A Daisy, A White Tulip and a Daffodil
This is part two of TCF x I'm not that kind of talent with fem! Clopeh, now we are on Cruel pov!
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
"Don't read too much into it. "
" Just as you always done."
" accept it and forgot it. "
Death has claimed him as a sword cut clean on his neck. He is surrounded in a cold and snow place after taking away his brother from the tent, Cruel has no regret.
Cruel hope he successfully escaped from all of the assassins as he felt of the rest of them, he can't take revenge on the Duke but at least he can protect his brother one until the end.
Hot, hot,hot,hot,hot,hot,hot,hot,hot,hot—
Burn, burn, burn, burn, burn, burn—
Aren't he supposed to be dead?
Everything is hot, everything is burning,every thing is hurt.
"I'm sorry... Please don't hurt-"
He jolts awake, chest heaving, his body drenched in sweat. Heat clings to his skin, unbearable. Green eyes fly open, staring at a blurred stretch of wall above him. His vision swims, then slowly steadies.
As his sight clears, he realizes he’s in an unfamiliar room.
Not his old bedroom in the Hart mansion.
Not the residence where he served Duke Illuster.
This place is a stranger.
Dark blue walls. Simple decorations. Clean, quiet—almost sterile. he knows that he is in some noble with high status, with how simple yet elegant the room is. And the quality of all the items even the bed he lay right now feels very comfortable and soft.
He looks around without lifting his head, every movement sending a dull ache through his skull.
A young, childish voice snaps him back before his thoughts can spiral further.Cruel turns his head sharply to the right, What greets him is a very young… child.
But one thing is certain—the child is unfairly attractive.
Short white hair ( like his brother) frames a pale face. Soft skin. Features almost too perfect, almost unreal.
In Cruel opinion, dangerously cute. Green eyes meet his— Green, but lighter than his own.
A shade between emerald and something else....Something predatory.
No doubt about it. This child will grow into someone breathtaking in the future.
In the child hand is a small bundle of flowers, freshly picked. He didn't know much about flowers but if guess the flowers name is something, something.... Lily....
“It took you very long to wake up!” the child says brightly, stepping closer. “It’s been a week.”
Cruel tries to move, to sit up—but before he can even speak, the child reaches out and places a hand against his temple.
Cold hand meets his hot temple from fever that he is now realize.
“Mmm…” the child hums, brows knitting slightly. “You’re still burning up. I’ll have to call the maids—and Papa—to tell.”
Cruel winces. His throat burns when he forces out a sound. “Who… are you?”
His head throbs, pain blooming behind his eyes.
And his voice—it sounds wrong.
The child blinks, then pulls their hand away. “Oh? You forgot?” They tilt their head. “Well… maybe you’re still half-unconscious.” they mumbled.
But then they flash him a bright smile " My name is Clopeh, Clopeh Sekka"
"can't have my young brother to forget his sister name no? " Clopeh giggle.
That name feels distant now. Faded. Like something borrowed and never returned.
Still bedridden, fever clinging stubbornly to him, Cruel gaze drifts to the side of the bed.
A mirror.
Propped carelessly against the table, as if no one thought twice about leaving it there.
With effort, he turns his head.
The reflection steals his breath.
A child stares back at him.
The features are familiar, yet wrong.
Black raven hair, messy and soft. Skin pale as Clopeh and smooth, untouched by years of hardship. His face is rounder, smaller—unmarked.
There isn’t much difference from his old self.
At least not at first glance.
But not the dark Forest green he remembers.
They’re lighter now. Clearer. The same shade as—His “sister.”
Cruel looks longer, closer. If someone paid attention, they would notice it too. The subtle shift. The shared color. The way the light catches the iris in the same way it does in Clopeh eyes.
It makes his stomach twist.
Clopeh—his now-called older sister—returns often. Too often. Always smiling, cheerful bring in the same flowers for him each absen.
When his fever finally eases and his thoughts stop blurring together, she begins to tell him things.
That he is one of the Sekka children.
That their father found him.
That his name was added to the family record without delay—official and unquestionable.
She speaks casually about it, like it’s nothing extraordinary.
He is one year younger than her. He is five year old while she is six despite looking more older than her age.
The Sekka household is a ducal family. He is not Count anymore, he is in the highest status second to the Royal.
They rule lands in the northern region of the Peru Kingdom, where winters are cruel and the nobles even colder.
Clopeh talks about history. Their ducal history and About prestige. But sometimes she told him her everyday routine or some simple things that if Cruel look more in it's a standard fact that he should already know about his new house and world.
Another think Cruel found out is that he realize despite she or even himself is talking a different language, very different sound and dialect yet he can understand well and even talk flawless.
Cruel more to listen her talk and only ask important things, fever-muted and compliant. He takes any information that he can take if he wanted to survive and find his brother.
Did his brother get reborn too?
A man come one day, as he start getting better with Clopeh. A tall man with broad shoulders and white hair just like the girl, carrying a bundle gently in his arms, as if it were made of glass.
'Her—our father.' Cruel note to himself, the word our still strange on his tongue.
Clopeh already filling in who his new father is, telling him before meeting the man. His name is Rock Sekka, the current Duke and the Guardian Knight.
The man is their father and now he is walking toward the bed.
“I see you are getting better, Cruel.”
He can only nod in response, his throat tight.
“I apologize for meeting you late and welcome you to the family. There is some things that need to be take care of.”
“It’s nothing to worry, sir. I should be thankful for accepting me.”
Hearing this, Rock frowned, the small crease between his brows making Cruel tense a bit.
Did he said something wrong? Did he displeased him? Did he—
“No need to be formal, child.” Nothing changed on Rock face, still stern and unmoving, but his voice sounds gentler, warmer than Cruel expect.
“You are already part of this family. No need to be afraid.”
Clopeh giggle as she walk alongside the man, of course bringing the usual flower with her. Now he recognize it clearly as Peruvian Lily, its soft petals bright against the quiet room.
“Papa on a break, and you are getting better. I thought this would be a good time,” she said as she change the yesterday flowers on the pot beside his bed into a fresh one, careful not to spill the water.
“And…” She look straight at him. “An official family meeting. For everyone.” Her green eyes seems telling him something more, something unspoken.
A small sound from the bundle make him turn toward the man again. Sometime between words, Rock already sit down on the edge of his bed, the mattress sinking slightly under his weight.
“Besides, our baby brother is impatient.”
He didn’t hear her clearly.
Because he is busy staring at the bundle.
The bundle that the man carefully move, just enough so Cruel can see what inside.
The bundle of white hair.
His baby brother is here.
“Oh look! Seems like little brother is happy to see you.” Just to prove Clopeh word, the baby wiggle around, small fingers curling and uncurling.
And his tiny hands reach for him.
But not in a painful way.
Warm in a way he never felt before.
The small hand reach him, clumsy and unsteady, yet so real. When his finger brush against the baby’s palm, it curl around him immediately, holding on with surprising strength.
He let out a shaky breath.
Not in this new world that still feel unfamiliar, where everything change too fast for him to catch up. He is not alone anymore.
The thought make his eyes sting, and he blink rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall. Not now. He doesn’t want to scare the new people or his now literally baby brother.
“So small…” he mutter, almost afraid his voice would break the moment he speak louder.
Clopeh smile softly, standing closer, watching them with bright eyes. Rock didn’t say anything, but the way he sit there, steady and unmoving, make the room feel… secure.
The cold wind through the window.
The sunlight coming through the window.
The flowers that get changed every day.
A duke who tell him not to be afraid.
A sister who giggle and bring him flowers.
A baby brother holding onto him like he belong there. That didn't hate him.
Maybe everything might be bearable now.
As long as Deon is here with him.
As long as they are together, safe, in a place that already seem to accept them without question.
Cruel gently hold the baby hand, his grip careful but certain.
“I’ll stay,” he whisper, not sure who he is promising it to.
The baby answer him with another happy sound, waving his arms.
And for the first time since coming to this world, Cruel truly believe—He can live here.
After his health already has been restore Cruel now can explore his new surroundings and start official learning again, Clopeh of course helping his every step.
She tour Cruel around the mansion with a maid follow behind them, talking excitedly about everything. Lead him to kitchen, training ground, library and two back gardens.
Sometimes a maid or more correctly a nanny would follow them carrying baby Deon.
She would always like take both of them together to spend their times, Clopeh would eagerly said to them that she would like for all of them to get close together as siblings.
With him wanted to fix his relationship with Deon and get to know her? He have no problem with this.
Seems like Deon too with how much he is comfortable with her......
And for many years until Cruel turned 14 he start to adjust his new life style and world.
He learns different cultures and many things...
Him getting use the cold and snow of his new homeland of North, the clothes style that is same yet different and studies of new historical.
Of course about his.... Father and sister....
There is some familitry from His past father and Rock Sekka, the way both of them are stoic, serious, uphold the family and love them.
Yet at the same time they are different.
Yes he is stern when teaching him but there is something soft about the way he guide Cruel.
The voice that soften, the rough hands that would guide him when learning swordman ship... Or that he is not afraid that sometimes carrying Cruel or Deon around the Dukedom.
Rock Sekka is very vocal too—not talk active, but would not hesitate to comfort or show his concern.
"Cruel.....cover your ears. " Rock tell him.
Cruel obeyed and closed his ears as Rock carried him down the long corridor, but of course, some words still slipped through and were heard by him.
An important meeting with all the relatives was held today, they were all staying within the Sekka dukedom. And of course, they already knew about Rock placing Cruel directly into the Sekka family.
All the disgust, envy, anger, and hatred were clearly written on their faces. They didn’t bother to hide their displeasure, nor did they stop themselves from gossiping—thinly veiled ill intent flowing beneath flowery words and false smiles.
Rock Sekka sent them all a cold glare and released a small portion of his swordmaster aura. The pressure alone made them flinch, avert their eyes, and hastily step aside or walk away as Rock continued forward without slowing.
“Don’t ever listen to them,” Rock told Cruel once they were out of the relatives’ sight.
Cruel slowly uncovered his ears. “But… they aren’t wrong?” He tilted his head slightly, confusion clear in his eyes.
Now six years old, Cruel often walked alone around the Duke household whenever he felt like it. The halls were familiar to him by now.
Sometimes, as he passed by, he would hear whispers and rumors from the maids and workers, spoken too softly to be addressed but loud enough to reach his ears. They called him a pitiful case.
They said he was lucky—lucky that both he and Deon were allowed to stay despite being illegitimate. Lucky, because the Duchess had passed away, and the father and daughter needed someone to fill the empty space left behind, someone to ease their grief.
'Is this how Deon felt? Is this how he was always treated back then?'
Cruel knew there had been many bad rumors ever since his brother birth.
The Harts family had quietly moved away any workers who looked down on Deon, removing them without noise or explanation.
But they couldn’t do anything about the attitudes of other noble children. So the only thing they could do was stop Deon from attending noble parties or gatherings too often.
And without meaning to, they had isolated their youngest family member.
Cruel couldn’t help but wonder now that he could walk on his own. Yet, unlike Deon, he is a illegitimate child in this life.
Both Rock and Clopeh made sure to shut those mouths—or, as they put it, “clean everything up.”
“No, Cruel,” Rock sighed softly. “They are all wrong, and they never had the right in the first place.” He adjusted his hold on Cruel and continued walking.
“How so?” Cruel asked, genuinely curious.
“For one, they never knew what truly happened,” Rock replied calmly, “nor did they ever try to understand our situation.”
Roci expression darkened slightly. “Some of them are no different from each other,” he said.
“They look at titles the same way they look at gold—with greed in their eyes and little awareness of what those things truly mean.”
Cruel listened quietly as Rock continued.
“They want the highest seat, the grandest name,” Rock went on, voice steady, “but they don’t want the responsibility that comes with it. They don’t want the burden of protecting others, of making difficult choices, of standing firm when it matters.”
Rock let out a quiet breath. “So instead, they wait.”
“Wait…?” Cruel echoed softly.
“They wait for Clopeh,” Rock said. “They wait for my daughter to fail. One mistake, one moment of weakness—that’s all they’re hoping for.”
Cruel blinked his green eyes in surprise. “Clopeh is… the heir?” he asked, hesitating slightly. “ my… sister?”
He know this is a different world but it's still caught him off guard, maybe because this and his old world have some similarities.
Sure in his world it's not just rare and unheard but woman inherit their titles it's because of special reason, and if they still have male relatives it usually fall to them.
Of course here men and women have the same change to inherit the title since it's not uncommon, but Cruel get the gist it's still rare to happen.
He turned then, finally looking down at Cruel in his arms.
“Yes,” Rock said at last, his gaze steady and unreadable. “She is.”
Rock was quiet for a moment before he spoke again.
“Clopeh,” he said slowly, “despite being a girl, is the most promising heir I could ever ask for—and she is my only child.”
Cruel looked up at him as Rock began walking once more, his steps unhurried.
“She has every advantage,” Rock continued.
“She’s loved by the people, respected by the court… even favored by the goddess herself.” His voice carried a faint pride. “She’s not only a genius, Cruel. She bears the blessing of the Water Goddess. Whenever she enters the Peru Kingdom, even the frozen lake melts at her presence.”
Cruel eyes widened slightly.
“But I know,” Rock went on, his tone darkening just a little, “how much that blessing fuels jealousy.”He tightened his hold on Cruel briefly.
“Some of my relatives believe all of that potential has been wasted on her.”
“Because she isn’t interested in being heir,” Rock said quietly.
Cruel blinked. “She… she said that to you?” he asked, clearly surprised.
Rock let out a soft chuckle. “She never said it outright.” His gaze softened. “But what kind of father wouldn’t notice what his child wants? She never took her heir studies seriously. No ambition, no hunger for the seat. Her heart was never there.”
They walked in silence for a few steps before Rock spoke again.
“Cruel,” he said, stopping suddenly.
Cruel stiffened when Rock looked down at him. “Would you want to be the next heir?”
Cruel green eyes widened in shock.
The words hit too close—too soon. He had only just learned that his own biological father from this second life had seen him as nothing more than a tool, something to use to seize the Sekka household.
“Why…?” Cruel asked quietly. “Why ask me?” His voice wavered. “There are so many others. Volunteers. And I’m not even— I’m adopted. I’m illegitimate.”
Rock answer came without hesitation.
“I don’t care,” he said firmly. “Illegitimate or not—you are my child now. My son.”
“I trust you far more than those relatives,” Rock continued, his voice steady but resolute.
“Those who smile while hiding their desires behind their eyes.”
Before Cruel could respond, hurried footsteps echoed down the path.
They turned just in time to see Clopeh walking toward them, her face bright with excitement. A butler followed closely behind, carefully carrying Deon in his arms.
Rock glanced down at Cruel one last time, his expression gentle.
“Think about it,” he said softly.
Then he set Cruel down on his feet just as Clopeh reached them.
"Good morning Duke Sekka, good morning young master Cruel. "
" Remember. " Rock nodded at the butter.
" Is there any trouble? "
" Not at the moment my Lord but Count Delvin want to have a word with you. " Remember tell him.
"Very well I will be go to the office' Rock nodded and look at the children " Kids do be careful while playing in the garden. "
" Of course papa. " Clopeh tell him beaming.
With that Rock leave Cruel with his siblings and Remember.
Then there is his older sister.....
Cruel watched his new sister and didn’t quite know what to think.
In his first life, he had been the older one. The protector. Deon had always been behind him, small hands clutching at his sleeve. He had learned early how to stand in front of danger, how to take the blows meant for someone else.
How he uncovers all behind the Hearts family tragedy working under Duke illuster while protecting Deon that want to kill him.
Now, the roles were reversed.
Well not reversed more like adding since now he is a middle child.
Here, he was the one being watched over.
The feeling sat strangely in his chest—unfamiliar, uncomfortable, and quietly confusing.
Clopeh was nothing like him.
She was open in a way Cruel had never learned to be. She spoke her thoughts aloud, asked questions without fear, and never assumed silence meant nothing. She always made sure to check on them—asking if something had happened, or simply telling them what she was thinking so they wouldn’t have to guess.
Or just think everything is fine with little communication.
She never left them behind.
Whatever she did, Cruel and Deon were always included.
Lessons, walks, small errands, quiet moments—she invited them all with the same gentle certainty. She was patient, endlessly so, even when Deon grew restless or when Cruel didn’t know how to respond.
And maybe… she was a little touchy too.
A hand on Cruel shoulder when he grew quiet. Fingers brushing through Deon hair when he fussed. Warm, steady contact that never asked for permission yet never felt forceful.
Her favorite place was the greenhouse Garden.
Because its her mother garden.
She brought them there often, sunlight gleaming through the crystal walls while outside snowy, flowers blooming in colors that felt almost unreal.
Sitting among them, she would teach them their names and meanings, her voice calm and bright.
“Red roses,” Clopeh said once, holding one up carefully, “mean love. Passion. A love that doesn’t hide.”
Deon, still a baby then, was cradled in Remember arms nearby, half-asleep and clutching at the edge of the butler sleeve.
“And bleeding hearts,” she continued, pointing to a cluster of delicate pink blooms, “mean devoted love. The kind that hurts, but stays anyway.”
Sometimes Deon would be placed on Cruel lap, warm and heavy, or settle against Clopeh side as she spoke, her arm instinctively wrapping around him.
“And moonlight flowers,” Clopeh said softly, lowering her voice, “mean quiet hope. The kind that blooms even in the dark.”
Cruel listened. Always listened.
He didn’t know when it happened, or how—but somewhere between her words, her patience, and the warmth she shared so freely, something inside him began to loosen.
Being protected still felt strange.
But for the first time, it didn’t feel wrong.
Two years later, the Greenhouse Garden was filled with light like useal.
Cruel, now eight, sat as usually among the crystal and exotic flowers with Deon and Clopeh.
Sunlight filtered through the glass panes above, scattering soft colors across the ground. Deon laughed quietly as he played with fallen petals, his white hair catching the light.
Clopeh watched them for a moment before turning to Cruel.
“Are you still thinking about Father proposal?” she asked gently.
Cruel hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly around the stem of a flower. He didn’t answer right away.
Clopeh noticed. She smiled anyway.
“If you don’t want to be the heir,” she said softly, “that’s fine too.”
She reached over and carefully placed a flower crown atop Deon head.
The four-year-old beamed, proudly sitting still as the petals brushed against his white hair.
“It’s not an obligation,” Clopeh continued, her voice calm. “And it’s okay if you still don’t see Father and me as your family.”
But Clopeh only smiled, warm and unbothered.
“New changes can be hard,” she said.
“Especially when there are scars.” Her eyes softened as she looked at him. “Even when they heal, the scars stay. But that’s the beauty of it.”
Something tells Cruel that she is talking not about the viscount or his new father, that she's talking about other past.
The nightmare and trauma that happen in his old world, about his parents death, how he is still unsure with this family, About Rock Sekka as new father and his father from Hart family.
how failure as older brother and all the miscommunication that happens. The higher people that aim for his baby brother while he can only watch.
Clopeh eyes is soft. But behind that green eyes there is knowing and recognition. And Cruel know he is not image that.
She reached out and placed a daisy in Cruel hand.
“You learn from them,” Clopeh went on quietly. “So you don’t make the same mistakes again.”
Cruel stared down at the daisy, his chest tight, something unfamiliar settling there—gentle, and aching all at once.
The greenhouse Garden shimmered around them, silent witness to the moment.
Cruel thought, with the quiet certainty of someone who had seen too much, that Clopeh was very wise.
She was gentle when she spoke, precise with her words, and terrifyingly intelligent. She read political treatises for leisure and corrected Father advisors with a smile that made grown men sweat.
She brush Deon hair every morning and kissed Cruel forehead like nothing in the world was wrong.
Which was why Cruel had a few questions.
The first and most persistent one being:
Is my sister sane? (no she's not lol)
With how...... "Eccentric" Her behavior is.
First The sword instructor.
The man liked to smile when he hit Cruel too hard.
“Again,” he’d barked, striking Cruel wrists until they went numb. “Heir or not, you’re weak.”
Cruel bit his lip and tried again.
Clopeh watched from the edge of the training yard, head tilted.
“Sir,” she called out suddenly, sweet as sugar. “May I ask you something?”
The instructor scoffed. “This is training ground, my lady. And you already finished the sword lesson two hour ago. ”
“Yes,” Clopeh agreed. “And you’re behaving like a stray dog.”
A guard scream like a girl.
Cruel never forgot the sound of teeth sinking into flesh.
The instructor screamed, staggering back as Clopeh clung on, utterly feral, before tearing away with a satisfied hum.
She spit out and wiped her mouth with a handkerchief.
“Bullying children is unbecoming,” she said calmly. “Also, you taste terrible.”
Later, when Cruel whispered, “Sister… you bit him,” Clopeh patted his head.
Rock when heard the news and found out what the instructor have done to Cruel did not hesitate to fire the man, and of course without healing the ass too.
Then once she told him she would protect him and Deon from bad rumors.
Cruel had nodded back then, relieved.
Clopeh had smiled sweetly.
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll handle it.”
He had not known what she meant by that. He learned three days later.
They were walking through the west corridor when a servant passed them and muttered, not quite quietly enough, “Adopted bastards, acting like they belong—”
Cruel stopped too, because something in the air changed. The smile on Clopeh face remained, but it no longer reached her eyes.
“Pardon?” she asked pleasantly.
The servant stiffened. “M-my lady, I—”
“You must be tired,” Clopeh said kindly.
ting your thoughts fall out of your mouth.”
Then she kicked his kneecaps sideways.
There was a wet crack. The servant collapsed, screaming.
Deon clapped. (Why are you clapping?)
Clopeh sighed. “Honestly. People should think before speaking.”
She turned to Cruel afterward, brushing dust from her skirt.
Cruel opened his mouth.Closed it.
“Good,” she said, satisfied. “Come along.”
The rumors stopped around the worker after that years ago, at least not openly speak ill about them.
Then came the poison flowers.
Someone had tried to tamper with Deon food.
Clopeh found out before anyone got sick.
That evening, several workers received small bouquets of pale violet blossoms—Velarium Lace, delicate and lovely.
One maid gasped. “Oh! How thoughtful—”
Three hours later, the scratching started.
By morning, the servants were sobbing, clawing at their skin.
Cruel found Clopeh in the garden, calmly preparing antidotes.
“noona” he said weakly, “they’re bleeding.”
“Yes,” she said. “That means it’s working.”
She looked up, surprised. “Cruel, poison is such an ugly word. I educated them.”
Clopeh later helpfully left antidotes by their beds on the fourth morning, along with a note reminding them that next time, she might choose Grave-Bell Narcissus instead.
Cruel learned the names of poisons the way other children learned fairy tales.
Because later on their usually outing in the glass garden she added some information about other flowers and which who is poison, rather than just telling Cruel and Deon the symbol and meaning.
And So did all attempts to harm on Cruel or Deon stopped.
Cruel thought that was the worst of it.
Then Duke Sekka relic went missing.
The mansion was in chaos. Guards shouting. Servants crying.
Cruel held Deon close as Rock demanded answers.
Deon yeeted himself at a maid, knocking her flat. Screams erupted as Deon shoved his tiny hand straight slipping into her chest.
Deon pulled out the missing relic, in her hidden boobs pockets.
He looked up,red eyes bright. He have that glint face like after the war.
Clopeh clapped once. “Excellent work, Deon.”
That night, Cruel didn’t sleep.
Mostly because he kept seeing things.
Deon crawling along the ceiling beams, Clopeh standing in the hallway at midnight, smiling. Sometimes both of them disappeared together.
When Cruel once asked“Where do you go at night?”
Clopeh smiled. “Walking.”
Deon nodded enthusiastically. “We scare people!”
Cruel clutched his blanket.
Now, in the Glass Garden, Cruel stared at the daisy in his hand.
“Sister,” he asked carefully, “if someone… says bad things again…"
Clopeh smile sharpened. “Tell me.”
Is it him or why did he have a feeling his brother acted like differently sometimes and more gremlin?
Servants at least learned quickly. Nobles thought breeding made them immune.
Cruel learned this at his first proper banquet.
Crystal chandeliers. Too many forks. Too many eyes lingering on him just a second too long—on his black hair, on the way it marked him as different among the white-haired Sekkas.
Count Delvin was the first to say it out loud.
He smiled as he sipped his wine, gaze sliding over Cruel like dirt under a shoe.
“A pity,” he said lightly, “that Lord Sekka adopted heir doesn’t share the family coloring. Black hair hardly suits the Sekka name, does it?”
Cruel stiffened. His hands curled in his lap. He waited—braced—for Father to speak, for someone to redirect the conversation.
Clopeh beat them all to it.
She smiled. Sweet. Radiant. Thirteen years old and terrifying.
“Oh, Count Delvin,” she said warmly, clasping her hands together. “You’re absolutely right.”
Cruel blinked.
Delvin preened. “I’m glad you agree, my lady—”
“I do hope,” Clopeh continued serenely, “that you hit your toe.”
Clopeh tilted her head. “On every table leg. Every stair. Every bedframe.”
She leaned forward slightly, green eyes bright.
“For the next three days. Continuously.”
A ripple of nervous laughter passed through the table. A joke, surely.
Delvin forced a chuckle. “Children and their humor—”
Three hours later, he tripped exiting the ballroom and cracked his toe on a marble step.
The next morning, he broke a different one on a chair.
By the third day, he was sobbing in his estate, foot wrapped like a mummy, screaming that the furniture was hunting him.
No one ever commented on Cruel hair again.
They didn't want to get cursed by the young lady of house Sekka with her water goddess blessing.
Then came the underhand compliments.
“Oh, young master Cruel,” a viscountess cooed, “you’re so articulate for a child with your… background.”
“Yes,” she said pleasantly. “We worked very hard to make sure he exceeded expectations.”
The viscountess smiled. “Such dedication, taking in—”
“—a child who surpasses most adults in this room?” Clopeh finished. “Thank you. We’re very proud.”
The woman flushed. Someone choked on their wine.
Another noble laughed awkwardly. “You Sekka children are so… intense.”
Clopeh beamed. “You should see us when we’re bored.”
They stopped talking after that.
The worst one came near the end of the evening.
He was old. Balding. Smelled like perfume and entitlement.
He cornered Clopeh near the refreshment table, leaning down far too close.
“My lady,” he purred, eyes crawling over her, “you grow more beautiful every year. In just a few more, you’ll be quite the prize.”
Cruel felt something snap.
Deon dropped his dessert plate. His red eyes sharpen and seems deepen into blood.
Before either of them could move— Clopeh took off her glove.
She slapped him across the face with it.
The noble staggered back, clutching his cheek.
Clopeh looked at him coldly, glove dangling from her fingers.
“Consider that your warning,” she said. “Next time, I slapped you to death.”
He sputtered. “I was merely being friendly!”
Clopeh smiled. It did not soften her snake green eyes.
“Then learn better manners when speaking to children.”
Father appeared instantly. Guards followed and the noble was escorted out. Permanently.
Cruel stared at Clopeh afterward, heart still pounding.
“Sister,” he whispered, “you didn’t even hesitate.”
She give her glove to Remember and tell the butler to burn it. “Why would I?”
Deon nodded solemnly. “He was ugly.”
Clopeh hummed. “That too.”
'It's not like I didn't agree, but you can do it cleanly and without draw attention.' Cruel think.
He looked around the glittering hall, at nobles suddenly very careful with their words, very respectful with their distance.
Maybe Clopeh wasn’t sane.
But Cruel decided—watching her stand tall, unflinching, unapologetic—that sanity was overrated anyway.
Especially when madness wore silk gloves and smiled like a blessing.
In his past life, Cruel remembered being told something very important.
It came from an acquaintance—older, smug, full of worldly wisdom—said long before Deon was ever born and still in his mother womb.
“If you ever have a sister,” the man had said gravely, “you must protect her. From suitors. From men who flirt. From wolves in human skin.”
Cruel had taken that advice seriously. Very seriously.
Which was why, years later, watching Clopeh Sekka exist, he came to a single, horrifying realization:
He did not need to protect his sister.
He needed to protect men from her.
Because Clopeh Sekka was obsessed.
Not in a normal way. Not in a teenage admiration way.
In a something is deeply wrong and possibly religious way.
She liked beautiful things.That was fine.
She liked beautiful people.
She liked gorgeous men. Gorgeous women. Gorgeous non-humans. Gorgeous anything, really—if it was hot, it had her full, undivided attention.
Cruel noticed this when she was eleven.
That was the year she announced, very casually over breakfast.
“I’ve decided to go on explore the world so I can be strong and make a legend.”
For once only Rock seems look calm.
“Before my debut,” Clopeh added. “I’ll be back by fifteen and don't worry I would come back from times to time and bring gift.”
“You are eleven,” Cruel said weakly.
“Yes,” Clopeh agreed. “That’s why I must start now.”
She returned almost a year later.
Cruel remembered the exact moment he realized something had gone irreversibly wrong.
Each time she come back after adventure and He had been looking for her—she’d missed dinner, which was unusual—and pushed open the door to her bedchamber.
He noticed the bookshelf first.
'That was odd. Noona hated crooked things'
Inside was candlelight. Incense. Stacks of sketchbooks. Flowers preserved in glass. Ribbons. Pins. Notes written in frantic handwriting.
And the walls—The walls were covered in drawings.
Men. Women. Knights. Mages. Creatures. Beasts. And— it's that dragon he see?
Of course A lot of red hair boy.
On a small table in the center sat what could only be described as a shrine.
Flowers arranged carefully. Drawings placed like offerings. Names written over and over.
Clopeh sat on the bed inside the secret room, being oblivious that her brother just enter the room and staring dreamily at a preserved bouquet in her hands.
“He’s my favorite,” she said cheerfully.
Cruel mouth opened then close.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
She pressed the flowers to her chest.
“These are sacred,” she whispered. “I’ll keep them as heirlooms.”
Cruel backed away one step.
“noona” he said carefully, “are you… starting a cult?”
That night, he heard her through the wall.
“I’ll see a legend… Master of the Silver Shield… wouldn’t it be funny if I built a temple like the og? Caelism sounds nice… it's happen later anyway....”
Cruel slept with a knife under his pillow.
By fourteen, it escalated.
By fourteen, she brought back baby wyverns.
Cruel encountered her on gate after her usually wandering to other continent.
Her clothes were torn. There was dirt on her face. Blood—not hers—on her sleeve while her white hair still clean and untouched by anything.
She was holding something.
She was holding three somethings.
“…Noona,” Cruel said slowly.
Clopeh looked up, beaming. “Yes?”
She lifted her one arm proudly. “A sketchbook!”
“Oh,” she added, shifting slightly, “and souvenirs.” she move her other arm.
Three baby wyverns blinked at him.
One sneezed a puff of smoke.
She casually placed one into Cruel arms.
The baby wyvern stared back at him.
They blinked at each other.
" Noona” Cruel said faintly, “this is a living wyvern.”
“Yes,” Clopeh agreed happily. “Isn’t it adorable?”
Deon appeared out of nowhere. “Can I have one?” (other Deon gonna freak out).
“No,” Cruel said instantly.
Clopeh tilted her head. “We can find another.”
Cruel clutched the wyvern tighter.
This make Cruel worried on her debut later at 15.
Cruel hope nothing bad happen on that special day.
Oh who he is kidding? It would be disaster.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
Daisy flowers: a rebirth, new hope, fresh start and new chapter.
