reborn as lazy lord destined to doom

Huah...huff...fff..haah.. " Wha-"

My heart pounded so hard it felt like my ribs might crack. My lungs burned, desperate for air. I clutched the left side of my chest, but the pain refused to fade. I tried to move—tried to sit up—but my body wouldn't listen. So I lay there, gasping, waiting.

Slowly, the hammering in my chest dulled, the pain easing with each breath. As the haze lifted, reality settled in. It was just a dream. A cruel replay of my memories, ones that remind me of my responsibilities.

With a heavy sigh, I pushed myself up and stumbled toward the mirror. My reflection stared back—tired eyes, a face shadowed by the past.

My earliest memories always revolved around my mother. She would take me to see my father whenever he returned to the castle. He was always cheerful, lifting me and my brother into the air, chasing us across the lawn while the servants laughed and played along, helping us hide.

My brother, ever the lively one, was always eager to interact with people. He treated the servants with warmth, his grin so wide that one might wonder how long his cheeks could stretch.

But my mother never smiled. She never joined in. Instead, she would stare into the distance, lost in a daze, her gaze never settling on us. The moment my father left for his study, she would whisk me away, leaving my brother, the servants, and my stepmother behind in the garden.

Whenever I begged to stay a little longer, she would offer a cold, distant smile, her eyes filled with something I couldn't name. "Honey, you have better things to do," she would say, her voice laced with something close to disdain. "You need to study hard and practice your swordsmanship, remember?" Then, she would grip my hand so tightly it hurt, dragging me back inside--back to the expectations she had carved out for me.

I never understood why I was treated differently from others my age--until one day.

That morning, I sneaked out of my room during study hours, slipping past the ever-watchful eyes of my tutors. I ran to the lawn, hoping to find my brother or the servants, someone to play with. But the place was empty.

Disappointment settled in my chest, but I refused to waste the freedom I had risked so much to take. I played alone, but it felt hollow, joyless. I wanted to laugh and run like the other children, to feel the warmth of friendship and joy. But I couldn't.

"Well, this is rare. Seeing you here without your Mother hovering over you," a voice, laced with mockery, broke the silence. I turned and saw my brother standing there.

"…Why are you crying?" he asked with a stunned face.

I blinked. Crying? My fingers brushed my cheek—wet. I hadn't even noticed. A lump formed in my throat, and before I knew it, my legs moved on their own. I ran to him, wrapping my arms around him so tightly it hurt. If I let go, I feared I would be alone again—dragged back to my studies, left with nothing but ink, paper, and silence.

"Wha....,hey! What happened? Did you hurt yourself? I'll take you to the castle doc-"

"Who said I'm crying?" I quickly wiped my face. "It's just some sand in my eyes, that's all."

"If you say so~," my brother replied, his tone teasing, as if he saw right through my lie. Then, with his usual wide grin, he added, "Since you're already here, why don't we play tag?"

I felt a spark of joy flicker inside me. "Let's play, Brother!" I said, mirroring his grin.

From behind him, Seraphina, my stepmother's attendant, smiled. "Then, young master and my lady, do your best to escape from me," she said, her lips curling into a playful, almost wicked grin.

Laughter filled the empty lawn as we ran. The wind rushed past me, my heart pounding with excitement. I didn't know how long we played, only that, for the first time in what felt like forever, I was happy. Then, like a dark cloud, my instructor arrived.

Seraphina immediately straightened, her warmth vanishing behind a professional mask. "Lady Juliet, we have searched for you everywhere. Lady Priscilla is disappointed by your actions. I suggest we return at once," he said, his tone cold, impassive.

"I was hoping we could play a little longer." My brother sighed, then turned to me. "Well, Juliet, it's your call."

"My....call?"

"Do you want to play more?"

I hesitated. "…Yes, but-"

"No, my lady. We must return at once. We cannot afford to lag behind the schedule."

"Hey, old gee-"

"Let's play again, Brother." I cut him off before he could argue, forcing a calm smile. Then, without another word, I turned and followed my instructor back to the castle.

SLAP.

My mother's hand struck my cheek with such force that I lost my balance and fell.

"You, useless… why were you even born?" Her voice was sharp, filled with bitterness. "All I wanted was a son, a son who could restore what I lost… but instead, I got you--a useless disgrace." Her body shook as she fell to her knees, clutching her head, tears streaming down her face.

The pain wasn't in my cheek—it was in my heart.

I threw my arms around my mother, sobbing. "I'll do whatever you ask, Mother… I'll work harder, stay inside, never play again. Please, don't cry." My throat burned from the pleas, my voice shaking.

She stayed silent before slowly wrapping her arms around me. Her hand slid to the back of my neck, holding me firmly as she whispered, each word sharp and deliberate.

"It's all because of Serena and Hugo. They made us suffer. Don't get close to them… They will take everything you hold dear."

I began distancing myself from my brother and Duchess Serena. Every time I saw them, my mother's tear-streaked face and her words echoed in my mind. Instinctively, I avoided them. My brother, always grinning, tried to talk to me, but I ignored him. Even when I insulted him in front of the servants, my heart ached—but I couldn't let myself make Mother cry again. Yet, he never gave up.

One day, I heard rumors—something had happened between him and his mother. The details were unclear, just whispers among the servants. A personal servant was assigned to him, and soon, news about him faded. His once-bright eyes dulled, his smile vanished, and he didn't even take his insignia when he left for the academy.

By the time I joined as a freshman, he was in his third year—distant, unmotivated, barely passing his studies. We never spoke, never crossed paths. After his graduation, he left, unchanged, as if frozen in time. Even after my three years at the academy, he never returned to who he once was.

After I returned from the academy, my mother greeted me with a radiant smile, her words brimming with compliments and pride. I ranked among the top ten across all grades and alumni—that had to be the reason. In the week following my return, I devoted myself to study and swordsmanship. I was close—almost at the level of a powerhouse. But that almost stretched far, possibly months or even a year away, even for a prodigy like me with the innate skill 'sword saint'.

During that time, I never once saw my brother leave his room. Only his personal maid, Clara, moved in and out, her presence the only sign that he still existed.

Then, something unexpected happened.

At the morning gathering, I arrived last—or so I thought. I quickly greeted my family, took my seat beside my mother, and silence settled over the hall. The only sound was the soft clinking of spoons against plates. I wanted to break this unpleasant silence, just as I was about to talk to my father,—creak—the doors opened once more.

That never happened. No one dared to interrupt the Duke's breakfast gathering unless it was urgent. All eyes turned toward the entrance as a figure stepped inside.

It was my brother.

He walked in without greeting Father or the family at the door, his steps heavy, one hand in his pocket, a smirk on his face. The silver Falcon's insignia on his chest gleamed under the morning light. My heart pounded—not from seeing him after so long, but from the possible consequences of such improper etiquette before the Duke.

He stopped at the far end of the table, not immediately bowing. Instead, his crimson eyes locked onto Father, unwavering. Then—Seraphina, the head maid behind Duchess Serena, bowed. The other maids followed in hurried succession.

At that moment, as the wind drifted through the windows, rustling his hair like flickering flames, a thought crossed my mind—perhaps everyone's.

Hugo Gyrfald, The man standing before them, is the Falcon's heir. The next lord of Falcon.

And then, with only a shallow bow, half as much as the maids, he spoke.

"Good morning, Father. It is truly an honor to be in your presence for this breakfast."

His voice was composed. Confident.

Father gave a simple nod of acknowledgment, and Hugo moved toward the seat beside his mother, the very source of his suffering. He offered her a slight bow, lips curling into a faint smirk, and took his seat.

Then, his gaze met mine. He offered a small smile, just enough to be a greeting.

Before I could decide whether to return it or ignore him like always, he had already turned away, as if my response never mattered. Instead, he faced my mother, giving her a nod. She returned it, masking the flicker of surprise and disdain in her eyes.

He sat there, quietly listening to the conversations around him while savoring his meal, perhaps the only one in the entire hall who truly enjoyed breakfast.

And the proof was undeniable.—

By the time the meal ended, his was the only plate completely empty.