After barely surviving eighteen years of beatings and neglect in the slums, even being brought back home didn’t change Tristan's fate. His biased family continued to ignore him, and even his fiancée looked down on him with utter contempt.

Everyone despised the rustic aura clinging to him from his rural upbringing—yet not a single one of them ever taught him how to become refined or noble.

Standing beside Ronan, who had received a top-tier education for eighteen years, Tristan—a grown man—had fallen into deep depression, stripped of the will to live.

He willingly gave up on life, begging me to take his place and help him seek revenge... to live the life he never could.

I’d originally planned to refuse.

But when I looked through the tragic trajectory of his life, I realized—shockingly—it mirrored mine almost exactly.

What a coincidence. I’ve never been one to bow to fate. If anything, I live to defy it.

Marissa finally stirred from her faint, and when her eyes fell on me, she recoiled in terror, shaking her head. “You’re not my son... You’re not!”

I shrugged helplessly. “If he had a choice, Tristan wouldn’t want to be your son either.”

Tristan—a name that literally means “melancholy,” or "storm." What kind of parent names their own child something so degrading?

Cassandra shielded a pale and trembling Ronan behind her, throwing me a look of pure disgust before walking over to stand beside Simon.

“Tristan grew up in the slums for eighteen years. Of course he’s picked up all kinds of filthy habits. If I don’t teach him a lesson, he’ll never learn!”

Ronan clutched his chest and put on another pained expression, resuming his act. “Brother, I know you hate me for stealing the good life that should have been yours, but I never thought you’d actually want me dead.”

Marissa began to sob. “All I ever wanted was for you two to get along I didn’t say anything when you bullied him before, but this time, you tried to kill him. I can’t cover for you anymore! You’d better reflect on what you’ve done!”

With that, she turned and left without looking back.

Simon and the others followed, leaving me alone in the vast, silent villa.

I dug into the original host’s memories, trying to find the incidents Marissa had accused him of.

But all I found... was injustice.

The original host once got a perfect score on an exam, proudly sharing it with his family—only to be scolded for being boastful.

All because Ronan barely passed, and to spare his feelings, Tristan never dared mention his own achievements again.

Tristan had a passion for research and was once invited to study abroad as an exchange student by a world-renowned scholar.

But when Ronan said he wanted to stay close to his brother, they rejected the invitation on his behalf without even telling him.

Every time the family went on vacation, Tristan was left behind.

Because Ronan claimed Tristan lacked etiquette and would embarrass the family, they arranged a so-called “etiquette coach” for him—someone completely unqualified, who only made him worse.

Still, Simon and Marissa blamed him for being stupid, as if they’d predicted it all along.

“We knew from the start you weren’t the type with natural talent. So what if you got first place through rote memorization? You still don’t have a shred of grace!”

The favoritism was endless. I honestly didn't understand how Marissa could speak of “covering for him” with a straight face.

Click. The grand hall, once brightly lit, was suddenly plunged into darkness.

The entire villa lost power.

A few messages popped up on the old, cracked flip phone that had belonged to the original host.

They were from Marissa.

[We’ve left. Reflect on your behavior while you’re home alone for a few days.]

[If we don’t starve you a bit, you’ll never learn your place. Don’t even think about leaving—the whole house is locked down with the power out.]

[I had the maid throw out everything in the fridge. If you know what’s good for you, apologize. When your brother forgives you, I’ll consider letting you out.]

With a mechanical beep, the electric lock on the security door clicked shut.

I slowly curled my lips into a smirk.

So this was the so-called “lesson” they meant to teach me?

If it were the original host—malnourished for years and suffering from severe stomach issues—this might've been a deadly punishment.

But for me?

It was like a fish losing its bicycle.

Humans need food, but ghosts didn’t.

Marissa had always been devoutly Buddhist. It took me no effort to rummage through the house and find all sorts of spiritual treasures.

I lit incense, burned joss paper, and helped myself to a supernatural buffet.

Not only did I gain some weight, but my complexion even improved.

Three days passed in the blink of an eye.

As I was lounging under the sun, enjoying my peaceful existence, Ronan showed up at the villa gate holding several takeout boxes.

He shot me a timid glance, then gathered his courage and said firmly, “Mom and Dad took me out for a fancy meal. We couldn’t finish everything, so I brought some back for you. Even though you almost killed me, I just couldn’t stand by and watch you starve. Actually, if you just apologize to me, I’d be will—”

Before he could finish that self-righteous speech, I picked up a slipper and stuffed it through the gap in the iron gate, straight into his mouth.

“Still playing the virtuous little martyr? You knew I have a serious stomach condition and can’t go hungry, yet you left me to starve for three days. What, are you disappointed I didn’t die?”

The slipper warped his face as he stumbled backward. He hit the ground hard, scraping his arms, and the takeout boxes fell with him.

Soup and leftovers splattered everywhere, reeking of rot—who knows how many days it had been left out.

Ronan pulled the slipper from his mouth, his face filled with stubborn grievances.

But he wasn't looking at me.

No, he looked toward a spot not far away—where something glinted in the light.

Someone was secretly filming.

Ah, the stage was set. It would be rude not to act my part.

“Big brother...” Ronan wailed dramatically, “why are you treating me like this? Would you only be satisfied if I died?”

I whistled in amusement. “You keep saying you want to die, but I don’t see you doing it. Come on, if you’ve got the guts, go lie down in the middle of the road right now.”

A flicker of resentment passed through his eyes, then he looked even more pitiful. “Fine! If that’s what you want, I’ll give it to you. Just promise you’ll stop making life hard for Mom and Dad. Be a good son to them, okay?”

He turned and walked away, clutching his face.

Right on cue, Marissa and Simon appeared and rushed over to him.

Marissa could barely stand from anxiety as she examined him frantically. “What happened? Did he hit you again? Don’t cry, Mommy’s here to protect you!”

Simon turned to glare at me. “Even locked up, you’re still causing trouble! Do I need to get really tough with you?”

Ronan glanced at me with eyes full of fear. “It’s true that Mom and Dad ordered the punishment, but I thought Big Brother must be starving, so I brought him some food out of kindness. I didn’t expect...”

His voice began to tremble with emotion, as if tears could fall any second.

“I didn’t expect Big Brother to shove a slipper into my mouth and tell me to go die! Maybe... maybe he really won’t be happy until I’m dead!”

Marissa looked like she wanted to slap me across the face, but the iron gate between us blocked her path.

Simon clenched his fists, his voice thick with suppressed rage. “I don’t know why you hate Ronan so much, but I told you—if you want to stay in this house, you need to get along with him. Or do you want to go back to that rat-infested slum you crawled out of?”

I rolled my eyes so hard they might’ve stuck. “He stole my life, took everything from me, and has tried more than once to ruin me. You think I shouldn’t hate him?”

Marissa opened her mouth to retort, but I crouched down, grabbed a handful of the spilled, rotting food, and flung it toward them.

“Here, try a bite and tell me what it is. Ronan brought this garbage for me to eat, pretending it was some kind gesture. If you two can stomach it, then sure, I’ll learn to be grateful to him. But if you wouldn’t eat this crap, don’t you dare expect me to.”

Marissa didn’t react fast enough. She took a deep whiff of the food—and immediately gagged, retching uncontrollably.

Simon caught the same rancid stench. Though the sour, rotting odor was undeniable, they still instinctively scrambled to defend Ronan.

“This was from last night! He packed it up himself. He’s never done housework before—probably forgot to put it in the fridge. But that still doesn’t justify you getting physical with him!”

At this point, there was no use continuing the conversation.

I silently looked away and reclined back in the sun chair, letting the sunlight wash over me.

These two had already made their choice—blindly siding with the fake son.

Any explanation would be a waste of breath.

What I didn’t expect, though, was that people really do have a talent for being shameless.

I wasn’t even trying to justify myself, but Marissa—out of some twisted logic—decided to find an excuse for me.

“He wasn’t like this when he first came home... could it be some sort of mental breakdown? Maybe he’s mentally ill from the trauma? After all, he is our biological child. If he’s sick, we have to get him treated.”

Now that was an excellent excuse for violence.

I nodded at them with a perfectly straight face. “Yeah, I think I do have a mental illness. Every time I see Ronan, I feel this uncontrollable urge to kill someone. You should probably kick him out for everyone’s safety.”

Ronan’s face twisted in resentment, but he turned around with a pained expression and said sanctimoniously, “If my presence really makes Brother mentally unstable, then I’m willing to leave home.”

Marissa immediately pulled him into her arms, distressed. “Don’t say that nonsense! I was just guessing—we need a doctor’s opinion before jumping to conclusions!”

Simon snorted coldly. “Even if he’s mentally ill, that’s on him. He’s too weak, too fragile. It has nothing to do with you.”

He glared at me and spat, “Don’t even think about faking an illness to get sympathy. I’ll personally supervise every test you take!”

As much as they despised me, they weren’t willing to send me back to the rat-infested slums.

To ease their guilty consciences, they sent me to a psychiatric hospital for a full evaluation.

When the results came back confirming that I did meet the criteria for a mental disorder, I could clearly see the relief wash over both of them.

“I knew our genes weren’t the problem,” Simon said smugly. “It must’ve been bad upbringing—blame that useless caregiver!”

Marissa cursed the caregiver through gritted teeth, too focused on venting her anger to notice how pale Ronan had gone beside her.

I stared at the psychiatric certificate in my hand.

It was as good as a license to hit people.

I’ve lived for hundreds of years—I knew exactly what this couple was thinking.

So I immediately slipped into the original host’s pitiful demeanor, mimicking Ronan’s usual frail tone.

“Mom and Dad never liked me to begin with... Now that I have a mental illness, even good grades won’t change anything. I might as well just die.”

The doctor quickly intervened. “The patient’s emotions must be carefully managed. Sudden outbursts of rage or depressive episodes are all signs of instability. You’ll need to monitor him closely.”

Marissa nodded in concern.

Simon, however, let out a snort. “Fine. Since you're officially diagnosed, I’ll let you off the hook for attacking Ronan this time. But don’t expect it to happen again. From now on, take your meds—properly.”

Just like that, the “mental illness” card gave me a pass.

But Ronan wasn’t so easy to fool.

He stared at me with venom in his eyes, seething with hatred.

—

I had just arrived at my new school to complete the transfer process when a chorus of whispers caught my attention.

“That’s him? Ronan’s arrogant psycho brother?”

“I heard he had mental problems when he was little and got dumped in the countryside. Why would they bring him back now?”

“Yikes, seriously? What if he bites someone or something?”