The silence in the dining hall stretched so long that Lucien could hear the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.
Every adult at the table was staring at him like he had grown a second head.
Duke Reginald set his knife down with deliberate care.
“A different life, you say?”
Lucien nodded, trying to keep his expression innocently confused—the face of a child who didn’t quite understand what he was saying.
Inside, his mind was screaming.
Play it vague.
Don’t spill everything.
They’ll think you’re possessed or insane.
“I dreamed I was someone else,” he continued softly.
“A commoner in a faraway city.
No big house.
No servants.
Just… delivering food on a noisy metal carriage that moved without horses.” He gave a small, sheepish laugh.
“It felt really real.
When I woke up, everything here felt a little strange for a minute.”
Duchess Isolde’s sharp eyes narrowed.
She was the true puppet-master of the Nightshade family according to the novel—beautiful, ambitious, and utterly ruthless when it came to elevating their house’s status.
“How curious.
You’ve never spoken of dreams like this before, Lucien.
Usually your ‘episodes’ involve screaming and breaking things.”
Elara let out a delicate snort, twirling her fork between manicured fingers.
“Perhaps our little monster finally hit his head hard enough to knock some sense into him.
Or maybe he’s practicing a new way to manipulate us.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“Careful, brother.
Father hates liars almost as much as he hates weakness.”
Lucien kept his gaze down on his plate, poking at the perfectly cooked eggs.
The original Lucien would have already thrown his plate at Elara by now.
The fact that he wasn’t seemed to unsettle everyone more than any tantrum could.
“I’m not lying,” he said quietly.
“And I don’t want to break anything today.”
Another heavy pause.
Duke Reginald studied him for a long moment, then grunted.
“Very well.
We will speak more of this later in my study.
For now, eat.
You’re too pale.”
The rest of breakfast passed in tense quiet.
Lucien focused on eating slowly and observing.
The novel had been from the heroine’s perspective mostly, so his knowledge of the Nightshade family’s daily life was limited.
But he remembered enough.
Elara was already deep in schemes—probably trying to sabotage the upcoming academy entrance for the Saintess heroine, Cecilia.
The Duke was focused on political alliances with the royal family.
The Duchess… she was the one who had encouraged Lucien’s cruelty from a young age, shaping him into a perfect weapon against their rivals.
And I’m supposed to be their masterpiece of malice.
When the servants cleared the plates, Elara stood first, brushing imaginary crumbs from her deep violet gown.
“I’ll be in the rose garden, Mother.
The new tutor arrives this afternoon.
Try not to let our dear brother scare him off like the last three.” She shot Lucien a warning look before sweeping out.
The Duchess sighed elegantly.
“Lucien, darling.
Come sit with me for a moment.”
He obeyed, moving to the chair beside her.
Up close, she smelled like expensive perfume and cold calculation.
“You really do seem different today,” she murmured, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead with surprising gentleness.
“If this dream of yours has truly changed your temperament… it could be useful.
The Spring Gala is approaching, and we need you on your best behavior.
No outbursts.
No accusations against the other noble children.
Can you do that for Mother?”
He nodded.
“Yes, Mother.
I’ll be good.”
Her smile was radiant—and terrifying.
“That’s my sweet boy.”
As she left to handle correspondence, the Duke remained, watching Lucien with those unreadable emerald eyes.
“Follow me to the study.”
The Duke’s study was exactly as Lucien remembered from the novel’s descriptions: walls lined with ancient books, a massive desk carved from dark wood, and a single large window overlooking the sprawling Nightshade estates.
Poisonous nightshade flowers bloomed in careful arrangements everywhere—a not-so-subtle family symbol.
Duke Reginald sat behind the desk and gestured for Lucien to take the chair opposite.
“Speak plainly, boy.
What is this talk of another life?”
Lucien hesitated.
Telling the full truth was dangerous.
Claiming amnesia or a prophetic dream might be safer.
But he needed information, and the Duke was one of the smartest characters in the story.
“I remember things I shouldn’t,” Lucien said carefully.
“Faces.
Events that haven’t happened yet.
A girl with golden hair… Cecilia, I think?
She arrives at the academy soon.
Bad things happen if we treat her poorly.”
The Duke’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers tightened on the armrest.
“You speak of the Saintess candidate.
How do you know that name?”
Shit.
Too much?
Lucien shrugged, trying to look childlike and uncertain.
“The dream.
It was very long.
Like a whole other life.”
For a moment, the Duke simply stared.
Then, unexpectedly, he chuckled—a low, dark sound.
“Interesting.
Most children your age invent imaginary friends.
You invent prophecies.” He leaned forward.
“Very well, Lucien.
We will test this new… insight of yours.
The tutor arrives today.
You will behave perfectly.
If you do, I may indulge this dream nonsense further.
If not…”
The threat hung unspoken.
In the novel, the Duke’s punishments for failure were legendary.
Lucien bowed his head.
“I understand, Father.”
As he was dismissed, his mind raced.
He had bought himself some time, but the clock was already ticking.
The heroine Cecilia would enter their social circle within weeks.
Elara’s schemes were probably already in motion.
And somewhere out there, the crown prince and other capture targets were living their lives, completely unaware that the worst little gremlin in the villain family had been replaced by a former delivery boy trying not to die.
Lucien returned to his room and collapsed onto the oversized bed, staring at the ceiling.
“Alright, Lucien.
Step one: survive childhood.
Step two: stop the family from committing political suicide.
Step three…”
He groaned.
“…Figure out how to actually be a kid again without getting executed before age eighteen.”
Outside his window, he could see Elara in the rose garden, speaking in hushed tones with a suspicious-looking servant.
This was going to be a lot harder than dodging traffic in Tokyo.