Chapter 34: The Truth of the Prophetic Dream

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【Right now, I’m just so, so heartbroken.】

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【I loved you so much, so why did you do those things?】

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【You’ve changed.】

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【That’s why... I have no choice but to purify you with my love.】

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【Don’t worry. I still have so, so much love to give.】

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【So take it. Accept my love.】

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【Young Master Muen.】

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Inhale... exhale...

Muen jolted awake from the nightmare, gasping for air like a fish that had been tossed onto shore by the tide.

“Was that... another dream?”

“No. That was the prophetic dream.”

“And the person in the dream... they looked clearer this time. She looked like...”

“Who was it...?”

Muen shook his head hard, trying to remember. It felt like he was just one step away from identifying the person who had torn him to pieces in that prophetic vision. One step—but it always slipped just beyond reach.

“Damn it... my head’s killing me.”

As he struggled to think, sharp pain stabbed through the back of his skull, dragging pieces of memory along with it.

“That’s right... what happened earlier...”

“I remember. Anne tried to drug me.”

“But I saw through it.”

“And then... she didn’t hold back. She went straight for violence... knocked me out cold?”

The splitting headache and the disjointed flood of returning memory had Muen drenched in cold sweat. Instinctively, he curled his limbs and tried to struggle.

Clang!

A sharp metallic scraping cut through the air. His body jerked—unsuccessfully. Pain flared in his wrists and ankles.

“What the hell...”

Muen looked down at his body.

Cold, heavy shackles clamped around his wrists and ankles, robbing him of what little mobility he had. His arms were stretched outward in the shape of a cross, as though he were being crucified.

Thankfully—if one could call it that—whoever bound him had at least left him enough slack to sit fully on the floor. The position was uncomfortable, but not outright torture.

“...But being imprisoned is torture, what the hell!”

He rattled the chains, his voice rising with rage.

“Who the hell did this?! Let me go! Do you even know who I am?!”

“Ara~ Young Master, you’re awake.”

A familiar voice spoke gently from in front of him.

“Seeing you still so full of spirit... what a relief.”

“You... Anne?”

Muen looked up. Anne stood there in her maid uniform, posture impeccable, expression serene.

And with that one look—

Betrayal. Anguish. Fury.

All of it came crashing back into Muen’s chest like a tidal wave, making his restrained body tremble harder.

“Why are you doing this, Anne?!”

“Why did you betray me? Why the hell did you lock me up?!”

“Were you brainwashed? Were you some kind of spy planted in the Ducal House all along?!”

“Betrayal? Brainwashed? A spy?”

Anne tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing in visible confusion.

“What are you talking about, Young Master Muen? How could I ever betray you? I’m your loyal, faithful personal maid.”

“Loyal my ass! What kind of ‘faithful maid’ drugs her own Young Master and chains him up like this?!”

“I already explained, didn’t I? There was no other choice. If only you hadn’t been so clever, if you’d just obediently drunk the red tea, none of this pain would’ve been necessary.”

“So instead I get drugged and imprisoned?” Muen scoffed bitterly.

“Mhm. More or less. But everything you guessed just now—betrayal, brainwashing, being a spy—none of that is true.”

“I’ve always been your personal maid, ever since you were eight. Ten years now. I exist for your sake, Young Master.”

“Then why—WHY?!”

“Ah, you’ve already forgotten what I said, haven’t you?”

“What are you talking about?!”

“Just before I knocked you out...”

Anne suddenly dropped into a kneeling position in front of Muen. Her soft body leaned close, wrapping him in an affectionate embrace.

A faint floral fragrance wafted over him. Her touch was intoxicatingly gentle. For a split second, Muen’s mind blanked.

She leaned into his ear and whispered with warm breath,

“I said everything I’m doing... is to pull you back onto the right path.”

“The... right path?”

“Of course~”

Slrp—

Anne suddenly licked his cheek.

The warm, wet texture of it sent a jolt through him. He reflexively tried to jerk away—but with shackles binding him and a wall at his back, where could he even go?

“Of course, the ‘right path’ means... having you belong to me, forever and ever, completely and utterly.

From the inside out. From head to toe. Every inch of your flesh, every drop of blood, every strand of hair, every trace of scent—all of it mine.”

A blush bloomed on her otherwise composed face, as if she were a bashful girl confessing to her crush.

But the words she spoke had nothing sweet about them.

“What—”

Muen’s mind went blank again.

Too much. Too fast. Too intense.

His brain just couldn’t keep up with the onslaught.

Then that same faint floral scent drifted into his nose again.

It snapped him out of it.

And he wished it hadn’t.

Because now he remembered. That scent.

“Why... why didn’t I realize it sooner?”

In that prophetic dream, the one where he was sliced to pieces—the attacker’s face and ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) voice had been obscured by some strange fog.

But one thing had been unmistakably clear.

That ever-present, inexplicable floral fragrance that clung to her.

And that very same scent... was the one surrounding Anne right now.

Exactly the same.

With growing dread, Muen slowly turned his head to look at Anne, now practically pressed against him.

Anne, always composed and refined in public, was now tightly hugging him, inhaling his scent with rapturous delight—licking his cheek or neck now and then, each time sighing with bliss like she was savoring a gourmet delicacy.

The flush on her cheeks hadn't faded for even a moment.

And finally, Muen recognized the emotion she'd been leaking from behind her carefully guarded eyes all along.

—Possessiveness.

Bottomless, ravenous, devouring possessiveness—like a bottomless abyss.

“So... this is it.”

“The truth behind the Black Book’s prophetic dream...”

“Anne... the personal maid who’s been with me day and night all these years...

She’s a fucking yandere?”

The realization made Muen’s teeth chatter.

Sure, there were people out there who liked yandere characters in novels or anime.

But liking to watch and being trapped by one in real life?

Completely different things.

Especially the ultimate kind—the type that knocks you out and chains you up at the slightest whim? That kind of yandere could literally kill you.

Hell, even Makoto Itou’s head was still floating somewhere above.

“No, no, this is so wrong!”

“Isn’t this kind of yandere plotline supposed to happen to the protagonist?!”

“I’m just a measly yellow-haired villain! What the hell did I do to deserve this?!”

“Where’s the protagonist?! Where the hell is she?! Get over here and save me already!”