The hallway outside the study felt colder than the rest of the mansion.
I stood in front of the heavy wooden door, staring at the polished brass handle. My hand hovered in the air for a moment before knocking.
Knock. Knock.
"Enter."
The voice from inside was calm — too calm. The kind of calm that made your spine straighten without thinking.
I pushed the door open.
The room smelled of ink and old paper. Tall shelves filled the walls, stacked with documents and ledgers. Behind a large desk sat a man with broad shoulders and sharp eyes, dressed in dark noble robes.
Rody Valtor.
My father.
Several servants and officials stood around him, discussing something in low voices. The moment I stepped inside, their conversation stopped. Every pair of eyes turned toward me — some curious, some annoyed, some openly hostile.
Rody didn't look surprised.
He simply raised one hand.
"Leave us."
The workers bowed immediately and filed out of the room in silence. Within seconds, the door closed behind them, leaving only the two of us.
The air suddenly felt heavier.
I swallowed quietly.
(This man… Rody Valtor.)
(The reason this family became a ducal house.)
My mind replayed what I knew about him.
He wasn't born a duke.
He started as a simple baron.
But he helped the king win the civil war — helped him take the throne.
That loyalty earned him power, land, and a title.
That was how House Valtor became a ducal family.
And this man sitting in front of me…
He was not someone you could fool.
(If you think I can just say anything and he won't do anything to me, you're wrong.)
(He once killed his own firstborn son for embezzling money from the treasury.)
My heart beat faster.
There was only one move that made sense here.
So I did it.
I stepped forward, dropped to my knees, and lowered my head.
"I'm sorry," I said, my voice shaking just enough to sound real. "I let you down. I won't do anything wrong again."
For a second, the room was completely silent.
Inside my head, another thought surfaced.
(I never had a family in my past life…)
(But I think this would work fine.)
Then my father spoke.
"Stand up."
His tone wasn't angry.
It wasn't loud.
It was worse — controlled.
I slowly rose to my feet.
"Come closer," he said.
I walked forward, stopping just in front of his desk.
He looked directly into my eyes.
"This trick will not work on me again," he said calmly. "You assaulted the Viscount's daughter. You humiliated our house. You beat commoners in the streets."
His words landed like blows.
I clenched my jaw.
"I never assaulted the Viscount's daughter," I replied firmly. "She is a treacherous, evil woman who is after our money, Father. And I never beat any commoner."
I paused.
"Actually… they beat me."
The words sounded ridiculous even to my own ears.
Inside my head, I sighed.
(If you think I'm saying this because I'm smart or clever…)
(You're wrong.)
(This is exactly how this useless villain talks to his father in the manga.)
Rody's expression didn't change.
Not even a little.
"Enough," he said.
One word.
Sharp and final.
"Shut up."
Silence fell again.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, studying me as if I were a broken weapon he was deciding whether to keep or discard.
Then he spoke.
"You will leave for the frontlands during this vacation."
I blinked.
"The frontlands?" I repeated.
"You will hunt monsters," he continued. "You will remain there until I decide you have learned discipline."
My first reaction came out before I could stop it.
"No, Father."
The words hung in the air.
Immediately, my mind started racing.
(Wait…)
(Actually… this works fine.)
The frontlands.
Open land.
Dangerous territory.
Constant fighting.
A perfect place to train.
A perfect place to get used to this new body.
A perfect place to grow stronger.
I straightened my posture.
"…Alright, Father," I said calmly. "I will go there."
I took a small breath.
"I should start packing."
He didn't respond.
He just watched me.
I turned, walked toward the door, and left the study without another word.
The hallway outside felt warmer now.
I exhaled slowly.
"Frontlands, huh…" I muttered under my breath.
A faint smile crept onto my face.
"Sounds like a training camp."
I walked down the corridor, already planning my next steps.
Behind me, inside the study, Rody Valtor remained seated at his desk.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he spoke quietly to himself.
"…Something about him has changed."
And for the first time since the conversation began, a small crease formed between his brows.
Not anger.
Not disappointment.
Suspicion.