"The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children."
***
There was no way out of this.
I was really stuck inside the body of Kaelen Leone living a life that should end with me bleeding out. I was meant to die as a footnote that no one would remember.
No respawn. No save file. No benevolent goddess with big breasts and thick thighs handing me cheat skills and a starter harem. The universe had dropped me into the worst possible character in the worst possible situation and just left me there.
Thanks for nothing, cosmic RNG.
The answers I needed weren't in my reflection. They were somewhere in the mess of memories rattling around in my skull. Seventeen years of Kaelen Leone's pathetic existence, and somewhere in all that wreckage was the information I needed to survive.
Time to dig through the trauma.
The first memory came up slow, like something dead floating to the surface of a pond.
Age seven.
I was in the grand hall of the Leone estate. It was filled with ancestral portraits and held up by multiple marble pillars. My father stood in the center of the room in his formal attire, one hand resting on a bow I have never met.
Lucius.
The kid had perfect posture. Neutral expression. But his eyes gave him away. Desperate. Hungry. The look of someone who'd do anything to prove he belonged here.
Father's voice filled the hall as he introduced the boy to the assembled staff and relatives. His tone was warm. Almost proud. The way his hand sat on Lucius's shoulder said everything about expectations and hopes and the future of House Leone.
The way his eyes skipped right past me said everything else.
I was standing ten feet away. His actual blood son. And he looked through me like I was furniture.
Ouch. Okay. That explains some things.
Age ten.
The family tutor's study. Dark wood, old books, the smell of ink and disappointment. Magic lessons.
Lucius went first. He stood in the practice circle with his face scrunched up in concentration. Flames danced between his fingers, bright and steady. The firelight made him look like something out of a painting.
"Excellent control, Young Master Lucius. Your mana circulation is remarkably refined for your age."
Then it was my turn.
I stepped into the circle. Closed my eyes. Reached for the spark of power that every Leone was supposed to have. Our birthright. Our legacy.
I got a flicker. Barely visible. Like a lighter running out of fluid.
The tutor's face did something complicated. Pity and disgust fighting for control.
"Perhaps Young Master Kaelen would be better suited to... administrative pursuits."
Translation: You're useless. Go count beans somewhere and stop wasting everyone's time.
Age twelve.
Walking through the servant's corridor after lessons. I'd learned by then to move quiet. To make myself small. To not take up more space than absolutely necessary.
Voices ahead. Maids on their afternoon break.
"Such a shame about the third young master. Lord Leone was hoping—"
"Hoping for what? The boy's got less mana than my grandmother, and she's been dead five years."
Laughter. Mean laughter. The kind that twisted in your gut.
"At least the stepson is proving his worth. Lord Leone made the right choice taking him in."
I'd frozen around the corner. Hidden in the shadows. My eleven-year-old heart going crazy in my chest.
The right choice. Like I was the wrong one. Like my existence was a mistake that Lucius fixed just by showing up.
They moved on to other gossip. Merchant prices. Someone's daughter getting married. But I'd heard enough.
I turned and walked the other way. And I learned something important that day.
The way servants went quiet when I entered a room? That wasn't respect. That was courtesy. The kind you'd show a dying animal. And the second I left, the whispers started up again, following me through the halls of my own home like ghosts I couldn't shake.
Age seventeen.
Three weeks ago. Though it felt like a lifetime.
The incident with the kitchen maid. The reason Leo had just tried to hospitalize me.
I'd cornered her in the pantry. Small room, smelled like flour and dried herbs. My hands on her wrists. Words coming out of my mouth that tasted wrong even as I said them. Threats about her position. Her family's tenant farm. The power I could use to destroy her life if I wanted to.
The look in her eyes wasn't fear of violence. It was worse. She knew I could ruin everything she cared about with a word to my father. She knew he wouldn't bother checking if my accusations were true. She knew, and I knew, and we both stood there in that cramped pantry while I proved exactly what kind of person Kaelen Leone really was.
She'd pulled free and run. I'd stood there for almost an hour afterward, sick to my stomach.
That feeling lasted for days. A constant nausea that wine couldn't touch.
But I never apologized. Never tried to make it right. Because the original Kaelen was too weak to own his mistakes and too proud to admit he was wrong.
What a piece of work.
I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling of my borrowed room.
The original Kaelen had been genuinely awful. Not supervillain evil. That would have at least been interesting. Just... pathetic. The kind of guy who kicked dogs because it was the only thing that made him feel powerful. A product of neglect and resentment who took his pain and sprayed it outward onto anyone weaker than himself.
No wonder everyone hates this guy. He never gave them a reason not to.
Something uncomfortable stirred in my chest. Not quite sympathy. Kaelen had done terrible things. He'd hurt people who couldn't fight back. He'd been cruel because cruelty was the only power he had.
But he'd also been a seven-year-old watching his father choose someone else. A ten-year-old failing at the one thing his family valued. A twelve-year-old listening to servants laugh about how worthless he was.
None of that excused what he became. But it explained it.
He never stood a chance, did he? The story needed a villain, and he was broken enough to fill the role.
I sat up slowly. My bruises protested. I ignored them.
Feeling sorry for Kaelen wasn't going to help me. Understanding him might. His memories were mine now. His enemies were mine. His debts, his failures, his sins. All of it had landed in my lap the moment I woke up in this body.
Congratulations, Alex. You inherited a disaster.
But disasters could be managed. Debts could be paid. Enemies could become allies, or at least not-enemies.
And sins?
Sins could be atoned for.
Maybe that's where I start. The maid. Armelle. I can't undo what Kaelen did. But I can make sure it doesn't happen again. I can try to make it right.