I always thought all I needed to do was endure it all, no matter what happened or how bad it got.
I couldn’t change the fact that my parents didn’t love me, or that I had to give up everything to my younger brother, or that all the servants scorned me. So what choice did I have other than to just accept it?
But it was thanks to that mindset that I ended up losing something precious—the one and only thing that mattered to me, in fact. I could tolerate absolutely anything, but that loss was the one thing I just could not accept.
“Sieg...fried...”
Vivid red blood spread across the chest of the man I’d sworn to serve for the rest of my life. His body crumpled to the ground, and I had no way of stopping the river of blood that gushed onto the floor. I couldn’t even touch him, and there was one simple reason...
“Kr...eis...”
Because I, too, lay on the floor in a puddle of crimson beside him as his bloodstained hand reached out to me.
Why?
Why can’t I save him?
I want strength—overwhelming strength. I would give up anything for him. I don’t care that my family doesn’t love me. I’ll give anything. I’d gladly be scorned if it meant I could save him.
And yet, despite his hand stretching desperately for mine, not even my fingertips could reach him.
“Ahh, finally this world will have peace!” My younger brother’s bombastic declaration echoed through the room. I despised his voice so much I wished I could rip out his throat. I couldn’t bear the thought of the person who lay by my side in such pain hearing any more of my brother’s disgraceful boasting.
It was the first violent impulse I’d ever had in my entire life. Gah, I want to kill him. I want to kill him so badly! Why didn’t I do it before? If only I’d done it, then Siegfried wouldn’t be sprawled out across the floor right now.
My weakness had caused all of this.
“Ngh... Please, God...”
I spat out the thick, metallic-tasting liquid that rose up from the depths of my throat. Siegfried’s face twisted with pain when he saw it.
Don’t worry about me. It’s my fault this happened to you. If only I’d been stronger, more cunning. If only I could do it all over again... Then I’d make them all regret it.
That’s right—I want to redo it all. Right now.
I would sell my soul to the devil himself if it meant I could do that. So please...someone, anyone...help me.
Give me the chance to have revenge.
“Aah!”
The abrupt falling sensation startled him awake.
“Haah, haah, haah...” The wild thumping of his heart in his chest told him he was still alive. Tears streamed from his wide-open eyes. He clawed at his chest as if he could reach his heart.
I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive!
“What a...damn terrible story!” he cursed as he sat up in bed, this time scratching frantically at his head.
The worst story with the worst possible ending! It was so terrible...it could only be called a nightmare.
“Argh! What in the world have I done?”
After tossing and turning on the old, creaky bed for a while, Kreis finally lifted his face. The morning sunshine shone through the nearby window, making his bangs glint in his peripheral vision.
He had inherited his silver hair and blue eyes—both of which were quite rare in this kingdom—from his great-grandmother, who had come from another country to marry into their family. But they were wasted on his otherwise scrawny appearance.
Kreis von Louboutin was his full name. He was the eldest son of Marquess Louboutin, a powerful noble family in the kingdom of Claan, second only to the royal family. Although he was technically the oldest son, he was treated more like a servant.
His worn silk pajamas were a hand-me-down from his younger brother. Since they weren’t the same height, they didn’t fit him very well, and he itched in several places because he was rarely allowed to bathe. The areas on his body hidden by his clothes were covered in scratches. He did wipe himself down as much as he could, but since he wasn’t allowed to use hot water, he was prone to catching colds in the winter.
The common children in town probably lived a better life than Kreis.
He looked around his room, which reeked of mildew. It was the smallest room in the marquess’s estate, and it got the least amount of sunshine. But this was the only place Kreis could call home.
Since there was only one window, his room was only bright in the morning. His bed could barely fit inside the room. Still, it was the only place where he could breathe—where he felt like himself.
Well, that had been how the old Kreis felt, anyway.
My head still felt foggy... It was hard to accept this as my reality. But faced as I was with the scene before me, I had no choice but to accept it.
I was in the world of the story.
I had a splitting headache. Even though the sudden rush of memories coming back to me was confusing, I told myself to stay calm. Nothing good would come from panicking. It wasn’t as if anyone would come save me, and it wouldn’t improve my situation. Right now it was essential for me to figure out what was going on. Calm down, I told myself.
I knew this story better than anyone.
This is how it went: the weak and sickly protagonist got weaker and more sickly by the day despite his father lovingly caring for him. But one day, a divine revelation stated that his condition was because he’d taken on the kingdom’s impurities within his own body.
Hence, the protagonist was revered as a child of the gods, becoming a figure of worship in the kingdom. Eventually, he was summoned to the castle where he grew close to the prince of Claan, and over time they began to care for each other. However, there were various obstacles to their relationship.
The prince’s older brother—the reigning king—disliked the protagonist for reasons unknown and treated him very coldly, which caused a rift between the king and his brother. This angered the king, who tried to imprison the protagonist, but the prince managed to save him just in time. That was when the two of them confessed their feelings for one another, and the protagonist discovered that it was actually the king who was the source of the kingdom’s impurities.
Once the prince reported the king’s various misdeeds to the nobles, he gained their trust and became king instead. Then the protagonist could finally stay by his beloved’s side with a gentle smile on his face. And then they lived happily ever after, the end.
“‘Happily ever after’? Yeah, right...”
There was nothing happy about it. Especially not for me.
Kreis wasn’t even the main character in the story, but now I was Kreis. I could hardly believe it.
If someone had told me before I came to this world that I’d end up here, I would have been irritated and dismissed it as a joke. But now I knew the truth: this was the true story of Kreis that hadn’t been written in the book.
The old, run-down desk in the corner of the cramped room caught my eye. The varnish had peeled off and the wood was splintered, but a mountain of rare, expensive books was on top of it, looking entirely out of place.
Knowledge was a treasure. It was the only investment in his future that Kreis had been allowed, and because of that my mind was now full of all sorts of knowledge. Even when he felt like he was in the depths of hell, Kreis had continued to study. His father had forced him to, but regardless, learning had given Kreis’s life meaning. He wanted to serve Siegfried, and he studied in an effort to make that dream come true.
But that Kreis was dead.
Yes, dead.
Even though he’d endured the neglect of his parents and the abusive servants in silence, his one wish had been in vain. He’d died a burden to Siegfried, right before his very eyes.
It was a miserable story, less than a C-list tale. After all that struggle, all that suffering, he’d just been killed and discarded like a piece of garbage. It was far too cruel. Who the hell had written such a trashy, pointless story?
Well, I did. That was the worst part of all this. It was me.
Kreis von Louboutin really was dead. His soul no longer existed in this world. But who was the one standing in this room now? A failed novelist who’d lived in an old, run-down apartment back in Japan. His stories had faced harsh criticism no matter how many he wrote.
And that person, the original author of this story, was standing here right now. And that was me.
Well, I guess that wasn’t quite right. I’d died, been reincarnated, and died again. I was an author who’d come back from the dead, reborn into a world of his own creation. But those memories had only come back to me moments ago.