Reincarnated as the Villain’s Father

The foundation of this world's power system could be explained rather simply.

It seemed the universe of this world -or rather, the mind of the novel's author- was obsessed with the number three. This fixation was most evident in the power system. For instance, a person could obtain a maximum of three techniques, and each technique comprised three distinct skill sets.

To give an example: someone who possessed the fire technique could use abilities such as fireball, flame wind, and flame shield. Of course, acquiring even a single technique was extremely rare. Noble bloodlines could inherit a technique through natural heredity. That meant the children of nobles were often born with a technique but they were limited to just one.

Aside from hereditary transfer, there was also special acquisition. These were techniques earned under unique or multiple extraordinary conditions. There were even people who gained powerful techniques by performing rituals in the name of demons, though those who did usually became the personal slaves of those demons. As more people began to value power over freedom, such rituals grew more common.

Yet some managed to gain techniques through effort or rare achievements. One absurd tale told of a man who impregnated a thousand women and earned a technique that could make even men pregnant. Outside of such outlandish stories, legends like that of a general who defeated an army of fifty thousand with only one thousand men were common. That general, after the battle, earned the "General's Technique" a tale passed down for centuries.

But the rarest path of all was obtaining a technique through an object.

Naturally, this was how the protagonist of our story would gain his first technique. And in this world, there were others who had done the same. The good news for me? I knew where most of these objects were. The bad news? Each object could only grant a technique once, and only to one person ever.

Techniques could take root in three main places within the human body. One: inherited noble techniques. Two techniques earned through a grand achievement. And three techniques gained from an external object. Even if you had a hundred such objects, a person could only absorb one technique. And once it was used, the object became inert until the person who used it died.

This didn't just make these technique-bearing items immensely valuable, it made them deadly. Wars were fought over them. People murdered without hesitation, if the item in question was deemed valuable enough.

There was another truth to this system. one that said more about people than they realized:

The question was never what you could obtain, but what you were willing to sacrifice to get it.

Nobles carried their inherited technique like a divine gift, as if fire, lightning, or frost flowed through their veins instead of blood. But in truth, the system was not only unfair, it was brutally honest. If you wanted a technique, you either had to be born with it, kill for it, or give up everything you had.

And me?

I wasn't even fucking a resident of this world when I was reborn. But now? Now I'm here. And unlike everyone else, obtaining all three techniques would be easy for me. After all, I'd read the novel. I hadn't skipped a single paragraph -not even the dungeon chapters I hated-just to read more about the protagonist's mother and the other girls. And this wasn't just an advantage for my personal strength; it gave me a strategic edge for the people I trusted as well.

Lately, a thought had been gnawing at me. What if Lucareth's strength in the future -the very thing that would make him powerful- was Leonardo?

What if it was the suffering he endured that forged his strength? That possibility led me into a paradox I couldn't escape: If Lucareth suffered, he would grow stronger… but he would kill me. If Lucareth didn't suffer, he wouldn't become strong.

But now I realized. All I had to do was use the knowledge I'd gained from the novel on Lucareth himself. Of course, before doing that, I had to be sure of one thing: that the little brat love me or not?

The moment that rat of a child walked into the room, clutching mother's skirt, my thoughts were interrupted.

"Don't forget, Leo… fix things with Annabel first."

I whispered it to myself, like I always did. Sometimes it was a strategy. Sometimes, an apology. But most of the time… a form of comfort.

Annabel was the first wreckage this world had left for me. The most wounded heart left in the wake of Leonardo Argenholt's past. Just seeing her made me feel the crushing weight of guilt, the price I had to pay for the sins of the real Leonardo.

And the irony? No one in this world knew he was dead. Now, I had to live this life in his name, trying to make amends.

…But sometimes I wondered: Was redemption even possible?

Whenever Annabel looked at me, I could see the fear. the faint line between her brows, the slight tremble at the edge of her lips. They were scars from Leonardo's past. I wasn't him. But this body carried that past. And no one looked at your soul. They only ever believed the shell.

The little boy "Lucareth" clung to his mother's hem, avoiding my gaze. As if he could instinctively sense the shadow of the past. Maybe he knew, on some level, that this body was still dangerous. Or maybe... what he sensed was the dead man's lingering intent, tangled with the darkness within me.

I forced be gentle. Trying not to step too far out of character, I kept my expression neutral. unlike the usual fury that terrified everyone around Lord Leonardo.

"Sit down... From now on, we'll be having dinner together every night."

Annabel hesitated briefly. Then, with a gentle push on Lucareth's back, she guided him to the chair across from me and sat down beside him. Lucareth nestled close to her, but kept glancing at me from the corner of his eye.

Silence draped itself over the table like a thin veil. The kind of silence that spoke volumes. And I realized then: Some battles aren't fought with swords but with stares.

As the first course of soup arrived, I tried to sort my thoughts: Plan. Risk. Counterplay. This wasn't just a family meal. It was a chessboard. Every move mattered. especially with Lucareth.

"How was your day?" I asked, without looking at him, just casually, as if speaking to the air.

Lucareth raised his head, but said nothing. Annabel answered for him: "He played in the garden. Got a little muddy. Then… he drew."

"What did he draw?" I asked.

Lucareth looked at me directly for the first time. His eyes flickered with hesitation. But then, guided by a child's instinct, he murmured,

"A monster. A big monster. It had a sword on its back. But… it wasn't attacking."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut.

Was that supposed to be me? Or was he just trying to make sense of me in his own way?

Annabel didn't speak, but she glanced at her son. Her face bore a mother's mix of protectiveness and worry. Lucareth's words had shifted the air in the room. To me, they weren't just the musings of a child, they were a judgment. A silent trial, with a small witness.

"A monster?" I asked, keeping my tone light. "Was it scary?"

Lucareth hesitated. Then shook his head.

"Yes..." he said. "It looked… emotionless. Like it didn't feel anything."

His answer landed like a slap.

"Emotionless. Like it didn't feel anything."

A child's perception often cuts deeper than any blade. They don't hide behind words. They say what they feel. Truth, raw and unfiltered.

My eyes dropped to the floor for a moment. I wasn't Leonardo. But this body… this shell… was.

And children. they could sense the past more clearly than the present.

"Some monsters," I said quietly, "forget how to show feelings. Or maybe… they've learned that showing feelings only makes it hurt more."

Lucareth frowned, trying to understand. His face seemed to ask: Is this a lie or a secret? But he didn't voice it. Sometimes, children just feel.

Annabel looked at me. She'd heard it too. Somewhere deep inside, I knew there were still pieces of her that wanted to believe me. But those pieces were drowning in Leonardo's memories. Her hollow gaze screamed that she had no choice but to carry the scars.

She took a spoonful of soup, then gently nodded at Lucareth to do the same. He mirrored her.

I didn't touch mine. The thoughts growing inside me were heavier than any meal.

"Emotionless. Like it didn't feel anything."

Those weren't just a child's words. They were a brutal reminder of where I stood in this world. Who was I in this body? And what the fuck was I trying to be?

No matter how much I suppressed my emotions, what showed on the outside… was still emptiness.

Maybe, as I tried to build a new self within Leonardo's shell... I, too, would slowly begin to lose my feelings. a little more with each passing day. 

So what? Fuck the feelings. Just live. Yeah. All I have to do is live my new noble life and enjoy it.