Damian Valtor was a third-rate villain through and through.
The kind readers loved to hate.
He bullied the protagonist, harassed the heroines, abused servants, and strutted around the Academy like the world belonged to him—only to get beaten down later like every arrogant side villain deserved.
Expelled from the Academy.
Punished by his family.
Disowned by society.
Honestly, most of his problems could've been solved with a single public apology.
But Damian Valtor would rather die than lower his head.
He was a noble in the worst possible way—prideful, stubborn, obsessed with status.
Even after getting beaten half to death by his own father, he still refused to say the word "sorry."
And that was exactly why he was locked inside this room, surviving on food barely fit for human consumption.
Which also explained why the Patriarch of House Valtor—Damian's father—was currently standing in front of me with a shotgun in hand.
Ready to punish his son even further.
Unfortunately for everyone involved…
Damian Valtor no longer existed.
I was the one inside this body now.
And personally?
I had zero interest in suffering for crimes I didn't commit.
Of course, I couldn't exactly say that out loud.
"Hello, Father. I'm actually a transmigrated soul from another world possessing your son's body."
Yeah.
That sounded like a fantastic way to get executed immediately.
At best, he'd think I'd gone insane.
At worst, he'd assume I was mocking him.
In simple terms—
I was completely screwed.
From every possible angle.
I stared bitterly at the man before me.
The Patriarch's mere presence filled the chamber like a storm cloud pressing against my lungs.
Even the air felt heavier around him.
The maid was still kneeling near the door, trembling so violently I could hear her teeth chattering. Fenrir had flattened his ears against his head, a low growl rumbling uneasily in his throat.
That alone told me enough.
This man wasn't simply strict.
He was terrifying.
Memories of Damian's past surfaced one after another inside my head.
Arrogance.
Cruelty.
Violence.
The original Damian had treated everyone around him like disposable trash simply because he was born into nobility.
And somehow, the Patriarch had tolerated those antics for years.
Honestly…
I had to give the man some credit.
If Damian had been my son, I probably would've buried him already.
Still, understanding the Patriarch's anger didn't mean I wanted to become collateral damage for somebody else's stupidity.
"…What punishment?" I asked carefully.
To my surprise, my voice came out steadier than I felt.
The Patriarch's lips curled slightly in disdain.
"You dare ask that question?"
His boots struck the marble floor with slow, deliberate steps as he approached me.
Beside him, the massive shepherd followed silently, its yellow eyes fixed on me like a predator studying prey.
"You humiliated House Valtor."
Yeah, your son did that basterd.
Not me.
I kept that thought buried deep inside my skull.
Now definitely wasn't the time for honesty.
The Patriarch stopped directly in front of me.
Towering.
Oppressive.
His eyes narrowed.
"And yet you still refuse to repent."
Ah.
So that was the issue.
Not just the incident itself.
Damian's attitude afterward.
Apparently getting beaten unconscious several times still wasn't enough to crush the idiot's pride.
The Patriarch studied me carefully.
Too carefully.
Then his expression shifted ever so slightly.
"And now…" he said slowly, "…you sit there staring at me as if you've done nothing wrong."
My heartbeat skipped.
Shit.
I forced myself not to look away.
The problem was obvious.
The current me and the original Damian were completely different people.
Damian would've been screaming by now.
Throwing insults.
Cursing his father.
Blaming everyone except himself.
But I wasn't doing any of that.
After all I don't have a death vish.
The situation was already spiraling out of control.
If I handled this wrong, things could get much worse before I even had the chance to understand this world properly.
Think.
Think.
"You are right."
My voice cut through the air, The room fell silent as I straightened my back and walked forward, step by steady step, until I stood directly before the Patriarch.
Then, with deliberate care, I bowed.
"Damian Valtor greets the Patriarch."
The words left my lips with the weight of a gamble.
I straightened and locked eyes with him, refusing to look away.
"But it's still not my fault."
By this time, I already know that whatever I do it doesn't matter.
He was going to throw me out of the house, So I won't beg him.
And no way in the hell I will accept the crimes of Damian Valtor.
After all I did nothing wrong.
The Patriarch eyes narrowed dengeously.
"You don't even know your place!"
Smack—!
The butt of his shotgun smashed into my cheek, whipping my head to the side. My vision blurred. Before I could fully recover, he swung again, cracking across my other cheek. Pain exploded through my skull, and my knees almost buckled.
But I clenched my jaw, tightened my core, and forced my body upright. Step by step, I moved closer, until my face hovered just inches from his.
My heart thundered. My vision burned.
A wildfire surged through me—rage, pride, defiance—I couldn't even name it.
I didn't think he would actually hit me. Since I already know my fate I was going to respectfully leave the house my self.
But one thing becomes clearer then ever.
Respect meant nothing here.
Crack—!
The shotgun slammed into my temple this time, the world flashing white as I staggered back a step. Blood trickled warm down my ear.
Before I could steady myself, another blow struck my ribs. The crunch of bone echoed in my ears as I folded, choking on the copper flooding my throat.