I Am The Game's Villain

Chapter 635 635: [Event] [The Beauty And The Beast] [15] Celesteʼs Thoughts

CELESTE

Ever since I was born, Iʼve had these strange, fragmented dreams.

They were hard to describe—disjointed flashes of shadowy figures and distant voices that always felt just out of reach. Like watching a memory that wasnʼt mine, or hearing whispers behind a thick wall. I could never make sense of them, and maybe deep down… I didnʼt really want to.

At first, I brushed them off. They were just dreams, right? Unsettling, yes, but dreams all the same. And yet, sometimes it felt like I was living a second life behind my eyelids—a blurred existence parallel to my own. The strange part was how, no matter how vivid they were in the moment, they slipped away the instant I woke up. Like sand running through my fingers.

Only hazy fragments remained. Nothing solid enough to hold onto. Still, a feeling always lingered—an ache in my chest, a hollow unease—as if something wasnʼt quite right.

I once confided in my mother about it. I still remember her warm smile, the way she gently pulled me into her arms and whispered, ʼYouʼre a blessed child, Celes.ʼ She always said that.

Was she just trying to comfort me? Or… did she know something?

I never pushed her for answers. Maybe I didnʼt want to hear them. It didnʼt matter—because hearing her say those words made me feel safe. In a life where my father was distant and my older brother was consumed by his duties as the heir, she was my anchor.

My mother wasnʼt just my guardian—she was the Prophetess of our people. A figure of reverence. But to me, she was simply ʼmamaʼ, and she always tried to be there for me, no matter how many eyes were watching her or how many people whispered her name with awe. I loved her for that. She was my hero and model.

Which is why it shattered me when Father—his voice trembling, eyes wet with grief—told me I wouldnʼt be seeing her again.

I donʼt remember much after that. Everything blurred. Days bled into weeks. Or maybe it was months. Years?

Time didnʼt move right after that.

Eventually, I accepted it. Or at least, I thought I had. But in that acceptance, something dark took root in me. A bitter seed of hatred—for the Tree of Eden.

The Tree had chosen her. Blessed her. Called her the Prophetess. So why hadnʼt it protected her?

What good was a title if it couldnʼt keep her alive?

They always told stories of the Prophetess and the Apostle—some divine pairing written in fate. And maybe that story wouldʼve sounded beautiful in another life. But not this one. Not to me.

Because in this story, my mother died. She died because she chose to love my father.

She didnʼt deserve any of it.

And if this was the price of being the Prophetess…

Then I wish sheʼd never been chosen at all.

She always told me it was her duty to protect others. To serve the people. To be the guiding light for those who had lost their way.

But I didnʼt care about any of that.

I just wanted her by my side.

Yes, I admired her. I loved how everyone saw her as a hero. But deep down, the selfish part of me only wanted her to be my mother—just mine. I wanted her laughter in the morning and her hugs at night. I wanted her stories, her songs, the way she brushed my hair with a smile that made the world feel safe.

And then, one day, she was just… gone.

It was hard—impossibly hard—to accept it. She had done nothing but good in her life. She had given everything to others. So why… why was she repaid with death?

If Eden truly existed—if our so-called Goddess really watched over us—how could She have allowed this to happen? How could She have let my mother die like that?

I searched for answers, but none came. Just silence. Cold, painful silence.

And then, as if fate wasnʼt done tormenting me, I was told that I would be the next Prophetess.

My grandmother was the one who broke the news. She told me gently, like she was handling something fragile. Said that the Guardian of the Tree had suspected it for a while, and now it was finally confirmed.

I didnʼt feel honored. I didnʼt feel chosen.

All I felt was anger.

It was like the Tree was mocking me. Like it had watched me suffer, only to say, ”Now itʼs your turn.”

Why me?

I asked it again and again in my heart, but the Tree gave no answers. Just like it gave none when my mother cried for help.

So I did the only thing I could: I ignored it. I buried it. Acted like it meant nothing.

I didnʼt want the title. I didnʼt want the blessings or the burden.

I didnʼt want to be anything like her—because if being like her meant dying the way she did, then no part of me wanted it.

I even hoped, foolishly, that the Tree would change its mind. That maybe, just maybe, it would see the hatred in my heart and pass me over.

But nothing changed.

Eventually, I started to understand—this fate of mine couldnʼt be undone, only delayed. One day, the Apostle would be chosen, and when that happened, everything would be sealed. My future. My freedom. My life.

I understood it…

But I refused to accept it.

So I kept living as if I had a choice. I clung to the time I had left.

I had my grandmother, who stayed by my side with soft eyes and warm hands. My father, too, started trying—he spent more time with me and my brother, like he was reaching for something heʼd long ignored. And my brother tried in his own way.

I made friends. Real ones. Friends who made me laugh again, who brought color back into my days. With them, I felt alive. With them, I started to feel like maybe—just maybe—I could carry on.

I began to accept my motherʼs death, not with bitterness, but with the quiet ache of someone who wanted to honor her memory. I smiled for her. I laughed for her. I lived for her.

Every single day, I tried to be happy.

Because I knew that one day, happiness would be taken from me.

So until then… I treasured every fleeting second.

And I felt I couldnʼt feel happier.

But then… he appeared.

Two new students, transferred into our academy—into my class, no less—under the label of ʼrehabilitationʼ. Apparently, they came from a distant kingdom.

Amael Falkrona was one of them.

The name ʼFalkronaʼ rang a distant bell. A noble house of considerable weight… though I admit, I didnʼt fully grasp the depth of that nameʼs power outside Sancta Vedelia. I underestimated it—severely.

What gave me pause, though, wasnʼt the house he hailed from.

It was the rumors.

Before I even saw his face, people were whispering about what heʼd done. The story spread fast: that Amael had killed a royal from his homeland—in cold blood. Executed them without mercy. That he was sent here not as a student, but as an exile. A problem too dangerous to handle within his kingdomʼs borders.

Honestly, I was surprised he hadnʼt been executed on the spot. Any other man would have been. But the name Falkrona must carry more than just legacy—it must carry protection.

With that reputation hanging over him, I expected a monster.

But that wasnʼt what I saw.

Amael didnʼt strike me as a murderer. He didnʼt radiate the kind of raw, simmering malice youʼd expect from someone guilty of treasonous bloodshed. In fact… he was calm. Too calm.

Detached.

There was something about him—something unreadable. Not threatening, exactly. Not violent. Just distant, like he was always holding himself a few steps back from the world. And his friend, John, was no different. The two of them acted more like observers than students, barely interacting with our class unless they had to. They werenʼt interested in fitting in. Not really.

Occasionally, Amaelʼs gaze would flick toward a classmate with what looked like faint curiosity. But it never lasted.

And then came the day I realized he wasnʼt normal.

It happened at the restaurant—an outing that was supposed to be ordinary, mundane. Until Manuel Hylkren showed up.

And Amael stepped in.

That was the first time I saw him act.

He who had so far kept his distance, who had never involved himself in anything, suddenly stood in front of us—of me—and confronted Manuel. There was no hesitation in him, no fear, not even anger.

At first, I thought it was because heʼd found out about me. That I was the Prophetess.

But if that was the case… why go that far? Why put himself in danger against someone like Manuel?

And it didnʼt stop there.

I became curious about him.

I suppose it started with the confrontation at Zestel, but it didnʼt stop there. The more I watched him, the more questions I had. Who was he, really? Why did someone like him—someone who could act so decisively—choose to remain so detached the rest of the time?

Eventually, I asked Grandma about him. She always seemed to know more than she let on.

She told me the truth.

The man Amael killed in his Kingdom wasnʼt some innocent noble. He was a traitor. Someone responsible for the death of Amaelʼs sister.

That revelation hit me harder than I expected.

Iʼve lost someone I love too. But Amael… he lost everything. His sister. His status. His place in the world. Even his freedom. Heʼd been imprisoned before being sent here—to a foreign land, to live a life not of his choosing.

And yet… here he was. Still standing.

I thought I understood him then. A little, at least.

But even so, there were things I couldnʼt reconcile. Like the way he remained so detached—even when something was unfolding right in front of him. Even when someone was suffering.

I tried to be patient. I reminded myself not to expect too much from someone like him, someone who had already carried more grief than most of us could understand.

But I couldnʼt help it.

When Alicia was struggling with Adrian—when that moment turned tense and dark and ugly—Amael just stood there.

And then he walked away.

He walked away.

And that… that made me angry.

I didnʼt understand why it bothered me so much. Maybe I had started to expect something from him. Maybe I had built up this idea in my mind—of the boy who had killed a royal to avenge his sister, who had stepped in for me against Manuel Hylkren. Someone who acted when it mattered.

But when he turned his back on Alicia, I felt… disappointed. Deeply.

I confronted him. I may have spoken too harshly. Part of me knew it wasnʼt fair, that I didnʼt know the full story. That I couldnʼt possibly understand what he carried yet sometimes I felt like I could and I knew where he was coming from.

He told me he didnʼt know Alicia. That it wasnʼt his problem.

And maybe, logically, he was right. But emotionally?

It felt wrong.

Because Alicia could have been anyone. Anyone important. Anyone precious. The fact that she wasnʼt—yet—shouldnʼt have mattered.

So yes, I was disappointed. I had wanted to see again the side of him I saw when he stood against Manuel.

But right after…

It was like something had snapped inside him after that day. As if whatever restraint heʼd been holding onto had crumbled. He started moving differently in the academy—less invisible, more active. Bold.

He challenged people. Not just anyone, but students from the Great Houses.

He faced Adrian, beat down Allen. Threatened Alvara. And the way he did it—it wasnʼt reckless. It was deliberate.

I donʼt think anyone had ever stood up to Alvara like that and lived to tell the tale. Maybe Elizabeth, once, a year ago… but even she hadnʼt dared to look that smug about it.

Amael did.

There was something unique about him. Something I didnʼt understand.

And somehow, I couldnʼt look away.