Reborn as a villain:Claim the omega, Kiss the beta, Kill the dukes-Chapter 114: father son meeting

Chapter 112

Jack

Well, pictures really don’t do justice to the royal palace.

It’s... massive.

Like massive-massive.

Ancient white stone, towering pillars, gold filigree, stained-glass windows tall enough to house a small apartment complex. This thing has apparently been standing for two hundred years, and honestly? It shows. Not in a dusty-old-castle way — more in a "we have enough money to keep this place moisturized and youthful forever" way.

It reminds me a little of when I visited the royal palace back on Earth. One of the boys at the hospital had always wanted to go, and I tagged along, pushing his wheelchair through crowds and pretending to be a tourist.

That memory is... warm.

This feels like walking into the lion’s den—but the lions wear crowns and own nuclear weapons.

I’m escorted through hallways by an entourage of grim-faced knights in black-and-gold uniforms. Very serious. Very tall. Very... judgmental.

I swear one keeps glancing at me like he can’t believe this.

Same, buddy. Same.

We turn corner after corner — left, right, another right, then a staircase, then a hallway that somehow looks exactly like the last hallway.

At this point, I’m convinced this place is a maze built to weed out the weak.

"Do we get there today," I mutter, "or is this part of the royal hazing ritual?"

The stoic, emotionless man walking in front of me doesn’t respond.

Not even a twitch.

Okay.

Shutting up now.

The further we go, the entourage peels away one by one until it’s just me and the lead guard. Knight? Royal soldier? Paladin of the Realm? I really don’t know.

I’m led to a structure made entirely of glass — walls, ceiling, everything — but there are no plants inside. So not a greenhouse.

More like a... fancy sunroom where rich people drink tea and contemplate who to conquer next.

Inside, I can see a vague humanoid silhouette.

I exhale, resisting the urge to turn around and sprint back to the train.

The guard stops walking.

I look at him, confused.

"His Majesty the King is expecting you," he says.

His Majesty.

The King.

Father.

Right.

I look at the building again and steel my resolve, or try to, anyway.

It’s time to meet my father.

Yay.

I walk toward the glass door, open it, and step inside.

The king is facing away from me.

But he hears my footsteps, because he turns.

And for a moment, my bones feel like they’ve turned to ice, even I can’t keep composure looking at the face of my dead, abusive father.

And yet... not him.

This king looks like a man sculpted out of power and money, not liquor and rage.Still, the uncanny resemblance makes my skin crawl.

We just... stare at each other.

Am I supposed to bow? Kneel? Salute? Handshake??I panic-bow , the exact kind you do after binge-watching period dramas but not taking notes.

"Your Majesty," I say, and because he doesn’t respond immediately, I remain folded in half like a badly assembled origami crane.

How long am I supposed to stay like this?

"Jackson," he says finally.

And I finally stand up straight and face him.

"A seat."

Only then do I notice all the ridiculously fancy chairs arranged around the glass room.. I move on autopilot toward one, my legs stiff, my brain on airplane mode.

He sits across from me.

Thank god for the table between us — a nice, solid barrier between me and a man wearing my father’s face. I’m unreasonably grateful for furniture right now.

"You look... good," he says.

"Likewise," I reply before my sanity can stop me.

Silence.

Amazing. Wonderful. Kill me. It’s so awkward.

"You have... grown up well," he tries next.

I nod, because what am I supposed to say? What does anyone say to that?

"You have her eyes, you know," he says.

"...Her?" I echo.

"Your mother. Annie."

"Oh."

A beat.

"Thank you," I manage, even though I don’t actually know what emotion is appropriate here.

He looks a little sad at that — the kind of sadness that’s quiet and worn-in, like he’s been preparing himself for this moment for years and still wasn’t ready.

Then... softly:

"I’m sorry... for only meeting you now."

My chest doesn’t know what to do with that. It tightens. Loosens. Tightens again.

"It’s okay," I say, and I actually mean it.I’m not the Jack he hurt. That man is gone.

"I’m sure you had your own... circumstances, Your Majesty," I add, desperate to fill the black hole of awkwardness swallowing this room.

He exhales slow, relieved, like he’s been carrying a boulder on his chest for years and someone finally told him he can put it down. His shoulders relax by maybe one millimeter, but it’s the softest I’ve seen him, since this whole interaction began.

Then:

"Jackson," he begins again. Softer. More careful. Like approaching a skittish animal he’s afraid to scare off.

"You do not need to call me ’Your Majesty’ when it is just the two of us."

He pauses.

"You may call me... Father."

My entire body malfunctions.

Call him what?

"Ah—"

My mouth opens.

Closes.

Opens again.

Nothing comes out because my brain has blue-screened, my soul has packed its bags, and every cell in my body is screaming abort mission.

What I WANT to say is:

Fuck no. I just met you today. Also, trauma? Ever heard of it?

But the man in front of me is the literal king of the kingdom, I don’t think you can say "fuck no" to royalty unless you want to reenact your own execution scene.

And the worst part?

He looks exactly like my father from my past life , which makes my revulsion even more potent, I mean sure the king doesn’t have the face, stomach swollen with alcohol, the horrible scent, and the face full of rage.

It makes me wonder if this is what he would have looked like, had he been a decent human being.

I shut down that thought fast.

He must see something flicker across my face, because he leans back slightly and continues gently:

"It does not have to be today. Or now."

His voice softens even further, like he’s trying not to spook me, like I’m some stray cat that’s half ready to bolt which is very accurate because I really, really want to bolt right now.

"My other children call me that as well. And you are no less than them."

"One day is fine," he adds slowly. "Take your time."

It would be easier if he were cold. Cruel. Aloof.But he’s looking at me like he genuinely means it.

And I don’t like that.

It makes something twist inside my chest, something too tight, too unfamiliar.

"...I’ll try," I manage, voice barely above a whisper.

It feels like lifting a boulder.

"But I’m not making any promises," I add quickly, before he gets any bright ideas.

"All of this is too sudden."

His expression softens in a way that’s almost painful to look at, giving way to a small smile.

"Now," he says, clearing his throat, grateful to move on.

Honestly? Same.

Let’s bury the emotional minefield and never dig it up again.

"I know the circumstances of our meeting are... less than ideal," he continues.

"I didn’t intend for things to unfold like this."

"That’s an understatement," I mutter before I can stop myself.

He pretends he didn’t hear it. I pretend I didn’t say it. I really, really should learn to keep my mouth shut.

I narrow my eyes, but quickly fix my face. 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

"How did you know?" I ask.

"Did have people tailing me?"

Honestly, that thought never crossed my mind.

In this world, I have no enemies, so whenever I felt eyes on me, I chalked it up to trauma brain.

Or paranoia.

Or the ghost of my old life tapping me on the shoulder.

Guess I was wrong.

"Not people," the king says. "One person."

He lifts his hand, and just like that out of thin fucking air, Mr. Stoic-and-Emotionless appears behind me like a ninja with a government salary.

"This is Peter. He’s been your charge for the past five years," the king says.

The man bows slightly the perfect professional bow. Not whatever embarrassment I did earlier.

Five years.

Five years of him watching me.

Five years where he definitely noticed the exact day I became not-Jack.

Great.

"He was the one who informed me," the king continues, "so I issued orders immediately."

"...about the dukes," I say slowly, hesitantly.

"Don’t worry about it," he says. "I understand everything."

"Everything?" I echo.

"About the omega."

I freeze, my head turns sharply to Peter and Mr no reaction does not blink. I can’t even blame him anyway he was just doing his job, my internal monologue is stopped by the king.

He stands up suddenly, angry. What the fuck did I do? Did anyone do?

"They dare touch my son?" he snarls.

"For an omega?"