Kachian la Orr sat alone in a dark bedroom.

Shards of broken dishes littered the floor near his feet, and scraps of feathers spilled from torn pillows and blankets, strewn grotesquely across them. Normally, servants would come to clean up the mess, but there was no one by his side. Even the faint presences of those who had at least pretended to stand by outside had long since vanished.

When had it started? Was it back when the new servant who had taken over external affairs and replaced Kachian was dragged off by knights? Or was it even before that?

He didn’t know. Kachian irritably gave up trying to guess the date. He buried his face in his knees. Thanks to the soothing darkness, his nerves—sharpened to the point of madness—felt slightly more stable. He gnawed on his fingernail and muttered to himself.

“Stupid Diarca bastards...”

Kachian had warned them. He had clearly said that the Emperor and the Duke of Peleta intended to drag Kachian la Orr down—and by doing so, bring House Diarca down with him. He told them they would dig into his past and lay false traps to ruin him, and that they needed to act!

He had even gone to the trouble of sneaking out to give that warning personally. Yet despite such a desperate plea, the Duke of Diarca had done nothing. Absolutely nothing!

In truth, the Duke of Diarca had given instructions to respond at the time. But due to someone's subtle interference, none of those instructions were carried out. Unaware of this, Kachian simply believed that the Duke had chosen to ignore him.

And when no action came, no matter how long he waited, what else could he do? To protect himself, he had no choice but to act alone.

The new servant who happened to appear around that time seemed like a decent pawn. As with most fallen nobles, he was desperate to cling to Kachian and take a gamble, and he didn’t seem entirely loyal to the Duke either.

But the fool had made some mistake. His attempt to erase traces of the past by wiping out the family of an old friend he’d once killed—and the village they lived in—had ended in failure. The servant who carried out the task in Kachian’s place had been captured.

Because someone who had protected the hometown Kachian wished to destroy had exposed it.

After the servant was taken, Kachian kept waiting for the Duke of Diarca. He thought that if he waited just a little longer, the man would be released—or he’d at least hear that the issue had been resolved. But no. Even now, with the guards and attendants outside gone without a trace, the Duke still had done nothing.

“Aaaagh!”

Kachian couldn’t hold back his surging fury and screamed.

“What the hell are you doing?! Are you really okay with me disappearing?!”

He recalled the look in the Duke of Diarca’s eyes the last time they met.

Eyes that seemed kind at a glance, yet held the same contempt one would have for filthy commoners.

It had always been like that from the start. Kachian remembered when he was younger, and the Duke of Diarca appeared before him, shining like light.

‘So you’re that little Kichi. Your real name is Kachian... It’s a common name, like a peasant’s, but it suits you in a way.’

He had hated everything around him since he was a child. He couldn’t understand why someone as beautiful and superior as himself had to live hiding in some dirty countryside, dyeing his hair black. He hated the people who clicked their tongues at him, and his father, who’d cling to him and sob grotesquely while calling out for his mother.

It was his father’s stupidity that got him abandoned. If he’d been clever enough to truly capture the heart of a noblewoman from a prestigious house—beautiful enough to play with—he could’ve become her recognized consort. But instead, he ended up cast aside, left only with a child.

He used to spend every day imagining killing those loathsome things. Then, like a summer breeze arriving without warning, came change.

The famed members of House Diarca appeared and sought him out. At first, he thought his mother had come for him, so he followed. But the one looking for him was someone else entirely—none other than the head of the massive House Diarca.

‘We need a child of Diarca blood to become Crown Prince. We've searched a long time without luck, and to think Belji's child was hidden in a place like this...’

Kindred recognize each other. Just as the Duke of Diarca had seen cunning and ambition in young Kachian—traits that would help him reach success—Kachian, too, had smelled arrogance and the stench of cunning triumph from the Duke. Everything he ever wanted was in the old man's hands. So what was there to hesitate about?

Once Kachian took his hand, everything moved swiftly.

He left that loathsome village. For the first time, he met his mother—kneeling humbly before the Duke, begging to be left alone ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ in peace, saying she had tied up the documents and silenced anyone who knew. Once, he’d thought he would do anything to find her again. But seeing her so small and pitiful before the Duke made it all seem laughable.

From there, he began learning how to act like a noble, how to behave, what was expected of him.

What the Duke of Diarca demanded wasn’t difficult.

The Emperor, unable to have children, wished to adopt an heir. That heir would be chosen through an open trial. Kachian was to enter, win, and become Crown Prince.

The Duke had said other houses were bringing in children like Kachian as well. Among them, the Emperor had a favored candidate—a strong contender.

‘The Emperor is obsessed with placing that vulgar, dim-witted girl from a side branch on the throne. But she will never claim that glory. That seat belongs to you.’

The Duke’s smile held absolute certainty that they would make it so.

When asked if he understood, Kachian replied with the practiced smile he had been taught.

‘You're a quick learner. Hard to believe such common blood runs in your veins. Your hair and eye color are blessings of the gods, true marks of Diarca—give thanks to the divine.’

His hair, once painfully dyed to hide it, was freed. The eye color he had once hidden now drew admiration as a divine gift. Yet every time the Duke looked at Kachian, he ordered him to be even more refined, even more radiant.

‘Still not enough. If the Duke of Peleta were to show up now, you'd be mocked. You're going out in Diarca’s name—you must look the part.’

Even those who had praised Kachian’s beauty agreed when they heard that. Just who was this Duke of Peleta? He learned that the man was the Emperor’s younger brother, but since he had never seen him, it didn’t feel real.

If one becomes Crown Prince, doesn’t that mean he’ll become Emperor?

Though they always called him the next Emperor, why did the Duke of Diarca never teach him anything beyond looking more beautiful?

Once, while learning swordsmanship, he accidentally scratched his face. The Duke flew into a rage, severed the instructor’s hand, and scolded Kachian.

‘I chose you for your looks, and you mar that face? I thought you were clever, but maybe not. Common blood shows itself in the end.’

From then on, he was never allowed near anything “dangerous.”

Even classes were restricted. Anything that required physical exertion—running, climbing hills—was all forbidden.

Instead, he stood in front of the large mirror the Duke had given him, practicing every day to become a more perfect, dignified “royal.” The Duke never nodded in approval no matter how hard he practiced, so he only spent more and more time in front of that mirror.

‘You’ve learned to carry yourself quite convincingly now. The exam is approaching. From now on, be careful with your words and titles. You are the son of my cousin Belji—Belshiure da Diarca. She raised you from the start, but due to illness, you’ve been recuperating until now.’

Kachian nodded.

Just then, someone came running and whispered into the Duke’s ear. He furrowed his brow and looked at Kachian briefly before smiling as usual.

‘How bothersome. No need to leave behind troublesome scraps when we’re doing important work. Take care of it quietly.’

The servant bowed and stepped away. Kachian returned to his room.

In truth, he had heard what the servant had said. He just pretended not to.

‘...The boy’s father came again. Says he doesn’t want money, just to see him once...’

That disgusting, muddy man always trying to drag him back down!

In the mirror, the boy smiled flawlessly, like a doll. That sly smile, that elegant tone—he was no longer the “little Kichi” from a mountain village.

He thought he’d live forever without having to remember those days once his name changed.

‘Is there really a need to change it? It’s common to give frail children plain names. This one suits you naturally—I recommend keeping it.’

The night before his departure, that single remark from the Duke of Diarca shattered his expectations.

The Duke had no intention of giving Kachian a noble name.

In the old fox’s cold smirk was mockery—that cute, cheap little name suits you best.

Whether it was because he couldn’t be bothered, or because he feared Kachian might overstep if given a new name.

For such petty reasons, he was forever shackled to that name.

Just like the curse of his father, who still clung to his ankle, never letting go.