I Am The Game's Villain Chapter 635 635: [Event] [The Beauty And The Beast] [15] Cel

CELESTE

Ever since I was born, I've had these strange, fragnted dreams.

They were hard to describe—disjointed flashes of shadowy figures and distant voices that always felt just out of reach. Like watching a mory that wasn't mine, or hearing whispers behind a thick wall. I could never make sense of them, and maybe deep down… I didn't really want to.

At first, I brushed them off. They were just dreams, right? Unsettling, yes, but dreams all the sa. And yet, sotis 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 mont, they slipped away the instant I woke up. Like sand running through my fingers.

Only hazy fragnts remained. Nothing solid enough to hold onto. Still, a feeling always lingered—an ache in my chest, a hollow unease—as if sothing wasn't quite right.

I once confided in my mother about it. I still rember her warm smile, the way she gently pulled into her arms and whispered, 'You're a blessed child, Celes.' She always said that.

Was she just trying to comfort ? Or… did she know sothing?

I never pushed her for answers. Maybe I didn't want to hear them. It didn't matter—because hearing her say those words made feel safe. In a life where my father was distant and my older brother was consud by his duties as the heir, she was my anchor.

My mother wasn't just my guardian—she was the Prophetess of our people. A figure of reverence. But to , she was simply 'mama', and she always tried to be there for , no matter how many eyes were watching her or how many people whispered her na with awe. I loved her for that. She was my hero and model.

Which is why it shattered when Father—his voice trembling, eyes wet with grief—told I wouldn't be seeing her again.

I don't rember much after that. Everything blurred. Days bled into weeks. Or maybe it was months. Years?

Ti didn't move right after that.

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

The Tree had chosen her. Blessed her. Called her the Prophetess. So why hadn't it protected her?

What good was a title if it couldn't keep her alive?

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

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

She didn't deserve any of it.

And if this was the price of being the Prophetess…

Then I wish she'd never been chosen at all.

She always told 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 didn't 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 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 ca. Just silence. Cold, painful silence.

And then, as if fate wasn't done tornting , I was told that I would be the next Prophetess.

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

I didn't feel honored. I didn't feel chosen.

All I felt was anger.

It was like the Tree was mocking . Like it had watched suffer, only to say, "Now it's your turn."

Why ?

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 ant nothing.

I didn't want the title. I didn't want the blessings or the burden.

I didn't want to be anything like her—because if being like her ant dying the way she did, then no part of 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 over.

But nothing changed.

Eventually, I started to understand—this fate of mine couldn't 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 ti 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 ti with and my brother, like he was reaching for sothing he'd long ignored. And my brother tried in his own way.

I made friends. Real ones. Friends who made 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 mother's death, not with bitterness, but with the quiet ache of soone who wanted to honor her mory. 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 .

So until then… I treasured every fleeting second.

And I felt I couldn't feel happier.

But then… he appeared.

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

Amael Falkrona was one of them.

The na 'Falkrona' rang a distant bell. A noble house of considerable weight… though I admit, I didn't fully grasp the depth of that na's power outside Sancta Vedelia. I underestimated it—severely.

What gave pause, though, wasn't the house he hailed from.

It was the rumors.

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

Honestly, I was surprised he hadn't been executed on the spot. Any other man would have been. But the na Falkrona must carry more than just legacy—it must carry protection.

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

But that wasn't what I saw.

Amael didn't strike as a murderer. He didn't radiate the kind of raw, simring malice you'd expect from soone guilty of treasonous bloodshed. In fact… he was calm. Too calm.

Detached.

There was sothing about him—sothing 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 weren't interested in fitting in. Not really.

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

And then ca the day I realized he wasn't 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 ti 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 —and confronted Manuel. There was no hesitation in him, no fear, not even anger.

At first, I thought it was because he'd found out about . That I was the Prophetess.

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

And it didn't stop there.

I beca curious about him.

I suppose it started with the confrontation at Zestel, but it didn't stop there. The more I watched him, the more questions I had. Who was he, really? Why did soone like him—soone who could act so decisively—choose to remain so detached the rest of the ti?

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

She told the truth.

The man Amael killed in his Kingdom wasn't so innocent noble. He was a traitor. Soone responsible for the death of Amael's sister.

That revelation hit harder than I expected.

I've lost soone I love too. But Amael… he lost everything. His sister. His status. His place in the world. Even his freedom. He'd 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 couldn't reconcile. Like the way he remained so detached—even when sothing was unfolding right in front of him. Even when soone was suffering.

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

But I couldn't help it.

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

And then he walked away.

He walked away.

And that… that made angry.

I didn't understand why it bothered so much. Maybe I had started to expect sothing 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 against Manuel Hylkren. Soone 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 knew it wasn't fair, that I didn't know the full story. That I couldn't possibly understand what he carried yet sotis I felt like I could and I knew where he was coming from.

He told he didn't know Alicia. That it wasn't 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 wasn't—yet—shouldn't 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 sothing had snapped inside him after that day. As if whatever restraint he'd 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 wasn't reckless. It was deliberate.

I don't 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 hadn't dared to look that smug about it.

Amael did.

There was sothing unique about him. Sothing I didn't understand.

And sohow, I couldn't look away.