AU's Anyone?

Go ahead and ask me about my AU's and Fic!

Currently there is only BSD:

-BSD time travel: Ango the one that time travel

-BSD isekai/reincarnation: someone isekai as Mori + DadMori.

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part: 2

This is part two of TCF x I'm not that kind of talent with fem! Clopeh, now we are on Cruel pov!

Enjoy!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"Don't read too much into it. "

" Just as you always done."

" accept it and forgot it. "

. . . .

Death has claimed him as a sword cut clean on his neck. He is surrounded in a cold and snow place after taking away his brother from the tent, Cruel has no regret.

Deon, his brother.

his hurt baby brother.

Cruel hope he successfully escaped from all of the assassins as he felt of the rest of them, he can't take revenge on the Duke but at least he can protect his brother one until the end.

Until his last breath.

But.....

Hot, hot,hot,hot,hot,hot,hot,hot,hot,hot—

Why did he feels this?

Burn, burn, burn, burn, burn, burn—

Aren't he supposed to be dead?

Everything is hot, everything is burning,every thing is hurt.

"YOU BRA—"

"I'm sorry... Please don't hurt-"

" JUST LEAVE IT!"

" I can't he's—"

"USELESS LITTLE—"

FATHER— NO! "

. . .

"GHASP! "

Cruel gasped.

He jolts awake, chest heaving, his body drenched in sweat. Heat clings to his skin, unbearable. Green eyes fly open, staring at a blurred stretch of wall above him. His vision swims, then slowly steadies.

This isn’t right.

As his sight clears, he realizes he’s in an unfamiliar room.

Not his old bedroom in the Hart mansion. Not the residence where he served Duke Illuster.

This place is a stranger.

Dark blue walls. Simple decorations. Clean, quiet—almost sterile. he knows that he is in some noble with high status, with how simple yet elegant the room is. And the quality of all the items even the bed he lay right now feels very comfortable and soft.

He looks around without lifting his head, every movement sending a dull ache through his skull.

“Ah! You’re awake!”

A young, childish voice snaps him back before his thoughts can spiral further.Cruel turns his head sharply to the right, What greets him is a very young… child.

A boy? A girl?

He can’t tell.

But one thing is certain—the child is unfairly attractive.

Short white hair ( like his brother) frames a pale face. Soft skin. Features almost too perfect, almost unreal.

In Cruel opinion, dangerously cute. Green eyes meet his— Green, but lighter than his own.

A shade between emerald and something else....Something predatory.

Cruel breath catches.

No doubt about it. This child will grow into someone breathtaking in the future.

In the child hand is a small bundle of flowers, freshly picked. He didn't know much about flowers but if guess the flowers name is something, something.... Lily....

“It took you very long to wake up!” the child says brightly, stepping closer. “It’s been a week.”

A week?

Cruel tries to move, to sit up—but before he can even speak, the child reaches out and places a hand against his temple.

Cold hand meets his hot temple from fever that he is now realize.

“Mmm…” the child hums, brows knitting slightly. “You’re still burning up. I’ll have to call the maids—and Papa—to tell.”

Cruel winces. His throat burns when he forces out a sound. “Who… are you?”

His head throbs, pain blooming behind his eyes.

And his voice—it sounds wrong.

Too light. Too young.

The child blinks, then pulls their hand away. “Oh? You forgot?” They tilt their head. “Well… maybe you’re still half-unconscious.”  they mumbled.

But then they flash him a bright smile " My name is Clopeh, Clopeh Sekka"

"can't have my young brother to forget his sister name no? " Clopeh giggle.

. . . .

Cruel Sekka.

Not Cruel Hart.

No—not anymore.

That name feels distant now. Faded. Like something borrowed and never returned.

This is his new name—no.

His new body.

New name.

New life.

New everything.

Still bedridden, fever clinging stubbornly to him, Cruel gaze drifts to the side of the bed. A mirror.

Propped carelessly against the table, as if no one thought twice about leaving it there.

With effort, he turns his head.

The reflection steals his breath.

A child stares back at him.

Very young. Too young.

The features are familiar, yet wrong.

Black raven hair, messy and soft. Skin pale as Clopeh and smooth, untouched by years of hardship. His face is rounder, smaller—unmarked.

There isn’t much difference from his old self. At least not at first glance.

Except the eyes.

Green.

But not the dark Forest green he remembers.

They’re lighter now. Clearer. The same shade as—His “sister.”

Cruel looks longer, closer. If someone paid attention, they would notice it too. The subtle shift. The shared color. The way the light catches the iris in the same way it does in Clopeh eyes.

It makes his stomach twist.

Clopeh—his now-called older sister—returns often. Too often. Always smiling, cheerful bring in the same flowers for him each absen.

When his fever finally eases and his thoughts stop blurring together, she begins to tell him things.

Simple things at first.

That he is one of the Sekka children.

That their father found him.

That his name was added to the family record without delay—official and unquestionable.

Done.

She speaks casually about it, like it’s nothing extraordinary.

He is one year younger than her. He is five year old while she is six despite looking more older than her age.

The Sekka household is a ducal family. He is not Count anymore, he is in the highest status second to the Royal.

They rule lands in the northern region of the Peru Kingdom, where winters are cruel and the nobles even colder.

Clopeh talks about history. Their ducal history and About prestige. But sometimes she told him her everyday routine or some simple things that if Cruel look more in it's a standard fact that he should already know about his new house and world.

Another think Cruel found out is that he realize despite she or even himself is talking a different language, very different sound and dialect yet he can understand well and even talk flawless.

Cruel more to listen her talk and only ask important things, fever-muted and compliant. He takes any information that he can take if he wanted to survive and find his brother.

Deon.....

Did his brother get reborn too?

Or is it only him alone?

. . .

A man come one day, as he start getting better with Clopeh. A tall man with broad shoulders and white hair just like the girl, carrying a bundle gently in his arms, as if it were made of glass.

'Her—our father.' Cruel note to himself, the word our still strange on his tongue.

Clopeh already filling in who his new father is, telling him before meeting the man. His name is Rock Sekka, the current Duke and the Guardian Knight.

The man is their father and now he is walking toward the bed.

“I see you are getting better, Cruel.”

He can only nod in response, his throat tight.

“I apologize for meeting you late and welcome you to the family. There is some things that need to be take care of.”

“It’s nothing to worry, sir. I should be thankful for accepting me.”

Hearing this, Rock frowned, the small crease between his brows making Cruel tense a bit.

Did he said something wrong? Did he displeased him? Did he—

“No need to be formal, child.” Nothing changed on Rock face, still stern and unmoving, but his voice sounds gentler, warmer than Cruel expect.

“You are already part of this family. No need to be afraid.”

Clopeh giggle as she walk alongside the man, of course bringing the usual flower with her. Now he recognize it clearly as Peruvian Lily, its soft petals bright against the quiet room.

“Papa on a break, and you are getting better. I thought this would be a good time,” she said as she change the yesterday flowers on the pot beside his bed into a fresh one, careful not to spill the water.

“And…” She look straight at him. “An official family meeting. For everyone.” Her green eyes seems telling him something more, something unspoken.

“Aaaaa…”

A small sound from the bundle make him turn toward the man again. Sometime between words, Rock already sit down on the edge of his bed, the mattress sinking slightly under his weight.

“Besides, our baby brother is impatient.”

Cruel didn’t answer her.

He didn’t hear her clearly.

Because he is busy staring at the bundle.

The bundle that the man carefully move, just enough so Cruel can see what inside.

The bundle of white hair.

And red eyes.

“…”

He’s here.

Deon is here.

His baby brother is here.

“Ababa…”

“Oh look! Seems like little brother is happy to see you.” Just to prove Clopeh word, the baby wiggle around, small fingers curling and uncurling.

And his tiny hands reach for him.

Cruel chest feels tight.

But not in a painful way.

It’s warm.

Warm in a way he never felt before.

The small hand reach him, clumsy and unsteady, yet so real. When his finger brush against the baby’s palm, it curl around him immediately, holding on with surprising strength.

He let out a shaky breath.

He is not alone.

Not in this new world that still feel unfamiliar, where everything change too fast for him to catch up. He is not alone anymore.

Deon is here.

Safe.

Alive.

Here with him.

The thought make his eyes sting, and he blink rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall. Not now. He doesn’t want to scare the new people or his now literally baby brother.

“So small…” he mutter, almost afraid his voice would break the moment he speak louder.

Clopeh smile softly, standing closer, watching them with bright eyes. Rock didn’t say anything, but the way he sit there, steady and unmoving, make the room feel… secure.

Cruel glance around.

The clean bed.

The cold wind through the window.

The sunlight coming through the window.

The flowers that get changed every day.

This family.

A duke who tell him not to be afraid.

A sister who giggle and bring him flowers.

A baby brother holding onto him like he belong there. That didn't hate him.

Maybe…

Maybe everything might be bearable now. As long as Deon is here with him.

As long as they are together, safe, in a place that already seem to accept them without question.

Cruel gently hold the baby hand, his grip careful but certain.

“I’ll stay,” he whisper, not sure who he is promising it to.

The baby answer him with another happy sound, waving his arms.

And for the first time since coming to this world, Cruel truly believe—He can live here.

. . .

After his health already has been restore Cruel now can explore his new surroundings and start official learning again, Clopeh of course helping his every step.

She tour Cruel around the mansion with a maid follow behind them, talking excitedly about everything. Lead him to kitchen, training ground, library and two back gardens.

Mostly the garden.

Sometimes a maid or more correctly a nanny would follow them carrying baby Deon.

She would always like take both of them together to spend their times, Clopeh would eagerly said to them that she would like for all of them to get close together as siblings.

With him wanted to fix his relationship with Deon and get to know her? He have no problem with this.

Seems like Deon too with how much he is comfortable with her......

And for many years until Cruel turned 14 he start to adjust his new life style and world.

He learns different cultures and many things...

Him getting use the cold and snow of his new homeland of North, the clothes style that is same yet different and studies of new historical.

. . . .

Of course about his.... Father and sister....

There is some familitry from His past father and Rock Sekka, the way both of them are stoic, serious, uphold the family and love them.

Yet at the same time they are different.

Yes he is stern when teaching him but there is something soft about the way he guide Cruel.

The voice that soften, the rough hands that would guide him when learning swordman ship... Or that he is not afraid that sometimes carrying Cruel or Deon around the Dukedom.

Rock Sekka is very vocal too—not talk active, but would not hesitate to comfort or show his concern.

"Cruel.....cover your ears. " Rock tell him.

Just like right now.

"Look at him—"

" So it's true..... "

"Illigemate child—"

Cruel obeyed and closed his ears as Rock carried him down the long corridor, but of course, some words still slipped through and were heard by him.

An important meeting with all the relatives was held today, they were all staying within the Sekka dukedom. And of course, they already knew about Rock placing Cruel directly into the Sekka family.

All the disgust, envy, anger, and hatred were clearly written on their faces. They didn’t bother to hide their displeasure, nor did they stop themselves from gossiping—thinly veiled ill intent flowing beneath flowery words and false smiles.

Rock Sekka sent them all a cold glare and released a small portion of his swordmaster aura. The pressure alone made them flinch, avert their eyes, and hastily step aside or walk away as Rock continued forward without slowing.

“Don’t ever listen to them,” Rock told Cruel once they were out of the relatives’ sight.

Cruel slowly uncovered his ears. “But… they aren’t wrong?” He tilted his head slightly, confusion clear in his eyes.

Now six years old, Cruel often walked alone around the Duke household whenever he felt like it. The halls were familiar to him by now.

Sometimes, as he passed by, he would hear whispers and rumors from the maids and workers, spoken too softly to be addressed but loud enough to reach his ears. They called him a pitiful case.

They said he was lucky—lucky that both he and Deon were allowed to stay despite being illegitimate. Lucky, because the Duchess had passed away, and the father and daughter needed someone to fill the empty space left behind, someone to ease their grief.

'Is this how Deon felt? Is this how he was always treated back then?'

Cruel knew there had been many bad rumors ever since his brother birth.

The Harts family had quietly moved away any workers who looked down on Deon, removing them without noise or explanation.

But they couldn’t do anything about the attitudes of other noble children. So the only thing they could do was stop Deon from attending noble parties or gatherings too often.

And without meaning to, they had isolated their youngest family member.

Cruel couldn’t help but wonder now that he could walk on his own. Yet, unlike Deon, he is a illegitimate child in this life.

But it didn’t last long.

Both Rock and Clopeh made sure to shut those mouths—or, as they put it, “clean everything up.”

“No, Cruel,” Rock sighed softly. “They are all wrong, and they never had the right in the first place.” He adjusted his hold on Cruel and continued walking.

“How so?” Cruel asked, genuinely curious.

“For one, they never knew what truly happened,” Rock replied calmly, “nor did they ever try to understand our situation.”

Roci expression darkened slightly. “Some of them are no different from each other,” he said.

“They look at titles the same way they look at gold—with greed in their eyes and little awareness of what those things truly mean.”

Cruel listened quietly as Rock continued.

“They want the highest seat, the grandest name,” Rock went on, voice steady, “but they don’t want the responsibility that comes with it. They don’t want the burden of protecting others, of making difficult choices, of standing firm when it matters.”

Rock let out a quiet breath. “So instead, they wait.”

“Wait…?” Cruel echoed softly.

“They wait for Clopeh,” Rock said. “They wait for my daughter to fail. One mistake, one moment of weakness—that’s all they’re hoping for.”

Cruel blinked his green eyes in surprise. “Clopeh is… the heir?” he asked, hesitating slightly. “ my… sister?”

He know this is a different world but it's still caught him off guard, maybe because this and his old world have some similarities.

Sure in his world it's not just rare and unheard but woman inherit their titles it's because of special reason, and if they still have male relatives it usually fall to them.

Of course here men and women have the same change to inherit the title since it's not uncommon, but Cruel get the gist it's still rare to happen.

Rock stopped walking.

He turned then, finally looking down at Cruel in his arms.

“Yes,” Rock said at last, his gaze steady and unreadable. “She is.”

Rock was quiet for a moment before he spoke again.

“Clopeh,” he said slowly, “despite being a girl, is the most promising heir I could ever ask for—and she is my only child.”

Cruel looked up at him as Rock began walking once more, his steps unhurried.

“She has every advantage,” Rock continued.

“She’s loved by the people, respected by the court… even favored by the goddess herself.” His voice carried a faint pride. “She’s not only a genius, Cruel. She bears the blessing of the Water Goddess. Whenever she enters the Peru Kingdom, even the frozen lake melts at her presence.”

Cruel eyes widened slightly.

“But I know,” Rock went on, his tone darkening just a little, “how much that blessing fuels jealousy.”He tightened his hold on Cruel briefly.

“Some of my relatives believe all of that potential has been wasted on her.”

“Because she isn’t interested in being heir,” Rock said quietly.

Cruel blinked. “She… she said that to you?” he asked, clearly surprised.

Rock let out a soft chuckle. “She never said it outright.” His gaze softened. “But what kind of father wouldn’t notice what his child wants? She never took her heir studies seriously. No ambition, no hunger for the seat. Her heart was never there.”

They walked in silence for a few steps before Rock spoke again.

“Cruel,” he said, stopping suddenly.

Cruel stiffened when Rock looked down at him. “Would you want to be the next heir?”

Cruel green eyes widened in shock.

The words hit too close—too soon. He had only just learned that his own biological father from this second life had seen him as nothing more than a tool, something to use to seize the Sekka household.

“Why…?” Cruel asked quietly. “Why ask me?” His voice wavered. “There are so many others. Volunteers. And I’m not even— I’m adopted. I’m illegitimate.”

Rock answer came without hesitation.

“I don’t care,” he said firmly. “Illegitimate or not—you are my child now. My son.”

Cruel froze.

“I trust you far more than those relatives,” Rock continued, his voice steady but resolute.

“Those who smile while hiding their desires behind their eyes.”

Before Cruel could respond, hurried footsteps echoed down the path.

“Papa!”

They turned just in time to see Clopeh walking toward them, her face bright with excitement. A butler followed closely behind, carefully carrying Deon in his arms.

Rock glanced down at Cruel one last time, his expression gentle.

“Think about it,” he said softly.

Then he set Cruel down on his feet just as Clopeh reached them.

"Good morning Duke Sekka, good morning young master Cruel. "

" Remember. " Rock nodded at the butter.

" Is there any trouble? "

" Not at the moment my Lord but Count Delvin want to have a word with you. " Remember tell him.

"Very well I will be go to the office' Rock nodded and look at the children " Kids do be careful while playing in the garden. "

" Of course papa. " Clopeh tell him beaming.

With that Rock leave Cruel with his siblings and Remember.

. . .

Then there is his older sister.....

His noona.

Cruel watched his new sister and didn’t quite know what to think.

In his first life, he had been the older one. The protector. Deon had always been behind him, small hands clutching at his sleeve. He had learned early how to stand in front of danger, how to take the blows meant for someone else.

How he uncovers all behind the Hearts family tragedy working under Duke illuster while protecting Deon that want to kill him.

Now, the roles were reversed.

Well not reversed more like adding since now he is a middle child.

Here, he was the one being watched over. The feeling sat strangely in his chest—unfamiliar, uncomfortable, and quietly confusing.

Clopeh was nothing like him.

She was open in a way Cruel had never learned to be. She spoke her thoughts aloud, asked questions without fear, and never assumed silence meant nothing. She always made sure to check on them—asking if something had happened, or simply telling them what she was thinking so they wouldn’t have to guess.

Not like him.

Not always stay silent.

Or just think everything is fine with little communication.

She never left them behind.

Whatever she did, Cruel and Deon were always included.

Lessons, walks, small errands, quiet moments—she invited them all with the same gentle certainty. She was patient, endlessly so, even when Deon grew restless or when Cruel didn’t know how to respond.

And maybe… she was a little touchy too.

A hand on Cruel shoulder when he grew quiet. Fingers brushing through Deon hair when he fussed. Warm, steady contact that never asked for permission yet never felt forceful.

Her favorite place was the greenhouse Garden.

Because its her mother garden.

She brought them there often, sunlight gleaming through the crystal walls while outside snowy, flowers blooming in colors that felt almost unreal.

Sitting among them, she would teach them their names and meanings, her voice calm and bright.

“Red roses,” Clopeh said once, holding one up carefully, “mean love. Passion. A love that doesn’t hide.”

Deon, still a baby then, was cradled in Remember arms nearby, half-asleep and clutching at the edge of the butler sleeve.

“And bleeding hearts,” she continued, pointing to a cluster of delicate pink blooms, “mean devoted love. The kind that hurts, but stays anyway.”

Sometimes Deon would be placed on Cruel lap, warm and heavy, or settle against Clopeh side as she spoke, her arm instinctively wrapping around him.

“And moonlight flowers,” Clopeh said softly, lowering her voice, “mean quiet hope. The kind that blooms even in the dark.”

Cruel listened. Always listened.

He didn’t know when it happened, or how—but somewhere between her words, her patience, and the warmth she shared so freely, something inside him began to loosen.

Being protected still felt strange.

But for the first time, it didn’t feel wrong.

. . .

Two years later, the Greenhouse Garden was filled with light like useal.

Cruel, now eight, sat as usually among the crystal and exotic flowers with Deon and Clopeh.

Sunlight filtered through the glass panes above, scattering soft colors across the ground. Deon laughed quietly as he played with fallen petals, his white hair catching the light.

Clopeh watched them for a moment before turning to Cruel.

“Are you still thinking about Father proposal?” she asked gently.

Cruel hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly around the stem of a flower. He didn’t answer right away.

Clopeh noticed. She smiled anyway.

“If you don’t want to be the heir,” she said softly, “that’s fine too.”

She reached over and carefully placed a flower crown atop Deon head.

The four-year-old beamed, proudly sitting still as the petals brushed against his white hair.

“It’s not an obligation,” Clopeh continued, her voice calm. “And it’s okay if you still don’t see Father and me as your family.”

Cruel stiffened at that.

But Clopeh only smiled, warm and unbothered.

“New changes can be hard,” she said.

“Especially when there are scars.” Her eyes softened as she looked at him. “Even when they heal, the scars stay. But that’s the beauty of it.”

Something tells Cruel that she is talking not about the viscount or his new father, that she's talking about other past.

About the Hearts family.

The nightmare and trauma that happen in his old world, about his parents death, how he is still unsure with this family, About Rock Sekka as new father and his father from Hart family.

how failure as older brother and all the miscommunication that happens. The higher people that aim for his baby brother while he can only watch.

Clopeh eyes is soft. But behind that green eyes there is knowing and recognition. And Cruel know he is not image that.

She reached out and placed a daisy in Cruel hand.

“You learn from them,” Clopeh went on quietly. “So you don’t make the same mistakes again.”

Cruel stared down at the daisy, his chest tight, something unfamiliar settling there—gentle, and aching all at once.

The greenhouse Garden shimmered around them, silent witness to the moment.

. . .

Cruel thought, with the quiet certainty of someone who had seen too much, that Clopeh was very wise.

She was gentle when she spoke, precise with her words, and terrifyingly intelligent. She read political treatises for leisure and corrected Father advisors with a smile that made grown men sweat.

She brush Deon hair every morning and kissed Cruel forehead like nothing in the world was wrong.

Which was why Cruel had a few questions.

The first and most persistent one being:

Is my sister sane? (no she's not lol) 

With how...... "Eccentric" Her behavior is.

Let's see...... 

First The sword instructor.

The man liked to smile when he hit Cruel too hard.

“Again,” he’d barked, striking Cruel wrists until they went numb. “Heir or not, you’re weak.”

Cruel bit his lip and tried again.

Clopeh watched from the edge of the training yard, head tilted.

“Sir,” she called out suddenly, sweet as sugar. “May I ask you something?”

The instructor scoffed. “This is training ground, my lady. And you already finished the sword lesson two hour ago. ”

“Yes,” Clopeh agreed. “And you’re behaving like a stray dog.”

He turned.

She lunged.

Well....

Let's just say.....

"AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!! "

"KYAAAAAHHHH! "

A guard scream like a girl.

" SHE BITE MY ASS!! "

yeah.... That.

Cruel never forgot the sound of teeth sinking into flesh.

The instructor screamed, staggering back as Clopeh clung on, utterly feral, before tearing away with a satisfied hum.

She spit out and wiped her mouth with a handkerchief.

“Bullying children is unbecoming,” she said calmly. “Also, you taste terrible.”

Later, when Cruel whispered, “Sister… you bit him,” Clopeh patted his head.

“He won’t do it again.”

He did not.

Rock when heard the news and found out what the instructor have done to Cruel did not hesitate to fire the man, and of course without healing the ass too.

Then once she told him she would protect him and Deon from bad rumors.

Cruel had nodded back then, relieved.

“Thank you, Noona. ”

Clopeh had smiled sweetly.

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll handle it.”

He had not known what she meant by that. He learned three days later.

They were walking through the west corridor when a servant passed them and muttered, not quite quietly enough, “Adopted bastards, acting like they belong—”

Clopeh stopped.

Cruel stopped too, because something in the air changed. The smile on Clopeh face remained, but it no longer reached her eyes.

“Pardon?” she asked pleasantly.

The servant stiffened. “M-my lady, I—”

“You must be tired,” Clopeh said kindly.

“You’re let

ting your thoughts fall out of your mouth.”

Then she kicked his kneecaps sideways.

With her heels.

There was a wet crack. The servant collapsed, screaming.

Cruel stared.

Deon clapped. (Why are you clapping?)

Clopeh sighed. “Honestly. People should think before speaking.”

She turned to Cruel afterward, brushing dust from her skirt.

“Did he frighten you?”

Cruel opened his mouth.Closed it.

“…No?”

“Good,” she said, satisfied. “Come along.”

The rumors stopped around the worker after that years ago, at least not openly speak ill about them.

Then came the poison flowers.

Someone had tried to tamper with Deon food.

Clopeh found out before anyone got sick.

That evening, several workers received small bouquets of pale violet blossoms—Velarium Lace, delicate and lovely.

One maid gasped. “Oh! How thoughtful—” Three hours later, the scratching started.

By morning, the servants were sobbing, clawing at their skin.

Cruel found Clopeh in the garden, calmly preparing antidotes.

“noona” he said weakly, “they’re bleeding.”

“Yes,” she said. “That means it’s working.”

“…You poisoned them.”

She looked up, surprised. “Cruel, poison is such an ugly word. I educated them.”

Clopeh later helpfully left antidotes by their beds on the fourth morning, along with a note reminding them that next time, she might choose Grave-Bell Narcissus instead.

Cruel learned the names of poisons the way other children learned fairy tales.

Because later on their usually outing in the glass garden she added some information about other flowers and which who is poison, rather than just telling Cruel and Deon the symbol and meaning.

And So did all attempts to harm on Cruel or Deon stopped.

. . .

Cruel thought that was the worst of it.

Then Duke Sekka relic went missing.

The mansion was in chaos. Guards shouting. Servants crying.

Cruel held Deon close as Rock demanded answers.

Then Deon wriggled free.

“Deon—?”

Too late.

Deon yeeted himself at a maid, knocking her flat. Screams erupted as Deon shoved his tiny hand straight slipping into her chest.

Cruel screamed.

The maid screamed.

Everyone screamed.

Deon pulled out the missing relic, in her hidden boobs pockets.

He looked up,red eyes bright. He have that glint face like after the war.

“Found it!”

Clopeh clapped once. “Excellent work, Deon.”

Father fainted.

. . .

That night, Cruel didn’t sleep.

Mostly because he kept seeing things.

Deon crawling along the ceiling beams, Clopeh standing in the hallway at midnight, smiling. Sometimes both of them disappeared together.

When Cruel once asked“Where do you go at night?”

Clopeh smiled. “Walking.”

Deon nodded enthusiastically. “We scare people!”

Cruel clutched his blanket.

Now, in the Glass Garden, Cruel stared at the daisy in his hand.

“Sister,” he asked carefully, “if someone… says bad things again…"

Clopeh smile sharpened. “Tell me.”

Deon grinned. “Or me!”

Cruel swallowed.

Is it him or why did he have a feeling his brother acted like differently sometimes and more gremlin?

. . .

Oh, nobles were worse.

Servants at least learned quickly. Nobles thought breeding made them immune.

Cruel learned this at his first proper banquet.

Crystal chandeliers. Too many forks. Too many eyes lingering on him just a second too long—on his black hair, on the way it marked him as different among the white-haired Sekkas.

Count Delvin was the first to say it out loud. He smiled as he sipped his wine, gaze sliding over Cruel like dirt under a shoe.

“A pity,” he said lightly, “that Lord Sekka adopted heir doesn’t share the family coloring. Black hair hardly suits the Sekka name, does it?”

The table went quiet.

Cruel stiffened. His hands curled in his lap. He waited—braced—for Father to speak, for someone to redirect the conversation. Clopeh beat them all to it.

She smiled. Sweet. Radiant. Thirteen years old and terrifying.

“Oh, Count Delvin,” she said warmly, clasping her hands together. “You’re absolutely right.” Cruel blinked.

Delvin preened. “I’m glad you agree, my lady—”

“I do hope,” Clopeh continued serenely, “that you hit your toe.”

Silence.

“…Pardon?”

Clopeh tilted her head. “On every table leg. Every stair. Every bedframe.”

She leaned forward slightly, green eyes bright. “For the next three days. Continuously.”

A ripple of nervous laughter passed through the table. A joke, surely.

Delvin forced a chuckle. “Children and their humor—”

Three hours later, he tripped exiting the ballroom and cracked his toe on a marble step.

The next morning, he broke a different one on a chair.

By the third day, he was sobbing in his estate, foot wrapped like a mummy, screaming that the furniture was hunting him.

No one ever commented on Cruel hair again.

They didn't want to get cursed by the young lady of house Sekka with her water goddess blessing.

Then came the underhand compliments.

“Oh, young master Cruel,” a viscountess cooed, “you’re so articulate for a child with your… background.”

Cruel opened his mouth.

Clopeh didn’t let him.

“Yes,” she said pleasantly. “We worked very hard to make sure he exceeded expectations.”

The viscountess smiled. “Such dedication, taking in—”

“—a child who surpasses most adults in this room?” Clopeh finished. “Thank you. We’re very proud.”

The woman flushed. Someone choked on their wine.

Another noble laughed awkwardly. “You Sekka children are so… intense.”

Clopeh beamed. “You should see us when we’re bored.”

They stopped talking after that.

The worst one came near the end of the evening.

He was old. Balding. Smelled like perfume and entitlement.

He cornered Clopeh near the refreshment table, leaning down far too close.

“My lady,” he purred, eyes crawling over her, “you grow more beautiful every year. In just a few more, you’ll be quite the prize.”

Cruel felt something snap.

Deon dropped his dessert plate. His red eyes sharpen and seems deepen into blood.

Before either of them could move— Clopeh took off her glove.

The room noticed.

SLAPS!

She slapped him across the face with it.

The sound echoed.

The noble staggered back, clutching his cheek.

“How dare—!”

Clopeh looked at him coldly, glove dangling from her fingers.

“Consider that your warning,” she said. “Next time, I slapped you to death.”

He sputtered. “I was merely being friendly!”

Clopeh smiled. It did not soften her snake green eyes.

“Then learn better manners when speaking to children.”

Father appeared instantly. Guards followed and the noble was escorted out. Permanently.

Cruel stared at Clopeh afterward, heart still pounding.

“Sister,” he whispered, “you didn’t even hesitate.”

She give her glove to Remember and tell the butler to burn it. “Why would I?”

Deon nodded solemnly. “He was ugly.”

Clopeh hummed. “That too.”

Cruel exhaled slowly.

'It's not like I didn't agree, but you can do it cleanly and without draw attention.' Cruel think.

He looked around the glittering hall, at nobles suddenly very careful with their words, very respectful with their distance.

Maybe Clopeh wasn’t sane.

But Cruel decided—watching her stand tall, unflinching, unapologetic—that sanity was overrated anyway.

Especially when madness wore silk gloves and smiled like a blessing.

. . .

In his past life, Cruel remembered being told something very important.

It came from an acquaintance—older, smug, full of worldly wisdom—said long before Deon was ever born and still in his mother womb.

“If you ever have a sister,” the man had said gravely, “you must protect her. From suitors. From men who flirt. From wolves in human skin.”

Cruel had taken that advice seriously. Very seriously.

Which was why, years later, watching Clopeh Sekka exist, he came to a single, horrifying realization:

He did not need to protect his sister.

He needed to protect men from her.

Because Clopeh Sekka was obsessed.

Not in a normal way. Not in a teenage admiration way.

In a something is deeply wrong and possibly religious way.

She liked beautiful things.That was fine.

She liked beautiful people.

That was… acceptable.

She liked gorgeous men. Gorgeous women. Gorgeous non-humans. Gorgeous anything, really—if it was hot, it had her full, undivided attention.

Cruel noticed this when she was eleven.

That was the year she announced, very casually over breakfast. 

“I’ve decided to go on explore the world so I can be strong and make a legend.”

Cruel choked on his tea.

Deon froze mid-bite.

For once only Rock seems look calm.

“Before my debut,” Clopeh added. “I’ll be back by fifteen and don't worry I would come back from times to time and bring gift.”

“You are eleven,” Cruel said weakly.

“Yes,” Clopeh agreed. “That’s why I must start now.”

And then she left.

She returned almost a year later.

Cruel remembered the exact moment he realized something had gone irreversibly wrong.

Each time she come back after adventure and He had been looking for her—she’d missed dinner, which was unusual—and pushed open the door to her bedchamber.

He noticed the bookshelf first.

It was… crooked.

'That was odd. Noona hated crooked things'

So he touched it.

The shelf swung open.

Behind it— A room.

A secret room.

Cruel stared.

Inside was candlelight. Incense. Stacks of sketchbooks. Flowers preserved in glass. Ribbons. Pins. Notes written in frantic handwriting.

And the walls—The walls were covered in drawings.

Men. Women. Knights. Mages. Creatures. Beasts. And— it's that dragon he see?

Of course A lot of red hair boy.

So much red hair...... 

Cruel took a step in.

Then another.

On a small table in the center sat what could only be described as a shrine.

Flowers arranged carefully. Drawings placed like offerings. Names written over and over.

One stood out.

Cale.

“Ah.”

Cruel turned slowly.

Clopeh sat on the bed inside the secret room, being oblivious that her brother just enter the room and staring dreamily at a preserved bouquet in her hands.

“He’s my favorite,” she said cheerfully.

Cruel mouth opened then close.

“…Your favorite what?”

She giggled.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

She pressed the flowers to her chest.

“These are sacred,” she whispered. “I’ll keep them as heirlooms.”

Cruel backed away one step.

“noona” he said carefully, “are you… starting a cult?”

She frowned. “Starting?”

That night, he heard her through the wall.

Laughing.

Muttering.

“I’ll see a legend… Master of the Silver Shield… wouldn’t it be funny if I built a temple like the og? Caelism sounds nice… it's happen later anyway....”

Cruel slept with a knife under his pillow.

By fourteen, it escalated.

By fourteen, she brought back baby wyverns.

Cruel encountered her on gate after her usually wandering to other continent.

She looked… pleased.

Her clothes were torn. There was dirt on her face. Blood—not hers—on her sleeve while her white hair still clean and untouched by anything.

She was holding something.

Actually.

She was holding three somethings.

“…Noona,” Cruel said slowly.

Clopeh looked up, beaming. “Yes?”

“…What do you have?”

She lifted her one arm proudly. “A sketchbook!”

There was a pause.

“Oh,” she added, shifting slightly, “and souvenirs.” she move her other arm.

The souvenirs moved.

Three baby wyverns blinked at him.

One sneezed a puff of smoke.

She casually placed one into Cruel arms.

Cruel looked down.

The baby wyvern stared back at him.

They blinked at each other.

" Noona” Cruel said faintly, “this is a living wyvern.”

“Yes,” Clopeh agreed happily. “Isn’t it adorable?”

Deon appeared out of nowhere. “Can I have one?” (other Deon gonna freak out). 

“No,” Cruel said instantly.

Clopeh tilted her head. “We can find another.”

Cruel clutched the wyvern tighter.

This make Cruel worried on her debut later at 15.

Cruel hope nothing bad happen on that special day.

......

Oh who he is kidding? It would be disaster.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Small note:

Young master puppy and painter kitten

Next part and let see what Ron think of you 😏

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Ron found you… interesting.

When young master Cale suddenly marched you into the mansion like a proudly captured prize, Ron already sensed something was off about you. You weren’t what everyone would assume at first glance—yet he couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. A strange presence, a strange aura, a strange… everything.

At the same time, you were still undeniably a child.

And Ron—cold-blooded assassin, elegant butler, professional observer of human flaws—found himself mildly amused as you stared at him and his son with the widest, sparkliest eyes he had ever seen.

You looked like a tiny pilgrim meeting two holy relics.

Sketchbook hugged to your chest, pencil in hand, smudges of graphite already painting your fingers. Your other hand—currently trapped in Cale’s determined grip—was dirty as well, likely from all the rushing, drawing, and chaotic life decisions you’d made in the past 24 hours.

Ron made a mental note 'Clean both the young master hand… and yours. Thoroughly.'

Still, despite your starstruck expression and stained fingers, Ron did not overlook the details that truly mattered.

The sword at your side—small, but real, Your posture—straight, steady, practiced, Your steps—light, silent, trained, Your eyes—too observant for a normal noble child.

Everything about you was a contradiction: a messy-handed, awe-struck, artistic little gremlin… with the bearing of someone who had been taught to fight.

Ron smiled his usual gentle one. 

He was already wondering who you were—and whether you were dangerous.

Meanwhile, you were giving h glance once or twice at him thinking 'ohmygod he’s even hotter and scarier in person ohmygoddddd—'

.  .  . 

But you are not lying either about being an artist. The moment young master Cale dragged you into his room—still clutching your wrist like a tiny tyrant—he immediately demanded proof.

And oh, you delivered.

You plopped down on the floor, unrolling your sketchbook with the kind of reverence usually given to royal treasures. Cale practically vibrated in place, leaning so close his red hair brushed your arm.

“Let me see the next!” Cale ordered, eyes sparkling with raw, unfiltered eight–year–old excitement.

“Okay, okay—this one I just finished before you came,” you said, flipping the page with equal eagerness.

“Oooohhh!!! The scar is there!” Cale gasped, pointing at the detailed portrait of one of the guards you’d sketched along the way.

“Yup! Cool, right? (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)”

“HEY—that’s Lana! The bakery aunty!” he exclaimed, stabbing a finger at the next sketch.

“Oh? You know her?”

“Yeah! She makes—”

Cale immediately launched into a rant about pastries, cakes, and how Lana always gave him extra samples because he was “a respectable child”—you bit back the urge to laugh at that—while you flipped through more of your artwork.

Meanwhile, Ron, who had silently followed the two of you inside, watched the exchange from the doorway.

He said nothing, but his eyes took in everything.

He was impressed. Truly impressed. The clean, confident strokes, The accurate details from just single glances or The way your weirdly expressive hands moved—still slightly dirty from earlier travel, smudged with graphite yet holding the pencil with familiarity.

You were a curious case.

A child—yes.

But a child who hid something but also openly laughed and chatted with young master Cale like any ordinary kid.

And right now, both of you were sprawled on the carpet, flipping through page after page. 

“That’s the tailor who fixed my buttons!”

“That one is the nice old guy who sells apples!”

“Ooh! That man looks cool—where did you find him?”

Each comment from Cale only made you beam, and each drawing only deepened Ron silent curiosity.

When another butler came to the door, he bowed politely, voice soft but carrying through the room.

“Young Master, the Count and Countess have been informed. They would be delighted to have their portraits drawn. However, since it is nearly evening, they request the session be held tomorrow. They also hope to schedule a full family portrait.”

You blink, startled out of your art-nerd focus.

“Oh! Sure—yes, of course!” You hop to your feet, brushing stray pencil shavings off your clothes. “I should return to my inn then—”

Cale head snaps toward you. 

“What? You’re leaving already?” He looks genuinely offende. 

You freeze, hands halfway to your sketchbook.

‘Oh no. No no no— not the pout. I am weak to small red-haired children—’

The butler then continue " The count said that  you could stay here to as a guest. "

“Ron” Cale insists, tugging at Ron sleeve, “he’s staying here, right? He’s my painter.”

Ron lips curl into a mild, polite benign smile… which somehow feels like a threat and a gentle shove at the same time for you. 

'Is this how Cale (Kim Roksoo) feels every time Ron serve him lemon tea? ' you shiver a bit. 

“Young Master Cale is correct,” Ron says smoothly. “It would be inconvenient for you to travel back and forth. The Count and Countess would be pleased if you stayed in the mansion as a guest during this time.”

You panic a little.

“Oh—um—I already have a place to stay, actually—”

Ron cuts in instantly.

“We insist.”

That is NOT a suggestion. That is an assassin-butler decree from the heavens.

Cale turns those wide, sparkling brown eyes on you.

His hands clasp together. His lower lip wobbles.

“Stay. We haven’t even finished the rest of your drawings.”

‘I. AM. WEAK.’

You crumble like a sandcastle hit by a tsunami.

“…Okay.”

Cale shoots both arms up like he just won a kingdom. “YES!”

Ron, satisfied, nods approvingly.

“Excellent. But before dinner, both of you must wash your hands. Especially you, Young Master Cale.” Ron gives him that look—the ‘you’ve already touched dirt’ look. Then he turns to you. “You as well, young guest.”

You glance at your graphite-stained fingers and smudge-covered wrists.

“…Fair.”

The other butler quietly excuses himself after delivering the message, leaving Ron in charge. The assassin-butler gives one last glance between you and Cale—judging the dynamic, calculating the chaos potential—and seems deeming both of you manageable enough to leave unsupervised for a moment.

“I will fetch water,” Ron says. “Please wait here.”

He steps closer to you, surprisingly gentle.

“And allow me to take your belongings to your guest room.”

You hesitate, clutching your things like a traveling gremlin protecting its hoard.

“…Uh… are you sure? I—uh— some things are fragile.”

Ron smiles. Too smoothly for your liking. 

“I assure you, they will be safe.”

Well....If anyone could carry your stuff and protect it, it’s that scary butler. You breathe out, then carefully place your sword in his hands, followed by your spatial bag—after hurriedly stuffing all the scattered pencils, erasers, and papers back inside.

But one small pouch remains slung across your shoulder.

Ron notices.

“And that one?”

You hug it protectively.

“This one has… very important things. Personal. I’d rather keep it with me.” (It holds snacks. And maybe a few emergency potions and teleportation scrolls. But mostly snacks.)

Ron eyes glint with amusement, but he nods.

“Of course. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

With that, he gracefully leaves the room—your gear in hand—while Cale wiggles excitedly beside you, already chattering about which room he hopes you get because “the morning sunlight is best for drawing.”

You let out a deep breath

.

 . 

. 

Ron come back to and wash young master Cale hands before asking yours, the butler really found you amusing. You are scared of him despite didn't show it, but that little jump before doing as he told is enough for Ron. yet you still look at him with trust that he won't hurt you or that you seems like him. 

If Young master Cale is like a puppy, to Ron you are like a kitten. 

Another draw!

Side note: I use template/base

Nurse Kimura

Heyo! It's been a while just here to drop some art that I draw, it was my new and old art.

New because I just start to draw it on digital!

And in my phone lol

Old because i draw it like last year.

Side note: I draw this with base/template

Nurse Saya

You get to draw! you get to draw! you- oh shi-

part: 6 ? Or is it seven??? it's been a while since I open Tumblr but other than that enjoy the next part ;)

With child Clopeh meet child og! Cale

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

You are having the absolute blast of your life.

After successfully sneaking into the Henituse territory, you did not march up to the Count right away like some responsible, reasonable human being.

No, that would be far too straightforward.Too suspicious.

You are on a mission, but you are also an artist with priorities—most of which involve staring at beautiful people for prolonged periods of time. (And not getting caught)

So, naturally, the first thing you did was find an inn.

The innkeeper nearly choked on her own spit when you casually placed a few gold coins onto the counter. (You’re rich, baby! Might as well flex a little just like Cale.) She tried to tell you it was too much, but you waved it off with a tragic sigh and said something vague about not knowing how long you would stay.

You also told her to “keep the change,” which made her look like she just got proposed to.

In the end, she gave you the best room in the entire inn—fluffy bed, huge windows, the kind of place that must be reverse for important figure. You simply smiled with noble-level politeness and said thank you before flopping onto the bed like a spoiled cat.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

The next day, you didn’t hold back. At all.

You grabbed your spatial bag, clutched your sketchbook like it was holy scripture, stuffed your art supplies into your arms—and then marched out into the streets with the determination of someone about to commit several aesthetic-based crimes.

The goal?

Collect. More. Beauties.

Even though they are not improtant characters, Anyone remotely fancy, pretty, handsome, or aesthetically interesting was now a potential candidate to enter your sacred ✨gorgeous✨ people (or species) sketchbook.

A merchant with flowing blond hair? Sketch.

A young lady with eyes like sapphires? Sketch.

A random Smith with cool markings on their face? Absolutely sketch.

A confused adventurer with muscles sculpted by trauma and bad decisions? SKETCH!

(And get their authographs too of course)

You worked at lightning speed—sometimes sitting on a bench, sometimes crouching in a corner, sometimes standing completely still in the middle of the street like a cryptid with a pencil. Or maybe staring your target a lil'bit intense and make them uncomfortable.

Some people were flustered.

Some were confused.

Some were deeply honored.

A few asked if you were some kind of young prodigy noble.

(Which, to be fair, you kinda are.)

Kids pointed at you and whispered. Adults gave you that “aw, rich runaway noble child” look. Others thought you were a traveling portrait artist and they are not wrong either since you did accept commission too.

Perfect.

Everything was going according to plan.

And every time someone gasped in awe at the drawings, you added them to your mental list of “people to ask for gossip later.”

By lunchtime, half the street knew of the mysterious, beautiful little brown-haired “noble artist” who drew people like they were divine beings.

By sunset?

You had filled nearly five pages with various unique and good looking faces.

Your mission to find the Count could wait, Your mission to find handsome people absolutely could not.

Besides, you still not sure either about going to the Forest of Darkness. Sure it's your first plan to go there for training, since you really need to grow fast to become strong. And since you are quite exceptional for a child Rock let it slide, because you refused to hurt people.

Usually With your talent right now that it's already on basic knight can be take as a soldier for captain to make some experience, but you don't want or refuses to hurt or even kill people. Not to mention with this young body.

Yes you have adult mind, but you didn't wanted to fuck up this child body that might effect you mentally, so you find another way to do.

And that's when the Forest of Darkness come to mind, sure it's still fuck up in your opinion but it's still more better killing monsters rather than humans and having a morally dellima later.

“Hey, you!”

You snap out of your deep artistic thoughts—something between pondering your next target model and debating if elves really sparkle in real life—and turn toward the source of the childish voice calling you.

“You’re that boy, right? The one who draws handsome people?”

And that’s when you see him.

A small boy stands there, hands on his hips like he owns the territory… which, technically, he kind of does. His dark red hair glints under the sunlight—like fresh blood on polished metal—messy yet somehow beautiful.

His round brown eyes blink up at you, still soft and childish, but you know those same eyes will one day sharpen into something cold and terrifyingly competent. His cheeks are still adorably chubby, the kind that make aunties squeal, and he’s dressed in fancy clothes that scream young master privilege.

It’s Cale.

Cale Henituse.

The original one.

The real deal.

Before Kim Rok Soo ever transmigrates into that body.

“…..”

Your brain short-circuits.

‘OH MY GOSH CALEEEEEE!! He looks even better in person?! I’m in heaven! It’s him, it’s HIM! The OG! He's such baby girl code! My baby boy! I am going to absolutely disintegrate—’

Cale frowns, eyebrows scrunching together.

“Hey. Are you even listening to me?” he demands, voice slightly bratty, slightly offended, and entirely adorable.

Your internal fangirling only intensifies.

But outside you still look put together and only staring at him.

Cale small brows knit together, the exact same unimpressed expression you remembered from the novel… except now it’s on a round baby face that makes it look more like a pout.

A very adorable, noble, expensive pout.

He stomps closer, little boots tapping against the stones with the confidence of a future trash actor.

“Hey! I’m talking to you!”

You snap out of your internal screaming long enough to blink rapidly.

“Oh! Uh— yes? Yes, I hear, I hear! Loud and clear! Very clear!”

Cale squints at you, tilting his head like a suspicious cat.

“Good. Then answer me. You’re the boy drawing handsome people everywhere, right? Everyone talking about you. Even the maids.”

'Buddy you're a child too' you tease mind.

But, Oh.

Oh no.

You’re famous already.

‘Well… that escalated quickly. The author definitely needs to nerf my charisma stat. This is ridiculous,’ you think, both proud and embarrassed.

You force yourself to smile in the most normal-child-who-totally-does-not-think-this-boy-is-the-love-of-their-fandom-life way possible.

“Um… yes? I guess? I draw handsome people. And pretty people. And cool people. And—”

Cale eyes widen slightly. “So you can draw.”

You nod eagerly, trying to ignore the fact that he’s even cuter up close with his tiny button nose and dark brownish eyes(?).

Dangerously cute.

Life-ruining cute.

Cale crosses his arms.

“Then come with me.”

Your brain short-circuits.

“…..huh?”

“come. With. Me.”

He repeats it slowly, as if talking to someone very stupid. “I need a portrait done. Come on.”

He grabs your sleeve and starts tugging like a tiny, angry noble who has never heard the word ‘no’ in his life.

Your soul leaves your body.

‘THE OG CALE HENITUSE IS ASKING ME TO DRAW HIM??? HELLO??? AUTHOR??? AM I DREAMING???’

Outwardly, you manage to squeak, “W-Wait— why me?? There are real artists—”

“They’re all boring,” Cale says bluntly. “And adults. You draw fast. And people say your drawings make them look cool."

He looks away with a huff. “I want that.”

Oh.

Oh he wants to look cool.

He wants to look cool.

Baby Cale wants a hype portrait.

Your heart explodes into glitter.

“Alright!” you chirp, eyes sparkling dangerously. “I can do that!”

Cale nods firmly, as if he expected nothing less from you.“Good. Follow me.”

And with that, the Original Cale Henituse drags you a road toward his mansion, while you float behind him like a lovestruck ghost, clutching your sketchbook like it’s a holy relic.

'Wait..... ' you then remember something.

"Young master C— young master, how old are you right now? " You ask him.

"EIGHT! And i want for you to draw portrait for my family! " Cale tell puffing up his chest, didn't stop dragging you.

'Shit. '

Cale is eight and that's means Jour Thames is still alive and the Countess right now, you remember that she have ancient power to see someone plate and she would definitely clock you in as someone that definitely didn't belong in this world.

Though you can't do nothing as Cale already demand you to draw, and that you can't refuse him.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

'Oh I am so dead. '

Is the only word you could think right now.

"Young master what you got there? " The butler ask him.

Adult and a very hot one in your opinion.

" A painter! " Cale proudly tell Ron.

"Ho?"

Yes, it's him.

It's Ron, that asassin Butler and his cute gentleman son Beacrox.

Surprisingly both of them greet you and Cale rather than just Ron, since you remember that Beacrox usually like to stay at kitchen cooking as the Henituse chef.

'If Jour doesn’t catch me, Ron DEFINITELY will' you think, staring at him with the expression of someone seeing a celebrity they absolutely should not approach.

You feel so blessed and so doomed at the same time.

I've just been thinking about time travel Ango and his cats. And once again.... reread the entire story. So I'll just rant about it here.

One thing when Ango gave Oda writing advice was (this is taken straight from the fic):

_ "you can start it... From your daily life?” Ango suggested. “Or a conversation that stuck with you. Something you can’t forget, even if you don’t know why.”

Oda hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah... maybe.”

" Just don't force yourself" Ango add and Oda nodded. _

And the thing before:

_ Oda didn’t know why, but something about the librarian from last night lingered in his mind. There was something... off about the man, something that seemed to pull Oda in. _

It makes me think that one of Oda's first semi-finished draft will be a kind of about Ango. (Maybe Dazai too?).

You really like putting shenanigans in your stories. I can't wait for what they have. I imagine kind of stuff like this:

-Nyanzai vs. Dazai. They are similar but I feel like Dazai would not get along with his cat counterpart all the time. So like: Dazai is with Oda. He wants to talk and Nyanzai just comes and steals all the attention. Or like Ango is obviously hiding something again and Dazai wants to tease him but Nyanzai comes and annoys him. (Protector Nyanzai!! Protective cats). So its like a hate-love relationship with Dazai and his cat counterpart. Like he gets annoyed by the cat but then in some moments its like: "you know... you're not that bad..." and they get along. But then moments later the cat does something and Dazai's like: "I take it back". So its Dazai getting a taste of his own medicine. And Oda and Ango just watch Dazai fight the cat all the time. Ango is exhausted and tries to seperate them like: "Dazai it's just a cat. It's not doing this on purpose." (It totally is.) But then in some other moments the cat uses its powers to be annoying to get Dazai's attention and get him to help Ango when he's hurt or something. All the while Oda and Nyansaku exist in harmony. (Sort of)

-Oda showing up in the libary while the ADA is there and it's like: "hello...?" And the Ada members dont make a big deal of Oda and Ango at first. But it doesnt take long for Ranpo to notice stuff. So he's like:"So this is the 'thing' you've been thinking about." And the Yosana and Ranpo are like: Omg. They start teasing Ango and stuff, now everytime he's like lost in thought they're always like: "thinking about him again huh?" Kunikida is trying to get them to leave Ango and Oda alone. (Obviously Ranpo and Yosano would know that's not everything but most of the time their first reaction would be to tease. Ranpo has not given up figuring out Ango but he's happy to get SOME info on him.) Ango hates it but at the same time it kind comes in his favor. So he can deflect what he's actually thinking about. And maybe distract them from literally everything else he's doing.

Idk... maybe I'll get more ideas but I feel like this has so much potential (especially when the port mafia gets in on the game)

hello! IIt's been a while and sorry for late answering have been a bit stress with irl this year ;) and don't worry! You didn't bother me at all I fact I like it when you ask me 🩵

And yes I will tell you if I'm being uncomfortable if you asking something that I don't want 👍

And wow..... Did You read my long fiiiccsss????(๑°ㅁ°๑)‼o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

And those ideas 🩵🩵🩵🩵

-- that Oda writing novel scen 0-0 yes I have few ideas that Oda write the novel for his friends.

and tthose shenanigans yes!

-- Nyanzai and Dazai definitely have some beef with each other lol, they would try to gatekeep their friends/human for themselves. And yes, Nayazai would whether unintentionally or not would make sure Dazai didn't know Anyone secret.

On second thought.......I'll put this ideas for future and abused this lmao.

Dazai found An hour little note about future plans:

Dazai: oh? What's this? Don't mind if I do ^^

Nyanzai jump into the desk: hhhhrrrrkkkk---huuuurks----- *puke hair ball onto the notes*

Dazai: ........you little shi---

Dazai and nyanzai definitely have love-hate for eachother he is indeed get taste his own medicine in form of furry boy, cuz as much that burn cat annoy him he have to admit the cat help him a lot too in the future. There is a lot thing happen where Dazai wwould take his word back for liking Nyanzai XD

-- of course Ranpo decide to be a gremlin and cause chaos in the first place, when he get bore he want drama~~~, Ranpo and Yosano making bets on Ango relationship with Oda too while Kunikida try to stop them (and fail miserably)

It might Ranpo favou pastime since something about Ango is mystery and he can't predict or deduct with a certain answer, like there is a chance he is wrong.

Ranpo: sooooooo--- you both eat together on free time?

Oda blink: yes of course? We do every time since we are roommate.

Yosano: HAH! See I told you they are in same house, I win!

Ranpo: dammit I missed one *give Yosano 150 yen*

i aam actually grateful with you ideas and I am open with any that comes by, it helps me writingy fics!

Oh you bet! The Port Mafia gonna added the gasoline onto the chaos and so is the the division team 😏

hello! II'm so sorry for not answer back for so long, well to answer that you could try to find it through some of the fic in this tumblr. Don't worry! They share name like "white on the five star" (WS dad au)

hello, it's been a while ˙˚ʚ(´◡`)ɞ˚˙

Yeah, my apologize there is a lot things going on and I haven't been update lately here especially BSD.

I guess it didn't help that I have been taking break from the fandom too, I also try to find inspiration and ideas somewhere but there is no luck so far 😓

But don't worry I didn't abandon this, it might need a lot of time to get back again. I will post new things again someday.

yes, very much 😊

branch au:

I like to make a canon for this au that WS have a weak gene.

All his children looks like their other parent.

Naru? You don't have to ask.

The dark princess? Oc ( one of this branch au she's real not Naru disguise and WS married someone but she die) she is carbon copy of her mother.

(What if & branch au) Naru have younger brother? WS gene give up with only a few red hair strands 🤣

The ironic is that his adopt children looks or share some features with him.

The red dragon have same red hair and might take some manners from WS.

Part:2

Continue to the last part where they (most likely Fukuzawa ) hunting adopt children! That's all enjoy!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"......."

"......."

"Fukuzawa....When I said I would like to adopt more children...." Mori rubs his temple feeling the headache coming.

"There is nothing wrong with this."

"YOU'RE LITERALLY GIVING ME A CHILD AS A MARRIAGE GIFT!!!!"

"...but you adopted two kittens as my marriage gift...." Fukuzawa points out.

A small box with two kittens, one black and the other white, was still held in Mori's hands. They continued to mewl, not minding the chaos around them.

Mori groaned, "That's different!"

"Can I choose the wedding cake flavor? And do you guys have any sweets? I'm craving some chocolate." 

Ranpo butted in while loudly sipping on some warm tea that Yosano gave to her new brother. The two of them now watched the two adults argue with each other, amused. 

"Not now kid!" Mori snapped.

'I can't believe this asshole of a wolf does this! And without telling me!?'

---------Three Days Ago----------

Both adults stood frozen, staring at the marriage certificate like it was a death sentence. Mori looked moments away from throwing himself out the window headfirst.

Yosano stood in front of the two, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently and finally snapped. “WELL?! EXPLAIN YOURSELVES!”

Mori opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again, but this time, all that came out was a strangled noise of sheer disbelief.

“I—WHAT—HOW?!”

Fukuzawa, who prided himself on being a man of few words, managed to string together a profound and well-thought-out response.

“…What the hell.”

“Glad we are on the same page,” Mori hissed, whipping around to Fukuzawa. “WHY IN THE NAME OF ALL THINGS HOLY DID WE SIGN THIS?!”

“How should I know?! You were there too!”

“Oh, wonderful deduction, Fukuzawa! Truly, the greatest detective of our time! Maybe next, you’ll tell me that water is wet!”

Yosano scowled and snatched the certificate from Mori trembling hands. “You mean to tell me you don’t remember a fucking (Yosano, language!) thing?! You two dumbasses got married on accident?!”

Both men looked at her, then at the paper, then back at each other before simultaneously launching into panicked, incoherent shouting.

“What the—HOW DID WE GET ACCIDENTALLY MARRIED?!”

“DID WE EVEN HAVE WITNESSES?!”

“WHERE DID THIS EVEN HAPPEN?! AND WHEN!??!”

After a moment, a quiet, delighted giggle cut through their hysteria.

They froze and turned as one.

Elise stood in the doorway (In her adult form?), hands behind her back, a grin that could only be described as ‘utterly smug’ plastered across her face.

Mori paled. “Elise.”

“Ah, my dear, wonderful father figure,” Elise said sweetly. “How lovely of you to finally realize the beautiful bond you and Fukuzawa have.”

“…What. Did. You. Do.”

Elise twirled in place. “Oh, nothing much~! Just… made your relationship legally binding.”

Fukuzawa narrowed his eyes. “Explain. Now.”

“Wellll,” Elise started, rocking on her heels, “last night, you two were getting all grumpy and whiny. Mori was complaining about how everyone keeps flirting with him, and you—” she pointed at Fukuzawa, “—asked if he needed a ‘man in hand’ to keep them away.”

Silence.

Mori's brain blue screened. “I—”

“Oh, and Mori agreed!” Elise continued cheerfully. “Said it’d be way less of a hassle than dealing with all the sleazebags. You two were just going on and on about how annoying it is being single, so I took the liberty of making it official! You’re welcome.”

The room filled with the sound of something breaking. It was likely Mori's sanity.

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

“I got you registered as married~!” Elise clapped her hands. “Don’t you love it? I even made sure the paperwork was perfect! No take-backsies!”

Fukuzawa turned towards Mori, aghast. "Isn't she your ability!?"

"I don't know myself, alright!"

Mori wouldn't be surprised if it turned out Elise was her own person. A person with some of his memories paired with a personality he somewhat influenced. While never confirmed or denied in canon, he liked to believe that Elise was somewhat or completely sentient. 

Like how Demon-Snow kept her promise to protect Kyōka, or how Atsushi talks directly with Byakko.

That's why Mori treated Elise like Yosano, like she was a human girl. That was why, when Fukuzawa found out about Elise's true nature, it was easy for him to get use to the idea and treat her like he usually did.

"Well, what do we do now? Divorce!?"

"Do you think it would be that easy? We just got married, barely a week ago, if the dates are to be trusted, and even if we could, do you want to explain to the lawyer why we want to get divorced?" Fukuzawa asks him.

"WELL, IF YOU MUST KNOW, I WILL HAPPILY EXPLAIN-"

Fukuzawa, who had been rapidly going through the five stages of grief, suddenly froze. A thought had entered his mind. 

A dangerous thought.

“…You know,” he said, rubbing his chin. “This might not be such a bad idea.”

Mori, who had been mid-rant, snapped his head around so fast it nearly cracked. “EXCUSE ME?!”

Fukuzawa ignored him. “Think about it—if we stay married, people will leave you alone. No more unwanted flirting— well at least it would not be as much as it used to be.”

Mori opened his mouth, closed it, narrowing his eyes.

“Go on.”

Fukuzawa added, “If we stay married, we can file joint taxes. You like money, don’t you?”

Mori nodded slowly, pursing his lips. "I do love money.”

“And medical benefits.”

“Health insurance is a scam; I’d be a fool not to take advantage of that.” (He is a doctor, but an illegal one and later, he is to be a mafia boss, he doesn't have the best moral values).

“See? We’re already making it work.”

“…Wait a damn second, are you trying to seduce me with financial security?”

“If it’s working, I won’t stop.” There was a small quirk to Fukuzawa's lips, “And” Fukuzawa continued, “this means we can legally adopt more children.”

Mori opened his mouth, then shut it. He sat in silent contemplation. The laws in Japan state that a single person may only adopt a single child at a time. A couple, on the other hand, can adopt more than one, so long as they both agree to it at least. Mori eyes widened.

Yosano, catching onto where this was going, grinned. “You mean, you two could take in more kids like me?”

Mori, looking deeply betrayed by his own logic, groaned into his hands. “DAMN IT.”

Elise, a child once again (when did that happen?) beamed. “So, you’re not getting divorced?”

Fukuzawa nodded. “Yes.”

Mori, defeated, sighed. “I guess.”

Yosano slammed her hands on the table. “THEN WE’RE HAVING A PARTY!”

Mori shot up. “NO, WE ARE NOT—”

“TOO LATE!” Yosano declared, already pulling out decorations from God knows where. “WE’RE CELEBRATING YOUR HOLY MATRIMONY!”

At that moment, a stray calico cat slipped into the apartment. Without thinking, Mori instinctively grabbed it by the scruff and yeeted it out the window.

Fukuzawa, about to argue against the party, startled. He turned to look at the open window, then at Mori.

“…You just threw a perfectly good cat out the window.”

Mori, still frazzled, huffed. “Force of habit.”

Elise, who had been watching the entire scene, snickered. “Wow, that was violent. But not as funny as last week when Mori was drunk and started talking about—”

Mori lunged. 

“NOPE. NO. NO YOU DON’T.”

'Don't you dare tell them about my rants about the shipping wars of this god forsaken fandom!' 

Elise was barely able to get a foot way before Mori grabbed her, clapping a hand over her mouth. She let out a muffled noise of pure amusement.

Fukuzawa raised an eyebrow. “What is she talking about?”

Mori shook his head furiously, his hair flying in every which direction. “NOTHING. NOTHING AT ALL. NOT A DAMN THING AT ALL.”

Elise, still muffled, laughed harder.

Fukuzawa hummed. “Hmm. I feel like this is something I should know about.”

“NO, YOU SHOULD NOT.” Mori screeched. 

Yosano smirked. “Well, now I'm curious.”

Fukuzawa sighed. “Never mind, back to the subject at hand. This arrangement has its perks. We would be fools not to take advantage of it.”

Mori stared at him, horrified. “Wait. Are you saying you want to keep the cat?”

“...I do.”

“And you want to stay married.”

“I am the one that suggested it, yes I do.”

"I...Okay, we'll keep the marriage...But I'm going to get you kittens as a marriage gift, you deserve more than some filthy stray alley cat."

'Natsume-Sensei can kiss his own furry ass'

Elise smirked; her mouth now uncovered. “Wow. You’re really committed to those vows.”

Mori groaned. “I AM GOING TO COMMIT MURDER—”

“Not before we throw a wedding party~!” Yosano sang, skipping off with Elise to plan the celebration.

Mori buried his face in his hands. “…I am going to need so much more alcohol.”

Fukuzawa took a sip of his tea. “I’ll get the good stuff.”

-----

The next day, Fukuzawa mulled over everything; he needs to find the best gift for Mori.

Not to mention, it was also an apology gift for manipulating Mori to agree to the marriage too. Even if Mori was aware of the manipulation. 

But, in the end, Fukuzawa isn't exactly sorry that the marriage happened in the first place, it does give them both a lot of benefits (as well as an excuse to stay with the family once this mission is over, damn his over-protectiveness).

Fukuzawa shakes his head; he needs to focus on his current mission. Natsume-sensei (why did he look messy and-was that a bruise on his cheek?) gave him a side mission other than his job to protect Mori. His other client, a CEO of a renowned company was found dead this morning, he was heading over to investigate. 

And now, he was standing in front of building that held the crime scene, ready to get to work. 

But just as he was about to enter the building, the door swung open and a body was thrown outside, with it landing right beside him.

"Get out, you pest!!"

'...what.'

"Ugh...."

"Damn brat.... Who does he think he is?"

The policeman tsked, that's when Fukuzawa noticed the body beside him was the body of a young boy. 

"What did he do?" Fukuzawa can't help but ask the policeman.

"That punk has been hanging around the crime scene for hours, bothering everyone who walks in and out about getting a job here, AND he has the gall to tell a detective that they were wrong about a clue! The disrespect of kids these days, unbelievable." The policeman scoffed before slamming the door shut and leaving.

Fukuzawa decides to put a pause on his mission, crouching down next to the boy to check on him, "Are you alright?"

"......you won't get anything done with that state of mind."

"What?"

The boy looks up into his eyes from beneath his hat, his green eyes piercing right through him.

"You're distracted by something...no someone. Perhaps a friend or a lover. You flinched a bit when that man threw me outside, you didn't expect it even though you are most likely trained to notice and react to fast, unexpected events, evidence by your obvious training in a multitude of martial arts and carrying of a weapon," the boy nods to his swords. 

'...did he deduce all of that in the mere seconds since he laid eyes on me? Who is this child?'

"Where are your parents?" Fukuzawa asks, trying to ignore how this child easily read him.

"I don't have any, that's why I'm looking for a job, duh."

That make him halt for a moment.

His brain starts to calculate.

A child + prodigy + no parents + mori wants more children = a perfect marriage gift.

"......"

"Hey mister, you there?"

.

.

.

Let's just say.....

After taking Ranpo (the boy's name) into the crime scene, looking over the clues, convincing the boy about a nonexistent ability (to which he began running around, loudly proclaiming his importance like a peacock), talking to the suspect who was tied up—

Wait....

That's a CHILD assassin! (another gift for Mori!)

the suspect then escaping much to his disappointed ( Fukuzawa make sure to remember)

and solving more cases around Yokohama, it was very easy to convince Ranpo to allow him to adopt the boy. 

Although, Ranpo was quick to say that he knew all along that the man was looking for a marriage gift for his new husband. And that he intends on making the young assassin another marriage gift much to Fukuzawa's embarrassment. 

------ End of Flashback -------

'For the love of all things unholy, FUCK the truck who hit me!'

Mori groaned after hearing the whole story, however, a couple things stood out to him, some very important things. The first thing is that Ranpo is 13, which is a year younger than in canon.

Ranpo is supposed to be 14 when he meets Fukuzawa. It seems like the timeline is already starting to shift due to the changes Mori has made. Nothing too unexpected yet, thankfully. The other thing is about the second child that is supposed to become his other 'gift'.

A child assassin.

It didn't take a genius to know who that child is.

"So, you don't want them?" Fukuzawa asks him, almost pouting, as Mori snaps back to present.

"What! No! He's already here, so there's no turning back now." Mori nods firmly.

All throughout his deep thoughts and his conversation with Fukuzawa, his body had automatically moved to give Ranpo some chocolate.

"And for the other child I accept him too. I can search for him later through my network," Mori said, sighing.

"Huh, so I'm going to have two big brothers now?" Yosano mulled over this.

"I just hope this party goes well, considering we are the only one's celebrating it," Mori mumbles, sitting down on a chair, running his fingers through his hair.

Dad Mori au!

A sneak peek on R! Mori feeling about Natsume-sensei and get married with Fukuzawa lmao!

And this one is beta-read too, enjoy!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Mori and Fukuzawa were at it again — bickering like an old married couple as they walked home after picking up Yosano and Elise from school. The girls trailed behind them, quietly enjoying the show.

“I don’t get it,” Fukuzawa grumbled. “Why are you always messing with that poor calico?”

“Poor calico?” Mori snorted. “That cat is a menace. It’s been following us for what? A month, staring at me like it’s plotting something.”

'Didn't that neko man know it's fucking harassment and a violation to people's privacy to follow people like this!?'

Look, Natsume-sensei always following everyone, Mori know that, but there is thin line between just checking in on people vs. straight up stalking them. Especially with the fact that he seems to insist on following people almost everyday way too close for comfort!

And then there is the fact that he always hung out in bar Lupin during the Dark Era. That damn cat was always there, intruding on the Lupin Trio's space. The damn cat could just hop in and out, just to check on them, but no he insists on staying and intruding on Dazai's safe space where he can relax with friends. 

The cat always there in the manga and anime.

This made him remember that Natsume-Sensei literally breeched everyone's personal space, that man even have a gall to act like normal cat and follow him to his bedroom or tried to use his toilet!

He threw that cat straight out the window.

“It’s a cat, not an assassin,” Fukuzawa deadpanned.

“You don’t know that!” Mori insisted, whining. “What if it’s a spy? Or worse — a cat weeb?”

Fukuzawa blinked. “…What?”

“A cat weeb, Fukuzawa!” Mori repeated, as if it were obvious. “You know, obsessed with humans, always hanging around pretending to be one of us — like some wannabe anime protagonist with tragic backstory energy.”

Mori make sure extra loud, knowing that damn neko man was close enough to hear.

“...You’ve been reading too much manga from Elise's collections.”

“It’s got main character hair, Fukuzawa!” Mori argued. “All patchy and dramatic, like it's about to unlock a secret power move!”

“That’s just how calicos look.”

“I’m telling you, that cat is weird. Calico cats can't be male! Because calico cats are always female."

Mori continues, "plus, every time I turn around, there it is — judging me like I owe it money.”

“Maybe he just likes you,” Fukuzawa sighed.

“Oh no,” Mori muttered darkly. “That’s even worse.”

Fukuzawa groaned. “Please don’t—”

“That's why I threw catnip at it,” Mori crossed his arms smugly. “Keep it humble. I can’t let it get ideas.”

“You what?!” Fukuzawa stared at him in disbelief. “You’re messing with the cat with catnip?”

“It’s not my fault it acts like a lightweight at a bar.”

“Unbelievable,” Fukuzawa muttered, rubbing his temples. “If you start sprinkling catnip in my shoes to ‘keep me humble,’ we’re going to have a problem....You need a hobby.” 

Mori smirked, a slight skip making its way into his stride. “I do have a hobby: annoying you.”

“Sounds about right,” Fukuzawa muttered under his breath.

Mori wasn’t done yet. “Honestly, you’re so obsessed with cats that I’m surprised they don’t run from you. They probably sense you’re about five seconds away from proposing to one.”

Fukuzawa stopped dead in his tracks, turning to Mori with an expression of pure betrayal. “How dare you.”

“Oh no,” Elise whispered behind them, giggling. “The boyfriends are at it again~.”

“Should we tell them?” Yosano asked dryly.

“Nah,” Elise grinned, "this is fun~".

---

A few moments later, they were at the train station to buy some tickets for the train. The girl's school is a bit far from where the clinic was, Mori purposely choose to enroll the girls a bit away from the clinic due to the fact that the school was located in a much safer neighborhood then the clinic. 

And it also got Yosano away from all the attempts on his life every day. 

'But of course, there will always be some sort of issue.' Mori thinks bitterly, due to the whole bullying thing as well as shitty adults with no backbone.

Mori shrugged, deciding to forget about it for the time being and went to buy tickets at the counter for the four of them. While he was sorting out the details, Fukuzawa couldn’t help but notice the cashier relentless attempts to flirt with Mori.

Despite Mori best efforts to ignore her, the woman just kept pushing, giggling and flipping her hair like she was starring in her own romance drama, pressing her chest together in a vain attempt to appear attractive. 

"Sooo," she purred, fluttering her clumpy eyelashes, "do you always look this sharp, or is today special?"

"Just buying tickets," Mori muttered, eyes glued to the counter, fiddling with his card in his long fingers. 

"Well," she leaned in further, pressing her chest to the point of almost spilling out of her tacky shirt, "if you need someone to show you around later..."

Mori face twitched. "I'm good, thanks."

Fukuzawa, who had been silently watching this, decided enough was enough. He stepped forward and loomed behind Mori like a shadow of death.

"He is taken," Fukuzawa stated flatly, sneering slightly at the tactless girl.

"What?" Mori choked, turning to glare at him.

"Taken. By someone... 'taller' than you," Fukuzawa added, fixing the cashier with an icy stare. The woman quickly retreated, suddenly fascinated by her keyboard.

"I can’t believe you just did that," Mori groaned as they walked away.

"I saved you," Fukuzawa replied. "And you're welcome."

"You could have given a different excuse," Mori mutters dryly.

"...Isn't that why you put 'a good-looking face' on the bodyguard application?" Fukuzawa mused. 

'Oh, you smug wolf! You are so lucky to be handsome.'

---

The afternoon train was packed, bodies crammed together like sardines in a tin. Fortunately, there were two empty seats for Yosano and Elise, while Mori and Fukuzawa were left standing in front of them.

"Lucky, you guys got seats," Mori muttered, adjusting his lab coat. "My back's killing me."

"Old man problems," Yosano quipped, shrugging.

"I'm not that old!" Mori huffed.

"Not yet~" Elise add, a sly smile gracing her lips.

Of course, because peace was never an option (Not for Mori), a hand started creeping its way around Mori's waist.

"Excuse me?" Mori snapped, glaring daggers at the offender. Before he could say more, Fukuzawa hand shot out like lightning, grabbing the man wrist with the precision of a trained swordsman. (Maybe because he was, but yk🤷‍♀️)

CRACK

"AAAH!" The man screeched, clutching his now inverted finger.

"Consider that a warning," Fukuzawa drawled. Yosano gave him a thumbs-up, looking like she just witnessed the highlight of her day.

"Nice one, Fukuzawa-san" she smirked approvingly.

"You just— You can't just break people's fingers on public transport!" Mori whisper yelled. "We are in public!" Mori glared, he didn't mind the person's suffering, but they could potentially get arrested, even if it was self-defense.

Thank you, Yokohama.

"I didn’t break it, "Fukuzawa said dryly. "Just adjusted it."

Mori rolled his eyes, "Adjusted it? Where? The other axis?"

---

Later, as they walked back to the apartment, now in the sketchy parts of the city, fate refused to let Mori live in peace. Another sleazeball attempted to sidle up beside him, hand creeping dangerously close to Mori hip.

"Are you serious right now?" Mori muttered under his breath. 'Twice in one day?'

In a move that would make any martial arts master weep with pride (or horror), Mori twisted around and delivered a brutal kick directly between the man legs.

POP!

Fukuzawa flinched, paling. "...Did something just break?"

Then he remembered, Yosano supposedly kicked her bullies with steel-toed shoes...he can see where she gets it from. 'Uncanny...'  

"I should buy you some shoes like these ones too," Mori said muttered innocently. "For extra protection."

Fukuzawa winces a bit but left satisfied that the man was in pain as they walked away.

As the unfortunate groper writhed on the ground like a dying fish, Mori and the others strolled away like protagonists exiting an epic explosion.

---

"haaaaa~ what a day...." Mori threw his body to the sofa as Yosano and Elise put away their backpacks in their room. (it's Yosano's but Elise likes to hang out in there anyways, despite not needing sleep). 

After what happened at the school and the unfortunate events on their way back home, Mori was left in a bad mood. Seeing this, Fukuzawa silently crept towards the kitchen to make some warm tea for the both of them.

While waiting for the water to boil, he didn't realize Yosano entered the kitchen.

"This sometimes happen...." That made Fukuzawa look at her.

" .... What do you mean?"

Yosano just sighs, "People like to flirt with Mori-Sensei, doesn't matter if it's a man or woman, just like how you saw earlier."

Fukuzawa did notice some stares every time they went out, especially when Mori was making a deal or business talks.

Aside from his.....well— 'behavior', Fukuzawa could admit that Mori is a good-looking man.

A clean, youthful face, an imposing aura, a— cough slim waist cough — firm body and androgenous face. With only a small amount of makeup and a change of clothes, Mori could pass as a high-end model.

It didn't help that, while he always wore the kind of clothes that gave an impression of someone who was clean, well-off, polite (At first glance), Mori also has children around him, making him appear softer and domestic, which isn't always a great thing, especially in the bad neighborhood he resided in.

"I would prefer they just try to kill Mori-Sensei, rather than place their grimy hands on him," Yosano scowled, crossing her arms. 

Oh.....

Oh......

That's why she is extra vicious if they attempt to kidnap the doctor rather than attempt to assassinate him. When the goal is to kill, there is nothing more to that action, but kidnapping...that could have a multitude of unsavory motives...each more disgusting than the last.

The realization of this fact made Fukuzawa's mouth go dry, his jaw clenching.

Not too long after their conversation, Mori entered the kitchen too, "Yosano! What are you doing here? Go to bed, it's already late and you need to rest after that school stunt."

Yosano glanced at Fukuzawa for a moment before leaving the kitchen on her way to her room.

Now, only Mori and Fukuzawa were left in the kitchen. It's a bit awkward, before Fukuzawa cleared his throat, "Tea?"

"...yeah, sure why not?" Mori sighed.

After that they fall into a silence again, but this time more comfortable.

Fukuzawa served him some tea, Mori mumbling a thanks.

"So, is this a common occurrence?"

"Haaaa.... I knew you were going to ask this question sooner or later, and no it doesn't happen often, only here and there, and DON'T..."

Fukuzawa just opened his mouth to interrupt before snapping it shut.

"Don't you think I am a damsel, I can take it. Besides I am not the only one here who is good looking," Mori wiggled his eyebrows teasingly at him, causing Fukuzawa to scoff at his usual antics.

"And you know what? Let's drink!"

"What?"

"You heard me, this tea didn't help-no offense it's good- but I need something stronger!" Mori set two glasses and a bottle of wine (Fukuzawa gave up asking where all these items come from) onto the counter.

He then pours the wine into the glasses and offers one to Fukuzawa.

"Well?"

".....a little drink won't hurt," Fukuzawa took the glass, taking a sip.

It didn't take long for the two adults to become drunk, since they didn't stop drinking. They started to babble, much of it, nonsense.  

And without realizing it, both of them sign something placed in front of them while they were drunkenly rambling.

Something that would change their life's forever.

They didn't notice Elise slipping out of the apartment above the clinic, looking like an adult.

------The Next Week------

Knock Knock

"Coming!"

Mori and Fukuzawa are in dining room, with Mori placing some pancakes onto Fukuzawa and Yosano plates, Fukuzawa sipping some warm morning tea.

...

..

.

"FUKUZAWA-SAN! DAD! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!!!"

A scream made Fukuzawa choke on his drink; Mori's pancake became one with the wall.

Yosano rarely called or admitted to Mori's title as her 'dad', she was always more casual with him and mostly called him 'Mori-Sensei.'

She only tended to use the 'Dad' word when she was surprised, exasperated or in distress.

Both the adults scrambled up, grabbing their respective weapons and hurried toward the living room.

"Yosano what is it?!" Mori panted while Fukuzawa already held his katana in a defensive position. 

"THIS!!!"

Yosano glared at both of them and shoved them towards the coffee table. Both of them relax and take a closer look at it and see the opened package.

There is a flowers bouquet (?), a signed certificate (???), and beautiful matching couple rings (where did this come from?????).

Mori, confused, picked up the certificate as Fukuzawa looked from his shoulder.

.......

They both froze in mortification.

It's a marriage certificate....

A legally binding marriage certificate....

This is the important nobles that join hand on develop the kingdom with race and some of their name meaning:

Duke von Ejellan (vampire)

Duke Agriche (Mage)

Duke Nerida/ Undine (sea nymphs)(Mermaid)

Duchess Angelo (Necromancy)

Marquis……. (Dark mage)

Marquis Gersey (Marchioness Gersey) (human)

Marquis ……(Human)

Patriach Mau(divine cat) / Apep (demon chaos)/ Maibe (grave) (I'm half joking want to name it Tuna lol) (cat tribes)

(Count Hubesha ) (……. Dark elf(?))

(Count Mock) (dark Elf(?))

(Earl Circe) (Witch)

(Earl Dade) (dark one) (dark elf)

(Baron Sirena) (siren/mermaid)(mermaid)

(Baron……) (Human)

There is familiar name but they are not the same person, I thought it would be interesting if the current canon person is from that family heritage.

Some of them didn't have a name or have a lot names, that's because I can't decide or didn't know what to put them on 😭

The Endable kingdom is almost thousand year old and stable, which means the place is more flourish and advance than in the canon.

branch au of R! Clopeh: crossover TCF x intkot.

Cruel and Deon is reborn in TCF world as the lunatic younger brothers lol

Oh and fem!Clopeh I guess enjoy!

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

It’s been five years—almost six—living as Clopeh Sekka.

Everything seems fine on the surface. Life moves on, quiet and ordinary, until you start to notice the small changes. Your mother health has been slowly draining, ever since your birth years ago, but only lately has it become impossible to ignore.

The way her steps are slower now. The way her breath tires more easily.

She is Clopeh mother, the woman who brought this body into the world—but now she is yours too. Your new mother in this life. The one who loves you without hesitation, who cares for you even as her own strength fades.

She always like to take you to her favorite greenhouse garden, where it protect by the glass and magis to keep all the plants and flowers from the North cold.

"Clopeh look over here... "

" Yes mama? "

" Aren't these flowers are lovely? "

" They are! But not as lovely as you mama! "

" That's so sweet my child, do you want to know what flower that I love? "

" What is it?! "

"..... "

" Peruvian Lily. " 

You never knew who she was in the novel.

You never knew what kind of person she was supposed to be. She never appeared, never mattered, never told and so you ignored her existence entirely. You didn’t care. Hell, you barely thought of her at all.

But now…

Now you see her.

You see how she looks at you, how she pours her love into you without hesitation, without condition. Every gentle touch, every tired smile, every worry she tries to hide for your sake.

And it hurts.

It hurts so much.

Losing her feels like something is being torn out of you, something you didn’t even know you needed until it was gone.

Rock Sekka is part of your life now—and so was she. The two of you grieve together, drowning in the same silence, the same unbearable absence.

For the first time in this new life, you lock yourself inside your chamber. You ignore every knock, every voice calling your name from the other side of the door.

You cry until your hard to breathe.

You stay in bed, bundling yourself under the blankets, staring blankly at the wall. Some days, you can hardly bring yourself to move at all.

When you do get up, it’s only to eat—because Cale always said to eat properly, right? —And to pick a few Peruvian lilies, placing them carefully into a pot inside your bedchamber.

Then you return to bed, repeating the same hollow routine over and over again.

And one of those days, exhausted and empty, you cry yourself to sleep.

.

.

.

.

.

You wake up.....

The air grows still. Too still. Like the moment before a tide pulls back

You are no longer in your chamber.

Water stretches endlessly beneath your feet, clear and unmoving, reflecting a dark sky scattered with dim stars. There is no wind, no sound—only presence.

There is no wind yet your white hair flow around gently, you feels lighter like a cotton.

you already read, watch, and see too much already to not know what this place is.

and you know what this mean.

One of them wearing all black clothes that looks modern and classy, long white hair, handsome face and dark skin.

The other shines softly, like moonlight filtered through water. Gentle. Vast. Watching you with eyes full of quiet sorrow.

The God of Death.

And the Goddess of Water.

Your chest tightens.

“…No,” you whisper, taking a step back. “I don’t want this. I don’t want to hear it.”

You turn away, grief flaring hot and sharp.

Even here, even now, you are tired. So tired of gods and everything around, you just want to mourn in peace.

The water goddess does not stop you. She only watches, her expression kind but under those stare is something more.

It is the God of Death who speaks.

“Clopeh.”

Your name sounds different in his voice..... That's not your name either.

But it's yours now and both of you know this.

“I have news,” he says. “From your mother.”

You freeze.

Your breath catches painfully in your throat.

“…Don’t,” you say, voice shaking. “Please.” But your feet will not move. Your heart is already betraying you, turning toward him despite yourself.

The God of Death steps closer—not threatening nor cruel. Just Simply there.

“She spoke to me,” he continues, voice low and steady. “Not with regret. Not with fear.”

You clench your hands into fists, nails biting into your palms.

"We told her. " God of the Death tell you making you snapped at him.

"You what. " You hissed.

You know what he means, the God of Death told her that you are not her child. At least this soul is not supposed to be here, and someone soul should have this body.

They know you are grieving and now they did this?!

What would she think about this? Did she feel disagrouth?, sad?, betrayed? What she would think of you now?

Your breath hitches and fasten—

"Calm down child. " The water goddess say.

You glare at her " I'm not your fucking child. " You snarled, so fed up with them. Those who do as they please and leave little warning, you can't help but frustrated with them.

Despite they are the one who give you this second chance.

The water goddess flatter a bit seeing your expression, she then back away form you sending that you didn't want any of them close with you.

" Clopeh..... Child. " God of the Death call you carefully before continue " I have told you this first, that she spoke not with regret or fear. " He said slowly.

This make you still.

" She tell me that the day you born you are hers as much Clooeh is hers, that you are her child to whom she raised dearly. "

This word make your breath hitches again but for a different reason.

“She said,” he says gently, “that she does not want you to stop living for her sake.”

Your vision blurs.

“She wants you to keep going. To do anything you wish. To live freely. To be happy.”

The word hurts more than anything else. Happy.

“She said,” the God of Death finishes, “that she does not want your life shackled by grief in her name.”

Silence crashes down around you. The water goddess steps forward again but not close enough with you, her presence warm like a tide wrapping around wounded shores.

“She loves you,” she says softly. “she take you and Enough to let you go.”

Your knees give out, and you sink to the water surface, which ripples but does not swallow you.

Tears fall freely now from your green eyes.

“I don’t know how,” you whisper. “Without her and her knowing.....”

The God of Death watches you with something almost like compassion.

“You do not need to know yet,” he says. “Only that she wished for you to try.”

Relief settles in your chest.

It’s fragile, Thin. But it’s there and it's enough for you.

Your mother words linger like a quiet warmth, easing the tightness around your heart. For the first time since she left, breathing doesn’t feel like a punishment.

…Then a thought creeps in.

Slowly and Unpleasantly.

Gods don’t do this.

They don’t visit and they definitely don’t gently pass along heartfelt messages and then leave. They don’t appear in dreamscapes out of kindness alone.

They appear when they want something. You lift your head.

Your tear-blurred eyes sharpen like a predator as they flick between the two divine figures still standing far too close for comfort.

“…Wait,” you say flatly.

The God of Death stiffens.

The Goddess of Water blinks. Once. Twice.

You narrow your eyes.

“You’re still here.”

"..... "

"..... "

Suspicious, very loud silence.

“…Spit it out,” you say. “Whatever it is.”

The God of Death opens his mouth.

Closes it.

Opens it again.

“…Well—”

You raise an eyebrow.

He falters immediately.

Your expression must be doing something horrific, because he visibly recoils with how your face make him remember Choi Jung—nevermind, he didn't want to remember—he actually looks to the Water Goddess for help.

She freezes.

Her hands clasp together nervously, water rippling at her feet.

“…You tell her,” she whispers back.

“No, she is your responsibility so you—”

“I think this is more your jurisdiction—”

Your eye twitches.

“I am going to count to three,” you say calmly, too calmly, “and if you do not explain why two gods decided to emotionally ambush a grieving mortal, I will—”

You smile.

Sweetly.

“—tell Cale in the future. Eventually. Casually. In passing.”

The air goes dead. (Is this count as pun?)

The God of Death goes pale.(can he?)

The Water Goddess lets out a small, distressed sound.

“…You wouldn’t,” she says weakly.

You tilt your head.

“bitch, Try me.”

That does it.

“All right!” the Water Goddess blurts out, panic overriding grace. “We gave you another souls to take care!”

You blink.

“…What.”

“To help,” she rushes on. “You were already—well—handling a lot and we thought—”

“—that it would be efficient,” the God of Death adds hurriedly.

Your relief evaporates.

It is replaced by fury.

“Another soul,” you repeat slowly.

“Yes.”

“You—” you inhale sharply, then explode.

“ARE YOU INSANE?”

The water beneath you surges violently. You white hair fly around wildly.

“Do you have any idea how messed up reincarnation already is?” you snap. “One no two soul wasn’t enough? You just added another like some kind of divine patch note?”

The God of Death raises his hands defensively.

“It was properly vetted—”

“Oh, I don’t CARE,” you cut in. “You people can’t even keep track of fate without dumping paperwork on mortals and now you’re outsourcing SOUL MANAGEMENT?”

The Water Goddess looks seconds away from tears.

“We thought you were capable—”

“Oh, I am capable,” you say venomously.

“That’s the PROBLEM. Every time a god messes up, you toss it at a human and call it destiny.”

The God of Death visibly wilts.

“That’s… not entirely inaccurate.”

You pace, gesturing wildly.

“This world is already on the brink of become a scramble eggs, ancient evils are crawling out of holes, evil God seals almost pop out, and now I’m what—divine customer support?”

The Water Goddess sniffles. “…We’re very sorry.”

You stop. Stare at them both. “…Fix it.”

They exchange a look.

“…We can’t,” the God of Death admits quietly.

Your smile returns.

It is not kind.

“Fantastic,” you say. “Then congratulations.” You point at them.

“You’re both on probation.”

“…Probation?”

“Yes,” you say. “Because if anything else goes wrong—and it will—I will absolutely tell Cale everything.”

The God of Death pales further, which is impressive given his aesthetic.

The Water Goddess gasps.

“Please don’t—”

“Oh, I will,” you promise sweetly. “With diagrams.”

The world begins to blur around the edges. As you’re pulled back toward waking, you hear frantic whispering behind you. But loudly that you can hear them.

“We shouldn’t have told her—”

" Not telling me is the worst choice. " You tell them

“You said honesty was best—”

" It's not the damn honesty! " You snapped.

“She threatened us with Cale—”

"I AM HERE!!! AND YOU KNOW WHAT?! I'M JUST GONNA WAKE UP, YOU ARE ALL WASTING MY TIME! " you scream.

“You can’t wake up yet,” the God of Death blurts out suddenly, words tumbling over each other.

They both turned around at you looking desperate.

You pause mid–mental threat list.

“…What.”

He straightens, clearly panicking now. “There’s—there’s something else we should clarify.”

Your glare sharpens.

The Water Goddess wrings her hands. “It’s about the souls.”

Souls.......Plural.

Your eye twitches again.

“Explain,” you say slowly. “Carefully. Quickly. Preferably without ruining my remaining sanity.”

The God of Death nods far too fast.

“They’re going to be reborn in this world,” he says. “they are once a siblings.”

You cross your arms.

“…Go on.”

“They’ve suffered greatly in their previous life,” he continues, like he’s reading off a badly written report. “They are deeply wounded, emotionally unstable, and carry a significant amount of karmic debt. They should be even here but I fear if left alone those souls might turned into.......something.”

You stare at him.

Then—

“…Names,” you say.

He hesitates.

“…Cruel Hart. And Deon Hart.”

Silence.

Pure, stunned silence.

The water around you goes perfectly still.

“…You have got to be kidding me.”

Your head snaps up.

“No,” you say flatly. “No. Absolutely not.”

The God of Death looks confused. “You… recognize them?”

You laugh.

It’s not a happy sound.

“Oh, I recognize them,” you say, voice sharp with disbelief. “From "I’m Not That Kind of Talent." ”

The Water Goddess blinks. “From… what?”

“You gave me them?” you demand. “Those siblings?”

You rake a hand through your white hair, fury reigniting at full force.

“Do you have any idea how broken they are?” you snap. “They’re emotionally destroyed, drowning in trauma, carrying karma like it’s a second spine—”

You point accusingly at the God of Death. “—and one of them is bipolar. BIPOLAR.”

He recoils.

“That… that was accounted for—”

“Oh, was it?” you bark. “Because dumping two traumatized brothers with unresolved grief, abandonment issues, misunderstanding  and enough emotional baggage to sink a empire onto me does not sound like accounting.”

The Water Goddess looks ready to cry again. “We thought you could guide them—”

“Guide them?” you repeat incredulously.

“What am I, a rehabilitation center?”

Your anger crescendos.

“You people are fantastic,” you sneer. “Truly. Outstanding. Ten out of ten divine incompetence.”

You start pacing again, hands flying.

“You see a pair of abused, shattered siblings with catastrophic mental health and karmic debt up to their eyeballs and think—yes. Let’s reincarnate them into another future war-torn fantasy world and put a grieving mortal in charge.”

The God of Death stammers, “You’re… uniquely suited—”

“Oh, I’m uniquely tired.”

You stop and turn on them both.

“And you didn’t even ask.”

The Water Goddess finally breaks, voice trembling. “If we had asked, you would have said no.”

“…Correct.”

Silence falls again as You exhale slowly.

Dangerously.

“Undo it.”

“We can’t.”

“Fix them.”

“We aren’t allowed to interfere that much.”

You laugh again, bitter and sharp.

“So let me get this straight,” you say.

“You already have your hands full because of Arm organization and the close call off Evil God seals almost released, but think is a good Idea to reincarnate a pair of tragic brothers with enough emotional damage to qualify as a natural disaster, and assign them to me like an unpaid side quest.”

The God of Death nods weakly.

“…When you put it that way.”

Your eyes burn.

“If Cale finds out,” you say calmly, “he will dismantle your pantheon with paperwork and passive aggression alone."

The Water Goddess lets out a small sob.

“We’re begging you.”

You look at them. Really look at them.

Two gods. Ancient. Powerful.

And terrified at you.

..... No wonder the characters from TCF always annoyed and disilile the gods that they served.

“…I hate you,” you say sincerely.

Oh you didn't want to do this, but the other alternative is not good either. There is a second part book about them that Cruel become a guardian spirit and Deon ascend into godhood, maybe this is another reason why gods worried for the new god born from ruins.

The water beneath your feet ripples uneasily.

“But if they get hurt again,” you continue quietly, rage simmering under every word, “I will personally drag both of you down here and make you fix it.”

The God of Death swallows.

“…Understood.”

You fold your arms.

“Now,” you say coldly, “start explaining exactly what kind of mess you’ve dropped into my lap.”

The God of the death then explain how messy and young The brothers world is, how the world still see only black and white in rules. That Karma is given to those around them all in logistics, where the world think that demon is a bug and still quite understand themselves.

How those two brothers are the victims of every thing, sure they have their wrong doing but they are the one that get dragged first by everyone.

After telling everything Silence settles again.

Not the awkward kind this time.

The heavy kind. The kind that makes even gods stand straighter.

You inhale once. Steady. Controlled.

“fine....…I’ll do it,” you say.

Both gods visibly react—the Water Goddess lifting her head in fragile hope, the God of Death letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“But,” you continue calmly, “I will do it under my conditions.”

This make both of them look at you in surprise.

“You will not interrupt me,” you say, eyes hard as stone. “You will not refuse me. And you will not pretend you have a choice.”

The God of Death swallows.

You’ve read the novel.

You know every thread. Every turning point. Every hand that pushed those brothers toward ruin while calling it fate.

“You said their world imperfect,” you say quietly. “You let karma fall blindly. Logical, maybe. Balanced, perhaps. But not just.”Your gaze sharpens.

“And I won’t clean up your mess without leverage.”

You lift your chin.

“My first request.”

The God of Death braces himself.

“I want a familiar face reborn into this world,” you say. “Someone from their life. Someone close enough to anchor them when I can’t.”

You think of Remember and the Lofty knights, how loyal and caring they are toward Deon. You can't think much on Cruel side friend but at least having Deon group would ease you up.

The Water Goddess opens her mouth—

You glare.

She shuts it immediately.

“I will need more hands,” you continue evenly.

“More than mine. Someone they can trust instinctively. Someone who knows them before the blood and madness hollowed them out.”

That make You pause.

“Do not tell me this is impossible,” you say coldly. “You’ve already broken enough rules.”

The God of Death nods stiffly.

“…Understood.”

Only then do you lean back slightly, eyes narrowing as you think.

You sift through names like knives, You know who shaped their suffering.

Who sharpened it.

Who enjoyed it.

“Emperor Eduardo Dessert,” you say at last.

“For all his sins,” you admit flatly, “he was competent. A good emperor to his people. A terrible man to some of his subronate. ”

He at least have enough self awareness and know what he is doing, not to mention he take responsibility on his wrong doing too.

You close your eyes briefly.

“Let fate decide his punishment. I won’t interfere there.”

The Water Goddess exhales in relief.

It is short-lived.

“And Atlas,” you continue, voice colder now.

“That suicidal Demon King who treated Deon like entertainment.”

Your lip curls.

“I would have liked him very much alive.”

The God of Death shakes his head. “His soul was erased. No rebirth. No hell.”

You click your tongue.

“what a Pity.”

Then— Your expression changes.

Your face goes blank. Dead calm.

“…Duke Starbe.”

The name drops like a corpse.

The water beneath your feet darkens.

“That man,” you say softly, “is the root of it all.”

He is the one that summon the demon king, the one that make the deals, the one that dragged Deon into the war the one that—

The God of Death does not interrupt.

You step closer.

“He does not deserve redemption,” you say. “He does not deserve reincarnation. He does not deserve to fade peacefully.”

Your eyes lift—green. Sharp. Cold.

Snake-like.

“My second request,” you say gently, and that gentleness terrifies them both, “is that Duke Starbe never touches another world.”

The God of Death stiffens, just slightly but enough to notice.

“I want you,” you say, meeting his gaze without blinking, “to make him suffer.”

The Water Goddess gasps quietly.

“In any way Hell allows,” you continue, smiling faintly. “Stretch it. Be creative I know you can” Your smile sharpens.

“No second chances. No narrative excuses. No gods mercy.”

You tilt your head.

“you do that, right?~”

The God of Death feels something unfamiliar crawl up his spine.

“…Yes,” he says hoarsely.

You straighten. “Good.”

Then—just like that—

“Well, looks like it’s time for me to wake up. Happy to do business!” you say, suddenly bright, almost cheerful.

The shift is jarring, A full turn One hundred and eighty degrees.

The dream blurs at the edges as you turn away, already fading, already gone. .

.

.

.

.

You wake with a long, theatrical sigh, one arm flung over your face like a woman burdened by fate, destiny, and a truly unreasonable workload.

Literally.

“Great,” you mutter to the ceiling. “just mourning my mother lost and got a New assignments with the Same cosmic nonsense.”

And this one is out of agreement! You agree for Cale and all of his glory in his failure to get his lazy slacker dream, spread his legend and built a Caleism. Not— not whatever this is!!!

".... "

The bed is too soft. The room too clean. Sunlight pours in like it has no idea what crimes against the universe you authorized less than a dream ago.

You sit up, rubbing your eyes, already mentally sorting souls.

Okay. Priority list. Lost causes first a lot of it. Kids second. Traumatized nobles—ugh, always a mixed bag.

You pause. 'And if anyone comes pre-packaged with tragic backstories that rival Kim Roksoo childhood, that’s not my fault.'

Your gaze drifts, unfocused.

You wonder, idly, what the gods will make of it.

Of you.

How Cruel and Deon will be tied to your path for this? . Loosely? Tightly? Dramatically? With matching trauma ribbons, perhaps?

“Please don’t let it be symbolic,” you murmur. “I hate symbolism. At least flowers are pretty”

Just as you’re about to swing your legs out of bed—

BANG.

The door flies open.

“My lady!” a maid practically screams, skidding into the room like her life depends on it—which, given the household politics, it probably does. “Urgent news!”

You blink. Slowly.

“Yes?” you say, voice still thick with sleep and impending regret.

“There—there is news from the Colletar family,” she pants. “They’ve sent word that an illegitimate child have been found, but it seems there is problem and your father have take them to the Sekka household immediately!”

You freeze.

“…A child” you repeat.

“Yes! Well—children, actually. Two and one of them is still a baby it seems.”

Your eye twitches.

Then it hits you.

Oh.

Oh no...... 

You stare ahead, soul leaving your body for a brief moment before coming back with paperwork.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The gods.

Those absolute son of bi—

“They didn’t warn me,” you hiss. “They didn’t even—that was literally last night.”

The maid blinks, confused. “My lady…?”

“They’re already reborn,” you mutter, horror dawning. “Already placed. Already tangled into the plot like a badly tied knot.”

You drop back onto the bed, staring at the canopy.

“That’s it. That’s actually it.”

Your hand slaps over your face.

“I swear to every afterlife I manage,” you groan, voice echoing off the silk pillows, “if they ever pull this stunts in the way, I am billing the gods.” you don't know how to bill gods, but fuck it for all they have pull into you.

Now you understand more for Cale feeling to all this.

The maid does not know what to do with that information.

You sit up sharply.

“Prepare rooms,” you snap. “Extra wards. Emotional support tea. And if anyone asks—”

You pause, then sigh.

“…Tell them the Sekka household is very experienced with unexpected souls.”

Under your breath, far less politely, you add: “Damn it all.”

Somewhere, very far away, the gods absolutely feel a chill.

And do nothing about it.

.

.

.

.

.

You stare blankly.

You just visit the new children in the guest room where they are staying right now, bringing Peruvian Lilly flowers putting them in pot as a welcome gift for them.

And now you are looking at them, Green eyes stare empty at the young boy on the bed guest room, a sick boy with Raven hair and pale skin with pinkish from fever.

Beside the bed is a crib with a baby.

A sleeping baby with pale skin and white hair that a jarring symbol of Sekka household.

But you know the other reason the baby have white hair is because he is an albino too.

Apparently Viscount Skonel a very far of Sekka family tree is whoring around. without whatever it is of protection On playing in bed.

He haven't a wife yet either and very ambitious despite being a total incompetence in your mind, Rock Sekka even agree with you on this too. And because of that  Rock put him on watch to make sure he didn't do anything ridiculous.

And Rock for all his grieving still force himself to be a functional adult, to make sure you can grief in peace. You feel guilty

That's when he found out Viscount Skonel tried to schemes his way into taking over Sekka household by using his illegitimate children. Since Clopeh is a lady ("she " Should not but this might a different version) her place as an heir is a bit shaken, Because it's uncommon for a women to become a head household.

but you are proven to deserve the title even you're still a 5 year old with the proclaim that you are born genius,and other branch family at the moment only have one child to inherent their own family titles so you are safe.

Viscount Skonel get caught red handed by Rock Sekka on not just his plan but how he abused his old son for only having a green eyes, while tried to get rid the baby since he is very weak despite having a white hair.

And that's how they end up here after Rock erased Viscount Skonel from family, Rock still didn't know what to do with the kids but you have begged him to adopt them as official. Of course Rock being weak for his daughter agree easily, thinking it won't hurt to have other children here and might help them in their grief.

"Aaaaa.... "

You snap back to reality as the baby wake up, you walk closer to the crib and see him wake up.

Red eyes.

"Abubu.. " The baby wiggle his arms around.

On instinct you over him your fingers, and the baby grap one of your finger.

".... "

Cruel is right.

he is cute as a white rabbit.

Ah well they are your responsibility and they are here with you now, smile twitch on your face.

" Hello.... " You coo at the baby.

" Aaaah... "