Im'the son of the Villainess's at the Academy

. Flashback. 

*Inside House Rotschy — The Lady of the Moonlight*

The obsidian walls of the Rotschy estate shimmered faintly in the morning haze, absorbing the light rather than reflecting it. The sky above was a dull, cloudless silver—a mirror of the soul that ruled within.

Inside the main hall, lined with towering pillars etched in ancient runes, silence reigned.

Only the faint scratching of a quill against parchment broke the stillness.

At the heart of the estate sat **Naoko Rotschy**, Matriarch of the House, on a throne-like chair behind a curved, onyx desk carved from a single slab of stone. Her posture was perfect, poised. Not a hair out of place, not a breath wasted.

She wore a flowing **black dress made of layered chiffon and lace**, baring her pale shoulders. The intricate design hugged her figure with aristocratic elegance. Each detail of the dress was deliberate—each fold, each shimmer of the dark fabric whispered **dominance**.

Her skin was **pale as porcelain**, flawless and cold, as if carved from divine marble. Her **long silver hair** spilled down her back like liquid starlight, and her **lashes matched the metallic sheen of her eyes**—two silver voids, emotionless and glacial.

The only hint of color was a gentle, restrained touch of **rosy lipstick**, almost too subtle to notice—like a memory of warmth she no longer needed.

She wore **obsidian moon-shaped earrings**, matching the black **choker** around her neck—set with a small **lunar diamond**, shimmering faintly with ethereal light.

She was a sculpture made flesh, an embodiment of calculated beauty and absolute control.

As she moved her pen with graceful precision across the paper, it seemed like **she was scripting fate itself**.

And yet, her expression remained unchanged. **Still. Calm. Untouched.**

A quiet knock echoed through the chamber.

Then the door opened.

---

**Sion** entered with her usual fluid stride, heels clicking softly on the polished obsidian floor. Her presence was a stark contrast to the icy stillness of the room.

She was **warmth wrapped in audacity**.

Her **chestnut-red hair**, tinged with copper, was loosely tied back, strands falling around her high cheekbones. Her **eyes—red-brown like autumn firelight—** held an intelligent gleam, though now laced with hesitation.

Her outfit was unmistakably bold: a **tight black leather skirt**, short and clinging to her hips, paired with a **white blouse** unbuttoned enough to reveal a teasing edge of crimson lace. Her heels were stilettos, sharp and elegant, and her **gold watch** glinted with every move of her hand. The air around her carried the soft scent of rosewood and spice.

Despite her daring style, she bowed with proper respect.

> "My Lady," she said softly, "Zakaros has returned."

Naoko did not look up immediately.

Her pen paused for just a breath, then resumed its movement.

Only after finishing a line did she lift her gaze—slowly, deliberately.

Those **silver eyes**, devoid of emotion, locked onto Sion like searchlights through fog.

> "I know," she said simply. Her voice was cold, a glass blade drawn across velvet.

Sion swallowed gently. She was used to Naoko's tone, but today… something felt colder than usual.

> "Do you believe he poses a threat?" she asked, voice carefully neutral. "There's history between him and Akai…"

Naoko blinked once. Her fingers lifted the **black moon pendant** resting at her throat, turning it thoughtfully.

> "The black cat wants to fight the white," she said flatly. "Let him. It's not our concern."

> "But… he's powerful," Sion pressed, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Too powerful to ignore."

Finally, Naoko set her quill down.

The room seemed to hold its breath.

She leaned back slightly, crossing one leg over the other, and gave Sion a look that felt like being dissected by frost.

> "So is Akai," she said. "Both are beasts. Both were generals in the armies of forgotten gods. Their rivalry has spanned epochs. What happens between them… is meaningless."

Her voice dropped a note—**so calm it was terrifying**.

> "We are mortals, Sion. We observe. We endure. We do not interfere in wars between monsters. but I am different. I will not interfere, whether fighting monsters, gods, or even humans. This matter does not concern me and it will not benefit Rotschy in any way."

The words carried the weight of centuries—**as if she spoke not from knowledge, but experience**.

Sion bowed her head slightly.

But inside, her chest tightened.

She knew better than to challenge Naoko when she spoke like this. There was a cold finality in her tone, like a tomb being sealed.

Still… something else stirred in her.

"Understood, my Lady," she said. "Then I shall shift focus."

A pause.

Sion's voice softened.

> "Princess Estelle is progressing well. Her mana control is extraordinary. She's learning faster than expected. Perhaps... even faster than of all the children her age 

Naoko's face did not shift.

Not a muscle. Not an eyelash flickered.

> "Good," she said, brushing a small speck of dust from the table with a finger. "She has potential."

Another pause.

Sion hesitated.

This was the moment.

> "And… the prince?"

For a moment, the air felt colder. **The room dimmed, just barely.**

Naoko did not answer.

Her fingers stilled.

Then, in a voice as quiet as falling ash:

> "Focus on Estelle."

A heartbeat passed.

Then she added, softly—but it was like thunder:

> "The rest… is garbage."

Sion's breath caught.

Her chest rose, then fell too quickly.

> *"She said… garbage."*

It echoed through her mind like a slap across the soul.

**Naoko Rotschy had called her own son garbage.**

Sion felt her legs tense, her throat tighten. Her heart pounded once—loud, painful. She forced herself to lower her gaze, hide the tremble in her fingers.

> "Yes, my Lady."

She bowed deeply, lower than usual. Almost too low.

Then she turned quickly—too quickly—and left the room, her heels clicking in panic now, not elegance.

She didn't breathe until she'd closed the door behind her.

Outside, she leaned against the hallway wall.

Her vision swam for a moment.

> *"He's your son."*

Sion clenched her fists.

She thought of the boy locked in his tower, of his eyes glowing with inner storms. Of the rare smiles he gave her when she brought him books, or sweets, or even silence.

He wasn't garbage.

He was something broken. Bent, not crushed.

Something that could still bloom—**if only someone watered him.**

But Naoko… Naoko had chosen otherwise.

Inside, Naoko continued writing.

Her face was still calm. Icy. Untouched.

But in her eyes—deep, deep within—there was something else.

A flicker. Not sorrow.

Not regret.

But perhaps...

**Conflict.**

She wrote another line.

Then paused.

The quill hovered.

> *Jin …*

Her lips didn't move, but the name echoed in her chest like a secret trying to escape.

But she shoved it down, buried it.

And wrote on.

The candlelight flickered.

And the Lady of Rotschy remained alone.

...... 

Heat: Note: I didn't write anything about Knox because nox thought he was dreaming and also he hadn't fallen into the abyss yet, he just had cold feelings. 

2 Note: Zakaros is the loyal dog and servant of the Rotschy family, in short, a hunting dog