'When did things start to go wrong?'

  After Ana became his father's concubine, any hope of him marrying her disappeared.

  As the years passed, Boris found himself unable to visit her. Each time he tried, the image of his father crept into his mind—that smirk as he spoke about Ana and the thought of what he did to her—driving Boris to the brink of madness.

  In the end, he cut her off. Even hearing her name was enough to ruin his mood for the day.

  Additionally, He couldn't bring himself to indulge like the other family members did — every time he tried, he found himself comparing them to Ana.

  Even the slightest difference would drain his interest.

  The weight of his suffering piled up — the agony of suppressing his primal instincts, the sting of heartbreak, and the helplessness of being unable to change any of it.

  But worst of all was the ache of missing Ana. He was trapped in a relentless cycle: seeing her hurt him, yet staying away hurt just as much.

  Boris’s desire was simple — he just wanted to be with Ana. He had dreamed of a quiet life with her, pnning to move abroad after their marriage and start anew as commoners. He saved diligently, researching kingdoms where they could build that future together. But in the end, it was all for nothing.

  To cope with the emotional pain, Boris turned to physical pain. During his time in the war, he fought recklessly, sustaining injury after injury. He didn’t care — not about the scars, nor even the risk of death. With his Awakened body, as long as he survived, he knew he could heal.

  But as the pain continued to build, something unexpected happened — his bloodline ability, Perceptual Validation, began to evolve.

  What emerged was a newfound control — a power that allowed him to control pain entirely, both physical and emotional.

  With this control, he silenced every trace of suffering that had consumed him.

  Freed from the relentless torment that once clouded his mind, crity surged through him like a breath of fresh air.

  And with that crity came an idea — one so simple it felt almost ughable that he hadn’t realized it sooner.

  'I just have to become the head of the family.'

  The head of a noble family in the Maurya Empire had only one true obligation: to produce a successor. Beyond that, they held absolute authority — free to act without constraint within their own household, even to the extent of eliminating the previous head or other family members if they chose. Dimitry, the current head of the Smirnova family, had done the same after securing his position.

  Realizing this, Boris knew what he had to do.

  ***

  On a quiet afternoon in Smirnova’s Garden, Boris sat sipping his tea. It was one of the rare moments of peace he had amidst the war.

  Across from him, Ana sat with her gaze lowered, her expression uneasy.

  “Boris, why did you call me?” Ana’s voice was sharp, her eyes fixed on her cup.

  In the past, her cold tone would have stung Boris. But now, without pain controlling him, he remained calm.

  “It’s been years since we’ve met,” he said softly, a gentle smile forming. “Are you not even going to look at me?”

  Ana hesitated, conflict flickering across her face before she finally met his gaze.

  “Are you happy now?” she asked dryly, her voice ced with sarcasm. Yet Boris’s smile didn’t falter — his eyes held nothing but warmth.

  “You still look as beautiful as I remember, Ana.”

  “Boris... don’t do this.” Ana's voice wavered. “I belong to someone else now.”

  “Yes, you belong to the current head of the Smirnova family,” Boris corrected calmly.

  “You don’t understand,” Ana said firmly. “I... I carry his child now. I can’t be with you. Please, just give up. Find someone else and be happy.”

  “Congratutions,” Boris said, his smile deepening. “That’s good news, isn’t it? Have you thought of a name?”

  “...” Ana blinked, stunned. His response wasn’t what she’d expected.

  Boris’s tone remained light as he continued. “If it’s a boy, you could name him Ivan. If it’s a girl, maybe Ivanna. Their meaning is reted to ‘gracious.’ What do you think?”

  Ana stared at him, struggling to process his words. Seeing the genuine excitement on his face — the warmth that cut through her defenses — she couldn’t hold back any longer. Her hand shot up to cover her face as tears began to fall.

  “Boris... why do you have to make this so hard for me?” she whimpered. “I’ve forgotten about you. I’ve moved on...”

  “I’m sorry, Ana,” Boris said softly. “But for me... you’re the only one.”

  His gentle words only made her sob harder. Boris's kindness, his warmth—so unlike Dimitry, who treated her like a mere tool.

  Moments ter, Boris reached into his pocket and pced something on the table — a small wooden carving of a butterfly.

  “This is...?” Ana asked between sniffles.

  “I carved it myself,” Boris expined. “I pnned to use it to propose to you back then... but now, I just want you to have it.”

  "A proposal?" Ana's breath caught at his words. The conversation had shifted so suddenly that she struggled to process it.

  Before she could gather her thoughts, Boris spoke again.

  “I’ll become the head of the Smirnova family,” he said firmly. “Can you wait for me until then?”

  Ana’s eyes widened as his meaning sank in. Her heart pounded in her chest, and for a moment, she couldn’t find her voice. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet and strained.

  “Boris... I'm not a pure woman anymore,” she said reluctantly.

  Boris shook his head. "Ana... Your purity has nothing to do with your body."

  Ana’s hands gripped her clothes tightly, her chest tightening with emotion.

  “Boris... I’m a human. Are you sure?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

  Boris shook his head again, his gaze steady. “No,” he said softly, his voice full of conviction. “You’re so much more,” he added gently. “My beautiful Ana.”

  Ana’s voice trembled as she shook her head, her doubt lingering. “No, I’m not like you,” she whispered. “I’ll grow old... grow ugly... and I’ll die before you. Are you really sure?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Boris said firmly. “And as for your short life... we’ll make the best of it together.”

  Ana’s breath hitched. The walls she’d built around herself — the ones meant to keep her heart from breaking again — finally crumbled. She reached out, clutching the wooden butterfly tightly against her chest as if it were the only thing holding her together.

  “If you’re fine with me...” she said through her tears. “Then I’ll wait for you.”

  ***

  Late at night, inside Boris's room, a brutal fight raged on — one between him and the clown.

  'What is this?'

  Boris couldn't hide his surprise.

  'Am I losing? Even with this new power?'

  His body was covered in fatal wounds — sshes across his head, chest, and neck. Without this new form, he would have died multiple times already.

  'What is he?'

  The clown, despite being human by strength and speed, was proving impossible to touch.

  Every time Boris unched an attack, the clown would effortlessly sidestep, using the momentum to position himself for a counterattack — as though he knew exactly where Boris would be.

  Despite the obvious difference in strength and speed, Boris felt like nothing more than an audience member, watching a clown performance from a distance.

  Determined, Boris prepared another attack. He surged forward, fist aimed at the clown’s face. Just before the strike nded, he shifted his motion, throwing a swift kick toward the clown’s right foot, adding even more speed to the actual attack.

  But the clown simply lifted his right foot, dismissing the bait entirely.

  Now off bance, Boris found himself open. The clown, seizing the opportunity, attacked without hesitation, swiftly cutting off Boris’s attacking foot.

  With only one foot left, Boris was forced to make a rapid retreat.

  'Using a feint didn’t work...'

  Boris steadied himself, preparing for another attack. Despite his imbance, he charged at the clown once more. As he closed the distance, he activated his bloodline ability, Perceptual Validation, distorting the clown's vision into a disorienting blur.

  Yet, as if sight was irrelevant, the clown evaded his strike with effortless precision. Using Boris’s own momentum, he struck again — this time severing Boris’s attacking arm.

  Boris stumbled back, retreating once more.

  'Blocking his vision didn’t work...'

  By now, Boris had exhausted every tactic he could think of.

  'He’s human... how is this possible?'

  It didn’t make sense. No matter what he tried, the clown remained untouchable. While Boris knew the clown wielded some kind of artifact capable of bypassing his barrier, that alone didn’t expin his skill. The clown's movements were far too refined to rely on an artifact alone.

  That’s when it hit him. The clown’s technique wasn’t about overpowering his opponent — it was built entirely on defense. He wasn’t actively attacking; instead, he maniputed Boris’s own momentum, redirecting it with precise counterattacks.

  'He's using a martial art designed to counter stronger opponents...'

  Realizing this, Boris saw the fw: the clown’s technique relied on his opponent’s aggression.

  'Then if I don’t attack first...'

  A smirk crept onto Boris’s face. He had found the clown’s weakness.

  Minutes passed as Boris stood motionless, refusing to strike. Just as he suspected, the clown remained still as well — no attempt to close the gap, no move to break the stalemate.

  'Yes... a lowborn will always be a lowborn,' Boris thought with satisfaction.

  But then, another realization struck him.

  Boris's gaze shifted to the bed where Ivanna had been. He knew she had managed to hide the moment he started attacking the clown, leaving him with no reason to continue the fight.

  His eyes then drifted to the window.

  An idea surfaced.

  He was undeniably stronger and faster than the clown. Even with one foot, his speed should have been more than enough to escape at a full sprint.

  'I could’ve just run away.'

  OnlyCat