I stood in front of the window, bare-chested, gazing at the towering walls surrounding the castle. It was windy tonight. This would've been nice—if the breeze didn't carry a faint stench of blood with it.
Looking over my shoulder, I glanced at Natasha's peaceful face as she slept. Our discussion had been long and heavy. Digging through traumatic memories drained her. She'd fallen asleep not long after.
Sigh.
[Door Skill Activated]
A small, hand-sized hole tore through space, and a cigarette pack bound to a cheap plastic lighter with a rubber band dropped into my hand. I placed a stick between my lips and lit it without hesitation.
I took a deep drag—enjoying the warmth—then exhaled a thick plume of smoke.
"The government and academy are vicious. Their methods are cruel… but I can understand why," I muttered, brows knitting together. "The question is, how should I feel about this?"
To be honest, when Natasha told me everything, I was shocked. Pissed, even. Their actions made me feel more like an item than a person.
Still, I didn't hate their methods.
I just hated how they made me feel.
That says a lot about my warped sense of morality. Probably something I carried over from my past life—and that was the real problem.
Who am I?
How would the real me—with all his memories—react to this?
Would he join the victims and hate the academy and the government?
Or would he stand with them?
If I knew who I truly was, making that decision would be easy.
I took another drag and looked up at the moon. Flashes of the memories I'd recovered flickered behind my eyes—but they weren't enough. Too fragmented. Too shallow.
"I need to understand the past to understand the present… and make better decisions for the future," I whispered.
I didn't know what question would trigger a new skill from my [Gatekeeper] talent, but I knew what to ask if I wanted the truth about my past.
"Can you show me everything I've ever been, everything I've done, and everyone I've become across all my past lives?" I asked with a half-smile.
I wasn't even sure if my crime came from just one life. I needed to know everything. I couldn't take chances.
The system paused, as if reluctant.
[Is that your question?] it asked.
"Yes," I answered without hesitation.
---
I suddenly found myself in a conference room, but it was quiet—too quiet. Twenty board members sat around the long, polished table, their faces stiff and unreadable. I sat at the head of the table, dressed in my usual black suit, legs crossed, fingers tapping the armrest slowly.
I already knew what was coming.
Gerald stood at the far end, wearing that smug smile he always wore when he thought he was in control. He was my younger brother, but only by blood. In business, he was a snake.
He cleared his throat and placed a thick file on the table.
"For years, this company has thrived under Eugene's leadership. But recent investigations show irregularities... reckless spending on black-ops missions, unsanctioned contracts, and classified assets moving off-books."
The board shifted. Whispers spread like wildfire. I didn't move.
"Let's not kid ourselves," I said calmly. "You all knew what I was doing. You looked the other way because I brought results. Profit."
"But at what cost?" Gerald interrupted. "We're a global security company, not a mercenary playground."
I leaned forward. "That 'playground' brought in over ten billion last quarter."
"Enough." One of the older board members raised his hand. "A vote has been called. Effective immediately, Eugene Larson is to step down as CEO. Gerald will assume the role."
I looked around the room. No one met my eyes. Cowards.
One by one, they raised their hands. Eighteen votes. Two abstained. None voted for me.
It was over.
I stood up slowly, buttoned my jacket, and gave Gerald a long look.
"You think you've won," I said. "But you just took over a company you don't understand."
"I understand it well enough," he replied.
I chuckled under my breath. "Good luck surviving the kind of war I built this place to fight."
Then I walked out. I didn't look back.
---
The next moment, I was seated in the leather seat of my limousine. The city lights blurred past the tinted glass, but I wasn't looking. I could feel Vek's eyes on me from the front seat.
Silence hung heavy.
Then came the rustling sound of a brown envelope being passed back.
Vek didn't say anything. He didn't have to.
I took it from his hand, placed it on my lap—and he handed over the laptop next. I opened it, keeping it balanced on one knee while I peeled the envelope open with the other hand.
Inside were documents. Paternity results. Legal notices. Photocopies of birth records.
I flipped through them one by one.
First page.
Second.
My fingers started to tremble. My grip on the papers tightened.
None of the kids were mine. Not a single one.
I stared at the page like it might suddenly change. It didn't.
Slowly, I exhaled and tossed the documents onto the seat beside me. They scattered, fluttering like dead leaves.
I reached into the envelope again. There was one last item. A small black flash drive.
I plugged it into the laptop. The screen blinked, then a video started playing.
My wife.
Gerald.
Laughing. Kissing. Whispering. Making love.
In my home. My bed.
My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might crack.
She said things in the video—things that burned deeper than bullets ever could. He smiled at her the way I used to.
I slammed the laptop shut.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe. My hands were shaking, chest tight. It wasn't rage. It wasn't sadness. It was something worse.
Betrayal.
Pure, cold betrayal.
---
I found myself sitting in silence, wrists bound in cold metal cuffs.
The courtroom was full, but all I could hear was my own heartbeat.
Slow.
Heavy.
Like a countdown.
My lawyer had stopped talking.
There was no point anymore.
She sat on the witness stand—my wife.
Dressed in soft colors, bruises painted along her face, neck, and hands.
She looked down when she spoke, like she was scared.
Like I was the monster.
"He changed after coming back from the field," she said softly. "The missions affected him. He… he had bursts of anger. He started hitting me. I tried to hide it for the sake of the kids but…"
She glanced at the jury.
Some of them turned away.
"I didn't want to destroy our family. But it became too much."
I stayed still.
Watching her.
Listening.
I had never raised a hand to her.
Not once.
But the evidence was there—pictures, bruises, stories.
All lined up.
All fake.
Then came the part that shattered me.
My daughters were called to the stand.
First was Mia. My little fighter.
Then Ava. Quiet, sweet, always by my side.
They didn't look at me.
Not once.
"He yelled at Mom all the time," Mia said. "Sometimes he broke stuff."
Then Ava.
Her voice barely a whisper.
"I saw him hit her once. He said it was her fault."
The world stopped.
It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.
I couldn't breathe.
I stood.
"That's a lie."
The judge banged his gavel.
"Mr. Larson—"
"They're lying!" I shouted. "They got to them. They turned them against me!"
Two officers grabbed my arms.
I pulled, but the cuffs only bit deeper.
"Sit down, Mr. Larson."
I didn't.
"You know I didn't do this! You all know—"
Another pair of hands shoved me back down.
My voice cracked.
"They're my kids. They're my—"
The judge didn't care.
None of them did.
"Eugene Larson," he said, voice cold and mechanical, "you are hereby sentenced to five years in federal prison for domestic abuse and assault. All remaining assets, properties, and company shares are to be transferred to your spouse, Melissa Larson, pending completion of divorce proceedings."
Five years.
Everything gone.
They led me out of the defendant box.
Toward the exit.
That's when I saw them.
Melissa was hugging Gerald.
My daughters ran into his arms too—smiles and tears.
Then I remembered.
They weren't mine.
Not by blood.
They were his.
But still…
I'd hoped all those years meant something.
My parents stood nearby, watching with pride.
Proud.
Of them.
Of this.
I stopped walking.
Turned back one last time.
And that's when it hit me.
The bruises.
The testimonies.
The timed collapse of my company.
The judge's rushed sentence.
It was never about justice.
It was a plan.
Carefully built.
Brutally executed.
They took everything.
I built that empire with blood and scars.
And they gutted it with lies.
I wasn't angry.
I wasn't even broken.
I was hollow.
And in that hollow space…
something dark began to grow.