Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Alphas, Betas, and Omegas. The three second genders of the current post apocalyptic society.

It was really annoying, in Roksoo's opinion.

First, you had the apocalypse. That fuckary brought upon the world destructive monsters everywhere, destroying and killing everything and anyone within their new territories- for their own survival, probably.

Then, you had the humans. The people. Bastards had revealed their own true natures as well, like peeling of a snake's skin. Taking advantage of weaker people, playing God with the lives they held under their control- as if they themselves weren't under the mercy of those stronger than them.

And then when the world was just getting back on it's feet, humans just had to mutate. Because apparently human biology wasn't complicated enough. Because apparently humans don't suffer enough.

Not only was suddenly having a second sex out of 32 years of living with only one awkward, but so was the origin of the second genders in the first place.

See, most monsters could spew out a sort of "aura" or "pheromone" to their surroundings to mark, claim, intimidate, or lure in mates depending on the situation- bit by bit, people uncovered more and more of the enigma that were the creatures that invaded their planet.

From there, it was found that while there wasn't enough information across species to identify whether or not they had seasons in population increase or decrease, there was enough info to find that no matter the kind- these creatures came in types.

Type A - Alphas, this class of monsters are more commonly found to be the most aggressive of the three types-usually. In monster species that form packs, Alphas often take the "Lead" role in keeping underlings in check- thus preventing internal disputes.

Type B - Betas, monsters with no special distinction outside their scent. These ones make up the majority of the population, and do not seem to have influential pheromones or "feral" states of mind. But do keep in mind- this does not make them any less dangerous than Types A and O.

Type O - Omegas, this class could be considered the "mothers" of the monsters. Omega creatures are fiercely possessive and protective, willing to compromise their nature and hunger for their possessions. Omegas usually are the core member of their environment, and in packs, the most troublesome to deal with.

Thing is- creature pheromones are toxic. Long term, repeated exposure to the toxin caused organs to slowly shut down. Available Teams dwindled down, causing the rest of the Ability users to overwork themselves to near death- exposing themselves over and over to toxins as they tirelessly took care of monster havoc across the country.

And to everyone's dismay, apparently that was the solution. Pheromone Overwhelm, they called it. Overwhelm the human body with so much toxin that it tries to absorb it for itself- but give the toxins no time to kill the human by having the human body change to hold the toxins in. People subjected to Pheromone overwhelm would then start exhibiting the same mannerisms and traits as whichever type of pheromone the human was subjected to- Oh yeah, It's also genetic. Just great.

Why couldn't humans just build resistance instead of becoming closer to those things? Did surviving have to become more complicated than it already was?

Trapping yourself in a secluded space with a Feral Omega Type was extremely dangerous, and unless you wanted to see your family again tomorrow, it's better to avoid confrontation all together. Killing Feral Monsters was already hard enough in of itself- but an Omega monster? That was practically screaming for suicide.

Unfortunately for him, Roksoo is loved by death.

So, when he and he had to choose between him and his team to make the trip back to HQ? Of course he stayed behind. He ended up awakening as an Omega after that, which, well.

What a fucking joke.

He told them to leave and get reinforcements, but it was quite obvious, wasn't it? He made them leave to live. All he would do would hinder them in the midst of his transformation- make them weak and attract nearby monsters looking for a snack.

After all, he was the most experienced. If anyone had the best shot of surviving this building unarmed, it would be him.

He hadn't wanted to, but the creature could have headed towards a newly reclaimed shelter- one that had been fought for, for almost two years now- what kind of asshole would he be, to make everyone's efforts to go to waste?

So he stayed, he stayed and kept the creature running in circles trying to hunt him down, just enough for reinforcements to arrive.

In the end, they didnt even send a full squadrun to help, and mostly had to rely on themselves. They defeated it of course, and no one had fallen.

Two of his group members almost died on the way back from their injuries, one of which will never walk again.

He could have protected them

He should have protected them.

Apparently, the two planned to retire after a few more months anyway, so it was fine. Kim Roksoo paid for their medical bills and wrote their names off the team list.

His decisions made them crippled- His team was hurt because of him.

He hasn't heard of them since.

Perhaps that was for the best.

Roksoo flips the pages of a new series he's just picked up.

A rare vacation day, given only as an excuse for the higher ups to take their time to choose new team members

4 years. It took them 4 years to address the lack of two very much needed members of their team.

They probably tried to take him down a few notches by leaving him two members short- only to grow increasingly frustrated as his team kept coming back, stronger each time.

It was glaringly obvious that the only reason why they're addressing it now is so that they could plant a couple thorns on Roksoo's side.

How dare they try to replace his members, how dare they try to take their places. How dare they act as if their filthy hands were worthy enough come close to-

Still, Roksoo wasn't going to complain if it meant he could rest for a bit.

The lone man shakes himself out of his wandering mind, instead, activating his ability once more to keep himself tethered to the present.

Scarred hands caressed down the spine of his book. [The Birth of a Hero: Volume 4], it read.

If he wanted, he could press through the entire series in one sitting. Yet he doesn't. He wants to laze around a bit more, focus on something other than work or his teammates well-being for once.

And yes, he might be an asshole for thinking that, but since when has he ever said that he was good?

Roksoo sets the book down, finishing the last of volume 4.

Hiding behind the strong, taking advantage of the lesser- Never doing more than he was asked for unless someone beneficial to him was going to be compromised- Kim Roksoo did everything with his own benefit in mind.

In this world, the weak needed to cling onto the strong to live another day. Survival of the fittest, as everyone learns.

And Kim Roksoo? He was the weakest of them all.

tap!

He can feel himself getting drowsy has he reaches for the next volume, yet Roksoo ignores the feeling, letting his eyes wash over the descriptive words on the pages beneath his fingers.

Stop thinking about it

One page, then another.

Block it out

The turning of the pages turn faster.

Stop it.

flip, flip,

…..Stop it

flip, flip, flip, flip,

STOP IT.

flip, flip,

….

flip… flip…

Self pity will not bring them back .

Thump!

The book falls out of his hands, and the Gods make their move.

Chapter Text

The first thing that Kim Roksoo registers is a voice.

“Young master, it is morning.”

'Warm…. Wait- huh? Is that… lemon?? And a slight tang of metal??'

A blanket of sunlight gently cascades down his arms, the warmth on his skin adding to his comfort. The sweet, creamy smell of lemon custard drifting around him. Safe, affection, amusement-

Roksoo jolts up from his position on the bed that he definitely did not fall asleep on last night- his eyes wide and alert.

No one should be inside inside his apartment, no one should know where he lives-

“It is surprising to see you wake up after a single attempt.”

"..Huh?"

In that second, Roksoo takes note of his surroundings.

Bright, wide windows and smooth marble walls- lined with light wooden baseboards and similar crown molding to match. A chandelier sways gently with the wind on the far left side of his view, underneath stood a chair cushioned with turquoise pillows, tucked neatly against a rounded square table.

‘Where is this place?’

Roksoo turns his head back at the man who had woken him up, an old man stood there with a satisfied expression. The old servant was looking at him like he was looking at his own grandson.

“The master wishes to dine with the young master since it has been a while. It looks like it will be possible today.”

His body is still tense, locked in place as the other acts as if he can't see Roksoo observing him. 

“Perhaps some fresh air and a cup of lemonade will make you feel better, young master?” 

Creak!

Roksoo inhales sharply, he could feel the panic slowly rise up inside, foreign scents wafting in from the open window signifying an unfamiliar environment sending chills down his spine.

He wasn't in Korea anymore, was he?

Turning his head slightly, he could see a mirror past the old man’s shoulder. Inside the mirror was a red-haired man who seemed to be confused looking back at him.

'That's..'

"Ho?"

Roksoo's arms flinch, his body ready to killkilLKILL pounce on the old man to protect himself. He can feel his scent quiver, turning bitter in the air as he's lifting his gaze back at the butler.

He narrows his eyes, snapping at the old man's irritating expression,

"Who are you, where are we, and what do you want- and don't you dare give me anything other than the full truth."

Roksoo's aware that he's practically hissing by the last words, but he can't bring himself to care.

The servant's figure stiffens and his eyes grow cold, perhaps out of shock, horror, maybe it's simply confusion.

Roksoo narrows his eyes further, he was abducted- probably taken from his nest in his sleep- in what seems to be a foreign European country. 

If this man expects him to go along with this crude role-play, he’s dead wrong.

He sees the other take a sharp inhale, "My name is Ron Molan, we are currently in the Henituse Estate just outside of Rain City. I have been head butler of this place for the past 20 years and your personal butler for 18 years."

Now that causes Roksoo to pause, a heady breath caught before it could escape his throat.

'Ron Molan. Henituse. Rain City.’

He knew these names.

Ron Molan, a vicious and cruel assassin in disguise.

Henituse, the richest noble household in Roan Kingdom.

Rain City, the territory belonging to the Henituse, Land of the Arts and the highest quality Wine.

All three of them things present within the book of [The Birth of a Hero]

Roksoo evaluates the new information in his head, with the very real and very breathing Ron, the luxurious decor of his supposed ‘room’, and the distant scent of an unfamiliar market-

‘There’s no other explanation available.’

Kim Roksoo, has transmigrated at the bright age of 36.

He looks over to Ron’s still twisted expression, and this time he sees the other's eyes tinted with intrigue, a visible glint that probably means he's planning to kill him in his sleep.

The sudden revelation causes Roksoo to want to be alone, far, far from the assassin.

"...Cold water" He finally says, looking away.

if Ron (a ruthless, cold killer-) was insistent on serving him, then he might as well make some use of the man.

"Young Master?"

"Shut up and please get me cold water."

"...Of course, Young Master Cale."

'Cale?' Roksoo’s head whips to the butler’s retreating form, his gaze lingering on the last of Ron's figure as it disappears behind golden-lined doors.

Record rolls in a few memories of yesterday, flashing words of the series he had read just before.

Cale Henituse, eldest son of Count Deruth. 

Sentences and paragraphs surface themselves before his eyes, the information filling in on the person he apparently possessed.

[ The Trash of Count Henituse’s family. A few days before meeting the main character, Cale was drinking and causing a ruckus. He was flinging things around and got stabbed on his side by a broken desk leg, resulting in the scar.]

[ He just liked to drink and play. Sometimes, when he was drunk, he did break things. But that was why he was the trash of the family. He also did not treat people like people, other than the few people he liked.]

A typical noble villain for a classic Isekai story, mentioned once and never again, nothing but a stepping stone for the protagonists journey to saving the world.

Roksoo gets up and walks a few steps to the window, snapping it shut. 

‘Finally.’

With the air free from intruding scents, Roksoo goes over to the bathroom, checking out his reflection in the full length mirror.

Red hair, sharp brown eyes, lean build, and a handsome face that could have probably been the face of a k-pop idol group once upon a time.

He watches as a pale hand reaches out to touch the base of his nape, the man in his reflection- Cale Henituse- following his movements. 

‘I guess that's me now.’

Kim Roksoo, no. Cale Henituse, decides.

Cale dips his finger into water, stretching his neck slightly. He uses the pads of his fingers to gently massage from his nape to the front of his neck right above his collarbone, moving in gentle circles to check his suspicions- his face twisting when he finds that he's correct.

Among evolved humans, scent glands slightly larger than sebaceous glands, and were located namely around your apocrine glands- with the addition to the base of your neck and nape.

As Cale's fingers dip into unmarred, unscarred skin, he can feel the familiar tension and relaxation that came with becoming an omega.

Scent glands.

But you see, here's the thing. 

[The Birth of a Hero] had stated that while Choi Han had awakened as an alpha, second genders weren't a concept that existed in this world. And because of Choi Han’s extensive time within the forest of darkness, Choi Han had simply thought that he himself had become non-human, somewhere between his transmigration and re-assimilation with human society.

However, when Cale had woken up, he could still smell Ron’s ‘nature’, and if he were to try and dismiss it as perfume, it wouldn't explain why when Ron had opened his window, he could smell all of that too.

‘Also, not to mention my outburst..’ Cale grumbles internally. 

He studied his own behaviors enough to know that what surfaced this morning were his omega instincts, outraged and upset at being taken from it's safe space so abruptly.

Perhaps had he not been affected by the bothersome thing, he would have been able to assess his situation better. 

A small tug in his shoulder muscles clue Cale enough to stop, letting the patch of skin he had been massaging spasm painlessly- once, twice. 

By the third spasm, a burst of smooth wine and a hint of metal coin wafts through the air. Faint traces of roses and sweet, honey candy accompanied with an undertone of a dark, bitter chocolate riffling by the ends of his nose.

Cale’s rather surprised that the subtle, tart bitterness of loss which most likely came from his time as Kim Roksoo- did not ruin the combination of smells, rather adding to it.

It's just….

Cale frowned.

His hand moves to massage the other glad, repeating the process until it bursts just the same as the first.

‘It’s not a bad scent to have, but is it supposed to be this strong?’

As Kim Roksoo, he was constantly surrounded by foul smelling trash as a result of hoarding. Perhaps that dulled out his nose more than he thought it did?

Cale had assumed the spike of smell intensity was a part of his senses heightening when he felt threatened, or perhaps because of Ron’s sizable strength- but it just seems like his nose is now very strong, or Kim Roksoo's nose was very weak.

Either way, he’ll get used to it.

Still, Cale's expression darkens. There were still a lot of questions he had that went unanswered- why his body was an omega's, why his scent glands were blocked, or why Ron had his own scent when he was supposed to be a regular human.

Err, as normal as an assassin could be.

The smell of custard lemon tickles his nose like a worried parent, and from it Cale knows that he'll have to explain things to Ron before the butler decides to take matters to his own hands.

clink!

He can hear Ron put down his glass of cold water down, Cale once again sighing at his misfortune.

"Why does trying to live peacefully have to be so complicated…" He mumbles.

“..Young Master, are you in the bathroom?”

“Yes. I’ll be right out.”

Despite his outburst this morning, Cale still decided to talk informally to the old man. He had already made his mind about what to do in the future.

He needed to push that old man to the main character and send him away.

That old man could easily kill Cale with a single blow, but treated Cale like a puppy you left alone because you felt bad for it. He could smile gently, but there was not an ounce of care about Cale on the inside. In the novel, Ron leaves with the main character and his son after Choi Han beats Cale to a pulp.

Cale exits the bathroom, towel around his waist and a half-baked plan to not get beaten up by the alpha protagonist.

“Young Master, shall I tell your father you will be joining them today?” Ron asks,

“Just do what you want.” Cale huffs, reaching for the closet, missing Ron’s sudden frown at the action.

“Young Master-”

“I’ll have something simple today.” Cale cuts him off, going between his usual indifference and a slightly rude tone.

Not that he’d want to push his luck further, Cale would like to live. Thank you very much.

Still, he hated really complicated attires. Simple clothes that let you relax comfortably were the best.

Glancing at the old man out of the corner of his mind, he internally huffs. Had he let Ron have free reign over his clothes after the stunt he pulled this morning, would he give Cale bloodstained trousers as a warning? Cale shivers at the thought.

“Yes, young master.”

The servant in charge of the attires quickly pulled out multiple outfits, and Cale changed into the simplest of them all. He lightly frowned after finishing getting dressed. Even this, ‘simple,’ attire was extremely extravagant and not to his liking.

He checks his reflection in the mirror, his expression falling the slightest bit.

Cale's neck was completely exposed.

He turns to the servants behind Ron, watching them flinch and bow their heads suddenly, trembling under his gaze.

‘Why are they so scared? Cale never hit people.’

Sure, he hit thugs here and there, but he was never stated to treat his servants unjustly.

Cale opens his mouth the speak, resisting the urge to groan when the servants tense up and tremble harder.

“Bring me a necklace.” He says.

“W-which kind would you like? Young Master?” A female servant steps up, trying her best to keep her voice stable as she looks towards him.

Cale tilts his head, lifting his finger to the circle small areas around the base of his neck.

“As long as it covers these areas, just give me the simplest available…"

The girl flinches. Ah, did that sound too rude?

"...please."

He could be trash, but these people were clearly just trying to do their jobs. Look at them, trembling like that. What if they try to give him a piece of jewelry only to end up dropping it? With the Henituse wealth, they might as well be breaking hundreds- if not thousands worth of gold coins in that moment.

As Kim Roksoo, he had never liked getting in the way of those just trying to get through life as they could. Rather, he felt a sense of familiarity in their ways.

In his musing and silent grimacing at the thought of breaking a worth-a-thousand-gold-coins jewelry piece, Cale misses the way the others in the room look towards each other in shock- the servant girl in front practically frozen because-

The young??? master?? who picks fights??? at bars???? and drinks himself into a stupor??? is always rude??? and bossy???? just said??? please????

Ron, who had been observing his young master interact with the servants, steps up at the sight of his frozen underlings.

"Young Master, I'm afraid that won't be possible."

"Hm? And why is that?"

Ron watches as his young master turns his gaze towards him. With reddish browns eyes looking directly at him, Ron can see a deeper, more… animalistic, side of the young master in those irises. Claws of a beast lurking behind sheep skin and numerous alcohol bottles.

Claws that, just this morning, drew themselves against him like a wild beast cornered.

The butler's mouth twitches just the slightest, carefully concealing his curiosity and plastering on a benign smile. Ron lowers his head lightly, just enough to not be passed as disrespectful, just enough to continue watching Cale's reactions without taking his eyes off the boy.

"All of the current jewelry in the estate either belongs to either your family or the late countess, young master." Ron says, voice even.

He can hear the quiet gasps and whispers of the other behind him. Poor things, do they not understand the power the young master held over them? That if he wanted, Cale could simply ask the Count to fire them for their pathetic voices, and that fool would make sure they- and whatever family they have- would plunge into poverty for the rest of their lives? Do they not understand that Cale had been more than benevolent?

Ah, though perhaps some of that blame could be put on him, after all, Ron didn't do anything to keep the rumors from spreading.

"Unless… You would like to wear the choker the late countess gifted you?"

Ron's eyes watch carefully as Cale's movements still for but a moment. To the untrained eye, perhaps they wouldn't have caught it.

His young master looks at him with what seems to be indifference, his posture slightly more guarded than it was a second ago. Hah, just what is this puppy thinking? Was he shocked that Ron were to bring up Jour so suddenly? Would he catch on that this was Ron testing him?

Both himself and Bearox have been living here for over two decades now, hiding from them and their ilk. He had witnessed this puppy's birth and his mother's death, watched him grow and raised him not unlike his own. He had monitored the territory while he shadowed the countess as the years went by, making sure things were safe.

Whatever happened between yesterday night and this morning for the young master to suddenly lash out, Ron had a feeling wasn't something he could brush off.

After a few seconds, Cale opens his mouth.

"Ron, go get it. The rest of you." The young master begins, looking back towards Ron's poor, poor underlings.

Ron watches as Cale narrows his eyes and-Hm?

Cale barely glances in his direction before uttering his last word.

"leave."

Chapter Text

It hits like a wave.

An overbearing stench of alcohol, whirling down with grueling metallic bites. Violent blooms of roses and choking sweetness-

All at once, the servants begin to scramble away, hurrying out the room like their life depended on it. Leaving him, the assassin who had hidden in disguise, as the only one who did not rush out immediately.

Ron's eyes shook, his posture stiffening. The kind smile freezing up on his face. A disturbing realization passing through his veins at the speed of light.

This pressure- this power. Ron recognizes it- the smell might be different- but the domineering influence it had? He knows. And this? This was it.

Monster pheromones.

His young master- who just yesterday was a shameless drunk, who Ron had raised so much so it wouldn't be strange to call him a second son- His young master, whom he had assisted in his birth- was exuding monster pheromones.

"Ron." The young master's face flickers towards him, giving Ron the self awareness to wipe his face clean of any expression- though that does not erase the tension still running under his skin, nor does the second of calm give him enough time to formulate his words without sounding too personal.

"After my meal, bring me books. Any and all that we have on human anatomy- the history of it too…"

Ah, Human anatomy? Hm… Could it be? Could this development with monster pheromones also new? But then, what changed? What could have possibly happened between those 8 hours for the young master to change so strongly? It would explain why no one noticed something so bizarre before, but raises the question of how even further.

He catches the miniature twitch of his young master's lips, and suddenly Ron realizes that Cale had never bothered to hide his emotions in front of him before- at least not this much. There was a difference between twisting your emotions and hiding them, after all. He reminds himself.

"Young Master-"

"Stop being so strung up, it's throwing me off. We can talk in my study- later."

Clipped, stony. Ron knows that he is teetering on the edge of something, and overstepping could mean- well. Anything. Ron doesn't know, and perhaps that's what makes it all the more unsettling. And besides-

How did his young master know?

Over two decades of hiding- and three decades before that perfecting the craft, no one should have noticed his mask slipping.

Yet, he'd been found out.

By Cale Henituse.

The boy who's weapons were nothing more than alcohol bottles and wit to match.

At least, until now.

Ron schooled his face back into a smile, still quite tense around the edges of his face. His feet moves annoyingly too eager to bring Ron out the room, the invisible pressure on his lungs dissipating as soon as he steps out the door.

Inside, Cale decides to dig through the drawers- perhaps the original Cale had a diary of sorts he could reference from. Despite [The Birth of A Hero] being extremely and oddly specific, when he tried to recall explanations, reasons why Cale was an omega- nothing came up. Too many questions, too little answers.

When he had sent everyone out, despite having released his pheromones way stronger than he intended to, Cale was able to derive a conclusion from it.

His scent glands were developed, perfectly. With no defects in sight. It didn't seem like they came with Roksoo during his transmigration, but seemed have present within the original Cale.

Earlier, it was obvious to him that his scent was different, where there was once a sterile office with ruffling papers and occasional bits of bitter chocolate and coffee, there was now the striking whiffs of a bar, one with pungent alcohol weaving through the customers like thick smog- then a strange undertone of honey and fresh roses.

If secondary genders were supposedly a concept foreign to this world, how could minor villain Cale Henituse, have one? Human experimentation? A past encounter with a monster within the forest of darkness? Did this world have the same monsters as earth? If so, did the monsters come from here? Or was Jour an anomaly he had yet to read- Or was it Deruth's side of the family instead?

Perhaps the original Cale was some sort of plot twist character? Someone with connections to an organization outside the Henituse territory, or spy network set to help the hero Choi Han in later volumes? A secret boss of the evil organization that hid his identity behind a mask?

It was hard to tell.

When it came to stories, anything could happen. So long as you have the words to express it, you could be flying on a sword in one page then playing flute with a wizard wand the next. This was partially why Kim Roksoo liked reading, things that were usually impossible to achieve could simply be written out and imagined- as if the pages made up your wings and your words the sky- there was no limit to how high you could soar, if you so wanted it.

The original Cale Henituse could have been anyone if Nelan Barrow simply wrote him so, and right now the current Cale Henituse has to hope that it was nothing relevant, that it was just something like heritage- that this too was something he could brush off for his peaceful life.

"Hah.. How troublesome."

There was nothing significant within the drawers. The main one held a hand mirror, a couple compact mirrors- presumably for travel- a sealed ink well and a fancy quill with a few leafs of parchment on the side. The rest of the drawers had either nothing or a few bottles of unfinished, unbranded wine. Cale huffs, walking around the room to check for hidden compartments.

None.

Well, since he's not getting anywhere with that, he might as well allow himself to ruminate on other subjects. Perhaps he should start conditioning himself to get used to his newly, drastically improved sense of smell?

Perhaps that wasn't a bad idea, he would have to do so eventually.

Cale moves to open the window, carrying the chair with him, mindful not to scrape the floors in case there were people below.

With the window open to the slightest bit, Cale starts taking in slow, deep breaths. Letting himself slowly get acquainted to the new abundance of scent.

He sits himself down on the surprisingly comfy chair and nurses himself the now-warm glass of water. Ruminating on his interactions these past few hours.

More particularly, the conversation with Ron before he sent everyone out. He could tell that Ron was testing him somehow, but for what, Cale wasn't sure.

"This has something to do with that choker, though." Cale mumbles through his breath. Jour Henituse was solemn mentioned in the novel, and in turn her relationship with Cale was nonexistent. There was no mention of a necklace anywhere within [The Birth of a Hero], but since Ron tried to prod him with it...

Most of it's value should be sentimental, then?

He files it away for later, Cale will find that out once Ron comes back- and hopefully wrap up the interaction before he can miss out on breakfast.

Instead, he directs himself to another, glaring and pressing problem, one that also involves the hidden assassin disguised as his butler.

His excuse. For this morning. And judging by Ron's face and reactions- his pheromones too.

With a solemn face, Cale gets to thinking.

Time waits for no one, and he is no exception.

The butler moves as fast as he can without being suspicious, keeping his footsteps quiet with excellent proficiency.

On his right hand lay a small, chestnut box. The little painted designs done by the countess all those years ago still vibrant as day. If he were to run his finger on the underside of it, Ron would feel the runes engraved onto the wood like an elegant, foreign language, keeping the box pristine- preserving the delicate artifact that lay inside.

His left arm held itself stiff against his back as he made his way to Cale, his hands twitching in anticipation of his puppy young master's actions. Soon, soon. He will get his answers. He will get to know who did this to Cale- and make them pay should he find they had done to release the claws of this once teething pup.

It was his duty, after all.

Until then, he can play the docile butler the little master expects him to be.

knock, knock,

"Young master, I have brought it."

The answer comes in less than a second.

"Come in."

Inside the door he finds Cale sitting beside the window, his demeanor relaxed as if the pressure Ron had felt from him was nothing but a result of curious thought and a spark of imagination.

Wordlessly, he presents the box to the other, not bothering to hide the gleam of interest in his eyes- having to hold himself back from chuckling when Cale's faces cringes in fear for a moment. (Almost unnoticeable, if he hadn't been watching as closely as he had he wouldn't have seen anything. When did you get so good at hiding?)

He watches Cale's hands traces the box in interest, those young hands of his running over the paints and almost marveling at the old little thing. Which isn't strange, the last time Jour had dangled this to the puppy he had been a mere 4 years old. Much too young to remember the little nuances of the gift he now held.

Click!

Cale unlocks and lifts the lid of the box with ease, and Ron catches what probably is the runes underneath painting a faint light over the young master's palms. So it was enchanted to open for Cale only? Or perhaps only those with Thames blood? Either way, it explains why the countess had entrusted him with storing it away before her imminent death.

"..Wow" Cale softly gasps.

The pup's face had a faint glow of amazement to it, he corners of his guarded face softening at the site of his late mother's gift. A gentle gaze seemed to settle as he picked up the piece of jewelry cautious movements.

The choker was, as Ron expected, deceiving to the eyes. A thin layer of material, but a decently wide area of coverage. Black lace were woven together in the image of branches, leaves and such, the string interlaced close enough to dismiss as a simple black collar in shadow. In light however, the design reveals itself like a dragon coming out of it's cave- it was beautiful, no doubt one of it's kind. A single, delicate silver chain connects loosely to each side.

But the kicker of it all, was the stone which presented itself front and center of the neckband. An innocent piece of red amber, golden threads of flora interlacing and surrounding the stone like a frame of a particularly famous art piece.

Perhaps Cale wouldn't realize what it means for years to come- perhaps no one would, but Ron can take a guess. Multiple even, with how Jour liked to stash in double, triple- or even no meaning within anything her nimble mind could think of.

Amber, the stone formed from tree resin.

Not a jewel, or gem. Not a diamond either. Not a thing of valuable worth in high society, not a dazzling spectacle made for people to gawk at. Not a show of wealth and how it represents strength between humans, but a simple rock formed from a sap of life and the hands of time.

"I want him to live," she'd probably say. "Not just survive, as we Thames have done for centuries." she would lament, "Maybe he could use it, as a way to claim that someone gives him life!!" Jour would exclaim, then pause to beam a smile brighter than the royals could ever attempt to. "I want him to surround himself with life, with people who revel in it- and when the day comes, when time decides upon it's mercy, he will have the courage to find it within himself to try and experience it too."

And perhaps, she would spin a tale, one with a bird and it's king, or of a heart and it's lungs- make a pitiful comparison to try and prove her point- only confuse everyone further in the process. Full of vigor, she was. Claimed him as her brother in all but blood, treated Beacrox like family of her own too.

But even so, her time has long since passed. Ron could claim to see her like a blood sister, know Jour in ways Deruth doesn't, and she would still be dead.

Cale feels puzzled. The scary and soul-shaking expression on Ron's face couldn't be any more different from the emotions Cale's catching through his nose.

Ron's pheromones have grief and sorrow seeped into it, flitting across the room like a lack of acknowledgement. The sweet lemon curd scent going bitter and spoiled, crashing down around the older man. Little hints of violet flower woven between each inhale.

…Did the choker remind him of his days in the Eastern Continent?

Was… Was Ron thinking of torture while staring at the original Cale's mother's gift????

Cale hides a gulp and quickly snaps on the neck-piece, sighing in comfort as the exposed feeling dissipates.

tak!

Ron is thrown out of his head at the sound of Cale snapping on his choker, the enchanted accessory securing itself around it's new owner with a sparkle of pride.

The gift sits perfectly secure around his neck like a trophy, gem glinting in temptation- daring even the wisest of thieves to come and give it a try.

'…It's more comfortable than I expected' Cale thought, not bothering to check his appearance with the neckband on. With these looks, Cale could pull off anything, so looking bad wasn't a problem for him anymore. He was confident he did not look off even with the choker on.

"Then, shall I guide you to the dining room now Young Master? I imagine the breakfast is already underway." Ron speaks up, the friendly smile plastered once again on his face.

"Let's go." Cale nods.

He follows Ron through the halls, watching the servants greet him with what seems to be respect- but Cale knows more, or well. He can smell more. Each member of staff that greeted him were either emitting fear, annoyance, resentment, or indifference.

Cale takes note of those who hold a detachment from him yet still act respectful, that was good quality in subordinates. He would have to keep an eye on the others, it would do no good for the members of Henituse to suffer from the same scrutiny as their resident "trash". Even if the trash was their family.

“I will now open the door.”

"Wait."

Cale makes eye contact with the butler, resisting the urge to cower behind a wall. almost shivering in fear at the assassin's eyes.

"Remember, we will talk later. Do you understand?" Cale says.

'Don't dig into it yourself'

Ron nods, "Of course, Young Master."

With the young master seemingly having nothing more to say, Ron opens the door to the dining room.

Cale's breath hitches but the slightest when their scents breeze onto his person.

'Family', they seem to echo, 'come back, be kin.'

At least, that's what the tiny sensors in his mind tell him it means.

Deruth looks up from his food, a gentle yet stern expression set towards him.

“You are late again today.” is what Cale hears.

'I miss you, I'm sorry' is what Cale smells.

Cale already dreads the headache incoming from the conflicting signals he's getting.

Chapter Text

“You are late again today.”

Cale’s gaze turned toward his body's sire, recalling the lines of [The Birth of a Hero], which had described Cale’s feelings for Deruth as less of a father figure and more of an authoritarian one.

‘His father was the one person that Cale listened to, though. Was that out of begrudging respect or the original Cale's way of showing his affection?’

The count was unlike other strong fathers in this novel. He did not have any special skills or influence- he just had a lot of money. However, Cale liked this a lot. It was a perfect family environment to live a simple life.

"I am." Cale responds, not deigning a reason why. He didn't need to, it feels good to be trash

He takes a seat before he is given permission. To others, it might look like he was disregarding his family, but Cale was observing them closely. Both through the corners of his eye and through the scents his nose could smell.

The novel described the other three members at Deruth's side as such:

His stepmother, who knew that he did not like her and avoided him

Her smart first-born, Basen, who found it difficult to deal with his older brother Cale.

And the cute youngest of the family, Lily, who avoided him as well.

But it wasn’t like Cale bothered them or they bothered Cale. They just treated each other like strangers- something Cale was going to have to work to rectify. Cale could want a peaceful life, away from such family troubles. But it would be unfair for the others of his family to have their son whisked away without a good memory to think of him by.

Cale was cruel, yes. He was also trash, yes. But he was also someone who understood the value of memories.

For most they are fleeting, they are there to cherish and hold until your brain can no longer do so.

But not for Cale.

Not for Roksoo.

He knows what it's like to lose, remembers in perfect clarity what it's like to agonize over perfect memory of how you lost someone dear. How one day you're bickering over shirt colors, bargaining over chore distribution, how you're merely grateful for their presence and nothing more- he remembers how the next day he was in that same house, same environment where they lived with him just hours before- organizing their funerals. Roksoo knows what it's like to live in memories, to drown in them. He also knows what it's like to survive through it. To cling onto fleeting images of yesterday- How it feels like to grasp onto the goodness of those lost so you don't lose hope of the future.

He knows that leaving a good memory of yourself can go a long way, his experiences are a living testament to that. He knows that if only terrible memories are left behind, it would claw at the skin with guilt, carve a hollow plain of grief into the core of your being for not savoring those memories. For not appreciating them enough, cutting what could have been good memories short.

Filling the empty spaces in yourself with work and duties only worked for so long, it eats away at you, leaves you with nothing but bloody hands asking yourself why you didn't do more. What made you think you had the right to try so hard yet accomplish so little.

Cale clenches his cutlery just a little tighter, willing himself to not dig too deeply into the memories of his past, to not impose the faces of those he once loved and cared for into the faces of people around him now-into the faces of Cale Henituse's family.

He takes a soft, steadying breath, his gaze briefly touching on each of them as he hardens his resolve.

Kim Roksoo can't allow himself to leave, not without giving them good memories to remember Cale Henituse by.

Even if it was fake, he hopes that it would help to know that their trash bastard brother, their worthless son, had some good in him. That the memory of a stranger in their son's body could help them tide through whatever trouble they might face with the war ahead.

“Is there something you need to say, father?” Cale asks.

“…No, Cale. I do not.”

Deruth was staring at Cale, which was not so strange, but so was the rest of the family. Cale made eye contact with each of these family members. They all quickly turned away whenever he made eye contact and continued to eat.

‘I guess they find me really difficult to handle.’

Furthest to his left, Violan was seated with prim proper poise, most likely still watching him from the corner of her eyes as well. She smelled of daisies, freshly ironed clothes, maybe a hint of wet clay, too. Her pheromones stuck to him like a warm hug in the winter.

Furthest to his right, Lily sat. She was morning dew and the rising blooms of a gladiolus flower, her scent radiated a sour tang of bitter orange- from what looks to be nervousness.

Closer to him and right beside Lily, was Basen. He was a combination of wet ink and green tea, the edges of his scent holding faint beginnings amaryllis. It lingered, as if he was afraid to come too close. Just what did the original Cale do to make Basen afraid so?

And finally there was Deruth. He, like Cale, had the smell of rich coin and faint notes of honey candy. Surprisingly, Cale could smell a familiar dash of paper and old books, slightly reminiscent of Kim Roksoo's own scent. It coats Cale like a protective layer, yet refrains from touching Cale's skin. When he takes a deeper breath- barely noticeable to others around him- Cale catches the hint of someone else, woven so thoroughly into Deruth's being he might have thought it was purely part of the count's "nature".

'Bonded?' He wonders.

Just as children shared traits of their parents appearances, so did they their scents. Evolved humans could often tell when two people were related because of this.

Something similar can happen to lovers.

When you have dedicated yourself to someone, attached and made them a part "you", well- your "nature" specifically, their scents could rub off you. From then on, your scent would have an undertone of that person's nature, for how long, or how intense, could depend on how much of an impact they had on you as a person.

Some people had taken to calling it the "Beta version of Mating", much to Roksoo's displeasure.

While this would explain why Deruth smelled of violet, it would not explain why he smelled the same thing on Ron earlier.

The only way for Ron to have the same, supposedly Jour's scent on him was if he was close enough to her for them to become packmates, or….

If he too, bonded with Jour.

That spelled trouble. And while Cale doubts that's what happened, it would be stupid to put the possibility aside.

Besides, if scents worked differently in this world, he'll probably find out when Ron brings his books later. Hah, the 2 birds turned out to actually be 3 birds with one stone. He'll interrogate Ron, give an excuse for everything he needs to do to protect the Henituse family, and hopefully learn more about why Cale was an anomaly.

Cale focused on his food once more, perhaps had he been in a better mood, he would have smiled. But at the sour possibility of Ron having an affair with Jour simmering at the back of his mind, he unconsciously frowned instead.

The redhead forces his brain to shift it's focus to the food- away from his family's wavering scents around, or wandering thoughts with ridiculous conclusions.

‘Ahh, it is so juicy.’

At least the food was good. Extremely different from the foods Cale used to eat solely to sustain and fill his stomach.

He didn’t know if juice flowed out as soon as he cut into it because it was handmade or because it was cooked well, but the color on the sausage made him hungry. More so than usual. Huh. Does transmigration come with being extra hungry, or was this just the hangover his body was reacting to?

The rest of the family watch in astonishment as Cale eats- well, the more accurate description would be devours- his food with astonishing speed. Basen watches Cale swallow what's supposed to be at least 3 halves of a steak in less than 20 seconds.

Clang.

He heard something fall, and made eye contact with his younger brother Basen. He could see that Basen had dropped the fork in his hand.

“M-my apologies.”

Cale ignores him and the faint scent of inky befuddlement leaking outwards of the boy. What did Basen see that was so shocking? He was just eating. Faster than normal, yes. But it was still just eating. It's not like he's gobbling everything in sight.

"Cale- ahem. Ah, yes. Is the food alright?" Deruth asks, his metallic scent wavering in bewilderment- okay why was everyone being weird about Cale eating. He's going to ignore it of course but Cale doesn't feel anything unusual about the way he's eating right now.

“It’s delicious.” Cale says, pausing for a moment, “Everything tastes wonderful.”

Violan glares lightly in Deruth's direction as he dumbly nods, hahh, this bumbling fool. She was going to have to beat him in shape once again. Everyone at the table seemed to know what Deruth really wanted to ask. Everyone but Cale, it is. He had every right to talk, but still the man kept silent.

She sighs internally, lamenting the unfortunate, unspoken agreement between the father and son. To never cross the lines Cale had drawn- lines that nobody knew where they were placed, and so avoided him entirely.

Tsk, it seems like this countess is going to have to have a talk with her son as well- as long as she could catch him this time around. It is about that time of year where Cale would tone up his misbehavior after all- if Violan could just talk to him, perhaps he wouldn't have to distance them so…

Cale picked up a different fruit this time and let out a breath in content after tasting the sweetness in his mouth once again. The trash, Cale Henituse, never cared for etiquette anyways- an audible breath over eating such delicious food would raise an eyebrow to no one.

He probably shouldn’t do this while speaking with his father, the head of the household, but whatever. He no longer needed to force himself to be overly polite and respectful with others.

Besides…

His eyes glint.

'I'm sorry, forgive me, don't choke, eat slower, my son, my son, be careful…'

Cale has to stop himself from scrunching his nose at the worried hovering of Deruth's scent, it helped that Deruth's pheromones didn't make direct contact, but the spike of worry still made his nose want to sneeze.

If this man wanted to apologize, he should say it out loud, not assault his nose with pheromones while he was trying to eat dammit.

Cale can feel a small wave of irritation from Violan, and ignores that smell too.

‘It really is best to be the trash.’

Nobody really cared no matter what he did. As long as he can prevent himself from getting beaten up by the main character after providing him with ways to control his inner alpha (so he wouldn't go feral and destroy the world- that would be horrifying), it will be a good life.

Also. There was nothing wrong with his eating speed. Thank you very much.

The rest of the breakfast went smoothly, a bit shorter than usual apparently because of his later arrival- but after receiving such a large check as an allowance, Cale really couldn't complain. He had good food and ten million gallons. What more could he want?

Cale leans back on his chair- still getting used the scents of this unfamiliar city while he waited for the study to be cleaned. His instincts had slightly lamented at the loss of the Henituse's scents- despite the way it lingered around him when Cale left.

He frowns.

Even now, his inner omega was trying to asses every single person around him- evaluating and judging them worthy or not to be part of it's pack. Somehow it had claimed Lily already, yet seemed to be hesitant to claim the rest of the family members due to their reluctance to approach Cale.

'Hah, how bothersome.'

He wasn't going to be interfering more than he needed to, his omega didn't need to over-complicate their characters and their so called 'worth'. He'll do the original Cale Henituse's memory justice, then be on his way.

Knock knock,

Cale turns his head to the door, standing up. His bones and lazy instinct protesting lightly at the sudden movement. He ignores them all.

It was time to face the assassin and pray that Ron wouldn't see through his lies.

He opens the door, face carefully blank as he faced this terrifying butler.

"Lead the way."

Ron bows, before walking away from the young master's room and towards the once abandoned study.

His eyes lingered in areas where he knew reflective surfaces would appear should they continue walking, carefully making sure none of the other servants passing by could see his lingering tension for the boy behind him- hiding his nervousness. Something he had done once before long ago, in the Molan estate. When young nephews and nieces didn't know the severity of injuries their parents had sustained after missions.

An old, rusty yet practiced dance with a new participant- a participant who Ron thought was merely a bystander for years.

As if on cue, a sliver vase emerged itself into view after a turn, revealing the head of his young master, subtly nodding around the room, it's surface is uneven and Cale's face is distorted- still,he has observed and honed his sight enough to see that the young master is surveying his surroundings, quite vigilantly too. However, his observation is stopped, their movements fast enough to only allow Ron to gaze at Cale's reflection for a mere few seconds.

Just what had caused his young master to gain this new sense of alertness?

Taking a deep breath, Ron forcefully tucks his curiosity to the side. The young master was observant, unnervingly so. If his curiosity was perceived negatively, who knows how this puppy was going to react. The Cale he knew would cause a tantrum, now though, he isn't so sure.

Perhaps the worst case scenario now, was to be left in the dark.

He remembers striding down this exact hallway when Cale was first born, anxious at the prospect of his sworn sister dying at the birth of her son- a very likely possibility, with Jour's weak constitution.

She had shaken her head though, and assured him everything that everything would be fine.

"Death will not take me just yet, Ron-ie."

Her eyes held a confident gleam despite all the fatigue that accompanied it. Even like this, she still refused to call him 'Hyung'.

That was the last conversation before her contractions started- Ron was acutely aware of how that could have very well been their last conversation.

The very thought had gnawed on his nerves like it had for his blood sisters, Beacrox too, with the way his son had gone in the kitchen to stress-bake. Although, his pastries weren't as good as they are now. He had really improved since then- Jour would have loved sampling his food.

…She had once said she wanted their children to cook together, didn't she?

Soon enough, they reach the entrance of Jours' Cales' study. Large, wooden doors carved with patterns of stone pillars- each towering their persons and wrapped in golden vine- greet the young master's face as Ron steps aside. He watches closely as Cale rolls his shoulders back, straightening his posture to open the doors to his study.

It felt more personal than it should be.

They stepped inside.

For a regular noble, perhaps, it would be described as a plain, unassuming room. Probably one used for storage, or guests of lower stature.

Grayish walls with the slightest hint of baby-blue, golden linings delicately pressed against sharp ridges of it's corners, perfected luxury designs scattered around the room, designs that Ron knew were a combination of the Thames and Henituse households.

On one side of the room, there were bookshelves with mostly-empty shelves, each thoroughly dusted by Hans before they had arrived. A cabinet with, if everything was the same as Ron remembered, nothing in it but a map of the Western and Eastern continents. Around these shelves, a few odd spots lay empty- as if a few more lounge chairs were supposed to occupy the space.

Knowing the late-countess, that may as well be exactly why she had left those places empty in the first place.

She hated being lonely, after all.

Most likely, Jour not want the same fate for her own child.

Ron follows the pup to the opposite of the study, where two couches lay facing each other. A few desks and candles lay behind, as decoration or hidden meaning, this servant no longer remembers.

They take their seats, Cale crossing his legs and breathing a sigh. There's tea and biscuits displayed on the shorter, elongated coffee table stood in between them, but Ron doesn't dare touch his cup while he observes Cale sip his non sour non lemonade drink. He takes on a big gulp, not looking at Ron at all, as if he wasn't here.

The assassins' finger twitched.

"First things first. What was your relationship with my mother?"

Ah, well that wasn't exactly what he was expecting. For some reason, Ron has a sense of dread creep up on his spine.

"She was my master, as you are mine, Young Master."

Cale scoffs, "Don't fucking lie to me."

His young master glares at him, reddish brown eyes glowered at him with carefully concealed intentions.

"I can smell her on you, Ron. You're bonded. And you probably don't know what that means- so I'll tell you. It either means you were practically adopted into the family, or, it means that you slept with Jour fucking Henituse."

Ron suddenly feels like his soul was punched out of his body.

Bonded?? Adopted?? Him?? Slept with???? Jour?????

To save his intelligence perhaps, his brain circles back to the first thing Cale said.

"Oho, I wasn't aware you could smell such things, sir."

"A recent development." Cale says, only glaring harder, "I want nothing but the truth, Ron. I can smell that too."

(He can't, actually. But what Ron doesn't know won't hurt him)

This… Ron can feel his blood pressure rise at the sudden revelations.

Still, he swallows back his comments.

"If it helps, the late countess and I had been planning to become sworn siblings, Young Master Cale."

His pup raises his eyebrows at that.

"I had almost been declared your godfather, had I not stopped the late countess and the count, perhaps I might have been suspected for… Siring you."

Ron watches as the redhead assesses him, face twisted in scrutiny.

"…Alright. I'll trust you." Cale finally sighs.

Nothing happens for a few more seconds, Ron debates pushing the matter further- but Cale clearly doesn't want to talk about it. Perhaps Ron will yield more results if he prods a different time.

After a while, Cale speaks.

"Ron." he says, looking at him,

"Everything I say, I will verify in around a week or so from now."

Ron nods, a gentlemanly smile gracing his lips. "I would trust you regardless, young master."

Yet, the redhead opposite him only raises an eyebrow, unphased.

"Would you?"

"…."

The young master scoffs, his hands tightening around his arm, seemingly securing himself, guarding himself- from a threat. From Ron.

This…

Ron once again restrains his curiosity, holding it down in patience he didn't know he had.

Cale looks down again at his drink, swirling the liquid around like he could find answers in cooling, sweet tea. "Yesterday, I was acting as trash. Making a ruckus for all those to see, wielding negative attention like a spear against the seat of the Count."

For some reason, it slithers under Ron's skin harder than expected. He furrows his eyebrows.

Acting? Was that all it had been, all this time? Had he planned and followed through his actions every single day, as to make sure this mask wouldn't slip? A mask that stayed on so strong for years on end- never slipping once, ever since he was nine?

Gloved fingers tighten into his palms.

No, no. That wasn't right.

It had slipped before.

It had slipped many times.

One by one, memories start to resurface, a tidal wave of days, nights- or even just mere moments where something felt.. different. The times where Ron would see small glimpses into something more than a trashy young master.

Before Ron could spiral further into his thoughts, Cale continues.

"Tomorrow, I'll start living a life of someone who wants to live peacefully, who wants to protect that peace through the people around him. Keeping them by his side only to send them off after their use is over."

To live peacefully by using people… "May I ask why, young master?" Ron exhales, keeping his breath even.

"Hah, speaking truthfully, you have no right to know." Cale says, tone blank as he takes another sip of his tea. "But I will tell you anyways, so do listen closely."

Clink!

Cale sets down his tea, folding his hands on his lap. He looks at Ron with piercing irises, the gaze scrapes into the deeper parts of soul- his back unconsciously straightening as he pays close attention.

His small attempt in composure goes to waste, however, as soon as Cale opens his mouth.

"I do not know how it happened, not exactly, but I know the future."

Ron freezes, his expression faltering.

"From the 28th day of the 3rd month in the 781st year of the Felix Calendar, to a certain extent, I will be able to almost accurately predict main, big events- who will be important in each, how it will be resolved…"

Cale closes his eyes, voice quiet- yet with the pounding thrums of his heartbeat in Ron's ears, he felt as if the words were screamed into his eardrums instead.

"Who will die…"

In a beat, the room falls silent for a few moments, Ron watching Cale's fist clench the fabric of his pants- the urge to go over and comfort the boy tugging at his hollowed chest- The butler attempts to school his face down to something less daunting.

They stay quiet, just for a little longer.

When the redhead opens his eyes, Ron can see the glossy layer of forming tears being held back- the thought of death, or these future deaths. They must be important to him… Could it be the rest of the Henituse family?

The idea shouldn't be strange, but when Ron thinks of this morning- there was no grief, no sadness, just a smudge of reluctance, before Ron had went his way to the library.

Perhaps…?

No. Ron can't assume the young master would care for this servant that much, not when Cale was this perceptive and Ron had been nothing but cold to Cale for most of his life.

He grips and relaxes his palms, once, twice, before taking a deep breath. It would do no good to stiffen himself up now, not when there was more to be said- more to be known.

"Today… Today I get used to the consequences of knowing this information."

Cale pauses, then shaking his head and laughing bitterly.

"Information, no. Knowledge is power, Ron. And there is always a consequence- a responsibility, that comes with it." Cale spits out, "My consequence for reading the future was a fucking replacement of my past, a different life with a different name- one that allows me to fight, to survive."

"…"

"Ron." Cale calls, his face lifting from the table to meet his own eyes, the once- guarded young master now revealed haunted pupils, raw and unbidden hurt echoing soundlessly into tears, wet drops beginning to trail down his cheeks.

"I don't remember anything."

The quiet admission feels like ice through his veins- as if lighting itself shot through his limbs and straight to his heart.

"Everything I know now is from reading of the Henituse, Ron. Reading."

Ron's fingers twitch, eager to hold onto the cool surface of his dagger- to grip it, like it would give him security from the truth being laid out in front of him- like the refined point of metal could strike and take down nothing but words in the air and a truth unbidden.

"And get this, the consequence-" Cale laughs, a weak, bitter sound that tore itself through Ron's chest. Cale swallows his words before taking a moment to raise his arms, using his sleeves to wipe the tears. "The consequence of gaining power to protect humanity- was to abandon it for myself."

Crack!

Ron's hand breaks the armrest of the couch, although he barely registers the sound- eyes too focused on his young master, zeroing in on how Cale flinched at his action.

Cale clears his throat, "Do you.. need a break?" he points to the splintered wood, nervously glancing between his butler and the armrest. His eyes were rimmed with tears- although, they had stopped flowing. Did he perhaps shock his young master out of crying?

Ron simply forces a smile, "If there is more to say, I believe that I will take it best at once, young master"

Perhaps the pup thinks of that statement as rude, as he scrunches up his face at his answer.

(Unbeknownst to Ron, he was scrunching up at the shrieking scent of Ron's soured lemonade scent- practically raging in guilt and begging Cale to not send him away. Who knew this butler was very expressive with his scents? Not that Cale was complaining, it would give him more insight.)

Regardless, after a brief moment, the redhead swallows as he continues once more. "I won't ask for your loyalty, just for you to lend your strength when I need it, where I need it, and for you to not get in my way of protecting this land from war."

Ron wants to ask, to question. To pry into the secrets Cale now held. Thoughts pile up, stirring in his chest like wildfire. He no longer remembers his past? Another life replaced memories? He had lost his humanity? It eats him up inside, and Ron wishes that he could squash down the rage and annoyance he felt at the vagueness of his little master. He almost, almost gives in to ask- but then Cale looks at him, eyes stern and steeled within his resolve.

And Ron falls silent.

Those eyes…

They were familiar.

Maybe you'd think Ron's referring to how those eyes held the same color as Jours', or how the shape of it was distinctly similar to Deruths'. But it wasn't. Ron was referring to the most glaring similarity, one that wouldn't be obvious unless you've been around the Henituse family as long as he had.

He'd seen it when Deruth planned to go to a dangerous region for a trade deal, he'd seen it when Lily gasped and collapsed during sword training, he'd seen it when Basen sent mock proposal after mock proposal- hoping to get high enough marks to impress Cale, he'd seen it when Violan hunted down the young master in the estate to talk him into taking care of himself, he'd seen it in Jour before she left to die.

It was the gaze of unwavering will.

The eyes of someone who would do whatever it took to protect.

Ron knew, before he had even opened his mouth, that he had lost this battle.

"You are asking me for my blades and my silence."

Cale nods.

"What do I get in return?"

'You know of my strength, yet know nothing of our past- so why should I help you?'

Of course, this could be considered another test. One with the same result, no matter the answer given.

Cale smiles, leaning back into the couch with a casualness that didn't suit the topic of conversation. The reddish blush- evidence of his tears- around his eyes already fading away despite the silent grief held inside those pupils.

"Ignorance, Ron. To what could have been."

Cale stares into Ron's eyes, trying not to let his fear and the frantic beating in his chest be shown.

Thankfully, they don't stay like that for long, with Ron acquiescing with a nod.

At the solemn mood the room has delved into, he huffs, waving his hand. "I will tell you things I know are certain, don't worry."

A thought pops up in Cale's head, would Ron attempt to interrogate him if he said the wrong things? Hieough…. He shivers, that's a scary thought.

Cale quickly schools his body to look as calm as possible, before motioning Ron to get the books he had asked for prior.

"Of course, young master."

With that, Cale quickly turns back to his now cold tea, ignoring Ron's footsteps out the door. He doesn't know where the library is yet, so Cale doesn't know how long he will have until Ron comes back. Cale sits still, ruminating in choice of excuse.

He'd taken a gamble, using that excuse. It was... a grand thing, that he had presented, a narrative so much larger than themselves that even Cale himself didn't have answers for.

Ron was meticulous, Ron was observant. If he noticed a gap or crack within his story, it would be over for him. Because Ron was also, strong. Cale could not let that happen.

So, he needed a lie that knocked out the most gaps, making excuses for future mistakes while still granting Cale enough freedom to escape should things go south.

Q: So what is your solution?

A: A lie so vague, so annoyingly outrageous, that it would be ridiculous to believe, but a lie surrounded by enough coincidences to be implied as truth.

Cale had gone over multiple options, mulling over each one before settling on his current answer.

He could have made himself a pure oracle, one that received the blessings of a random or mystery God to provide help to the territory secretly. But then that would mean he was aa saint, a messenger and chosen of the divine. If he needed to keep that disguise up in order for him to move around as he worked to protect the territory from war- the chances of people discovering his 'identity' would be near a hundred. Not to mention that it wouldn't explain his new "abilities", not when there were just as many other priests that Ron could capture, interrogate and compare to Cale.

If he chose a random god, then he risks invoking the church's attention, if he goes with a 'Mystery god', he might be seen as a follower of an evil god, a one man cult praising a heretic and leading the Henituse to doom.

Disguises would work, but they had little to no credibility. The possibility people would listen to him, an unknown man claiming imminent war and destruction of the land, are slim to none. Trying to convince every single person he needed would be too much work and tak too much time as well.

He needed his words to have enough weight to leave no room for doubt.

Cale also pondered over claiming himself to have regressed, that he knew the future and how it would happen because he himself had lived it.

It would have explained the change, it would have explained the awkwardness and perhaps had explained the abilities- if he had tweaked it to be a "future ability that was brought with me", but it would have left his memories unanswered.

It would have raised questions for when the inevitable detachment was noted whenever something happened, it could lead to misunderstandings as Cale being perceived as a traitor, or an assumption that someone on his side had done something terrible to him before the regression, and that was why he was detached to them and their well being. Which, all false. And while he couldn't care less if it affected him, it would affect people who were gullible to rumors- it would dig into the minds of those with trust issues, and could possibly used by enemies to fracture their forces. Something Cale would have to deal with, as the so-called regressor.

Why, the memories wouldn't have been too bad to pretend he still had. He could act had it just been a normal Cale. But he was inhibited by this nonsensical thing called being an omega. Cale knows there will be times where he wont be able to keep a leash on his scent like he has been doing till now- that there will be times where his instincts go haywire.

Just like they had this morning.

"Tsk."

If some day, he goes feral and gets reduced to his plain, monstrous instincts, he would not only give himself away, but possibly harm people around him in the process.

He chose the excuse that he simply because, well. That gave enough excuses and implied enough blasphemy to create a boundary strong enough to hold for the foreseeable future. A delusion of grandeur, if he were to describe how he felt lying all that bullshit.

Ah, but such was the nature of acting, wasn't it? Lying.

Cale could simply state a non-truth, and it would easily be a lie. But this was different- Cale would have to live this lie, work with it, breathe in it.

Whatever he said to Ron, he would have to act it.

In acting, you portray things from scripts, you decide what's supposed to happen and has happened, you decide what is true or not- then you distract, emphasize, deceive your audience into what they're seeing is real.

Figure out what they see, then meld yourself to the image of your desire in their eyes. Through that thinly veiled mask you'd have to observe what gets to them most, then take advantage of that.

And if needed, you manipulate. Carefully, methodically, you take their heartstrings and pluck them, play a song and make them dance to the tune you set. Because this is your act, your lie. You mix truth with lie and twist them together in a painting so intertwined and unified you can't tell where the lies were.

Sometimes, you might need to twist your own emotions. Sometimes, you would have to eel around for a memory strong enough to invoke then and sink into the feeling of delusion. Sometimes, you have to dig your heels into your past to sell a vision for the present of others.

Every actor can lie, but not all liars could act… Cale likes to believe he's great at lying and decent enough at acting.

Though the hair that pricked his eyes plus the smouldering scent of guilt and shame from Ron helped with the tears to sell it, Cale muses.

By painting himself as someone who had "traded" with higher powers rather than someone who had been "blessed" by it, he could get away with his shortcomings as something he was stripped of with his memories. His omega nature wouldn't be a God's blessing but rather a source of strength he sacrificed his humanity for, and his weird, new behaviors could be seen as memories from the life that replaced his past.

An annoyingly excessive lie- yet, how would Ron know what he said was false?

In that moment, Ron comes back carrying a couple stacks of books, Cale can vaguely make out the titles from where he was. A dull thump echoed when the butler placed the stack in front of him.

He shifts through the books, picking out 3 he'll read first.

[ The Human Body and Its Functions - G.M]

[The Human Species, and How we Differ - H.K]

[History of monsters, both East and West! - A]

Cale flips over his first book, quickly skimming through the index to find what he needs.

{…Anal Anatomy, and why it's more important than we think - pg. 291-294}

{…Reproductive organs, the mysterious organ that brings life - pg. 341-342}

'I need to see if men also have uterus's. If they don't, I'll have to make sure I don't get checked up too much by doctors.. I don't want my… Anomaly being discovered, just in case. '

Quickly flipping the pages, He ignores Ron's stare.

Ron, for the record, is confused.

Maybe it's still the lingering shock from earlier, but seeing his young master reveal that he had his past replaced with a look that could only recognized as grief… then look through the pages of Anal Anatomy then Reproductive Organs less than 10 minutes later- it was akin to giving him a bit of a cold bath, shall we say.

Ron coughs, "May I be excused, young master? I might have… things. To discuss with my son."

Cale pauses, fingers halting from where they were. Before resuming as if nothing happened.

"I suppose I'll trust that you and Beacrox can keep this a secret from people. If it's him, then I suppose it's fine. I may need his help in the future anyway, if worst comes to worst." The young master muses. The twitch in his finger giving away a hint of emotion- though Ron's not sure which one.

"Then, I'll be going, Yong Master" Ron nods, bowing and making his way to the door.

"Ah, wait a moment." Cale beckons, not taking his eyes of the book.

"…Yes, young master?"

He could still see the illustration of a man's rectum from where he was standing.

"Lower your gaze next time. Your staring was as obvious as the mountains themselves."

"…Of course, young master."

Ron bows once again, this time uninterrupted, and excuses himself.

Watching him go, Cale lets out a deep sigh, hidden tension bleeding away with the presence of the butler. Hm, it was good Cale gave permission for Ron to talk to Beacrox of this, Ron may need some stress relief doing… Whatever assassins did for stress relief. Who knows what Ron would do if he was pent up?

(He wouldn't find out for quite a while)