Was it the shock of seeing something so unthinkable right before his eyes? The Count couldn’t even bring himself to speak.
“It’s been a while, Uncle.”
Justyn took the initiative, using the silence to his advantage. Only then did Averitt snap back to his senses, clearing his throat in a fluster.
“Ahem, y-yes. It has been a while.”
“Yes. However…”
Justyn glanced casually around.
“This was a bit much, don’t you think?”
“Haha, what are you saying? This is the perfect time for everyone to get reacquainted. If I treated you like a stranger after all this time, I’d lose face, wouldn’t I?”
“Is that so.”
“Of course. But… I heard you were receiving treatment in the capital. What happened? I’ve told you again and again, your health comes first, my dear nephew.”
“There wasn’t much progress.”
“Even so, you came all the way here without telling me? What matters is that things don’t get worse. Not that I’m blaming you for returning, of course…”
Averitt rambled on, tossing out unsolicited advice while lacing his words with subtle reproach. Justyn answered in short, clipped responses, showing no desire to argue. He didn’t even look irritated.
Just when Averitt was beginning to think, Yeah, that’s more like it, someone else had been quietly witnessing the whole exchange from the front row. Or rather, some cat had.
“……”
Ries scowled. From the front, his face would’ve looked completely twisted with annoyance. Sure, the pompous pig spouting nonsense was part of it—but not the whole reason.
Whoa. Damn.
That ominous black aura swirling faintly around Averitt’s body—Ries narrowed his eyes and stared it down. It was the first time since Diana that he’d seen a curse fragment attach itself to someone again. And this one was even bigger. Darker.
If I can deal with that, Justyn’s curse might improve dramatically.
Good news. But he couldn’t bring himself to feel happy about it.
He called him ‘Uncle.’
That meant they were blood. Family. And yet that much of a curse fragment clung to the man—meaning he harbored a staggering amount of hatred toward Justyn.
“Loathed and despised by his own family.”
Was that why Sefiut had said those things? Just thinking about how long Justyn had endured that hatred on his own left a heavy weight in Ries’s chest.
Meanwhile, the so-called conversation dragged on—though it was more like a one-sided rant.
“Anyway, since I only just got word, I haven’t had time to clear out the bedroom and office you’ll be using.”
That line caught Ries’s attention instantly. He clenched his jaw. Two whole weeks. The man had two full weeks to prepare, and this is his excuse? Yeah, right.
Of course it wasn’t a mistake. Averitt had planned this.
That brat hates complications. With that personality of his, he’ll probably just let it go.
The room Averitt was occupying was none other than the Duke’s official bedroom and office—symbols of authority. If Justyn backed off here, it would give Averitt a clear foothold.
He couldn’t claim the title of Duke, but he could still become the de facto ruler. An “acting Duke,” more qualified than the actual one. Just as he was feeding that fantasy—
“Then vacate them by tomorrow.”
“…What?”
Justyn dropped the bomb like it was nothing.
“I said, vacate them by tomorrow.”
“W-wait, Justyn, hold on—look, there are still a lot of documents I haven’t gone through. Tomorrow’s too soon.”
Panic. Caught completely off guard, Averitt scrambled for an excuse.
“Besides, you know how much I’ve done, right? I’ve been running things for you. And you’ll need some time to adjust too, so how about giving it a few days—”
“That won’t be necessary. I can handle it from now on.”
“……!”
Justyn’s voice was sharp, calm, and final. No hesitation, no room for argument. Averitt froze. This wasn’t the quiet pushover he was used to. Until now, all he’d ever heard from Justyn were dry yes-or-no answers. This was something else entirely—and it was throwing him off.
Then came the rage. That sickly little brat who used to grovel under his feet—now he was talking back?
You dare?
“I never imagined you’d turn out like this. What happened to your manners? Is this how you talk to your elders? I ran this house for you! A little gratitude wouldn’t hurt, but instead you mock me?”
“I didn’t learn any manners. My parents weren’t around to teach me.”
“……”
Silence. Averitt’s face, once twisted with fury, suddenly went slack—like all the fire had been drained out of him.
Out in front of the sprawling estate, silence had fallen before anyone realized it. All that remained were people blinking in disbelief, wondering if they’d really heard what they thought they did.
A sinking feeling hit hard in the Count’s gut—something was going very, very wrong. His lips tightened as he chewed them anxiously.
The Justyn he knew should’ve folded by now. That’s how he’d always been—prone to shutting down the moment things turned even slightly hostile. Born that way, really. Hyper-sensitive to conflict. Always the first to bow his head, to back away, to play along. Starved for even the smallest scrap of approval.
That’s what he’d expected this time too.
Damn it. Should’ve kept a closer watch on him.
He’d grown complacent, lulled by the same unchanging reports—only to get sucker-punched like this. Someone was going to pay for that. Once he got back, heads would roll—he’d make sure of it.
He couldn’t afford to get dragged in any deeper. Just as he prepared to scold Justyn for his recklessness—
“The Duke isn’t you. It’s me.”
“……!”
The voice that cut through the air wasn’t just cold—it was bone-deep, laced with something primal and terrifying.
Instinctively, the Count met Justyn’s gaze—and felt his lungs seize. His entire vision filled with blood-red eyes, something vile coiling inside them, slithering like a serpent, tightening around his throat.
“…You don’t look so well.”
Then, just as quickly, the suffocating pressure vanished. Not a trace left behind. All that remained was the ghost of that fear, cold sweat soaking his clothes, and the burning sting of humiliation.
The Count ground his teeth.
He was afraid of Justyn Laufe. Not because of the title—not because he was “Duke Laufe”—but because the man was a walking time bomb. One wrong word, and that curse could detonate at any moment. The physical revulsion from the curse itself wasn’t minor, either.
But this? This was something else entirely.
Did I just… feel intimidated? By him?
It felt like standing before something fundamentally superior—something that made your body instinctively lower in submission. That feeling carved a deep, humiliating scratch across his pride.
And so, in front of everyone, he crossed the line.
“Didn’t learn manners from your parents, huh? Hahaha! That’s rich, coming from you. You’re the one who killed your own father and mother, aren’t you, nephew?!”
It was a tantrum—a pathetic outburst to hide his own crumbling nerves.
The tension in the air turned glacial. Thick enough to choke on. Dead enough to kill. Ketir was just about to step in to salvage the scene when—
WHAM!
Something launched forward like a missile and slammed straight into Averitt’s gut.
“Guhh!”
The Count crumpled with a pained groan, toppling backward like a puppet with its strings cut. And in the spot where he’d been standing—
Stood a cat.
A cat?
A very, very pissed-off cat.
You dare say that?
Ries was practically vibrating with rage. Blood ties or not, there were some things you just didn’t say—especially not in public.
Justyn’s hand was shaking.
He’d noticed it. The moment Averitt hurled those words, Justyn had flinched. He hadn’t shown it outwardly, but the damage had been done.
And that pissed Ries off even more.
If you hated him that much, then cut ties. Don’t stand there calling him “nephew” while plunging a knife into his heart. Someone like that didn’t deserve to be called family.
Ries wanted to claw him a few more times for good measure, but there were more important things—like checking on Justyn. He turned to move—
“Hahahahahaha!”
Justyn suddenly burst out laughing. Loud, carefree, and unrestrained.
Ries froze mid-step. Ketir froze. Even the servants, who had been tiptoeing around the edges of the scene, gaped in shock.
Justyn was laughing.
Laughing.
The man who never raised his voice, who never smiled—now laughing so hard it looked like he might cry. It was the kind of laugh that made you forget the world was falling apart.
And then, just as quickly, the laughter faded. But his eyes still sparkled—bright, like petals blooming in spring after a long, cold winter.
“Ries. Come here.”
Ries moved without thinking, as if pulled by an invisible thread.
Justyn looked… lighter. Freer. Radiant, even.
It was a version of him no one had ever seen before—not even once. Not in the past, not in the quietest corners of memory.
Aaaaa que lindo!!! Hdkcbskbdw ya quiero leer más 🙏🙏🙏