The Gift Box and the Shadow of Fate
878 Words
The Gift Box and the Shadow of Fate
Just as Veena D’Aurelius turned and left the hall, her footsteps fading into the distance, the atmosphere around Julian D’Aurelius had barely settled when another presence hurried toward him.
The head bodyguard, Shera, strode over briskly. His expression was respectful, posture straight, both hands cradling an exquisitely crafted redwood box. The polished surface caught the light, its faint woody scent drifting into the air.
He placed the box carefully on the table, as if setting down something sacred.
“Young Master Julian,” Shera said solemnly, lowering his head slightly. “This is a gift from Madam. She asked you to bring it to Patriarch De Dominicis.”
“Alright. Thank you.” Julian nodded, his tone calm on the surface.
Patriarch De Dominicis—his mother’s words immediately echoed in his mind. The De Dominicis Household was one of the four great households of Valemont. Among them, the D’Aurelius Household stood at the peak, followed closely by the De Dominicis Household, then the Valquin Household, and finally the Aurevale Household.
For generations, the D’Aurelius and De Dominicis households had maintained a close bond. Since Julian was a child, Patriarch De Dominicis had treated him with warmth and affection, never stingy with guidance or praise.
But recently, that old man had suffered a sudden stroke.
Bedridden. Unconscious. Life hanging by a thread.
And the moment that thought surfaced—
“Damn it,” Julian muttered under his breath, his pupils tightening. “Isn’t this the plot from Chapter Fifty-Nine?”
A chill crawled up his spine.
According to the original storyline, Patriarch De Dominicis’s stroke had left him completely paralyzed. The De Dominicis Household had exhausted every connection, searching desperately for renowned doctors across Valemont, even beyond Valcenza.
And then—
He would appear.
As the protagonist of this feel-g********l, Evan, armed with absurdly divine medical skills, would naturally step onto the stage. To him, curing Patriarch De Dominicis’s condition would be effortless—child’s play.
This was one of Evan’s most infamous “pretentious” moments.
He would cure the patriarch in full view of everyone, crush the confidence of so-called medical masters, earn the undying gratitude of the De Dominicis Household, and officially lay the foundation for his future domination of Valemont.
Julian’s lips twitched.
“Damn… am I going to get beaten up again?”
His thoughts spiraled. Was he truly destined to be nothing more than a stepping stone in every major plotline?
He forced himself to calm down and think it through.
According to the original plot, he should already be dead by this point.
And more importantly—this time, the one who would get trampled wasn’t him.
It was another so-called renowned doctor who would rush in first, fail spectacularly, and serve as the perfect contrast for Evan’s godlike entrance.
First, a “master” would fall.
Then the Obsidian King would rise.
Classic structure. Classic humiliation setup.
Realizing this, Julian finally let out a quiet breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding.
As long as he wasn’t the one being trampled, everything was manageable.
As for trying to avoid this plotline altogether?
He didn’t dare.
He had already tested that once.
Forcibly avoiding the plot didn’t lead to freedom—it led straight to a dead end.
The Tyrant System’s rules were brutally clear:
You could struggle to survive.
You could adapt.
But you could never escape the plot itself.
While Julian’s expression shifted subtly—relief, tension, calculation—Shera watched him closely. Finally, unable to hold back, he spoke with concern.
“Young Master Julian… are you alright?”
Julian blinked, then shook his head. “I’m fine.”
“That’s good.” Shera visibly relaxed, then smiled faintly, as if eager to be praised. “Young Master, I know you’re still upset about what happened today. Don’t worry—I’ve already sent people to deal with that Evan kid.”
“…???”
Julian’s eyes snapped open.
His voice dropped dangerously low. “Who did you send people to deal with?”
“That little bodyguard,” Shera replied proudly, chest lifting. “Didn’t you say he was a master? I specifically called over thirty people to make sure he pays the price this time.”
Julian inhaled sharply.
Good heavens.
Are you afraid I’ll actually survive to the end of the story?!
His fingers curled slowly, nails digging into his palm. Grinding his teeth, he said each word clearly, urgently:
“Call them back. Immediately. Don’t touch him.”
“Huh?” Shera froze for a second, then nodded quickly. “O-Okay.”
He pulled out his phone at once, fingers flying as he made the call. His brow furrowed, confused but obedient.
A few seconds later, he looked up. “They’re back.”
Julian exhaled, his shoulders finally loosening.
“That’s good.” His voice was calm again, but only just.
Damn it… almost got screwed again.
His gaze drifted over Shera, slowly, critically.
Loyal on the surface. Eager to please. But dangerously proactive.
This man looked like a shield—
But acted like a fuse.
He can’t be kept around.
Julian straightened, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he spoke.
“Captain Shera—”
- Writer
