As a child, Charlotte often had dreams of becoming a theatre actress.
But, ironically, she felt like she had been acting her whole life.
Clink—
One evening, not long after their father’s death, Charlotte accidentally dropped her spoon during dinner with Vanitas.
—Just how clumsy are you, Charlotte!?
Startled, Charlotte tried muttering an apology, explaining it was an accident.
But Vanitas wasn’t listening. Instead, he raised his voice at her.
When she couldn’t take it anymore, her frustration boiled over to the point where she unconsciously glared at him.
—Oh? What’s that look for!?
The moment she did so, Vanitas stood abruptly and reached for the table knife.
—What? Do you want to kill me, huh? Is that it!?
Before Charlotte could react, he grabbed her hand, forcing the knife into her grip.
With a chilling calmness, he pressed her hand forward and pointed the blade at his own neck.
—Do it then! Come on! Kill me! You want me dead just like Father, don’t you!?
The word ‘Father’ struck her like a blow.
Her body froze. The knife trembled in her grasp as her heart pounded in her chest.
Her mind screamed for her to pull away, to drop the blade, but her body wouldn’t respond.
Vanitas stared down at her. His cold eyes were devoid of the warmth they once held.
From that day onward, Charlotte pretended.
Every morning, she plastered on a smile. Every day, she told herself she was fine.
She had mastered the art of pretending everything was all right, even when it wasn’t.
Her days became a performance, and she, the reluctant actress in a play she had never wanted to join.
But no matter how much time passed, she could never erase the memory of that terrifying look on his face.
“Nmh….”
Her body twitched, and the vision of his cold, and frightening gaze overlapped with the figure in front of her.
“Charlotte?”
“Nmh?”
Her eyes fluttered open hazily. Slowly, the blurry surroundings focused..
The first thing she saw was Vanitas—not the cruel, terrifying figure of her nightmares, but the one seated beside her.
In contrast to that figure, his expression was soft, concern evident on his face.
“How are you?” he said quietly.
Charlotte blinked, disoriented as her surroundings registered.
She was in a hospital room.
Vanitas was seated in a chair beside her bed, leaning forward slightly.
“How long…,?” she murmured, feeling her throat dry.
“Nine hours,” he replied and handed her a glass of water from the bedside table.
Charlotte took it slowly and brought it to her lips.
“You passed out after casting that spell,” he explained. “The doctors said it was due to severe mana exhaustion. You pushed yourself too far with that single spell.”
“….”
She looked away. Her gaze fell to the white sheets of the hospital bed.
Memories of the battle flashed through her mind—the swirling vortex, the demons disintegrating, and then the blackness that consumed her.
“You stayed?” she asked softly.
Vanitas leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.
“Of course. I wasn’t about to leave you alone after that.”
The sincerity in his words unsettled her, conflicting with the image of the brother she remembered—the one who had berated her for every mistake, who had once forced a knife into her trembling hand.
She looked at him again, searching his face for any trace of that cold, terrifying gaze.
But there was none.
Instead, there was a quiet warmth in his expression, a concern she wasn’t used to.
And then, Charlotte remembered something.
“That circuit….”
“It was for you,” Vanitas replied as if the answer was obvious.
“….Why?” Charlotte asked, confused. “We’re strangers. Why would you do that for me?”
Vanitas didn’t respond immediately, waiting for her to finish.
“You could’ve just left me alone.”
Her voice began rising as the emotions she had buried for so long began to surface.
“You already have everything my brother once had—his position, his status. Everything. You didn’t need to do anything for me.”
Her hands clenched into fists.
“You could’ve just left me alone!” she repeated, the frustration, the hurt, and the exhaustion of years of torment spilling into her words.
Vanitas sat silently for a moment. Despite this Vanitas being an impostor, she still couldn’t read his face.
“I could have. It would have been easier. We’ve made a deal, and the deal only extends that far. I’m not obliged to take care of you.”
Charlotte blinked, startled by the honesty in his tone.
“But I didn’t,” he continued, his gaze meeting hers. “Because I’m not your brother, Charlotte. I’m not here to repeat his mistakes.”
“….”
“I didn’t give you that circuit out of pity,” Vanitas continued. “Or to make up for what he did. I gave it to you because you deserve better than the hand you’ve been dealt.”
Charlotte just stared at him, trying to process his words.
“And as for leaving you alone….” Vanitas gradually stood up from his chair. “If that’s what you really want, I’ll respect it.”
“….”
The room fell silent.
Charlotte didn’t respond immediately.
Just as Vanitas was about to open the door and leave, Charlotte’s mouth parted open.
“….Oppa.”
“….”
Vanitas froze mid-step, his shoulders stiffening. Slowly, he turned around, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“W–What?” he stammered.
For the first time, Charlotte had seen his usual composed demeanor slip, causing her to blink in confusion.
“….You wanted me to call you ‘Oppa,’ right?”
“I was only joking at that time….” his voice trailed off.
“Oppa.”
“….”
Vanitas flinched again, his composure cracking further. It was as if that single word had struck a nerve.
“….Stop that,” he mumbled.
But Charlotte didn’t stop.
“Oppa.”
Vanitas pressed a hand to his temple, his face reddening slightly.
“….You’re doing this on purpose.”
Charlotte tilted her head and watched him closely. For the first time, she saw not the impostor, nor the cold, and terrifying Vanitas Astrea, but someone genuinely flustered.
A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
“I’ll be counting on you from now on, Oppa.”
“….”
Vanitas left the room shortly after, allowing Charlotte to recuperate.
Click—
“Haaa…”
With a long sigh, he closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, rubbing his temples.
Hearing Charlotte call him Oppa had completely caught him off guard.
It was a word he hadn’t properly heard of in so long—not since his little sister had died.
But something about it felt off.
Her pronunciation was wrong. It missed the distinct Korean accent that carried so much meaning for him.
“Hahaha.”
He couldn’t help but stifle a laugh.
Vanitas stared out the window, where the moonlight bathed the hallways.
As he turned around, his gaze landed on a certain student standing there.
“….”
It was Cassandra Myne, Charlotte’s roommate.
“….Professor,” Cassandra whispered, her voice trembling, as if she was on the verge of tears.
Vanitas nodded. “Follow me.”
***
While the first-years kept their distance, isolating themselves from Charlotte, the seniors, who already harbored disdain for Vanitas, were more aggressive in their actions.
They vandalized the dorm room Charlotte shared with Cassandra. It was a clear expression of their frustration.
After all, Charlotte was the little sister of the professor who had failed them the year before.
Some of them even failed two consecutive years.
When Charlotte would take walks around the university grounds, they’d drop trash, food, or liquid on her.
It was a petty way of asserting their resentment.
But Charlotte, trying to ignore it, never fought back or reported it, completely ignoring the harassment.
The seniors were careful, though.
They never crossed the line physically, knowing they could cause trouble for themselves.
After all, Charlotte still came from a Viscount family, and her brother was a Professor at the university.
If Charlotte were to report the harassment, it was likely the offenders would only receive a slap on the wrist.
That, alone, was reason enough for her not to report it. Already accused of nepotism, Charlotte knew that any complaint she made would only fuel the gossip.
She believed that, as long as she didn’t react, the harassment would eventually die down.
If she reported it, the situation might only escalate, and the bullying could continue.
Moreover, Charlotte was reluctant to rely on Vanitas—the impostor. She felt he’d probably brush it off, or worse, ignore it altogether.
At least, that was her conclusion a couple weeks back.
But Cassandra, Charlotte’s roommate and a commoner, had no such protections.
Unable to escalate things directly with Charlotte, the seniors turned their focus to Cassandra, who had the misfortune of being the next closest target.
They realized they couldn’t harm Charlotte directly due to her status.
For that reason, they shifted their cruelty to the one person they could torment without consequence.
“Tell me exactly what they did to you,” Vanitas asked, his voice calm but his brows furrowed.
Cassandra hesitated as her eyes cast downward.
She didn’t plan on speaking about it, but the cruelty had become too much to bear.
She knew she had to tell the professor—the one person who, though unknowingly, was the cause of it all.
“They’ve…. they’ve been spreading rumors,” she began, her voice shaky. “Calling me your…. your sister’s lackey. They’re always sneering at me in the halls, pushing me around when no one’s watching.”
She paused, clasping her hands tightly in her lap.
She didn’t elaborate further exactly what ‘pushing around’ meant, but Vanitas could paint the picture clearly.
“Once, they vandalized our room. Painted ugly words on the walls. Slashed through the curtains. And that wasn’t even the worst of it.”
Vanitas listened calmly, allowing Cassandra to continue.
“They’ve been asking me to do things for them…. Things I didn’t want to do.”
Cassandra’s voice wavered as she looked up, meeting his eyes.
“They asked me to steal Charlotte’s notes. To copy her work. Sabotage her tests. To make her fail.”
Feeling the guilt creeping up on her, her hands trembled slightly as she remembered the request.
“They even wanted me to destroy her magic circles, erase them before she could submit them for evaluation. I—I almost did it.”
Vanitas’s gaze sharpened, his expression darkening. “What stopped you?”
Cassandra’s breath caught, and she looked away, biting her lip. She had never told anyone what had happened that night.
“I was going to do it. I was ready to take those notes and rip it all up. But…”
She faltered, trying to find the right words.
“I realized how late at night Charlotte had been studying recently, and it—it hit me.”
She paused, as though remembering the scene vividly.
“She was so focused, you know? She had papers spread all over her desk, covered in equations. Diagrams. Formulas.”
Cassandra’s voice softened as she recalled how much effort Charlotte put into her studies.
“Every night, she stayed up, scribbling down more and more. And…. I noticed the little things. The way she tried to hide it when she was upset.”
“….”
“There was one night when I couldn’t sleep, and I heard her sobbing. It was muffled, like she was trying not to let me hear.”
Cassandra’s eyes welled with tears as she looked down, remembering the quiet pain Charlotte had been carrying all alone.
“I saw all that…. and I couldn’t bring myself to go through with it. I just couldn’t.”
She shook her head, feeling her heart grow heavy.
“….”
Vanitas was silent for a long moment. He could see the struggle in Cassandra’s eyes.
“Good,” he finally said. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
Cassandra nodded, relief washing over her, but it was tinged with guilt.
“They’ve been threatening me, though,” she whispered. “If I don’t do what they want, they’ll make my life even harder. They’ve made it clear that they’ll go after Charlotte through me.”
Vanitas nodded calmly.
“I’ll make sure they know there are consequences for that kind of behavior,” he said quietly.
Cassandra looked at him, unsure of how to respond, but feeling a sense of safety she hadn’t felt in weeks.
“But—”
Just as Cassandra was about to express her gratitude, Vanitas spoke.
“Are you willing to endure?”