aw hell naw jigsaw u tweaking !!

"You don’t understand anything," he bit out, his voice low and ragged.

"I UNDERSTOOD ENOUGH!" you roared, finally snapping. You shoved him, both hands slamming against his chest, forcing him back a step. "I TOLD YOU! I TOLD YOU IT WOULDN’T WORK! I stood right there in your room, and I begged you to stop! I said, 'Jamil, you’ll get our family in trouble!' I said, ‘You can’t do this!'"

You shoved him again, the blows punctuating each agonizing memory. "And what did you do? Huh? What did you do? You looked at me with those dead, empty eyes, and you used your magic on me! You made me a puppet in my own skin and marched me out of the room so you could continue your glorious, self-destructive march into oblivion!"

He caught your wrists, his grip tight, his eyes flashing with a resurgence of his own frustration. "Let go of me."

"Why?!" you yelled, struggling against his hold, tears of pure rage and betrayal now streaming down your face. "So you can ignore me again? Right? Is that it?! So you can pretend I’m just another obstacle? Go on, then! Use your magic! Make me kneel again! It’s the only way you know how to talk to people who disagree with you, isn’t it? The greaaaattttt Jamil Viper, master of serpents and manipulation, but when his little sibling calls him out on his stupidity, all he can do is cheat!"

“You think this was about you?! This was never about you!" he snarled, shoving your hands away from him with a sharp, frustrated motion that sent you stumbling back. "This was about me! My life! My freedom!"

"What freedom?!" you shrieked, your voice raw and cracking. You advanced on him again, not to hit him this time, but to get in his face, your words a weapon you honed for this very moment. "Look at you! You’re not free! You’re just a different kind of prisoner! You traded Kalim’s gilded cage for a cell of your own making, and you did it all by yourself! You played the villain so perfectly, you even convinced yourself! And for what?!"

You laughed again, the sound hollow and cruel. "Tell me, oh brilliant strategist, how did your master plan work out? You wanted to be the housewarden? To be in control? Look at you! The whole school is whispering about the servant who lost his mind. Is that the freedom you wanted? To be pitied?"

He was breathing heavily, his fists clenched at his sides, your every word lashing against the open wound of his failure. "Stop it."

"Why not?!" you hissed. "You didn’t stop when I begged you to! You were so sure you were right, so sure your pain was the only pain that mattered—"

"I SAID STOP!" he shouted, his voice breaking as he finally snapped, grabbing your shoulders. The raw, physical desperation of a drowning man caused you to gasp in slight pain.

His eyes were wide, wild with a pain so deep it was devouring him from the inside. "You think I don’t know?! You think I don’t lie awake and see it all replaying in my head?!" He paused for a moment as his eyes dropped in shame, his grip intensified, then whispered, his words strained and broken, "Everything I've done…"

You stared back, unblinking, your chest heaving. The painful grip tightly rested on your shoulders loses all its ache, with only numbness present.

"Good," you whispered, your voice trembling but unwavering. "Good… You should hear it. You should hear it every night because I'm so tired of your bullshit…"

The fight seemed to drain out of him all at once when he caught on to the hatred in your voice. His grip on your shoulders loosened, his hands falling to his sides as if they were made of lead.

You walked past him without a second glance, as Jamil, in his panic, turned over to try to hold your wrist while pleading. "[Y/N]… Please."

But no response from you, shrugging off the tight grip and continuing to walk away, leaving Jamil standing there in defeat.

VIL SCHOENHEIT

Days after the incident, your appearances at school were becoming less frequent. Whispers of gossip and speculation still targeted you behind your back, making you the main subject of the students' conversations and using the portrayal of you being the reckless, attention-seeking troublemaker, now upgraded with a malicious intent of upstaging your older brother, Vil. Just because you had "carelessly ruined" one of his designer clothes to get a reaction from him.

It was starting to create a greater risk for your education; once there were higher grades, now degraded. It imposes the disdain of the portrayal of your respective house, breeding a sweet scandal that draws in flies of how the little sibling of 'the Fairest of Them All' had ruined the picture-perfect foundation of Pomefiore.

Your carelessness had a significant influence on Vil's reputation. Getting bombarded with insignificant whispers of interest and disappointment while watching as the audience, waiting for his perfect facade to crack under the weight of your actions.

He pays little attention to your irrelevant schemes. He maintained his poise with glacial precision, his posture flawless as he navigated the halls. Having him tremble under the pressure of the drama is beneath him.

But the whispers were a persistent stain. He is not oblivious to the sidelong glances in every direction he goes and hears the poorly concealed chatter in the library that he needed to make his presence known to those naive enough to follow the controversy.

A buzzing fly threatening the sanctity of his environment. It was unbecoming, so messy.

With a click of his tongue, he finally decided that enough was enough. You had hidden yourself away long enough that a firm, private lecture was required to set the record straight and face your consequences for the chaos you had sown and understand the full extent of the damage to the Schoenheit name.

He knew exactly the location where you had been lurking. Visualizing yourself being cooped up in your small, messy room and then being your usual dramatic self. All in the same pattern, he recognized every time you were in trouble.

Though he halted his steps when he saw you just outside of your room, all nervous and fidgeting, and not the typical assertive bravado he was used to seeing from you.

And… you were not alone.

There was a tall, burly student from another dorm, maybe in Savanaclaw, judging by its distinctive black and gold scarf. That student had you cornered against the stone wall. Vil couldn't tell who was the aggressor in this situation, but he smelled trouble brewing in the air.

"You think hiding will make this go away? Huh?" the boy tutted, his voice a low, threatening growl. He leaned an inch closer to your trembling form. "You owe us," he jabbed a firm finger on your forehead, causing you to jerk it upward. "My friend lost his big chance because of you. He was supposed to be Vil's stand-in."

He flailed his hand, prompting you to flinch instinctively, just to prove a point. "But you had to go and wreck the main piece," he sneered.

"I-I told you, I didn't mean to—" your voice was a strained whisper, choked with fear.

"You fuckin' liar!" The word cracked through the air a second before his hand did, a sharp, stinging slap across your face that snapped your head to the side. A choked sob escaped you, your hand flying to your reddening cheek as tears welled in your eyes.

"Do all of his shit by the end of the semester, ya hear me?" he demanded, his voice low and threatening. He grabbed your face by force, squishing your cheeks together as wickedness dawned upon his expression. "If ya' don't… Hmm, well, I'll just remind that upperclassman—you know who I'm referring to, right?"

You slowly nodded under his tight grip. The upperclassman, not the friend or the bully before you, had been ordered to threaten you to actually cut one of Vil's designer clothes because your troublemaker ways are an easy target to assault your brother's reputation and make you pay for it.

"What was it he said he'd do?" The bully pretended to take a moment to think, then acted as if he suddenly remembered, a malicious grin spreading across his face. "Oh yeah, he said he'd make sure you were expelled from this clown of a school, right? That your precious older brother would thank him for getting rid of the family disgrace."

You froze; your entire body ceased from trembling.

"You are unfit to be called my own blood and flesh."

Tears are now streaming down your face in silent, helpless tracks. Because soon that nightmare will become a reality.

"Remove your hand from my sibling. Now."

Both of you froze, simultaneously turning your heads to the familiar, authoritative tone, and you knew exactly who the voice belonged to.

"Brother…" you murmured.

That's all Vil needed to comprehend the whole situation. His voice cut through the tense air, smooth as silk and sharp as a scalpel. The bully whirled around, releasing your hurting cheeks, his bravado evaporating at the sight of the infamous Vil Schoenheit, the very person he had tried to meet his downfall, sizing him up with an expression unnervingly calm.

"H-Housewarden Schoenheit! This— This isn't what it looks like, you—" the boy stammered, taking a panicked step back.

Yet, your older brother was not amused nor convinced by the feeble attempt at an excuse. "It looks like physical assault and academic extortion. Leave this instant." He took slow strides to the aggressor, his gaze cold and assessing. "Inform this 'friend' of yours that his position as my stand-in is permanently revoked. And if a single word of this conversation, or the true reason for that designer piece's destruction, reaches anyone," he paused, his eyes narrowing to slits, "I will ensure you are personally acquainted with every form of disciplinary action this school has to offer."

His face leaned closer to the aggressor's, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Do we have an understanding?"

The student nodded frantically, scrambling away without another word, like a frightened dog with its tail under its legs, and his footsteps echoed in the sudden, heavy silence.

Now, Vil was left alone with you.

You had shrunk in on yourself, your face buried in your hands, shoulders shaking with silent, hitching sobs. The lecture he had meticulously prepared was now ashes in his mouth, considering another new bitter pill containing the real, unfiltered truth was harder to swallow.

"[Y/N]," he spoke of your name, his voice low and stripped of its usual theatricality, only the light gentleness of his tone. He took a tentative step closer, his gloved hand lifting slightly, an uncharacteristically hesitant gesture. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked softly, his eyes filled with genuine concern as he waited for your response.

You flinched, wiping furiously at your tea-streaked face as if ashamed to be seen in such a state. You pushed yourself off the wall, your head bowed low to hide your expression.

"Wait—" Vil began, his tone urgent.

But you did not wait. You could not bear to look at him and let yourself drown in his gaze that no longer saw you as his… own blood and flesh. With a ragged breath, you stumbled past him, fleeing down the corridor before he could say another word, the sound of your retreating footsteps while Vil stood frozen outside of your room, the ghost of your tears hanging in the air.

IDIA SHROUD

Idia adjusted to his usual routine, but it was missing a variable, or rather a pesky bug in his automated system. For once, everything was quiet and calm in his room, just like he longed for.

His messages were spared from the countless spam invitations he received directly from your personal server just to annoy him and convince him to join to play games where he was often at a disadvantage, as your gaming skills are anything but foul. He grimaced at the thought of it; nothing was ever enjoyable when you were involved. Memorizing the spreadsheet of the cheat codes that you would secretly adapt to level the playing field and controlling the game in your favor was a thing of the past.

Now, Idia is currently playing another round of shooting games with players he had befriended online. The headset muffled the outside world, the rapid click-clack of his keyboard and the glow of his three monitors his only reality.

There was an enemy he spotted from afar; with clear confidence, he rotated his inventory and swiftly switched to his sniper rifle. As he lined up the shot, a toothy smirk widened on his face. "So long, sucker—"

But a notification popped up in the middle of his screen that he had missed his target, catching him by surprise.

ORTHO - VIDEO CALL INCOMING.

He groaned, his character pausing behind a virtual crate. With a flick of his wrist, he denied the call. "Not now, not now…" he muttered.

The call came again, more insistent this time.

ORTHO - VIDEO CALL INCOMING.

"Tch." He clicked his tongue in annoyance, his hair flickering a brief, irritated orange. One of his teammates was yelling in his ear about a flank. Reluctantly, he switched his tabs and accepted the video call. Then Ortho's holographic face filled the secondary monitor.

"Big brother! I need to—"

"Busy, Ortho. Can this wait? I'm about to secure a legendary loot drop that has a 0.0001% spawn rate," Idia interrupted, his fingers already moving back to his main screen.

"Wait! Please hear me out, it's about them!" Ortho blurted out, his digital eyes wide with urgency.

Idia's fingers stilled. His avatar took a sniper round to the head. RESPAWN IN 15 SECONDS flashed across the screen.

He ignored it, his focus now entirely on the call. His mood instantly soured, a scowl twisting his features. "Ugh, them. What did the brat do now? If they sent you to guilt-trip me, the answer is a hard no. My tolerance for normie drama is permanently zero."

Ortho shook his head vigorously. "No, Big Brother! You have it all wrong! I ran a full diagnostic on the school's server logs and traced the IP spoof. It wasn't them! Remember the one you defeated in the cybergame tournament last month? He used a level-seven mimicry script to frame them! The evidence is right here!"

A file was transferred to Idia's main terminal. He stared at the data, the lines of code and timestamps scrolling past. It was all there, undeniable. What everything Idia thought was your doing was just another's petty scheme to tarnish your reputation and the trust of your older brother. A cold, heavy feeling began to settle in the pit of his stomach.

Ortho's voice was soft and pleading. "Big Brother... you should apologize to them. Now. Before... before it's really too late."

Idia didn't respond. The call ended, leaving him in the sudden, oppressive silence of his room. The triumphant music of his game felt like a mockery.

The silence after Ortho’s call was heavier than any he had ever engineered. The low hum of his cooling fans was suddenly deafening. He minimized the game, his legendary loot drop forgotten. The forensic data Ortho sent stared back at him from the monitor as if it were mocking him for his stubbornness and error.

His first instinct was denial. It was a convincing spoof. Anyone would have been fooled. My reaction was statistically probable given the presented data. But the excuses crumbled against the memory of your face, the raw hurt in your voice when you’d pleaded with him. "You think I would do that to you?"

A hot, sharp shame crawled up his spine, making him squirm in his chair. His hair dimmed to a sickly, mournful blue, flickering weakly. He had been so quick to believe the worst. So ready to retreat into his fortress and bar the gates. He’d called you a brat, a liar. He’d let Ortho, who looked up to you, believe you were a traitor.

No, this can't turn into a bad ending with no possible chance of redemption.

He pulled up your old message logs. Countless notifications, silly memes, excited screenshots of your in-game achievements, and desperate pleas for him to just listen. He had read them all with a simmering resentment, seeing only confirmation of your betrayal. Now, he saw only his own.

Hesitantly, his fingers trembling slightly, he navigated to his messaging app. He pulled up your server, the one he'd muted and ignored for days. The icon was grayed out. A cold dread pooled in his stomach. He typed out a simple, awkward message, the words feeling utterly inadequate.

IDIA_SHROUD: hey. u there?

He hit enter.

A red error notification instantly popped up on his screen, stark and final against the dark theme.

[DELIVERY FAILED. YOU HAVE BEEN BANNED FROM THIS SERVER.]

Idia’s shoulders slumped, his glowing hair dimming to a dull, defeated blue. He stared at the ban message until the pixels blurred, the triumphant sounds of his forgotten game a distant, mocking noise.

Slowly, he bowed his head, the screen's light casting deep shadows across his face. A choked, broken whisper escaped his lips, meant for no one but the empty, silent room.

"...I'm sorry."

MALLEUS DRACONIA

You don't know how many days… or weeks had passed when you had been discarded to the world, where the stuffy, dark room had forced you into isolation, deceiving yourself with an image that the quarters were your only temporary sanctuary to keep your sanity intact. To not let the simmering animosity cloud your judgment and heart, all because of a misplaced accusation befallen to you by your older brother.

The cold air biting at your skin, your warmth wasn't sufficient enough to ward off the chill that seeped into your bones. You had been eating less, gaining less strength to struggle, and barely able to stomach the meager rations left for you, viewing them as a kind of pity meal from your captors. After all, they needed the accused to be alive lest you be kneeling before the court for a crime you didn't commit. It was unfair. Absolutely unfair.

How could they escalate their condemnation, especially your older brother, into a barbaric conclusion that you, a known fool prone to troubles, are fit to endanger your only kin for the betterment of rising up in the ranks? A shaking rage, hot and bitter, boiled in your veins. It was a logical fact, an unchangeable truth of your existence, that you would never seek to overthrow him. You cared for him, admired him, and loved him despite the cold weight of his crown. The very idea was a poison, a violation of everything you were.

With a guttural cry that tore from your throat, you lashed out. "Ggghh, AAAAHHH!" Your fist connected with the cold stone wall, a sharp, sickening crack echoing in the small chamber. Pain bloomed across your knuckles, a bright, physical counterpoint to the agony in your chest, but you barely felt it. The throbbing was better than the suffocating helplessness.

It was then that the heavy door to your chambers groaned open.

Speaking of the devil himself…

Malleus stood there, silhouetted against the torchlight of the hall. His regal posture seemed less rigid, his emerald eyes wide as they took in your hunched form, the fresh blood on the stone, and the palpable despair that thickened the air. A wave of relief, so profound it was painful, crossed his features, immediately followed by a devastating regret.

"[Y/N]." The calm mention of your name made you flinch, as if it was a curse whispered in the dark. You continued to curl helplessly away to be seen by the heavy gaze of your brother, your voice silent as you awaited his cold verdict.

Malleus hummed lowly, taking this as another chance to clear the tension that had settled between you both and, of course, the misunderstanding.

"The traitor has been uncovered," he stated, his voice softer than you had heard in a long time, lacking its usual thunderous command. "Lilia is said to be one of the lords who dared to endanger our noble lineage, starting with a frame-up against you. The evidence is irrefutable. You... you were not responsible."

No response; only a shaken breath escaped your lips as you struggled to process the revelation.

His gaze then sharpened, the dragon within him sensing what any kin would. He saw the pallor of your skin, the way you trembled from more than just anger, and the profound weakness that had settled in your bones. "You are... unwell," he murmured, taking a cautious step into the room, a hand lifting as if to reach for you.

"Don't." The word was a shard of ice, stopping him in his tracks. You hugged your injured hand to your chest, your entire body trembling. "Don't you dare come near me."

He froze, his hand falling slowly back to his side. The silence stretched, taut and painful.

"What took you so long?" you whispered, the words choked and broken. "I begged you. I was on my knees... and you... you chose to believe a lie over your own blood. What took you so long to see?"

Malleus’s composure finally fractured. The ancient, powerful heir looked lost, his shoulders slumping under an invisible weight. "I... I have no excuse. I can only offer you my most sincere—"

"Apology?" you finished for him, a sob wrenching itself free as you finally met his gaze, your eyes blazing with a torrent of hurt and betrayal. "You think an apology can mend this? You should have killed me instead! If anyone deserved to be executed for treason, it was me for ever believing you saw me as more than just another subject! It was me for being foolish enough to think my brother would protect me!"

Your words echoed in the stone room, a devastating confession that left you sobbing, your body folding in on itself.

You took a shuddering breath, wiping your face with the back of your uninjured hand. The tears didn't stop, but your voice emerged with a chilling, strained calm.

"Leave." You did not look at him.

Malleus remained still, a pained protest forming on his lips. "I cannot simply—"

"Leave," you repeated, your voice trembling with the effort of containment. "Before I say or do something we will both regret for the next thousand years."

The finality in your tone was absolute. It was not a request but a command born of sheer self-preservation. You could not bear his presence, his pity, or his regret. It was a poison threatening to finish what the isolation had started.

He looked at you for a long, agonizing moment, seeing the fracture that his distrust had caused, a chasm so deep he could not see the bottom. The Heir of Briar Valley, who commanded storms and shadows, found himself powerless before the quiet devastation of his own sibling.

Without another word, he turned. The door closed behind him with a soft, definitive thud, leaving you alone once more in the suffocating silence, the ghost of his apology and the specter of your own rage the only things left to keep you company.

also another render