Reincarnated as the Villain’s Father

Yeah, it's me. The guy who died in the dumbest way possible and reincarnated into the body of a man destined to be killed by the main villain in the future. yes, that guy. From the last novel I read, no less.

Why did I reincarnate? Hell if I know.

What will I do from now on? Again, how the hell should I know?

Was this just a stroke of misfortune? Now that... that one I do have an answer for: No.

Sure, maybe I'm going to be killed one day by my own illegitimate son but more accurately, I'll be killed if I do nothing. Which means the only thing I really need to do… is treat my dear, sweet son and more importantly, his beautiful mother with a little decency.

Once I've done that? Well then, I can finally live the life of a nobleman in a fantasy world! I hated that crappy university life, anyway.

Yeah… maybe this so-called second chance isn't a blessing. Maybe it's just a curse in disguise. Maybe God if there even is one woke up one day and said, "Let's spice things up a bit," and I was cast face-first into the pages of fiction.

But here's the strange part

I'm the middle child of history. Neither a hero nor a villain. Not a savior, not totally lost. Not brave enough to spark a revolution, not cowardly enough to quietly accept my fate.

Because now I know. If death awaits me, I sure as hell won't walk into it without a fight.

I mean, we all grew up with screens, didn't we? Mirrors that talk, magical reflections. Images. Dreams. Heroes. Villains.

We were told one day we'd all be happy. We'd all become great footballers or land dream jobs in whatever we studied. But here's the secret: We won't.

And as I grew up, I learned this the painful way. And because I know that. I was furious.

But now? Now I'm a nobleman in this new world.

Not just any nobleman, I'm a freaking Count.

And best of all? The protagonist's mother in this story is more or less the same age as me. Why wouldn't I fall in love with her? Why shouldn't I enjoy this new life?

Like I said. I don't know why I reincarnated. But I don't care. I simply thank the heavens and, before I officially begin my new noble life, I take some time to "handjob" a little celebration for myself in my luxurious new bathroom. Why am I jerking off, you ask? Because, as an ancient proverb once said: "A good wank before a new beginning brings fortune." (I made that up just now.)

"Ahhh... damn. Felt just like the first time... Those awful old days."

I cross one leg over the other and glance at my right hand. "Don't worry," I whisper, "you're retired now."

Then I raise my left hand dramatically. "Upon my honor, I swear, my little dragon below shall henceforth breathe fire only for women!"

Having made this sacred vow, I stand up, stretch, and, after giving a few important parts of my body a thorough scrub, I get dressed. somewhat properly.

I step out of my room and begin making my way through the hallways. Just as I'm about to reach the main door, a man in a butler's uniform rushes toward me.

"My lord! Are you heading somewhere today? Or do you have a special request?"

I turn to him. Despite his receding hairline, a crescent of thinning strands clings to his scalp. He's short, plump and if the novel I read is correct, the original Count Leonardo was a cruel, quick-tempered bastard. So, avoiding raising suspicion, I furrow my brows and say,

"Do I need your permission to go somewhere?"

Almost immediately, I regret it. Because I have no idea where the hell the stables are.

The butler looked at me with a frightened expression, as if he thought he had offended me. "My apologies, my lord. I meant only to better serve your needs."

I clear my throat and soften my tone.

"Hmph. Good. I'm planning to visit Annabel."

His expression shifts the moment he hears the name. He seems concerned, probably for her but bows respectfully, nonetheless.

"If you permit, I shall escort you to the old stables."

"Old stables? Why are you calling them that?"

The butler looks momentarily confused.

"Because you had the new stables built a few years ago. The old ones were abandoned… so that Miss Annabel could live there."

That... wasn't in the novel. But it makes sense. No noble keeps their horses in a disease-ridden shack.

He quickly arranges a few guards to accompany us and leads me toward the old stable.

As we walk, I take in the mansion. It's not ugly, on the contrary, the stonework is solid and tasteful. But it lacks flair. No screaming opulence. No "I'm rich, dammit!" energy. It's practical. Efficient. Designed to not stand out.

Maybe the author just got lazy.

But the stable?

That was a whole different story.

The closer we got, the more the smell punched me in the face. It was enough to fold a grown man's stomach.

"Jesus… is someone actually living in this hellhole? Smells like more dead rats than woman in there."

I kept my face neutral.

The butler slowed, as if approaching some sacred ruin.

"My lord," he said hesitantly, "she lives just here. Annabel. As you know."

As I know? No, pal. I don't know shit. Only what little I remember from the book.

But that didn't matter. What mattered was what waited inside.

I had the door opened. It groaned on its hinges, releasing a foul cocktail of mold, straw, and faded memories.

It was a stable. Just... no animals left. Only a human being beaten down by life.

And there she was.

Annabel.

And beside her, the boy. The little bastard son who, one day, would kill me and become the novel's main villain.

Despite the filth, despite the humiliation, she was still beautiful. Eyes deep blue. So blue they could make the sky weep in envy. Golden hair tied loosely into a messy bun, one lock falling across her face. Her dress was torn, her feet bare. Yet… there was a still nobility in her posture.

If she had a bath, a clean dress. She'd walk over everyone in that manor like a queen.

And beside her… was him.

That tiny devil.

The future killer of yours truly. The boy who'd one day set the world on fire.

He couldn't have been older than five. But those eyes... They looked straight through me. As if he was already choosing which knife to stab me with when the time came.

When he saw me, he clung to his mother's dress. Not out of fear. Out of... disgust. Like his instincts already knew exactly who I was.

Annabel stood, brushing off dust. But her clothes were too torn to fix much.

"Leonardo…" she said. Her voice held no anger. No warmth. Just... exhaustion. With life. With the world. With me.

I stepped in slowly, glancing at the straw-covered floor, the broken chair, the fluttering wooden shutters… And at the center of it all: a mother and her son.

My first instinct was: End this misery now.

But another voice echoed within: Don't forget, this child is the future villain. And you're in the story now. One wrong move… and it's your funeral. Again.

Still, I had to speak.

"You living here is ridiculous," I said. "From now on, you and the child will stay in the mansion."

From what I remembered, Annabel had once been a noble. A daughter of a happy Northern family before the Empire invaded.

Before a general -Me, or rather, the original Leonardo- massacred her family and took her as spoils of war.

Since then, she'd never known a single day of happiness. Never received the smallest kindness.

So when I said what I did, at first, she didn't even react. Like the words didn't register.

But then they did. Her lips trembled. She clutched her rags tightly. Her eyes dropped. Her breath grew ragged. Her nose turned red.

And finally, the dam burst.

"WAAHHHH!"

After years of suffering, abuse, and degradation, the very man who had destroyed her life -the one responsible for her family's death- was now showing her a sliver of mercy.

But that's not why she cried.

She cried because, despite everything Leonardo had done to ruin her, the words he'd just spoken stirred something in her, a spark of hope.

And that was what truly broke her.

She had fallen so low, sunk so deep, that it no longer mattered who offered her a hand.

All that mattered was that someone finally had.

She wasn't crying out of gratitude.

She was crying because she hated that part of herself,

the part that still wanted to believe in kindness.

She was crying… for her own helplessness.