I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

The wrought-iron garden chairs at the Avery estate looked elegant enough to belong in a magazine, but sitting on them for more than five minutes felt like a form of punishment. Cherion sat slightly off-center at the pristine white-clothed table, leaning back with an expression that screamed I would rather be literally anywhere else right now.

Around him, the capital’s elite drifted from group to group in neat little circles, chatting at the speed of a dying snail. Somewhere near the marble fountains, a harpist gently plucked away at a melody, but even that wasn’t enough to drown out the endless stream of upper-class gossip.

Cherion grabbed one of the tiny frosted pastries from a silver dessert stand, popped it into his mouth, and chewed slowly, treating the entire event like a mandatory corporate networking session he desperately wanted to leave early.

He was listening, of course. His instincts had him keeping his ears sharp for any scrap of useful information regarding the Valtrane family or, more importantly, the mysterious curse that plagued Zarius.

But as the minutes dragged into an agonizingly long hour, he realized he was getting absolutely nothing.

”Did you hear about Countess Belmore’s third daughter?” a noble lady whispered behind a lace fan, her eyes gleaming with artificial pity. ”They say she was spotted walking by the river with a mere knight from the border patrol. The scandal is practically breathing down their necks.”

”Oh, that is nothing compared to the Marquis’s Enrico shipping business,” Heinrich scoffed. ”Half his fleet is stranded in the southern ports due to some bureaucratic oversight. The family is scrambling to cover the losses before the auctions begin.”

Cherion sighed, letting out a faint groan. Affairs, business failures, minor social ruins. It was all just empty, shallow capital noise. There wasn’t a single mention of hidden dark magic catalysts, restricted herbs, or anything remotely useful to his current mission. It was a complete dead end.

”Speaking of grand affairs,” Beatrice chimed in, turning a blinding, sycophantic smile toward the head of the table. ”We must congratulate Lord Philia. To be hand-picked by the Emperor himself as the official royal escort for the Prince and Princess of Solaric... it is a historic honor. Truly, no one else in the capital possesses the refinement required to handle foreign royalty so flawlessly.”

Philia lowered his eyes modestly, a soft, perfectly practiced blush rising on his cheeks. He offered a gentle, elegant wave of his hand. ”You praise me too highly. It is a demanding duty, to be sure, but I am merely happy to serve the Empire and ensure our distinguished guests feel entirely at home in our court.”

As the surrounding nobles broke into a synchronized chorus of soft hums and nods of agreement, Philia’s gaze smoothly drifted across the table, locking onto Cherion. He was clearly waiting for a reaction. A hint of jealousy, or a momentary slip in composure.

Cherion, however, merely picked up another pastry and took a slow bite.

Noticing his complete lack of engagement, Heinrich decided to forcefully drag him into the spotlight. ”Lord Cherion, you are remarkably quiet today,” the young lord remarked. ”Usually, the capital drawing rooms are filled with your... enthusiastic voice. Have you lost your breath since you came to the capital?”

Cherion paused with a pastry halfway to his mouth. He internally shifted through his memories, trying to calculate exactly how loud and obnoxious the original Cherion used to be in this story’s timeline. Finding the comparison utterly exhausting, he simply shrugged. ”I prefer to let those who have a true passion for empty air do the talking, Lord Heinrich.”

A sharp, collective intake of breath rippled through the immediate seating area. Heinrich’s expression tightened, his fingers twitching against his teacup.

Breaking the awkward silence, a young lord seated a few places away offered a polite smile, clearly trying to ease the tension. It was Derrick, the Marchioness’s son. ”We truly hope your transition to the North has been comfortable, Lord Cherion. How have you and the Duke been faring since your arrival?”

Before Cherion could even answer, Beatrice quickly seized the opening, her eyes glinting as she smoothly shifted the direction of the question. ”Yes, we’ve all been quite concerned. The capital is rife with rumors these days, Lord Cherion. People are saying the Duke’s health has taken a truly devastating turn, and that he rarely even leaves his chambers. Is he truly alright?”

Cherion let out a soft, heavy sigh, his shoulders dropping just enough to project an aura of quiet exhaustion. He set his teacup down with a slightly trembling hand, letting a look of deep, sorrowful distress cross his face.

”I won’t lie to you all,” Cherion murmured, his voice cracking just a fraction for maximum dramatic effect. ”It has been incredibly difficult. We have tried absolutely everything. Rare tonics, the finest healers from across the borders, specialized diets... but nothing seems to work.”

The surrounding nobles leaned in, their eyes gleaming with a mix of morbid curiosity and hidden satisfaction. Behind his gentle, smile, Philia watched him closely, absorbing every word of Cherion’s apparent despair.

Cherion casually picked up his linen handkerchief, dabbing at the corner of his perfectly dry eye to hide the tiny, satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. Drink it up, people, he thought to himself. By laying it on this thick and spreading the word that Zarius was practically on his deathbed, whoever was behind the curse would confidently think their mission was accomplished. And a confident enemy is an enemy that gets sloppy.

Noticing the atmosphere had turned gloomy, Beatrice smoothly jumped into the conversation, her tone sugary enough to cause cavities. ”Ah, it must be incredibly difficult for Lord Cherion. We have all heard the grim rumors drifting from the North. To hear that the Great Duke’s health has taken such a devastating turn for the worse... to be bound to someone so permanently sickly and fragile must weigh heavily on one’s spirit.”

The table went completely still.

Cherion slowly set his pastry down. He adjusted the strap of his cheap canvas bag resting against his chair, completely unfazed. He looked directly at Beatrice, and then let his gaze sweep across the entire table, his lips curving into a sharp, dangerous smile.

”Though the Duke may currently be in poor health,” Cherion said, his voice smooth, clear, and perfectly carrying across the grass, ”he is entirely loyal to me and utterly devoted to our relationship. Unlike some prominent figures in the capital, I never have to spend my nights wondering whose bed my partner is going to wake up in, or which drawing room they are currently bringing shame to.”

He didn’t look at Philia directly, because he didn’t need to. The entire table turned rigid. Several noblemen choked on their tea, and the rustle of lace skirts abruptly stopped as a suffocating silence slammed into the garden. Cherion simply chuckled softly to himself, lifting his teacup to take a slow casual sip.

Philia’s serene smile vanished for a split second, revealing a look that was anything but friendly. But before the silence could stretch into a total social disaster, Philia forced his breathing to steady, his expression shifting back into a mask of pure, tragic pity.

”I am glad to hear you speak so confidently of the Duke’s devotion, Lord Cherion,” Philia murmured, his voice sounding soft, trembling, and entirely heartbroken for him. He leaned forward, tilting his head with a look of profound sorrow. ”But... I cannot say for certain if that devotion is as simple as you believe. Has the Duke truly not told you yet?”

Cherion paused, his cup hovering just an inch from his lips. He raised an eyebrow. ”Told me what, Lord Philia?”

Philia let out a small, delicate sigh, looking away as if the words themselves pained him to speak. ”The Emperor has already begun finalizing the treaties. Princess Iryna is to be betrothed to a high-ranking lord of our Empire to solidify our alliance. And the primary, most highly favored candidate for her hand... is Duke Zarius Valtrane.”