The Young Male Protagonist Who is Destined for Ruin Fell for Me - Chapter 134 (FINALE)

Siblings who eyed each other warily, slipping poison into each other’s meals. A maid who met her death after tasting for signs of it. Power struggles among the servants. A father’s roaring command to embrace the role of a beast that would guard the family’s wealth.

Such was the daily life of fifteen-year-old Kylean Chaield.

His vision, once shrouded in darkness, gradually cleared, revealing the outlines of objects before him. At first, they were blurry then, with each blink, they sharpened into focus. Kyle stared at the ceiling in silence.

Last night, though he had no religion, he had clasped his hands together and prayed as he always did.

“Please, let me die painlessly in my sleep. Let me never wake up to face another day in this living hell.”

He never included a subject in his prayers. It didn’t matter who answered them, so long as someone did.

His mother’s face had long since faded from memory. The warmth of another person’s touch, the sound of someone calling his name with affection, the sight of a gentle smile—those were things he had never known.

Kyle had no illusions of love. He merely longed for someone to embrace him. Anyone who would accept him, as he was.

He did not want to face his father again—the man who only ever commanded him to become a beast.

The clashes between them were not even clashes in the true sense. They were nothing but one-sided beatings.

“I don’t expect love—just let me end this.”

At fifteen, Kylean Chaield saw only one path to salvation—death.

Yet he lacked the resolve to take his own life. It wasn’t a matter of fear or courage.

“What if I fail?”

His father was a man who would never allow a stain on Chaield’s name. A man so obsessed with perfection that he would cut out the rot at the mere sign of weakness.

If his father learned that his own son had attempted suicide, he would bind him head to toe and lock him away in the attic. That much was certain.

Kyle could not risk even the possibility of failure.

His grim thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Lord Kylean, the Duke has sent your meal and attire. He asks that you join him in the lobby within the hour.”

“…Understood.”

Hilde Wale’s gaze, as he looked upon Kyle, was tinged with something close to sorrow.

His father often sneered that pity and compassion were cheap and worthless emotions. But Kyle disagreed.

Through Hilde’s gaze, he measured himself.

He could recognize his own worth—because someone pitied him.

Because this treatment was unjust.

Because he should not have to live this way.

Caging wild beasts together, forcing them to fight, and calling it nurturing—that was wrong.

Each time Hilde looked at him with quiet regret, it reminded him of that truth.

But knowing it doesn’t change anything.

Kyle quickly finished his meal and changed into the clothes provided.

The boy in the mirror bore little resemblance to the youngest son of one of the empire’s most powerful noble houses.

He looked more like a carefully dressed-up mannequin.

His hair was never unkempt, his face never dirty. He was maintained not as a person, but as a display piece—polished and groomed to meet a standard.

“I don’t want to go.”

But even as he thought this, his feet carried him forward.

By the time he arrived, his brothers were already standing in perfect formation.

Taking his place at the farthest end, Kyle looked upon his father’s back—a silhouette as immovable as the grand columns of a temple.

Before the man lay a massive emblem of Chaield.

His father stood before it as if he belonged to it. As if he were merely part of the insignia itself.

“Tell me what stands before you.”

A voice weighted like stone. A command that pressed against their very bones.

The other sons, brilliant in their cunning, waxed poetic about the grandeur of their house’s crest.

At last, it was Kyle’s turn.

He answered, his voice dry, hollow.

“It is your reflection… and my future.”

That answer pleased the Duke greatly.

The man ran a hand along the wall, pressing upon a hidden panel.

A massive door, once concealed, rumbled open.

“Only one of you will step into this chamber. Only one will inherit Arete, and with it—everything that belongs to Chaield.”

The war of succession had begun.

One of his brothers was dead. An assassination, though officially deemed an accident.

Screams echoed through the halls more frequently now.

Kyle made sure that his screams would never be among them.

He pushed himself beyond his limits—honing his body, sharpening his mind.

But exhaustion settled deep into his bones.

Then, one night—a warning, made manifest.

A brother stood before him, dagger in hand.

Kyle survived.

Barely.

But he learned, then, that he had been foolishly naive.

Clutching the wound at his hip—one that refused to close—he realized how absurd it had been to ever believe he could coexist with his siblings.

Murdering them was beneath him.

But taking his own life was not an option.

And so, he found a compromise.

He withdrew.

And slowly, he let himself waste away.

He would die not by blade nor poison—but starvation.

That was the plan.

Until—

A voice.

Warm.

Gentle.

“My lord, you must be hungry.”

“Ah…”

“Lord Kylean, for the sake of Chaield, you must survive. If you wish, I will help you.”

“Why… why would you—?”

“For Chaield.”

Days later, his father and brothers lay dead.

Massacre.

A coup executed with terrifying precision.

The night before the mass funeral, Kyle once again stood in the grand lobby.

The sigil of Chaield still loomed before him.

The beast it bore—majestic, proud—stood with one paw raised.

Kyle was the only son left standing.

And the maid who had aided him?

She had not asked for a single reward.

She did not demand a title.

She did not grasp for power.

She simply remained, quiet.

Satisfied.

“Young Master, you are required to enter the Chamber of Succession. Please use the formless Arete crystal designed for the Lord of Chaield.”

“…….”

Kyle silently stepped into the chamber. He could see the intangible power that flickered in the air, a manifestation of Chaield’s exclusive trade in Arete crystals.

Closing his eyes, he took a slow breath, letting the gaseous substance seep deep into his lungs. As he exhaled the lukewarm air, a shiver like electricity coursed through his entire body.

“Your Grace, you have now been granted Arete. What was the power you desired the most?”

Kyle did not answer the maid who had assisted him. Instead, he returned to his room, locked the door, and drew the curtains. Then, gripping a dagger, he struck his own hand.

Kakang—!

It was as if he had stabbed solid rock.

“Why… Why!”

Kyle brought the dagger down again and again, but each time, the force intended for self-harm only activated Arete more strongly.

Protection.

The power he had been granted was the ability to protect.

The realization that his Arete had manifested as the very thing his father had relentlessly drilled into him made him feel sick.

Kyle retched violently, emptying even the bile from his stomach, yet the disgust within him did not abate.

“What… was it that I wanted to protect so badly…?”

He had thought the war of succession was finally over. But his subconscious, still trapped in days filled with screams and terror, was cowering in fear.

It was a contradiction. He had believed he longed for death, for salvation—yet the power bestowed upon him was defense. The irony of it was unbearable.

“I came this far, only for my deepest desire to be… this?”

That night, the day he was granted Arete, Kyle struck his own wrist over and over until the dagger’s blade warped.

And he made a vow.

Until he understood why he had been given the power of protection, he would never use Arete.

And if, after a long, long time, he still could not find an answer—then he would let Chaield fall with him.

That resolve was never fulfilled.

Because by chance, he met her.

The storm outside raged violently. It was the monsoon season.

Amel was less concerned about the rattling window than about Kyle, who was tossing and turning in his sleep, groaning softly.

“He must be having a bad dream again.”

Most of his nightmares stemmed from his grim past. Unfortunately, Amel had no power to rewrite history and make those memories beautiful.

But the present—that, she could fill with as much happiness as possible.

After all, in her arms, she held their three-year-old daughter, Eclit, and their two-year-old twin sons.

“Eclit, Cassiel, Callisto. Daddy seems to be having a bad dream. Should we help wake him up?”

“Yes!”

“Ababa!”

“Ukyah!”

Eclit toddled over and plopped down onto Kyle’s chest. Amel placed the twins carefully on his shoulders.

He grimaced as though struggling to breathe, then suddenly his eyes snapped open.

A dream from long ago surfaced in his mind—the one where he had first sensed Eclit’s presence before she was even born.

Eclit tousled his hair playfully, then asked in her bright voice,

“Daddy, did you have a bad dream?”

“A bad and painful one.”

“Huung…”

Kyle had hoped she would kiss him to make it better, but instead, she—believing that bad dreams came from headaches—started tapping his forehead with her tiny hand.

Amel couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. Meanwhile, their sons, oblivious to their father’s torment, were busy sucking on his shirt.

Receiving no proper comfort for his nightmare, Kyle looked to Amel.

She knew.

She knew she was the cure.

Gently, she lifted Cassiel off his hand and interlaced her fingers with his.

“The children and I will always be here with you, Kyle. Our husband is the most reliable man in the world.”

The moment her lips brushed against his hand, Kyle experienced something strange.

The echoes of his past, the screams that had tormented him mere moments ago, became muffled—like distant sounds heard from underwater.

A slow smile formed on his lips.

For the first time, the scars of the past, carved deep into his very bones, seemed to whisper their answer.

“What was it that I wanted to protect so badly…?”

He had wanted to protect himself.

The version of himself who might one day meet love.

Who might love and be loved in return.

“I don’t expect love—just let me end this.”

Yet, in his arms, were the very things he was meant to protect.

Once, he had cursed his power—the power to protect. But now, as he held his to cherish, it felt like a blessing.

And finally, the belief he had once clung to shattered completely.

“Death is the only salvation for me.”

Kyle wanted to reach into the past and embrace his younger self.

If only he could, he would tell that child, broken and longing, the truth:

“Salvation was never a singular path.”

It had always been her.

“Amel.”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to tell you that I love you.”

“Well, that was sudden.”

“Of course, I already know you love me too.”

“You’ve really become shameless, Kyle. You used to be so anxious, constantly needing reassurance.”

“Did I?”

Feigning innocence, Kyle pulled her and their children into a warm embrace.

And Amel heard his thoughts, now utterly at peace.

“I know you’re listening right now.”

“You made me this way. You turned a monster into a man.”

“So, Amel—”

“I love you.”

Her love was the only salvation he had ever needed.

[The End]

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