I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

Chapter 177: A Portrait of What Remains

"You literally stepped on my foot on purpose. Don’t even try to deny it, Reiner. I can feel the bruise forming through the leather."

"Oh, please. Give it a rest, Ezek. I thought becoming Lord Cherion’s personal shadow might actually encourage you to look at the world with something other than that permanent, dark-tinted scowl. But no. Still seeing everyone in the worst possible light, I see. It’s exhausting, really."

Cherion, walking a few paces ahead of his bickering entourage, didn’t bother to turn around. He just let out a long, quiet sigh that got swallowed by the huge, drafty hallway of the estate. He’d been listening to this back-and-forth for the better part of twenty minutes, and honestly? It was becoming the background noise to his life.

The three of them were heading back from the dancing hall, a place Cherion currently viewed as a high-stakes torture chamber disguised with gold leaf and waxed floors. Earlier, sensing Cherion’s mounting frustration with a particularly stubborn step, Reiner had volunteered to provide a "visual aid." He’d pulled Ezek into the center of the room, and the result had been... Well, it was something.

As it turned out, Ezek was a damn good dancer. Cherion had caught whispers from the kitchen staff, that the man actually hailed from a fallen noble house. It explained the effortless grace he’d displayed until Reiner had "accidentally" brought a heavy boot down on his toes. Ezek, naturally, wasn’t buying the accident bit for a single second.

Cherion almost had the rhythm down. Almost. Which was great, except now he also had to not accidentally break someone’s toes. Multitasking was unfair.

Madame Varo, the terrifying queen of posture, judgment, and disappointment, had noted several times today that he shouldn’t be struggling this much. She’d seen the ’real’ Cherion Antel dance at Capital galas years ago. She knew he was, or had been, a master of the floor. Cherion could only offer the most basic, pathetic excuses.

I forgot. I’ve been stressed. I want to perfect the Northern style, which is obviously different from the South. He couldn’t exactly look her in the eye and say: "Listen, Varo, the guy who used to live in this body was a ballroom prodigy, but I’m just a guy from another world who spent his previous life avoiding the dance floor at weddings. We’re working with a blank slate here."

As they turned into the main gallery, Cherion’s thoughts came to a screeching halt.

Zarius was there.

The Duke was standing perfectly still in the middle of the hallway. Honestly, if someone told Cherion the man had been carved out of stone and placed there as decoration, he’d believe it.

Behind him, Reiner and Ezek went quiet instantly. Their bickering vanished, replaced by a professional, respectful distance. They slowed their pace, falling back to give Cherion the space to approach the Duke alone.

Zarius didn’t turn his head, but yeah...he definitely noticed. "Done with your practice?" he asked. "I was just... on my way to see how the hero of the ’Silver Sage’ ritual was handling a simple three-step."

Cherion stopped beside him, tilting his head. "You’re not in the study? I thought the border reports were supposed to keep you occupied until dinner."

"I wanted some fresh air," Zarius replied.

Cherion followed Zarius’s gaze. He realized then that the Duke wasn’t just staring into space. He was looking at a massive, gold-framed portrait that basically owned the entire wall.

It was a family piece. The former Duke, Lario Valtrane, stood tall and stern, his hand resting with a heavy, possessive grip on the back of a velvet chair where Duchess Nerissa sat. She sat there looking... beautiful, yeah, but in that slightly unsettling way. Pale, composed, eyes that looked like they knew too many things.

But it was the two children in front of them that caught Cherion’s heart.

A young Zarius and an even younger Marielle stood at their parents’ knees, holding hands. Zarius looked so serious, even then, his little brow furrowed as if he were already carrying the weight of the North. Marielle, however, had that little almost-smile that screamed I’m about to cause problems and no one can stop me.

Oh, look at them, Cherion thought, feeling weirdly soft all of a sudden. A little nugget and a little marshmallow.

Based on the novel, both parents were gone, leaving Zarius to deal with everything alone. Well, not entirely alone, he still had Marielle. But looking at the painting, the sense of isolation radiating from the current Duke was palpable.

Cherion watched Zarius out of the corner of his eye. He tried to pin down the emotion on the Duke’s face, but it was like trying to catch smoke with bare hands. Longing? Sadness? Regret?

"Marielle couldn’t stay calm for the life of her," Zarius said suddenly, his voice softer now, almost nostalgic. "She kept trying to hide the painter’s brushes. I had to bribe her with so many sweets and promises of horse rides just to get her to stand still for ten minutes."

Cherion huffed out a small laugh. Yeah... he could easily imagine a tiny, stubborn Marielle causing chaos for a high-priced artist.

"They look... formidable," Cherion said, gesturing to the parents. "What were they like? Beyond the formal poses? Your father looks like a man who didn’t accept excuses, and your mother... she has a look of someone who knew every secret in the room."

Zarius’s expression changed instantly. Gone was the softness. Back was the wall.

"Yes... that is not an unfair assessment."

The words sounded fine on the surface, but the warmth was gone. Cherion felt that tiny, uncomfortable prickle. Like someone just dimmed the lights without warning.

"You must miss them," Cherion added softly, a little more carefully this time.

Zarius blinked.

"Miss them?" he echoed, like the words didn’t quite belong in his mouth.

Then nothing.

Cherion waited. And waited. And at some point, he started wondering if he should say something, or wave a hand, or maybe gently shake him like Hello? Is anyone home? Because Zarius had gone still. Not his usual composed still, no, this was the unsettling kind. The "loading screen stuck at 99%" kind.

Cherion almost snapped his fingers.

Zarius’s gaze was still fixed on the painting, but it didn’t feel like he was seeing it anymore. More like he’d stepped somewhere else entirely and forgot to come back.

"...I..." Zarius started, then stopped.

Another pause.

And then, like someone had just snapped their fingers right in front of his face, no Cherion didn’t do anything, he jolted. Not big, not dramatic, but enough. Like he’d been somewhere else and just got yanked back without warning.

A soft exhale left him, like nothing weird had just happened.

"The fresh air has served its purpose," Zarius said abruptly. "I have work to finish."

He just walked off. No explanation, no goodbye, nothing. Cherion stood there, feeling that weird cold prickle crawl up his neck. He waited until Zarius’s footsteps disappeared before slowly turning back to Reiner and Ezek.

They were talking in low, hushed tones.

"...that time has come again, it would seem," Reiner was saying, his usual jovial tone gone. "I always forget how much the air changes in this house when the date gets close."

Cherion stepped toward them, his brow furrowed. "Time of what? Is there something I’m missing? Zarius just looked like he’d seen a ghost, and not a particularly friendly one."

Reiner looked at Ezek. Ezek didn’t look back, he was staring at the small, innocent version of Zarius in the painting.

Ezek was the one who finally met Cherion’s eyes. He looked solemn.

"In three days, My Lord," Ezek replied. "It is the anniversary of their passing."