Becoming the Terminally-Ill Villain Who Torments His Disciples

“Ridiculous.”

“…”

“I should’ve cleared everything near you, even if it meant losing a few estates.”

Sol muttered with an expression of annoyance. He had planned to shatter Cielo’s mind the moment he brought him here, but in the six years he had failed to keep an eye on him, Cielo had grown far too resilient.

Though, it seemed like he had erased half of it from memory.

Even as Cielo walked into the mansion, Sol had found his composure suspicious. In the past, just hearing the words “the forest villa” would send Cielo into a seizure. There was even a time he collapsed with foam at the mouth, which had Sol and Pielago clutching their stomachs in laughter.

But today, strangely enough, he had walked in with his head held high.

As if nothing had ever happened.

‘Now that I think about it… They did say he changed after getting hit by the crown prince.’

Maybe it was around then that he started letting people into his life without hesitation.

“I didn’t think we’d taken the prank too far.”

In the end, he’s still alive.

Sol muttered with a sigh. What was so painful that he had to forget it all just because Eli hit him?

“So unbecoming of an Esteban.”

Even if Sol wanted to acknowledge him as a younger brother, the fact that he couldn’t endure even this kind of “prank” was laughable—pathetic.

But Cielo, unfazed, stared directly at Sol.

“To be worthy of Esteban, do I need to endure all the torture you inflicted on me?”

“Huh?”

“If not that, then do I need the moral flexibility to accept those tortures as simple pranks?”

Hearing this, Sol crossed his arms and asked mockingly, wearing a sneer that spread across his face.

“Do you want to be an Esteban, Cielo? Then you should’ve been born from our mother’s womb. That’s what makes someone a true Esteban.”

“…”

“Oh right, and you shouldn’t reek of that sweet stench either.”

The way he wrinkled his nose as he said it was disgusting. It was the kind of expression that made you want to punch him right in the face if you had the strength—so mocking it almost stirred up murderous rage.

“Even if I had been an Alpha, you would’ve found some excuse anyway.”

“Oh? You figured that out?”

“…”

“If you wanted to be a true Esteban, you should’ve been born with Pielago.”

Born from the same womb, on the same day. Holding hands as they opened their eyes to the world together.

That was Sol’s definition of a “true Esteban.” Anyone born on a different day couldn’t possibly be considered a child of the duke and duchess.

Not even the twins had seen the duchess. So Cielo being born from her was something they could never acknowledge.

“You’re insane…”

The reason they refused to recognize him was absurd. Worse, they made up those very reasons themselves and used them to torment and isolate him. Just because he wasn’t born a twin.

“The crown prince must’ve hit you pretty hard, huh? You’re repeating a conversation we’ve already had.”

“…”

“Yeah, I think it’s time we pull those memories back up.”

Sol stepped forward and grabbed the armrest of Cielo’s chair, locking eyes with him.

His eyes, even darker and deeper than Cielo’s blue, curved gently—right before a strange force swept through Cielo’s entire body.

“Off you go then, Cielo.”

“What are you…!”

“You have to remember everything if you want to know why.”

Sol’s curved smile was the cruelest expression in the world as he continued.

“Why you have no choice but to die.”

And the moment those words left his mouth, everything around Cielo went pitch black.

Just a second ago, Sol had been right there in front of him. But as if that had been a lie, Sol vanished. The table, the teacup, even the unsteady chandelier—all disappeared without a trace.

Cielo opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, the sound of someone crying echoed in the distance.

“Hic… sob… hic…”

As he turned his head, trying to locate the source, he saw a shape slowly forming not far off.

A child, stifling his sobs with both hands pressed over his mouth—young Cielo.

***

Happiness had been short, and sorrow long.

If there had been a time he truly smiled, it was when he was with his mother. That was all.

“Ciel, come here and read me a fairy tale, would you?”

Cielo, who had been flipping through a large book from across the room, looked up. His short hair, large eyes, and high-bridged nose made him beautiful and sweet, no matter who looked at him.