"Nothing, I was just casually helping him read the techniques," Viashra said, her voice smooth and honeyed, though a playful smirk tugged at her glossy lips.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief, their almond-shaped beauty glimmering with secrets untold.
"So... you were really reading the book, young master?" Meiyara asked, tilting her head slightly.
Her soft purple eyes widened, brimming with innocence, but the faintest pout lingered on her rosy lips as if she didn't fully believe me.
"Y-yeah! Yeah, I was really reading the book, and she helped me understand it," I stammered, trying to sound convincing while casually patting Meiyara's head.
Her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink, spreading down to her slender neck. She bit her lower lip, her lashes fluttering shyly at my touch.
Her petite frame stiffened for a moment before she relaxed under my hand, her lips parting slightly as if savoring the rare gesture of affection. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through her as she shyly stepped back.
Clearing my throat, I shifted my attention back to her, suppressing the swirl of amusement and exasperation brewing within me.
"So, why are you searching for me?" I asked, masking my irritation. If this wasn't anything important, I swore I'd find a way to repay her interruption.
"Hah! The Patriarch is looking for you," Meiyara said, the blush lingering on her cheeks as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"He even caught wind of how you nearly got yourself killed while trying to tame that bull beast he gifted you."
The words hung in the air like a blade over my neck.
I ran a hand through my disheveled hair. According to Meiyara, my father – the mighty Patriarch – was a responsible man, despite how utterly trash the original owner of this body had been.
He had gone above and beyond for his disappointing son, securing resources and rare beasts for him to tame, yet met failure after failure.
And now, this bastard – me – not only nearly died taming a bull beast but also had the gall to challenge some freak for a spar… all over a woman.
If I were him, I'd have abandoned such a son long ago. But still, there was something admirable about his resilience.
"Why's he looking for me?" I asked with a sigh. "Is it just about the bull thing?"
Meiyara shook her head slowly, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice soft and hesitant.
"Hmm… okay! Let's go and see what the matter is," I said, my tone casual yet commanding, as I placed a firm hand on Meiyara's slender shoulder.
Her delicate skin felt warm under my palm, and I noticed how her silky raven-black hair cascaded down her back, swaying as I nudged her forward.
Her almond-shaped eyes widened in protest, shimmering with unease. "What? Me too, Young Master?" she resisted, her melodious voice carrying a hint of a plea.
"Of course," I said, feigning an exasperated sigh. "Do you expect me to go alone? Who will save me if something happens?"
Her lips, pink and lush like petals, pursed into an adorable pout as she countered, "Then who will save me?" Her gaze darted to me, her expression equal parts defiance and vulnerability.
I chuckled, unable to resist teasing her further. "I will save you, of course. Come on." Without waiting for her consent, I gave her a gentle but insistent push forward.
She stumbled slightly, muttering under her breath, her cheeks blooming with a faint blush that contrasted beautifully against her porcelain skin.
Ah, Meiyara. Even when she's annoyed, she's too enchanting for her own good.
"Ah!" I exclaimed, turning abruptly. My gaze landed on Viashra, who had been watching our exchange from a distance.
Her doe-like eyes sparkled with a mixture of shyness and longing, and a faint blush crept up her fair cheeks as I addressed her.
"Viashra, let's catch up later," I said, raising a hand in a casual wave, my lips curving into what I hoped was a gentle, loving smile.
Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her lilac robe, but she nodded, her gaze softening as she murmured, "Mmm." Her voice was barely audible, but her expression spoke volumes. Those expectant eyes and that slight smile—she looked like someone who truly loves me.
Love me? No, not quite. I knew better than to indulge in such fantasies. She wasn't in love with me, the current inhabitant of this body. Her heart belonged to the previous owner of this flesh, the original Young Master.
Still, her feelings were genuine, and her character shone through. She wasn't someone swayed by wealth or power—unlike so many others. She'd proven that by treating my wealthy, cultivated cousin like dirt.
I smiled inwardly. "Viashra, I'll make sure you won't regret falling for me—the real me."
Meiyara tugged at my sleeve as we approached the patriarch's mansion. The imposing structure loomed ahead, its towering crimson gates etched with intricate carvings of mythical beasts.
The courtyard was vast, paved with polished jade tiles that gleamed in the sunlight. Meiyara's steps faltered as we drew nearer, her discomfort evident in the way she chewed on her lower lip—a habit of hers that made her look irresistibly charming, though she'd never admit it.
Just as we stepped into the courtyard, my attention was drawn to a figure standing at its center.
A man, broad-shouldered and statuesque, stood with his arms folded across his chest. His chiseled jawline and piercing eyes exuded an air of authority, while his jet-black hair, streaked with faint silver at the temples, fluttered lightly in the breeze.
Dressed in a simple yet elegant robe that accentuated his muscular frame, he stared up at the sky, his expression calm yet contemplative.
"Ah…" I murmured, an involuntary smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. "So this is where my good looks come from."
The resemblance was uncanny. The man's sharp features and natural charisma made it clear he was the source of my current handsomeness. If anything, he looked like an older, more refined version of me—a seed that had grown into a mighty tree.
The sun hung low on the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the courtyard. Cherry blossoms swayed gently in the breeze, their petals falling like pink snow onto the smooth stone path leading to the grand pavilion.
The air smelled of fresh dew and faint incense.
"Adi… You're here," Father said, his deep voice resonating with a mixture of relief and concern. His gaze, which had been fixed on the sky moments earlier, now softened as it landed on me.
A faint smile tugged at his lips, but his eyes glimmered with unspoken worry.
"Yes, Father," I replied, bowing slightly out of respect. My voice was steady, but inside, I felt a pang of guilt. How could I deceive someone so genuine?
In my previous life, my father was a wealthy and successful businessman—a brilliant strategist and a master at making money. But as impressive as he was in the world of finance, he was never a good father to me.
Most of my childhood felt like a series of fleeting moments where I longed for his presence. His relentless work meant I rarely saw his face, and the house often felt like a museum filled with echoes of his absence.
Yet, it wasn't as though he didn't love me.
Whenever he did visit, he would bring the most expensive toys money could buy—remote-controlled cars, limited-edition action figures, and gadgets most kids could only dream of.
My lifestyle was drenched in luxury: private tutors, exotic vacations, and a mansion that could rival a palace. But those shiny gifts couldn't fill the void left by his constant absence.
My mother, though equally busy assisting him in his business empire, tried her best to make up for it. She spent what little free time she had with me, nurturing me with her warmth and gentle smiles.
Without her presence, I would have felt completely abandoned in that gilded cage.
A sigh escaped me as the memories resurfaced. Haa… I suddenly miss them.
And if I dared to tell him the truth—that his son was no longer here, that I had taken over his body—he would no doubt kill me on the spot.
"I heard you were hurt. Are you okay?" His brows furrowed, and for a moment, his commanding aura was replaced by a tender vulnerability. His eyes, nearly tearing up, didn't match his rough, warrior-like build.
I hesitated, instinctively touching the back of my head as if to emphasize the injury. "Yes, Father. I'm fine, but… it seems I've lost some memory after hitting my head."
The words tasted strange in my mouth, like an unfamiliar lie I wasn't accustomed to telling.
His expression froze. The warm concern in his eyes deepened, and he took a hesitant step forward. "Lost your memory?" His voice faltered slightly.
The great Patriarch of Rosani, a man who had faced countless life-and-death battles, now looked utterly helpless in the face of his son's supposed injury.