The corridor of the mansion felt far too quiet.
My footsteps echoed softly across the long marble floor, as if every small sound was being reflected back by the tall stone walls.
The afternoon sunlight poured through the large windows lining the hallway, casting long streaks of light across the ground.
The maid who had brought me tea earlier walked a few steps behind me.
She hadn't spoken again since I decided to visit my mother.
I hadn't said anything either.
Honestly, I didn't even know what I was supposed to say.
My mother.
The word felt strange inside my head.
Lucien Valtheris did have a mother. That was a fact I had only learned a few minutes ago. But that fact felt… distant. Like something I had read in a book rather than something that truly belonged to me.
We stopped in front of a large door at the end of the corridor.
Dark wood, carved with intricate floral patterns.
The maid lowered her head slightly.
"Lady Valtheris is inside, Young Master."
I gave a small nod.
My hand touched the door handle.
Cold.
For a moment, I simply stood there.
For some reason, a strange question surfaced in my mind.
What was I supposed to feel right now?
Worried?
Afraid?
Sad?
My mother... or more accurately, the mother of this body was slowly dying.
A normal person should feel something.
But all I felt was… silence.
I pushed the door open.
The room was much brighter than I had expected.
Thin white curtains swayed gently in the breeze from the open window. The soft glow of the afternoon sun fell upon the large bed in the center of the room.
And on that bed…
A woman was sleeping.
Her long silver hair just like mine right now spread across the white pillow. Her face was pale, yet still gentle. She looked to be somewhere around thirty-five or forty.
Beside the bed stood an old man wearing a white robe. He turned when I entered.
"Young Master."
I nodded slightly.
"How is her condition?"
The doctor hesitated before answering.
"It hasn't changed much since this morning."
I walked closer.
Each step felt strange, as if I were approaching someone who should have been extremely important to me… yet was actually no one at all.
I stopped beside the bed.
And finally saw her face clearly.
She looked very peaceful.
As if she were simply taking a long afternoon nap.
Her chest rose and fell slowly.
She was still breathing.
But her skin was far too pale.
I waited for something to happen inside me.
Anything.
But nothing came.
No sadness.
No fear.
No panic.
Only… emptiness.
I stared at her face for a long time.
Then a thought surfaced in my mind.
So... this is my mother.
The thought felt flat.
There was no emotion in it.
I frowned slightly.
Strange.
Very strange.
If someone saw their own mother in a state like this, they should react somehow. Even the coldest person might feel something.
But I didn't.
That feeling… simply wasn't there.
It was as if an invisible distance existed between me and this woman.
I pulled a chair beside the bed and sat down.
The doctor finally spoke quietly.
"Young Master, if you need anything—"
"I'm fine."
He nodded and left the room with the maid.
The door closed softly behind them.
The room became silent.
Only the wind moving the curtains could be heard.
I sat there.
Staring at the woman who was supposed to be my mother.
And trying to understand one simple thing.
Why did I feel nothing?
Maybe because she wasn't my mother.
The thought came naturally.
This woman was Lucien's mother.
Not mine.
Because My real mother is… i don't understand...
I slowly closed my eyes.
And old memories began to surface.
Our house used to be small.
Not small in the sense of a cozy home.
More like… cramped.
The walls were thin.
The paint was peeling.
And almost every night…
I heard them arguing.
My mother always shouted.
"Even God hates me!"
It was a sentence she repeated often.
Whenever something bad happened.
Whenever my father came home without enough money.
Whenever the electricity was close to being cut off.
Whenever life felt too heavy.
She would stare at the ceiling and scream,
"Why do I have to suffer through all of this?!"
I was still young back then.
I didn't understand anything.
The only thing I knew is Our house was never peaceful.
My father rarely spoke.
He would sit in the old chair in the living room, rubbing his temples whenever my mother started yelling.
Sometimes he tried to calm her down.
Sometimes he tried to explain things.
Sometimes he just stayed silent.
But no matter what he did, the arguments never stopped.
My little sister cried often.
She was still too young to understand what was happening.
Every night she would come to my room.
Tugging at the edge of my shirt.
"Big brother… they're fighting again."
I would always nod.
She would sit beside me, hugging her pillow.
Crying quietly.
Her small sobs were often drowned out by the shouting from the living room.
Sometimes I tried to cover her ears.
Sometimes I simply sat there in silence.
Because honestly…
I didn't know what to do either.
Then there was my older brother.
He was the eldest.
He rarely came home.
Whenever he was around, the atmosphere always felt tense.
He never liked our mother.
Maybe because he had watched all of this longer than any of us.
The arguments.
The shouting.
The crying.
One night…
I remember that night very clearly.
It was raining heavily.
And their argument was worse than usual.
My mother screamed louder.
My father finally shouted back.
My little sister cried in my room.
And my older brother stood in the middle of the living room.
Just Silent.
Completely silent.
I didn't know what he was thinking.
I only remember one thing.
Suddenly everything became quiet.
Truly quiet.
There were no more screams.
No more crying.
Only the sound of rain outside.
I stepped out of my room.
And saw something I would never forget.
My mother was lying on the floor.
And my older brother stood beside her.
A kitchen knife still in his hand.
I didn't understand it back then, but he was crying. I know he cry because he is sad. But the thing that i don't understand is he is smiled while cry, very big smile. Like someone who had just woken up from a nightmare.
My little sister began to scream.
My father simply stood there.
For a long time.
Then he slowly walked toward my brother.
Took the knife from his hand.
And said calmly,
"Go to your room."
I never knew why he said that.
Maybe he wanted to protect us.
Maybe he had already given up.
The police came that night.
And in the end…
My father was the one who went to prison.
Not my brother.
I never knew how he explained everything.
I only knew one thing.
After that night…
our family never truly existed anymore.
I don't remember the details very clearly.
Maybe I forgot them on purpose.
Maybe I wanted to forget them.
But I couldn't.
I still remember how I felt that night.
When I saw my mother's lifeless body on the floor. Blood staining her clothes.
That feeling…
It was exactly the same as now.
A feeling I couldn't understand.
Because I simply didn't know how I was supposed to respond.
I didn't feel anything because I wanted to.
I felt nothing because I didn't know what I was supposed to feel.
I opened my eyes.
The quiet mansion room appeared before me again. The woman on the bed was still breathing slowly.
I looked at her once more.
And a strange realization surfaced.
My old family was broken.
Completely broken.
And yet somehow…
compared to this family…
they felt far more alive.
In my old house there were tears.
There were screams.
There was hatred.
There was pain.
But here…
there was only silence.
I stared at the woman for a long time.
"Mother… huh."
The word left my mouth without emotion.
I waited again.
Maybe now I would feel something.
But still nothing came.
And for the first time since waking up in this world…
fear appeared inside me.
Not because of the system.
Not because of the death it promised.
But because of one simple question.
Am I still the same person?
If someone could watch their own mother slowly dying and feel absolutely nothing…
then something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
I lowered my head slightly.
My hand touched hers.
Warm.
Still alive.
For a moment, a thought crossed my mind.
What if she really was my mother?
What if I had simply forgotten?
What if Lucien's memories were somewhere inside my head?
But the more I thought about it…
the clearer the answer became.
This woman wasn't my mother.
And I wasn't Lucien.
So then…
who am I now?
I looked at her face once again.
Then a cold thought surfaced in my mind.
If the system said I had to hide the truth about her death…
then maybe…
the real Lucien had something to do with it.
I looked down at my own hands.
These hands.
This body.
Maybe…
it had already done something I wasn't even allowed to know about.
The room fell silent again.
The curtains continued to sway softly.
Her breathing grew weaker.
And I sat beside the bed of someone who was supposed to be my mother…
while realizing something far more disturbing.
I didn't know who I was.
I didn't know who Lucien was.
And I didn't even know…
if I truly wanted to learn the answer.
I hadn't changed.
Even though my world had changed.
I was still the same person I used to be.
A coward.
Someone who gives up easily.
And someone who knows nothing.