to look at him squarely.

He looked almost delirious with joy. "Sister—seeing you look at me like that makes me lose control."

He was a man of action, never one to hold back.

Strangely, it wasn't painful as before; it felt tingly, even a little electric. Half worried about being seen, half savoring the thrill, I ran my hand over his thin but broad shoulder, feeling the sharp line of his collarbone.

Pale skin marked by scars, old and new—each one like a whispered story. Lower down, his chest was wrapped in layers of cloth; nothing was revealed there. Unlike me—I was completely exposed.

Sensing my response, Ethan shivered and looked at me with feeling. "Sister, enjoy it." Pleasure made me dizzy; I wanted this chaotic moment to end—and yet I wanted more.

After that, I lost an enemy and gained a…well.

Am I an old cow eating tender grass?

About a month passed. In an inn at a border town two clean-cut young men ate lunch.

The older one asked, "So how old are you?" "Seventeen." I: …I actually slept with a minor.

No—that's wrong. I was the one who slept with a minor.

Ethan pushed a chicken drumstick into my bowl, meaning clear. "Eat. Sister's gotten too thin." "Don't call me that!" I hushed him and scanned the room. No one seemed to notice; we’d disguised ourselves after leaving the ruined temple.

Besides being chased at first, the days after were peaceful.

Ashford, on the other hand, was far from calm.

The day Duke Nathaniel West failed to apprehend the killer, he returned to the palace gravely wounded. The old emperor's two most favored sons—one dead, one hurt—left the emperor bedridden and brokenhearted. Soon enough, he passed.

Duke West summoned General Li and kept the city under heavy guard, using force to claim the throne.

Only Ethan and I knew that Nathan West hadn't been harmed that day at all—his skill at forging injuries was flawless.

But internal troubles weren't even settled before external threats rose. Everyone talked about Eastcliff launching brutal offensives, sweeping through city after city.

"General Liu of Eastcliff—people tremble at his name. They say he's almost seventy." "That's right. I'll say something blasphemous: he's older than our late emperor. How are our soldiers even serving? They're worse off than an old man." "Hey, you can't just say that. Even if the emperor is far away, you shouldn't blurt things like that—I'd fear bringing trouble on myself!" "What trouble? Maybe our little town will be Eastcliff’s next."

I glanced at the boy beside me, expression neutral, and whispered, "Everything started because of you." If Ethan hadn't killed the crown prince on a whim, none of this would have happened.

He sipped his tea casually. "So what?" I was momentarily speechless.

"Let's go, sister. Let's nap." I waved him off. "No, I'm full. You go lie down instead." Ethan tugged my sleeve. "Sister, are you unwell? Then you must come with me to rest—I’ll take care of you." Looking at him stubborn as ever, I sighed.

"If you keep this up, I'm afraid I'm going to be with child." I said it half-joking, half-serious; after that day I had fewer grounds to refuse him. Though before, refusal hadn't helped either.

He looked thoughtful, holding my hand in his as if unsure whether to step forward. After a moment he said, "Sister—let's get married."

I nearly spit out my tea. If something isn't shocking, he won't stop talking.

We waited until the others were still discussing the war, then Ethan shut the door and asked quietly, "Am I not trying hard enough?"

"Huh?" "Why aren't you with child yet, sister?" …

That month he'd tried so hard, I could've sworn.

I pushed him into a chair and told him to calm down. "You're only seventeen—it's not proper for you to be a father." I didn't notice his mood shift and kept talking. "Besides, I'm five years older, and I was married before. We're not a good match." The teacup shattered in Ethan’s hand; bright red showed.

I startled—I'd not seen him like that in a long time.

"What are you doing?" I went to check his wound.

He gripped my hand, blood slick between my fingers. Only then did I notice his anger—he studied me. "Are you trying to leave me?"

"I never said that," I whispered, shaken.

Ethan hauled me up so I sat half on his lap. The motion made my hairpin loosen; my long hair fell and I looked like a girl.

"But sister, you keep wanting to run."

There were thin red lines in his eyes; I didn't know what to do. I took his hand to soothe him. "Let me clean and bandage your wound, okay?"

"No." Ethan lifted a hand and traced my face. "I want you to say you love me." His voice was soft, and I wrenched at the word—blood made me fearful; fury flared. "Don't be greedy!" I snapped.

That anger only made him angrier. He grabbed my jaw and raised his brow. "What do you mean by that, sister?"

"Exactly what I said! You never ask my opinion—you force me. I've resigned myself to it, but I will not say I love you. Impossible!" Maybe the month of relative peace had dulled my memory—he still had these episodes.

He sneered, a cold expression I knew too well and hadn't seen since before the recent gentleness. My stomach dropped; I regretted my words.

He tightened his grip; his voice went flat. "So this is what you think. Then perhaps I misread you."

I'd not felt pain like that in a long time. I scowled, "Let go!" Ethan refused. He pushed me onto the table; the cup hit the floor with a sharp chime. He moved slow and deliberate.

"A misunderstanding? Fine. I'll force you again." He began to tear at my clothing. I hated this—my chest tightened with panic.

I tried to block him and he grabbed my wrist. "Let go! We can talk—"

"Say whatever you want," he said, and sucked at my neck. I struggled to find words. "You—how do I put this?" He had already opened my robe and was violating me, rough and methodical.

"If you can't speak, then don't." He looked at me with half-scorn, half-mockery. "Better you not say anything I dislike—otherwise…" His fingertip traced a threat across my skin.

Old habits die hard—when I defied him, he reacted like this, and all the talk of marriage felt like a trap. Clearly, he wanted me to jump into a pit.

I shut my eyes against the pain and helplessness.

He laughed harshly, fingers mapping my angry face. "Sister, you have a thousand ways to make me angry." I thought: I'm the one who'll be driven mad by you.

I resolved to coldly ignore him.

But Ethan wasn't ordinary. He didn't stop because I was offended. He forced himself on me again from the table’s edge.

That angle—before I knew it I was slipping, hands grasping at nothing. I bit my lip to keep silent. The more I held back, the harder he pressed.

Perhaps my expression betrayed me. Ethan smiled, stood back a little, then patted the bed. "Sister—come here." My pride wouldn't let me move; I lay on the table like I was dead.

We were at an impasse. Ethan sighed and threw me onto the bed. He bent over me and the struggle resumed.

Night fell. I soaked in a tub, listless, counting the purple bruises and kiss marks on my skin.

That heartless animal. The animal set out pastries with a smile. "Sister, I'll feed you," he cooed, annoyingly docile. I turned my face away and snorted.

Ethan sat across, wounded and earnest. "I just don't want you to leave me." He looked like some precious bloom—who would guess he'd been so violent minutes ago?

I refused to speak, letting my face dip under the water, nose above the surface to breathe.

He'd eaten a feast all afternoon and was in a good mood; his voice softened. "I thought if we had a child, you would never leave."

For some reason I thought: tying a man down with a child is like using attendance to keep a student from leaving.

A bubble rose from the water—I was laughing on the inside. A twisted, obsessive love is extreme.

Ethan relaxed and helped me up. "Sister, come out. I'll put some medicine on you. I'll make sure your skin heals perfectly." Hmph. At least the boy knew when to be sensible.

I lay on the bed, awkward. "Maybe—well, never mind." My throat felt rough. This whole scene was strange. No—it's ambiguous.

He sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, dabbing at the wound and watching me like it was a show. “No, I can’t leave a single mark on a body so perfect,” he murmured, then fell silent. His hand landed on the scar on my lower belly—the same touch from the day we first met.

It had only been a month, and I still couldn’t figure how things had spiraled to this point.

Maybe he couldn’t either.

“Sorry.” His voice was barely audible, and there was none of his usual teasing—this sounded genuine.

I blinked, then waved it off. “Forget it.” After all, you picked on me in more ways than one.

Ethan flipped his hand, produced a dagger, and offered it to me with startling sincerity. “Why don’t you stab me a couple times to get it out of your system?” I rolled my eyes and smacked the back of his hand. “I’m not that twisted.” He froze for a moment, then went silent and concentrated on dressing my wound.

After a while he spoke again. “I know you’re not her.”

“Huh?” I looked at him—always precise, always composed—and didn’t understand what he meant.

Ethan shifted his gaze from my body to my face. “Hazel was already gone that day. Who are you, sister?” He…had known all along.

There was a thin sadness in his voice; the smile had long since left his face. “I don’t care who you are. I was just afraid.” He lowered his lashes. “Afraid you’d come suddenly, and one day disappear just as suddenly.” I cupped his cheek. His skin was smooth, but the expression had gone dim—less bright than before.

So that was it. That’s why you always wanted to trap me.

Did you know, if I truly wanted to leave, no one could keep me.

“I’m not leaving anymore, Ethan.” Maybe it was a lie, maybe a comfort—I couldn’t tell.

I just couldn’t stand his pathetic look.

His vulnerability flickered out like a candle and he brightened again, mischief returning. “Spread your legs, sister. Let me see if there's anywhere else hurt.” “Absolutely not!” My refusals never held much weight with him; he pressed on, doing what he wanted.

“Oh—you're bleeding.” His tone belied a delighted discovery.

Heat rushed to my face; the warm trickle earlier had been real. I pushed him away and sprang up. “It’s nothing. I need to get dressed.” Ethan pouted. “What’s wrong, sis?” I was so embarrassed I could have disappeared into the floor. In a small voice: “Aunt Flo came.” “Oh.” He sounded disappointed, then added: “As long as I didn’t hurt you.” Looking at his earnest grin made me want to faint right there.

How could I be so mortifying in front of my little brother?

Ancient life wasn’t glamorous, but I’d come prepared. Once dressed, I relaxed a little.

Does this mean I get a full seven-day leave?

I happily sat at the table eating pastry. “Why that face? You don’t honestly think I’m—pregnant, do you?” Ethan shook his head sadly. “So you can't share a bed with me these days?” I threw a pastry at him in irritation. “Grow up! You need to rest.” “I’m not tired, sister.” “I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired!” Important things must be said three times.

The next day, the wind shifted.

The gossip that used to pad our afternoons suddenly became prophecy.

An army pressed the border. Flags bearing Ashford’s insignia were already raised atop the small town’s watchtower.

That night I slept poorly, nightmares stacking one on another. At dawn we were roused by the sound of steel and screams.

Ashford’s soldiers launched a surprise attack and caught Southwick utterly unprepared.

The city garrison couldn’t even hold out through the night.

I stood by the window. Flames licked at the building facades below; the morning market that had been alive with crowds the day before was now deserted.

Ethan came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Sister, aren’t you going back to bed?” I let my hand rest over his on my hip and kept staring at the desolation outside. “This whole world…there’s no safe place to settle.” He tried to paint a brighter picture. “Then pick somewhere you like and we’ll make our home there.” My thoughts drifted further than he realized.

When a nation is failing, where is home?

I turned to him. “With war year after year, what can we do?” “You worry too much.” He brushed my brow with a thumb. “When soldiers come, we’ll meet them. When water rises, we’ll find higher ground.” I sighed. I knew he was skilled, but I didn’t want him to keep fighting. The dreams I hadn’t told him of that boy who haunted my nights made me want to keep him safe.

Ethan bent and kissed my forehead, voice smooth. “You worrying about me is a little irresistible.” “I’m worried you’ll die and no one will be left to protect me,” I snapped, glaring. He took it in stride, never serious for long.

“Instead of worrying, look at the people in front of you.” He smiled. I hit him for that. “Isn’t that what I’m doing?” “Not enough.” Before I could fling another retort, soldiers burst into the inn. They banged from room to room—raiding, looting, taking women.

It’s always the victors who get to write the rules.

A group shoved our door open, reeking of alcohol, armor askew from celebration. They strode right for me. “Well, what have we got here? A pretty thing hiding in this little inn.” Others laughed. “Come on, come keep us entertained, little lady.” I glanced at them warily. In an instant they all staggered back, clutching their faces and screaming.

Ethan had hurled sunflower seeds—points glued to the shells—with surgical accuracy, one into each eye.

Blood trickled beneath their eyelids as they shrieked. I pressed my palm to my forehead. “They had it coming, but you could’ve gone easier.” Ethan shot them a look, then faced me. “If I’d listened to you, they’d all be dead already.” Their cries drew more soldiers, who surrounded our room and sealed us in.

This was bad. There had been no warning. If I’d known, we would have fled in the night.

Now escape wasn’t an option.

Swords were raised, all pointed at us. The wounded men on the floor screamed, and no one dared step into the room.

Ethan grinned. “Sister, should I fight our way out or—” “Do you have a better idea?” I snapped. Of all times for the world to be calm.

He opened the window and poked half his head out. “Cousin!” he called to someone on patrol below. The man froze. The dim light in the room made faces hard to read, but the fellow pointed at us in alarm. “Stand where you are!” The soldiers hadn’t expected this twist; none of them guessed who Ethan was calling.

When they saw who’d arrived, they all fell back and cleared a path.

The newcomer’s clothes and sword loudly declared status and wealth. When he recognized Ethan, his stern, weathered face crumpled—he started to cry.

A man built from years on the battlefield looked suddenly childlike.

Ethan gave a small, pleased smile. “Cousin, so good to see you.” I hovered at the edge of the scene, expecting a fight but getting a family reunion instead. Life has a funny way of changing plans.

It dawns on me now that Ethan had treated the night as if nothing were wrong because he had a plan.

The man who strode in ran to Ethan and swept him into a hug. “You brat, we thought—” He broke into a hurry of weeping. Ethan pushed him off. “I’m not that easy to kill.” Then the man noticed the crowd and snapped at them to fall back. He barked orders without asking questions: throw the attackers in the stocks and await judgment. The terrified men on the floor begged for mercy and were hauled away.

Only the three of us remained.

Ethan took my hand and introduced, “This is my cousin, Prince Caleb of Ashford.” Caleb rubbed his eyes and finally noticed me standing in the dim corner. “Who’s this?” He laughed when Ethan supplied an answer: “This is your brother’s wife,” Ethan said. I elbowed him. “Don’t make things up.”

The Ashford prince glanced me over, grinned, and said, “She’s a real beauty. I’ll see to it those dogs get what’s coming.” He added, more casually, “When we were kids, I stole his favorite fan and he chased me for two months.” Ethan cleared his throat to shut him up.

I tugged at Ethan’s sleeve. “If you have connections like that, why didn’t you say? You had me worried sick.” “Because I didn’t know if you’d want to go home with me.” His eyes were earnest; I didn’t know how to answer.

Prince Caleb thumped him on the shoulder. “Why wouldn’t you come? Our uncle nearly went mad worrying about you for five years.” Ethan chuckled. “True. And when you get married, tell my father.” As soon as we entered Ashford territory, the mood shifted—victory and calm settled over the place.

Caleb returned to the palace to report, and Ethan and I toured the city.

From them I learned that Ashford had once been a small country, only a quarter the size of Southwick. Now their territory rivaled Southwick’s, thanks to the assassination of Southwick’s crown prince, the old emperor’s death, and the ensuing instability.

I bumped Ethan’s arm. “You didn’t kill the crown prince to—” “Shh.” He pressed a finger to my lips. “Don’t tell them, sister. I don’t need every general coming to pester me.” I almost accused him of being a planted spy beside Nathan West, but Ethan laughed. “A spy so freewheeling? No.” He toyed with his dagger. “I used to think killing was fun and followed him for that. After I met you, I found better things to enjoy.” I widened my eyes and demanded, “So I’m just a toy?” Ethan smiled slyly but didn’t answer. Seeing me get annoyed, he quickly added, “You’re irreplaceable. I’ll just have to bring you home.”

That line made something sweet bloom in my chest; for a moment I forgot to argue.

His voice always had that effect—easy to lose yourself in.

When we reached his home, the two nations had already agreed to peace. War tires economies and men; with so much advantage gained, it was time to stop.

I hadn’t been paying attention to the politics. I only cared about one thing: “So…am I really going to your house?”

Ethan hummed, the rising tone of his voice brooking no refusal, so I changed my question. “Who all lives at your place?”

He thought a moment. “Haven’t been back in years. I don’t really know.”

…What an obedient eldest son.

When the name West Manor flashed into view, something clicked in my head.

“You’re a West, and your father’s the emperor’s brother—doesn’t that mean—”
“My dad’s just that seventy-year-old General West,” he cut in. Oh. Not eldest son. Youngest.

There were a lot of rumors about that old general—formidable, vigorous for his age, undefeated in battle. I never would have connected such a legendary figure with the kid standing in front of me.

Although the boy clearly trained in martial arts, he never did anything serious; he acted more like a pampered pretty boy who liked to tease village girls.

While I was still puzzling that out, Ethan knocked, called for a servant, and before I heard what was said two people hurried out.

One was Gavin Hale, who’d arrived a few days before us. The other was an older man with gray hair but lively eyes, looking no more than fifty-something.

They fell silent for a beat. Ethan broke it with a single, “Father.” That ended the awkwardness.

General West looked stunned, speechless for a long moment, then gripped Ethan’s shoulders and kept repeating, “Good, good, good.” I hadn’t caught what he meant by “good” when the general blinked back tears and said, “It’s enough that you’re alive.”

…I honestly didn’t get what the father and the cousin were asking for. Their standards were shockingly low.

Low enough to be inhuman.

Gavin smiled and invited us in. I fumbled for a long moment before stepping forward to bow respectfully. “Good day, Uncle.”

General West beamed, reached out with both hands—one for me, one for his son—and said, “Good, good. Gavin’s told me everything. Come in.” The whole family was excitable. No sooner had we entered the main hall than the general, brimming with expectation, said, “The sixth day of next month is an auspicious day—perfect for celebrating a marriage.” I considered for a moment; how do you refuse a seventy-year-old man?

Looking at his hopeful face, I finally nodded.

Today was already the twenty-ninth; there were only seven days until the sixth.

The old man patted his son’s arm. “Ethan, you’d better behave from now on.” Then he turned to me, smiling. “You must be tired from your journey.” He called for a servant. “Take Miss Bennett to the guest rooms.”

Ethan grabbed my hand. “No need. She’ll share my room.” The general frowned. “Not married yet—you can’t share a room.” Gavin murmured, “Uncle, it’s rare to have a girl stay by him so long unharmed, and she’s willing to marry him. Don’t block it.” The general pondered, then nodded, “Reasonable, reasonable.”

…How did I fall into a trap?

It was high summer. The pond was a sea of lotus leaves so green they looked like ground cover, only a few pink blossoms rose above them—otherwise, you’d hardly notice. The green lent new life to the old-fashioned courtyard.

“Young master, young mistress.” Four maids bowed with trays. On the third day at General West’s house, I’d finally grown used to those titles.

The matron leading them was middle-aged—Ethan’s wet nurse. I’m a bit face-blind and usually can’t keep servants straight, but the huge bump on her chest marked her dedication and made her impossible to forget.

I’d heard in passing that Ethan lost his mother early. It felt intrusive to push, since we’d only known each other a few months.

The wet nurse smiled. “The wedding garments arrived last night. Try them on; if they don’t fit, I’ll send someone to alter them.” The four trays held dazzling reds with gold thread that glittered under the midday sun.

I’d only seen phoenix crowns and wedding robes on TV. Now it was all right in front of me, as if enchanted. I couldn’t help but reach out and touch the fabric.

Ethan was perceptive. “Sister, you’ve never worn red. Put it on so I can see.” I merely smiled; he’d already ordered the things brought into our room. The wet nurse fretted, “Wedding attire is tricky. Let the old maid help dress the young mistress.” Ethan gave a look; she replied “Yes” and hustled off with the other girls.

The outfit had three layers inside and three out. I frowned. “I don’t know how to wear all this.”

“It’s fine, Sister. I’ll help.” He set to work tugging on the layers. I swatted his hands away. “I can undress myself, thank you very much!”

He pulled me close and said in a low voice, “You always dawdle, I thought you wouldn’t be able to do it.”
“Not your problem—out!” I shoved him. My ears burned as I imagined him impatiently tearing my clothes off.

Ethan tapped my nose, indulgent. “Okay.” He was too soft—he could make anyone forgive him.

Once he retreated to the outer room, I dove into the fittings. What woman doesn’t love dressing up? Especially in that rich, solemn red that promised both seduction and commitment.

First came a red gauze underlayer. The mirror turned my curves into something softened and heightened by the color. I lingered, feeling like I’d rediscovered the joy of a dressing room.

Just as I was about to choose the next layer, his hand tightened at my waist and a husky voice murmured, “Don’t put it all on. You’ll have to take it off.” I wrenched his fingers and shoved him. “You should change and let me look.”

“I’ll show you on the wedding day.” His breath warmed my neck; he spun me under his arm and we collapsed onto the bed.

I put my hands to his chest. “Maybe save this for the wedding day too?” He kissed my neck, whispering, “I can’t wait.”

By dusk we hadn’t finished trying on the garments. Luckily they measured me, so there’d be no major issues. We had the girls tidy them and set them aside.

I vowed not to touch that dress again before the wedding.

The next morning I turned over groggy; my pillow was empty. I almost stayed in bed, exhausted, but then sounds of combat drifted through the courtyard and worry pulled me up.

The graceful boy in plain clothes held a practice sword, sparring with his father.

The general’s twin blades moved with powerful control—he didn’t yield to his son a hair.

A touching father-son scene.

They were engrossed, scattering leaves as they moved; a few maids stood at a distance, afraid to approach.

A powerful strike came; the son slipped nimbly aside and countered with a feint. The general misstepped and nearly lost his footing.

Thankfully the boy had some mercy and grabbed him to steady him.

The general sighed. “I’m old, I can’t even beat you little rascal anymore.” Ethan tossed his sword aside with a shrug and said four words: “I accept the loss.”

“All right then. I’ll stop drinking.” To my surprise, they’d been wagering. Ethan glanced at me with a crooked smile. “Sorry for waking you, Sister.”

“No—no, I just slept late.” I smiled apologetically to the general; I am always well-behaved in front of elders.

The general, clearly in a sour mood after losing, said, “Ethan, your martial skill has improved—you should serve the country. I’m old; it’s time to step back.” Ethan didn’t answer properly. He came over, rubbed my hand, and slyly wiped his sweat on me.

I shot him a disgusted look and warned him not to be disrespectful to his father.

General West sighed. “You’re my only son. Someone has to take my place, right?”
“That person’s not me,” Ethan replied like a mischievous child.

I half-laughed. “Morals can’t even shame you because you don’t have any.” He didn’t seem to understand the remark and instead fondly smoothed the loose strands of my hair. “You know everything, Sister.” The general cleared his throat. “You two have time on your hands. Come with me to the barracks and see our nation’s might.”

“No.”

I punched him lightly to hint he shouldn’t be rude and then agreed. “Fine.” The general donned his military uniform that morning—regal and imposing, a stark contrast to the warm householder we’d seen.

No one in the camp dared misbehave before him. Soldiers saluted and made way.

Trailing behind, we borrowed some of that authority.

Too bad we were dressed casually; I wore a pale pink veil that stuck out among the formal ranks.

I nudged Ethan. “I wonder what you’d look like in battle garb.” My mind supplied a fantasy uniform—upright posture, stern face.

Why did I even say that? Yesterday I’d been imagining him in red; today I’d drifted again. I’m corrupt.

Ethan didn’t answer but pulled my veil up a little to better shield my face.

Hmph. Stingy man.

I should parade around every day and make him jealous!

After not a full circuit, the general stopped—several soldiers were sloppy in their drill and he, who tolerated nothing half-hearted, left us to scold and train them harshly.

I began to understand why Ashford had fallen in less than two months.

When we were out of earshot, I asked, “Your father seems strict—so why is he so indulgent with you?”

He dodged the question. “Guess why my name is Pledge—why they named me Pledge West.”

“Hmm…” I tried a pun guess. “You’re the seventh child?”

“Yes and no.” He looked at his aging father and said, “My first six children all died.” I let out a small shocked sound and, though I’d promised to avoid prying, I asked.

He told the story in a flat voice. “Some died young in wartime, some fell in battle. My mother, before she died, gave me the character that means ‘pray’—she prayed I’d live.”

He had a tragic childhood. I watched him closely, not wanting to miss a single expression, forgetting why I cared so much.

He touched my cheek as if to soothe me, eyes soft. “Sister, you worry too much. I had aunts and cousins around since I was little. I’m fine.”

But none of it was simple. His mother had borne child after child and watched half of them die. His father had to choose between the state and the family. The so-called aunt—Lady Eleanor—lived within palace walls; how much attention could she spare? The cousin was now Crown Prince William—clearly successful—and closeness might be divided between affection and political calculation.

I flung myself into Ethan’s arms and said nothing.

Growing up in a normal family, I could never fully feel what his losses meant.

I didn’t even know what to say. Only the language of touch filled the space between us.

“You throw yourself into my arms in the middle of everyone—sister, you really know how to surprise me.” The boy’s hand stroked my back, teasing in tone.

Even the awful things we’d both been through were swept aside by him with a laugh.

“Claire.” I said his given name for the first time, my head bowed in his arms.

He murmured, “I think I’m starting to like you.” The hand on my back froze. Then he rested his chin on my head and chuckled softly.

I pushed him away and took a step back.

My eyes must have shown everything: bewilderment, disbelief.

“Aren’t you taller?” he asked. He hadn’t been a full head taller before.

He lowered his head and leaned close to my ear. “Sister—are you afraid you won’t be able to kiss me?” Before I could answer, Ethan pressed one hand at the base of my skull and forced my head up, then kissed me.

I stared wide-eyed, panic flaring. Why did he have to do this, and in front of everyone?

Luckily it lasted only a second. He laughed then, “Don’t worry. I can stoop.” It was the day of the sixth lunar festival—bright, sunlit, even the one pond flower that always refused to open had finally bloomed.

All dressed in red for the wedding, I left West Manor and circled the capital, returning exhausted and nearly faint from heat.

Under my veil I could only see Nathaniel’s feet and the hem of his robe.

Just like that first time—we’d both noticed only his feet at first. I wiped the sweat from my palm, scolding myself for letting my thoughts run away. Since I’d chosen to accept this, why not be a little happier?

At least the boy wore red; it suited the occasion.

We followed the formal rituals in a haze. How had I blindly ended up married? Yet my mind buzzed with endless fantasies about the future.

The matchmaker ushered me to the bridal chamber. It was still early—custom said the groom shouldn’t return until nightfall.

I waited and waited. After who knew how long, I lifted the veil to peek. The matchmaker hurried over to shush me. “You can’t—no, no. The groom must lift the veil. It would be unlucky otherwise.” I smiled inwardly and let the veil fall. Unlucky? Between him and me—how unlucky could it really get?

When had I stopped hating him?

I didn’t know. The only thing clear was how charming he sounded when he called me “sister.”

Women really are helpless against a voice.

His was crisp, but laced with a kind of charm that made refusal impossible.

Every time I thought of it, my heart sweetened until I forgot the past.

I glanced down at the embroidery on my wedding robe, scolding myself: what a fool, forgetting the pain right after the scar healed.

The door opened and a familiar flash of red appeared.

The matchmaker chattered auspicious phrases: “Lift the veil and pick three, may you bear three sons.” I pursed my lips—he and I were on the same page in that wish.

Ethan lifted the veil with the balance pole and looked at me, smiling.

He was flushed in the face, eyes half-closed—like a shy, overgrown boy.

The matchmaker brought wine forward. “Newlyweds drink the ceremonial wine. May your music and love be harmonious and lasting.” She tried to keep going, but when she saw the youth’s sharp gaze—clearly not someone to cross—she hurried out with the servants and gently shut the door behind her.

The moment the door closed, he lunged. Hands on the bed, he pinned me. I leaned back and smelled the strong scent of alcohol on him.

Cold as he could be, he was no match for the drinking games.

The palace impressed me most with its many doors and winding halls. We took forever to reach the empress’s residence, arriving near noon under a blazing sun.

The empress didn’t make us wait. We were summoned inside immediately.

We bowed, following protocol, and I stole a glance at the woman on the throne.

She was composed, with a softness in her features; though in her forties, she looked well preserved—more like thirty.

“Claire has grown up so fast—marriage-age already,” the empress chided.

Ethan nodded but stayed silent. The empress’s smile was kind. “Tea-Tea married a couple years ago. She’s been missing you—used to always be together.” Tea-Tea? I’d never heard that nickname.

He stood slightly ahead of me; I could only see his back, not his face.

He asked, with a rare hint of concern, “She married? Who did my cousin marry?” The empress seemed pleased by how he asked. She sipped tea and said, “The second son of the Marquis of Zhenyuan—he lives on the border now. It will be hard to see her again.” “Oh.” Ethan, still sparing with words, let a small disappointment slip into his tone—so slight I almost missed it.

I felt like an outsider listening to memories I hadn’t shared.

“Where has Claire been these years? Weren’t you and Tea-Tea childhood playmates—” The empress paused, then turned her gaze to me and laughed. “My memory must be getting old. Claire, come closer. Let me look at you.” I don’t like to be touched by strangers, but she was Ethan’s aunt, so I offered my hand and let her examine me.

“Ethan has always had good taste,” the empress observed, smiling. I knew this body was pretty now; otherwise I’d never have been used as a pawn between princes.

But I didn’t care for her praise. A new name had lodged in my mind: Tea-Tea—that cousin. His childhood playmate.

Could that be why he liked me as his sister?

The empress handled my background and age with ease, neither prying nor condemning. Her words left me muted.

After we left the empress and wandered to the imperial garden, I still couldn’t shake my gloom.

“What’s wrong, sister?” Ethan reached up and felt my forehead. “Are you dizzy from the heat?” I brushed his hand away irritably. “Don’t call me sister.” I’d preferred not to have him call her that to anyone else.

“Why not?” He pulled my shoulder, forcing me to face him. “Do you want me to start calling you wife? I could.” I sighed, slipped free, and turned away. “Maybe you won’t like me anymore if we’re married. People in old times had multiple wives—it’s normal. If you don’t want me, I’ll leave.”

Silence held for a long beat, then a muffled chuckle. “What if I like someone else? What would you do then?” he teased.

“I—I can leave. After all—” My voice trailed off. He cut me off with a sharp question, displeasure clear.

“What do you mean after all?” he demanded.

“After all, you forced me. If you stopped liking me…I’d be justified in leaving, right?” My voice lost strength; I didn’t dare turn back to look at him.

Ethan snorted. “You’ll find any excuse to run from me.” His tone had changed; the easy tenderness was gone, replaced by a darker edge.

My stomach clenched. I had accused him, yet somehow it felt like my fault.

“The empress said you were childhood playmates with your cousin—” I hurried to get the question out before he could flare up. No point provoking his jealous streak.

“So you’re jealous,” he said, catching himself and turning the expression gentle again. “Aunt’s not good with phrases—she mixes them up.” He reached up and ruffled my hair, pulling me into his arms. “I didn’t expect you to care so much.”

Of course I cared. Do you think I’d be happy being married only to be abandoned the next day? You’d been cold, distant—no courtship, only immediate possession. How was I supposed to know I wasn’t some toy or a replacement?

“You still don’t know me well enough,” he said.

“Hm?” I asked.

“If I liked my cousin, could I just leave Ashford and hand her over to someone else?” he queried.

“No…that seems impossible.” I felt my thoughts betray me. With his temperament, if he liked someone, he’d bind her to him somehow.

“Then why do you worry about her?” I glanced up at him. He smiled. “Just asking. Didn’t think you’d react this strongly.”

“I didn’t—” I felt a light tap on my forehead. “So distrustful of me. We’ll see how I deal with you later.” He sounded playful but not cruel.

“Could you not?” I pleaded, utterly humiliated.

“Nope!” he said gleefully.

Within two weeks more happy news arrived.

I was tinkering with the General’s old instruments—violin, guzheng, guitar—things I’d studied as part of a well-rounded upbringing. I wasn’t good at any of them. Playing Twinkle Twinkle was an achievement.

“I didn’t know you were so talented,” Ethan said.

“I didn’t know I had an audience either,” I muttered. He was flattering me relentlessly.

He smiled. “Play for me if you like. Don’t take it too seriously.”

“But we’re performing at a palace banquet soon. Women are expected to show talents.” I’d read enough transmigration novels to know the trope: the heroine is always called to perform. I could at least play Twinkle Twinkle—and the birthday song.

“That last one was fine.” “No—too perfunctory. Embarrassing.” “Then don’t play at all.” He wrapped me from behind and murmured in my ear, low and fake-violent, “I can’t have you drawing too much attention. Then I’ll have to kill someone.” Embarrassing was better than murder; I’d try to earn some virtue points.

Thankfully I wasn’t the heroine—just a supporting villainess. So at the palace banquet, no one paid me much attention, except for the boy who was arranging dishes at my side.

This banquet celebrated the Crown Prince’s wedding—widespread joy. It was also meant to show friendly ties between Eastlin and Ashford; the Crown Princess was a princess sent from Ashford for the alliance.

When I saw the fifteen-year-old again, she was still young and proud, but a shadow had clouded her eyes. The upheaval of her country had softened her arrogance.

Crown Prince William hadn’t married just anyone. He’d married the very girl I’d once seen—Princess Charlotte.

I hadn’t known it was her before. At the banquet, we felt as if our roles had been swapped.

Her gaze cut through the crowd and landed on me like an icicle.

She hated me.

My hand curled into a fist so hard it ached—someone’s fingers closed over mine. He whispered, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” It was like swallowing a calming draught. I looked at the boy who kept his expression steady, and felt safe.

Princess Charlotte’s stare stayed ruthless, as if she might draw a hidden blade and kill the Crown Prince in revenge—or plunge a sword at me.

But nothing happened. Still my heart never quite settled.

A few days later, the empress summoned us back to the palace.

Ethan waved a fan and ignored the herald entirely. Briefly, he said, “I’m not going.”

“But…young master, please don’t trouble me,” the herald stammered. “If I return without the orders—how will I answer for it?”

I nudged him too. "Maybe you should still go."
"We already gave sister face last time. Besides, I can guess what she'll say." I understood the empress's meaning perfectly: they were upset that Liu Qi had married a woman five years his senior. No wonder she’d brought up the old affair on purpose before.

Now that Princess Charlotte had come into the family, she’d probably exaggerate my past scandal for good measure.

The herald who delivered the decree was unwilling, but terrified of the young man before him. After arguing a few fruitless points, he slunk away embarrassed.

In the morning I had refused the empress; by the afternoon an unexpected guest arrived.

Princess Charlotte showed up in all her finery, cutting off our time feeding the koi in the garden.

She barely exchanged pleasantries before she blurted out, eager to gloat, "Did you know this old woman used to be my brother's concubine?" She smiled triumphantly at me like a conquering victor.

Those words had probably already reached the empress, but had apparently had no effect. Charlotte wanted nothing more than for me to be punished immediately; that was why she’d dashed straight to General West’s residence to confront Liu Qi.

What she didn’t expect was the other identity of the boy standing beside us.

Ethan fanned himself lazily, stepped two paces forward to face Princess Charlotte, and said kindly, "I know."

Charlotte froze. Then the boy continued calmly, "And your brother—was killed by me."

"You—!" She never imagined that two of her greatest enemies would be standing right in front of her. Charlotte, furious, forgot herself and shoved Ethan hard, but he sidestepped with a subtle flick.

There was a splashing sound as Charlotte, off-balance, fell into the water.

The boy sighed theatrically. "Sister, don't you think I'm kind? I don't lay a hand on women anymore."
He thinks he's so mature now—resorting to psychological warfare.

I gave him a look. "Wish you’d gone easy on me back then."
"You're an exception." Ethan grinned wickedly and leaned close, watching the struggling woman in the water with detached amusement.

Servants rushed over but, without direct orders from their master, hesitated to jump in.

Just as Charlotte was about to go under, her newlywed husband arrived and, without a word, dove into the water and hauled her out.

Whether from shock or the cold, Charlotte went limp in Nathan West's arms. Teeth chattering, she trembled and pointed accusingly at us. "They pushed me!"
Nathan was soaked too and looked awkward. "A misunderstanding. It must be a misunderstanding."

"No! They— they pushed me!" she sobbed.
"Enough!" Nathan snapped, angry now. "You bring this kind of scene to someone's home—don't you care about how you look?" Charlotte burst into tears. "You're biased! I'm your wife, and you're siding with them!" Her words were shrill as she clung to him.

Nathan frowned as his new wife threw herself at him, eyes red from crying. "Do you trust me or them?" Ethan sneered. "Uncle, there's no need to make this difficult. I'll tell you the truth: she has it out for me. If she seeks revenge, let her try." His eyes flashed with murderous intent. Nathan stiffened. "What revenge?" he demanded.

Seeing the truth about to come out, Charlotte decided to strike first and wailed at the top of her lungs, "He murdered my brother!"
"Ethan killed Crown Prince William?" Ethan said nothing, only nodded.

Nathan was stunned, then burst into incredulous laughter. "Nephew, that's a tremendous deed! Why didn't you say so earlier? I'll go inform my father for rewards!"
Charlotte was so shocked she stopped crying and stood gaping like a ghost.

Her husband's voice turned deadly serious. "Now that you've married into the West family, you should know your place. If you intend to avenge your brother, I'll be the first to see you punished." Perhaps his sternness was too much—Charlotte fainted on the spot.

I watched the whole scene and couldn't help but say one thing.

What a relief.

Alright, I'm being bad now.

Ethan resumed fanning himself, the breeze cool and lazy. "Uncle knows I don't want to get involved in politics, so there's no need to inform the emperor." Nathan nodded, clutching his unconscious wife as he left the garden.

I watched them go and sighed softly. "Married princesses really have it rough."
"How does that concern us?" he replied. Right—we're fine as long as we're happy.

We shared a smile and went back to feeding the fish and admiring the blossoms, utterly relaxed.

Sincerely thank you all for sticking with me this far. Those who've been following this novel know I've been posting fast and walking a fine line with censorship. Being let out of the little black room this time meant I had to cut a lot of scenes as requested.

I originally planned an open ending, but after so many stints in the black room, I lost interest in dragging things out. So I slapped a casual ending on it—readers, take it as you will.

There were lots of suggestions in the comments while I wrote this. Say whatever you like—I probably won't change a thing, haha.

Guess I'm getting older and care less about appearances.

Honestly, I haven't read a novel in about ten years, much less written one. Back in the day my favorite was "A Smile is Beautiful"—shows my age, right? Some of you younger readers probably haven't even heard of it.

As for "sickly-love" heroines or that 'yandere' vibe, I hadn't read that kind of story before and didn't know the term. I looked it up online and suddenly thought that type of male lead could be interesting. So I wrote this.

It's pure self-entertainment, not a manifesto or anything.

Alright, see you in the next work.

I'll make sure to drive safely!