Transmigrated as the Cuck.... WTF!!!

Evelyn didn't respond right away. She didn't need to.

She just stared at him with a calm, almost serene expression—a gaze too peaceful for the storm of grief clearly buried beneath it. Then, silently, as if her body could no longer hold it in, the tears began to fall again. Her already puffy, red-rimmed eyes welled up, and streams ran quietly down her cheeks.

Art didn't need to hear a word. He understood.

She loved him. She had always loved him—deeper, far deeper than she'd ever dared to show.

He let out a small, breathless laugh. It was just... tired. His head tilted back, eyes scanning the sky above as though he expected the sky to offer some twisted form of wisdom.

"Hah... love's such a messed-up thing, isn't it?" he murmured, the corner of his lips twitching upward, a crooked smile forming from pure exhaustion. "On one side, you want to be with the person you love, cling to them, claim them as yours. But on the other… you'd do anything for their happiness. Even if it rips you apart. Even if it kills you inside. You're the second kind, aren't you, Evelyn?"

There was a long pause. He let the moment hang, not rushing her.

Then he turned, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Tell me one thing, Evelyn. How long?" His voice dropped a bit, and this time, it was serious. "How long have you been in love with that bastard?"

Evelyn sniffled. Her lips trembled, her throat burned, but she found the strength to speak. Maybe she needed to. Maybe the words had been waiting to break free for years.

"Since we were kids," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Even before he and Amelia became a thing. Before any of you became my friends. He… he was my first friend."

She looked down at her hands, clenched in her lap.

"He was the one who brought me into the group. Introduced me to all of you. The person who gave me a place when I had none."

Art chuckled faintly. "He was the one who brought us together. All of us. It was him who built this strange little circle. It's always been him. Since the beginning."

Evelyn gave a slow, tearful nod. "Yeah… honestly, I can't even tell you when I started loving him. Maybe it was when that awkward little boy offered me his hand and showed me a world I didn't know existed. Or maybe… maybe it was when he stood up for a friend. When he took responsibility even when it would've been easier to run. Or when he smiled after getting beaten to a pulp because he didn't want us to worry."

She paused for a breath, trying not to choke on her words.

"Maybe it was when I saw the truth behind his family. The kind of hell he came from. And still, he never let it define him. A boy born from blood and cruelty… who chose kindness. Who chose to be gentle—not because he was weak—but because he knew the cost of violence. Because he wanted to be better."

Art stared at her.

Her voice.

Her trembling form.

Her story.

And all the weight behind it.

And deep within his chest, something cracked. Memories of Cassius flashed in his mind. That dumb, stubborn idiot who always wore that annoying smirk even when the world was crumbling around him.

The one who never gave up on him.

'You were the guy who gave me a reason to live again… you showed me hope in this rotten world. And now, that spark's gone. Dammit, I miss you already, you bastard.'

Art's jaw tightened. His fists clenched so hard his knuckles whitened.

'The merfolk… they have you. At least, that's what I hope. If you're out there, Cassius… I swear to whatever gods are listening—I'll tear down the Red Sea myself if I have to. I'll get you back.'

His eyes flicked toward Evelyn again.

'Should I tell her? Should I give her hope? But what if I'm wrong… what happens then? What happens if I feed her a lie and it ends up shattering her worse than this?'

He bit his lower lip, hard. The taste of blood pooled at the edge of his tongue.

No.

He couldn't risk that—not with her.

So, instead, he walked over to her. Sat down beside her. Met her gaze with one of his own, firm and clear.

"Evelyn," he said, voice soft but resolute. "You need to get out of this place. This pit you're sinking into. Not for me. Not for Cassius. Not for anyone. But for you."

Her eyes flicked up.

"You've lost more than most people could ever understand. But are you really just gonna sit back and let this world keep crushing you? Again and again? Or are you going to stand the hell up and tell this messed-up life that it can't beat you?"

There was silence.

Then something shifted in her eyes—just slightly.

But then it came crashing down.

"What the hell do you know?!" she burst out. Her voice was cracked, sharp with anger, but more than anything else—it was hurt. "You think it's that easy? To just forget everything? To move on like none of it mattered?!"

Art didn't flinch.

She kept going.

"You think I didn't try?! Do you even understand how much it hurt… watching him with Amelia? Knowing the two of them were never even truly free? That their entire relationship was forged in chains?"

Her voice shook harder.

"And the one time I thought… maybe I'd get a chance. Maybe I'd finally—finally—be with him. He died. Just like that! No goodbyes. No closure. Just gone!"

She was screaming now, tears falling faster, her hands trembling violently.

"For what? Some cause none of us even understand?! And now you're here—giving out advice like you know what's best?!"

She laughed bitterly, voice ragged.

"Well guess what, Art? Your advice is useless."

Art remained silent, letting her scream, letting her vent. Because sometimes, that's all someone needed. Someone to listen. Someone who wouldn't look away when it got ugly.

Because grief like this—it wasn't clean.

It was loud, cruel and real.

But then—

Art smiled. But it was hollow, dead in the eyes.

"What do you think you know?" he asked, voice low at first, laced with venom. "You think just because you have trauma, it gives you the right to undermine others? To spit your self-righteous pity in everyone's face like you're the only one who's ever bled?"

He stepped closer, the heat rising in his chest, boiling over despite his attempts to calm it.

"Is it because I'm the Crown Prince? You think my life's some sort of fucking comedy skit?" His voice rose, cracking at the edges as frustration surged and spilled.

He wasn't just trying to calm Evelyn down anymore. No. Deep down, his insides were festering with the kind of resentment that no amount of charm or laughter could bury. It wasn't about her anymore—it was about everything. Everything he had to hold back, and everything he never got to say.

"You think it's fun and games being born into this fucking hell?" he spat, voice trembling. "Do you even have a single clue what it's like to be me?"

He clenched his fists. The mana inside him quivered like a barely restrained storm.

"I detest maggots like you—filthy little parasites who look from afar and assume everything's perfect. You think I live in a goddamn utopia?" He laughed, bitter and sharp. "Why don't you try walking a mile in my shoes? Hell, if you didn't kill yourself in the first few months, I'd be amazed."

A cold beat of silence followed.

"Expectation. Results. Talent. Etiquette. Demeanor. Power." He listed them off like a noose tightening around his own neck. "They want everything. Every single second of my life has to be calculated. I need to be perfect. FUCKING PERFECT—for what?"

He gritted his teeth, shaking with fury. "For nobles who think their blood is worth more than lives. For people who whisper behind fans and bow with their knives already raised. I swear, I'll rip their tongues out the next time they talk shit—"

"Art…" Evelyn took a step back, visibly flinching.

He turned his gaze to her, eyes wild with emotion—not just anger, but despair, grief, something bone-deep and starved. She hadn't expected this.

Not from him.

Art, the guy who always joked around. Who made dumb comments just to lighten the mood. Who got scolded by instructors for being too theatrical. He was always smiling. Always easygoing.

At least, that was the version of him the world chose to see.

But the man in front of her now?

He was not funny. He was not light.

He was a heavy, looming weight pressing down on her chest. His presence suffocating. His mana oppressive. And this wasn't a Rank ★★★. What she was feeling—it went beyond that. The air distorted, warped with the sheer density of what he was holding back.

She couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. Her voice was gone, drowned by the tempest named Art.

He clicked his tongue and stepped back, scoffing. "So pathetic… Can't even speak. And I'm supposed to be some perfect role model for people like you?" He pointed at her like she was filth. "Pathetic worms. Maggots pretending to understand royalty."

His words stung. They were needlessly cruel—but not untrue. That's what made it worse.

Evelyn's nails dug into her palms. Her breath came back as his aura dimmed, just enough for her to glare at him.

"Are you done?" she said, voice shaking, more from indignation than fear. "You really are just a hypocrite, aren't you?"

Art raised an eyebrow.

"All this talk about expectations and perfection, yet here you are throwing a tantrum like a spoiled child. You talk about burden? You've been given everything on a silver platter, and you still spit on it like it's dirt. Maybe try appreciating what you have instead of acting like the world owes you something!"

His grin faltered.

Evelyn stepped forward now, regaining her courage. "You talk like you're the only one allowed to be hurt. But you're not. You're just selfish. A narcissist who wallows in his own misery."

Art's eyes narrowed. His body turned, and he jabbed a finger at her chest.

"Oh? And what about you?" he sneered. "Miss Tragic Love Story? Tell me—did Cassius ever know you loved him?"

Evelyn froze.

"Or did you just hope he'd magically wake up and fall for you? Like this was some trashy romance novel? Because I'm telling you, if you're banking on that—then maybe you should start reading less fiction."

Her eyes widened. "Fuck you! What do you know about love? Have you ever loved anyone?!"

Art's face twisted, not with rage—but something else. A flash of genuine pain flickered behind his cocky smirk.

"You?" she pushed. "You're the one who only cares about himself. Don't pretend you've ever cared for anyone else. You can't love anyone. Not with how you act. Not with how dead you are inside!"

CRACK.

His foot slammed into the ground, and the ground beneath them shattered into spiderweb fractures. A small crater formed at his feet, and the air itself vibrated with pressure.

"Yeah! You're right!" he roared. "I can't love anyone! I'm a fucking playboy, remember? I sleep with girls and ghost them the next day! Because I'm a selfish piece of shit who uses others for entertainment!"

Evelyn staggered back. His mana exploded outward—laced with wrath and grief, raw and untamed.

"You want to know why I'm like this?" His voice broke. "Because the one person I did love—my first and only love—was butchered by my own parents in front of my FUCKING EYES. Slaughtered like a cattle."

He was shaking now. Not just with rage, but with the ache of a wound long buried and never healed.

"For what?" he whispered. "Because she was a commoner? Because she 'distracted' me from perfection? Because she dared to touch the Crown Prince without permission? Because she let me be me for one second…"

He stared at Evelyn, but his gaze was distant—lost in the memory of someone no longer here.

"Do you know what they told me?" he muttered. "They said it was for my own good. That it was necessary. That she was a blemish on my path to the throne."

His voice cracked. "They killed her. The only one who ever saw me as a person."

The air turned still. Like the world held its breath.

"And now I don't give two fucks about them. Yet, I still can't forget the past. It haunts me every single night. Same memories, same expectations and same rage which boils me from within."

He looked at her again, this time with hollow exhaustion.

"So yeah, you're right, Evelyn. I don't know how to love anymore. Because every time I try, all I remember is how it ended. In blood."

His mana began to recede. The trembling of the ground stilled. But the damage was done.

He had said what no one else knew. What only Cassius had ever heard.

And now Evelyn knew too.