“It would be better to quickly understand how Winter Castle works. If you want to survive.”
“Since it is a child brought by the Duke, it will soon show a sharp and cruel appearance even if you do not tell it.”
These were phrases that echoed in my mind, words often used to describe the infamous Bellato family. The handsome man before me, with a sharp gaze that reminded me of a honed blade, was strikingly similar to Bellato, a character I deeply admired from my favorite novel. And those very lines were uttered by none other than Heron Bellato himself during his first encounter with his newly adopted daughter, Viola.
‘This must be a dream, right?’
The thought felt natural, almost comforting. It had to be a dream because I always felt a pang of regret while reading the novel, [Novel Title Redacted for Keyword Focus]. In the story, Viola Bellato’s ultimate ambition was to seize control of the Bellato duchy.
Through sheer talent and unwavering determination, Viola indeed rose to power. Yet, as a reader, I never sensed happiness in her triumph. Viola, the ruler, was successful, but Viola, the person, seemed isolated and profoundly lonely.
Towards the novel’s conclusion, she murmured a line that always resonated with me:
“I got the Bellato I yearned for so much. But I have lost everything except Bellato.”
As a devoted reader, that ending always left me wanting more, yearning for a different path for Viola. If I were in her shoes, I often imagined, I would have navigated things differently. Lost in these thoughts, it seemed I had drifted into a dream, a dream where I was now Viola.
And so, I decided to stay and see where this dream would lead.
This moment, I realized, had to be the very beginning of the prologue of [Novel Title Redacted for Keyword Focus]. The pivotal day when Heron Bellato, the formidable Duke of Winter Castle, brought Viola, abandoned in the slums, into his world. This point in the narrative marked the prologue’s opening scene.
Duke Heron’s reasons for adopting Viola were singular and pragmatic. He recognized her innate talent as a ‘killer’ at a glance. In the original scene, the Duke would speak, and Viola, a mere seven-year-old, would simply stand silently, overwhelmed.
But I, as a reader deeply familiar with this novel, knew this part intimately.
The opening, the very first impression, is always crucial, isn’t it?
‘Since it’s just a dream anyway…’
I resolved to act as I wished, to deviate from the predetermined script.
“Are you my father now?”
Duke Heron, who was striding down the hallway, halted abruptly at my question. The man beside him also flinched, his refined appearance suggesting he was Carlton, the duchy’s general butler.
‘My dream father,’ I mused.
Duke Heron responded in his characteristically dry, emotionless voice.
“It will be so.”
The Duke’s adoption of me was solely due to my perceived talent for assassination. He believed that possessing such an aptitude, I could serve as a valuable, albeit disposable, stimulus for Bellato’s direct heirs. In essence, I was brought here as a strategic pawn, intended to be used and discarded. However, Viola, the protagonist, was destined for more. With her protagonist-level abilities, she was meant to overcome every obstacle and ascend as the successor. This journey, of course, was paved with immense crises and trials.
⌠“Have I ever been in your family, even once?”
“You grew up to be a great Bellato. But you’re saying things that don’t fit in this family.”
“Yes. It doesn’t suit me.”⌡
Yet, Han Arin, the reader, knew the hidden truth. Viola yearned to be acknowledged as family, truly belonging.
Not just Viola Bellato, the ruthless heir. She longed to be Viola Bellato, his daughter.
Ultimately, that unspoken wish remained unfulfilled. Viola, in the original narrative, ends up killing Heron and seizing the throne of Bellato. Many readers, I recalled, were infuriated by this turn of events, abandoning the novel at this point, unaware of the intricate backstory that lay beyond.
But I, now in Viola’s shoes in this dream, decided to pose a question to my dream father, Heron.
“I’ve heard a lot about Bellato.”
“How did you hear?” He inquired, his gaze sharp and assessing.
“It’s a well-known family name. They say it’s a family built on reason and rationality, so why didn’t you give me the right to choose my father? For it to be truly Bellato-like, you should have allowed me to make my own choice.”
Carlton, the butler, visibly stiffened, attempting to interject.
“Princess, perhaps?”
He seemed poised to remind me of my newfound status, to instruct me on proper conduct befitting a Bellato princess, a being qualitatively different from the slum child I once was.
But I understood Duke Heron. He was precisely the type of character who would find this provocative question intriguing, even welcome. My favorite character was indeed this complex!
“You seem to know a great deal about Bellato,” Duke Heron observed, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
“Huh,” I simply responded, a hint of smugness in my tone.
I probably know more about Bellato than Bellato itself, I thought wryly.
“Tell me about the Bellato you know.”
I could answer as if reciting from a memorized script, every detail etched in my mind.
“An ecosystem of the survival of the fittest, where ability dictates everything. A heartless family that even fosters deadly rivalry among siblings. Yet, also the Northern Forest, the unyielding shield protecting humanity from ‘the place where it snows’. An iron-blooded Duke who prioritizes only rational choices and the family’s interests above all else.”
“Good.” A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the Duke’s lips. This was the moment for a light, challenging laugh.
“Given such a thoroughly rational family, why are you questioning why you didn’t grant me a choice and instead acted unilaterally?”
“I understand,” the Duke conceded, his gaze unwavering.
Then, he posed the pivotal question. “Will you be my daughter?”
“Huh. Fine,” I replied with feigned nonchalance.
“The choice was made swiftly,” he remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Huh.”
“The reason being?”
“Because my father is handsome.”
A beat of silence hung in the air. I pressed on, seizing the moment.
“Get it right. It was my choice that we became father and daughter, not yours. The prospective father made a ‘proposition’ to me, and ‘I’ accepted the offer. Right?”
“Okay,” he agreed, a subtle shift in his demeanor.
“I think this will be… fun.”
I could feel Heron Bellato’s intense gaze upon me, sensing a spark of curiosity ignite within those cold eyes. By the way, I wondered fleetingly, when will I wake up from this dream? It wasn’t an unpleasant dream, not at all. But surely, I would wake up soon.
I pressed further, emboldened by the dream-like scenario. “Since I am now the Duke’s daughter, am I qualified to be the successor?”
“Of course.”
“Okay. I’ll make sure you don’t regret bringing me here. And I mean it.”
Not an adopted daughter as a mere sacrifice, not a tool to stimulate others.
“If possible,” I added, a genuine yearning surfacing, “I want you to love me.”
How heartbreaking it was to witness Viola’s journey in the novel. She attained power, becoming ruler, yet ended up utterly alone. Everyone around her was driven by fear, leaving no room for genuine affection.
“Are you going to do that?” I pressed, searching his face.
“…” He remained silent, enigmatic.
“I’ve always wanted to have a family,” I confessed, channeling Viola’s deepest desires. “To have a real father, not just a father in name.”
This is what the Viola Bellato of the prologue would have wished for, I reasoned.
I almost felt like a saint, stepping into the narrative of a beloved novel, poised to rewrite destiny. Wasn’t this the ultimate fanfiction dream come to life? I reveled in the extended duration of this dream. I glanced at the Duke.
Carlton, the general butler, stood by, his expression a mask of bewildered absurdity. It clashed with his impeccably tailored suit, his face etched with faint scars that hinted at a life beyond butlery. His inner thoughts were practically audible.
‘That adopted daughter will not last long.’
It was palpable, his skepticism. But then, Duke Heron actually laughed.
“Funny,” he chuckled, a low, resonant sound.
Duke Heron’s moniker was ‘Duke of a Thousand Kills’, earned from his brutal ascent to power, having reportedly slain a thousand men before claiming the Bellato dukedom.
Suddenly, an overwhelming aura of menace emanated from him, pressing down on me.
Oops!
I involuntarily recoiled, startled. Is this what life inside the novel feels like? A strange tingling sensation coursed through my body, like electric currents. My heart pounded in my chest, and cold sweat prickled my back. This vividness was unsettling. Why is this so real? Why haven’t I woken up yet?
“Try your best to survive,” Duke Heron stated, his voice regaining its chilling dryness. “I will not kill you myself.”
There was an ominous undertone to his words, a chilling promise. An unfamiliar anxiety began to creep in, a sense of unease that transcended the dream-like setting. Why couldn’t I wake up from this dream?
* * *
Heron settled into the desk in his study, lost in contemplation.
‘Interesting.’
His mind replayed his first encounter with Viola. He had discovered her with crimson eyes, clutching a shard of blood-stained glass. In the background, the slave trader who had attempted to abduct her lay lifeless, his neck brutally snapped.
‘Seven years old. And that was the work of a child with no formal training.’
She was like those legendary figures from history books, children born under a ‘killing star’. He had brought her back on a whim, captivated by the sheer anomaly of it all. It was akin to discovering a fascinating creature and confining it to a personal zoo, adopting it for his exclusive observation.
But this child, only seven years old…
‘It’s such a thorough and reasonable family, so why are you questioning why you didn’t grant me a choice and instead acted unilaterally?’
Carlton, the ever-observant butler, broke through his reverie. “Duke, you seem to be in good spirits.”
“It was… amusing,” Heron conceded, a rare hint of something akin to amusement in his voice.
“What do you mean, Duke?” Carlton inquired, intrigued.
“The content of her words was that of an adult far beyond seven years, yet her manner of speaking retained the naivete of a child much younger.”
The sophistication of her vocabulary and reasoning was incongruous with her childish delivery.
“While she claimed to be seven, physically, she appears closer to five. Perhaps malnutrition has severely stunted her growth. Or… she might genuinely be confused about her own age.” Carlton offered a logical explanation.
“Did she strike you as a child confused about her age?” Heron countered, skepticism lacing his tone.
“Not at all, Duke.” Carlton affirmed.
“Her mind, the thoughts she articulated, and the body that voiced them… felt disjointed, disparate.” Heron mused, his analytical mind dissecting the encounter. He was acutely aware of Viola’s, or rather Arin’s, unusual state, yet possession remained outside the realm of his logical considerations.
“Are you suggesting her behavior was… unnatural?” Carlton probed, still seeking a rational explanation.
“Indeed,” Heron affirmed.
Carlton, grounded in pragmatism, still hadn’t considered supernatural explanations like possession. He sought answers in the realm of the tangible and explainable.
“She feigned confidence, but beneath it, she was undeniably nervous, even fearful. Perhaps her… awkwardness stemmed from that underlying tension.” Carlton surmised.
Carlton, continuing his analysis, suddenly had a realization.
‘Ah…!’
In such a state of intense pressure, gripped by fear, she had dared to speak so boldly, so defiantly to Heron himself. It spoke volumes about the little girl’s extraordinary inner fortitude.
‘Remarkable mental fortitude to conquer fear. That aspect of her was… impressive.’
In Carlton’s estimation, Viola had navigated her initial trial within the Bellato household remarkably well. Her somewhat impudent demeanor might have been deemed problematic under different circumstances, but it seemed to have resonated with the Duke.
However, the Duke’s thoughts were veering in a different direction.
‘If you seek affection from me, you are likely courting death.’
Affection, familial warmth, were alien concepts within the brutal landscape of Bellato. No one within their ranks dared to openly seek such things. Yet, Viola was different. She had shamelessly, confidently, demanded to be loved. Crucially, her demand was delivered with confidence, not servility. She was a character unlike any he had encountered before. And… she was diminutive, fragile.
She was unlike his own children, the Bellato heirs. She didn’t appear anywhere near seven years old. So frail, she looked as though she might shatter if he were to enclose her in his hand and apply pressure.
The Duke turned to Carlton, his mind already formulating plans. “Carlton. Realistically, what are the odds, in your estimation, of that child… surviving to adulthood within Bellato?”
Carlton considered the harsh realities of their world, the relentless trials, the internal strife. “I would estimate… less than forty percent, Duke.”
“Indeed,” Heron murmured, unsurprised.
The Duke sank deeper into thought. He possessed an almost preternatural ability to discern sincerity, to see into the hearts of others.
In the novel, it was referred to as ‘the eye of truth’.
And with this innate sense, he had observed Viola, read her core. She held a genuine admiration, even affection, for Heron himself. Her desire to become a part of his family was undeniably real. She was recognizably Viola, yet also a child who behaved as if she had been waiting for him, longing for this moment for an eternity.
Truly, she wasn’t acting. He couldn’t fathom her motivations.
‘Why… do you harbor affection for me?’
When had she even seen him before? It wasn’t mere infatuation; it was something deeper, tinged with longing and a nascent, unexplainable affection. Why?
He was utterly perplexed.
In a realm devoid of familial warmth, Heron Bellato, the ruler of Winter Castle, was profoundly unfamiliar with the sensation of someone harboring positive feelings towards him without ulterior motives.
“Assign Zenon as her personal butler,” Heron instructed, his decision made.
“…Zenon, Duke?” Carlton repeated, a flicker of surprise in his voice.
Zenon was exceptionally capable, far exceeding the typical requirements of a butler. Before fully processing the command, Carlton sought clarification. “You intend Zenon as her permanent butler, not a temporary assignment?”
“Precisely,” Heron affirmed, his word absolute.
“Understood, Duke,” Carlton responded, accepting the directive. Within Bellato, the Duke’s decree was law.
Two days had elapsed since that fateful encounter.
—————————————————————
Translator Note:
Hello!! My, I really liked this story when I read the manga so… I asked Bree and… here we are!! Another story translated by the two of us. We hope you like it!!
Thank you for reading! This is RJR.
Next post will be released on March, 23.
If you like my work please support me on Ko-fi or Patreon.
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