A Villain's Way of Taming Heroines

"Ans..."

His dance partner among the flowers lifted a branch, gently caressing his head.

"You didn't consider indulging in delicious food, nor did you think about chatting with some lovely girls, nor did you plan to engage in any fun activities. How can you be happy?"

Ansel simply responded calmly, "Everyone has their own definition of happiness, Mother."

"So you're saying that even with that sullen expression, you call this happiness?"

Annelisa had already stepped through the puddles to Ansel's side, pulling at the corners of his mouth with a sigh, "This is a ball, Ans, not... a negotiation table."

"There's essentially no difference."

"There is a difference!"

The woman's voice rose slightly, "You should be enjoying good food and drinks, flirting with every charming girl, making them restless at night thinking of you, or proudly showcasing your talents, drawing everyone's attention, or perhaps engaging in some outrageous fun, creating trouble and then coming to me to sort it out... You clearly, you clearly—"

Her voice lowered again, carrying a heartbreaking helplessness in the storm.

A mother's helplessness.

"You are merely... ten years old."

An age that should be carefree and unrestrained.

Not like Ansel, who seeks perfection in everything.

Annelisa embraced Ansel from behind, whispering softly, "Ans, you are not happy at all."

"…I have always been like this, Mother."

Amid the continuous rain, Ansel's voice was also soft, almost ethereal.

"You were never like this."

Annelisa held him tighter, "Even when you used to enjoy studying, you would take time to rest and relax. But what about now? How long has it been since you last practiced archery, went on a trip, or truly relaxed? Even at a ball, you treat it like a negotiation, but it's clearly meant to be a place for fun."

She turned Ansel around, her hands cradling his cheeks, chilled by the raindrops:

"Ans, what is it that makes you so tense, so afraid?"

Ansel looked directly into his mother's eyes, his tone unflinchingly steady, "You are overthinking, Mother."

"Don't try to deceive me."

Annelisa's grip on Ansel's hands tightened slightly, her usually lively and unmotherly demeanor now utterly serene and serious:

"You know, I am your mother."

"Mother." Ansel softly said, "You are overthinking."

He simply repeated his earlier words, calm and indifferent.

"…"

Annelisa stared blankly at those clear, sea-blue eyes, identical to her husband's.

When she took that tiny baby from her husband's hands, exhausted and weak, seeing those small, beautiful eyes, her thought was—so this is my child.

This is the most precious thing in my life.

In the storm, there was only silence between mother and son.

After a long time, Annelisa, who had been silent, gently embraced Ansel and asked:

"Is dancing in the rain happier than dancing there?"

Ansel also gently embraced her, his cheek affectionately pressed against hers, "Yes, Mother."

"That's good…" Annelisa lovingly stroked Ansel's head, "That's good."

Then, she released Ansel, stood up, and her face once again blossomed with her usual lively smile.

"Well, the dance is over; let's go back and take a bath, and then rest well."

Ansel nodded gently, holding his mother's hand as they returned to their home.

At this moment, the rain gradually ceased, and a rainbow hung in the sky after the clearing, as the hand-in-hand mother and son walked towards their home, everything so warm and comforting.

Bang!

The moment the bedroom door closed, young Ansel punched the door panel.

His body collapsed weakly and exhaustedly, then he punched the floor again and again, his perfect face now covered in... hysterical ferocity.

It was confirmed again.

The scenes seen in those memories, like projections, shone into reality, matching everything Ansel saw to the smallest detail.

And such confirmation, Ansel had done too many times.

He actually knew long ago that those memories were the truth, yet he couldn't accept it, repeatedly seeking possibilities to deny it, only to fall deeper into despair each time.

A false world, a fabricated... life.

The boy clutched the expensive carpet tightly, veins bulging on his tender hands.

He even dared not continue to beat the floor, fearing that passing servants might notice something unusual, and could only curl up on the floor like a wounded young beast, trembling all over, emitting low whimpers.

Every day, this happened in Ansel's bedroom every day.

He was almost... just almost unable to resist that breakdown, to tell everything to his mother.

No matter how hard he tried to hide it, no matter how normal he tried to appear, he could never truly escape Annelisa's eyes.

Because she is a mother, a mother who knows her child so well.

However, this is absolutely... absolutely a matter that must remain undisclosed to anyone.

Should my father discover the falsehood of it all... to what depths would his madness escalate?

If the Empress were to learn that everything was orchestrated, what would become of this world?

This is a catastrophe capable of utterly overturning the world, shattering everything into disarray and ruin.

Ansel reminded himself of this, harboring no doubts about its truth.

For they possess the power to alter everything, so when they realize the inherently despairing nature of this world, they will not cower helplessly on the floor as he does, but will instead seek the truth at all costs… personally dismantling everything, annihilating it all.

The divine species are indeed creatures closest to madness.

Thus... the secret must never be disclosed to anyone.

The boy curled up on the floor, his trembling hand smoothing the wrinkled carpet, staggered to his feet, and collapsed onto the bed.

"Mother..."

Enduring a despair unmatched by anyone in this world, and unable to voice it, the boy who could not share his profound despair with anyone, instinctively called out that term, but then forcibly halted himself.

He closed his eyes, his chest heaving, taking deep breaths continuously.

"Only I can..."

He whispered softly, "Only I can… change all this."

Only he, a pure anomaly, possesses both the means and the power to change everything.

There is much to be done; no more time can be wasted proving reality. He must delve deeply into studying these memories, continue to exhaust all efforts to become stronger—not just in power, but in spirit, knowledge, and to fully extract the value of these memories, and most importantly...

"Ansel, you must not show weakness."

Whether it is pain or despair, it can only be vented when alone, hidden in some corner, never letting anyone, especially not his mother or father... perceive any hint of it.

Ansel, you must change everything, you must not show weakness, you must not rely on your father or mother.

The young Hydral, unaware of how to confront that supreme being, told himself this.

A child of merely ten years, at an age when one should rely on their parents, told himself this.

*