"Here, take the stew, dear. I made it just for you."
Vivienne scooped a spoonful of the thick, brown liquid, bringing it close to my lips.
Whoosh!
A gentle breeze tugged at my mid-length hair, which I—or rather Jin—hadn't cut in months.
The strands swayed across my face, tickling my cheek. The sun was dipping toward the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant orange and deep amber hues that made the stone walls glow like they were lit from within.
I sat on the weathered stone bench in the courtyard, surrounded by beds of lavender and rosemary that filled the air with their earthy sweetness.
It was actually beautiful. Peaceful. The kind of scene that belonged in a painting—a caring stepmother feeding her recovering stepson in a tranquil garden as the day wound down.
Only the flashing warning messages in my peripheral vision ruined the perfect illusion.
[StatusEffect.Poison]
Vivienne's smile was perfectly crafted.
Concerned, loving, just the right amount of worry creasing her brow. Her dark hair was pinned back elegantly, and her dress was expensive but modest, the kind that said "devoted family woman" rather than "scheming murderer."
"You look much better today, Jin," she said, her voice warm honey over steel. "The color is returning to your cheeks."
The spoon hovered inches from my mouth, steam rising from the stew.
I gulped and opened my mouth, letting Vivienne feed me the stew.
The liquid was warm and savory, with chunks of tender beef and vegetables that would have been delicious under different circumstances.
Gulp!
The poison warning continued blinking in my vision, but I forced myself to look grateful.
It had been three days since I'd transmigrated to this world. Three days of lying in bed, dwelling on the life choices that had led me to work myself to death in a cramped office, and now the life choices that had led Jin Raith to this fucked-up family situation.
An abusive father who saw him as a disappointment. A stepmother who'd been slowly murdering him for who knows how long.
And I also couldn't do much research about the poison while bedridden. Every time I tried to move around or explore the house, Agnes would appear out of nowhere and drag me back to bed, insisting I needed rest.
Is she really just a maid?
I thought, remembering last night when I'd tried to sneak out to investigate. Agnes had caught me halfway down the hallway and marched me back to my room with the efficiency of a prison guard.
I opened my mouth again as Vivienne brought another spoonful to my lips.
This body survived till thing long. A few more doses won't kill me immediately. Right?
The thought wasn't particularly comforting, but I didn't have many options.
I'd already refused Vivienne's food for the past two days, claiming I wasn't hungry. Agnes had been bringing me thin soup once a day—barely enough to keep me alive, but at least it wasn't actively poisoning me.
But I couldn't keep refusing forever without raising suspicion. Vivienne was already watching me with those calculating eyes, probably wondering why her sickly stepson was suddenly being picky about his meals.
I needed to play the part of the weak, grateful boy until I could figure out a real solution.
Even if it meant slowly poisoning myself in the process.
"There's a good boy," Vivienne cooed, wiping a drop of stew from my chin with her handkerchief. "You're looking stronger already."
The concern in her voice was perfectly acted.
If I didn't have a system warning me about the poison, I might have actually believed she cared.
Cough! Cough!
"Thanks, mother," I said, leaning back against the cool stone bench.
Her expression softened into what looked like genuine relief. She settled beside me on the bench, her expensive dress rustling against the stone.
"Oh, Jin, I've been so worried about you," she said, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. "I've lost weight these past weeks, staying up late to prepare your medicinal stews and broths. I barely sleep, thinking about your condition."
Like I believe you.
Her eyes studied my face intently, searching for something.
"I spoke with your father about you," she continued, her brow creasing with apparent concern.
"He insists you're fine and will recover quickly on your own. He says there's no need to bring in a better physician from the capital."
Then why the fuck haven't you taken me there?
Suddenly, her eyes began streaming with tears. She pulled me into a tight embrace, her arms wrapping around my thin frame as she stroked my back with practiced maternal gestures.
"Don't worry, my dear boy," she whispered against my hair. "I'll keep you safe. I've been saving my own money—hiding it from your father—to pay for a proper healer when the time is right. A specialist who can finally cure this terrible illness that's been plaguing you."
Her voice cracked with what sounded like genuine emotion.
The way she held me, the tears in her voice, the story about saving money behind my father's back, it was all perfectly crafted to make me trust her completely.
No wonder the original Jin had never suspected.
She was a master manipulator, playing the role of the caring stepmother while slowly murdering him.
"Thank you," I managed to whisper back, letting my voice sound weak and grateful.
Then my arms went up and hugged her back.
"And sorry for being such a disappointment to you, to father, to the family." I let my voice crack, fake tears—which I learned to manipulate using the system—began forming beneath my eyes.
"Only if I could..." I let my voice trail off and feigned a sob.
"There, there, my boy." Vivienne cooed, stroking my hair with practiced gentleness. "No need to cry. Mommy will take care of you. Everything will be fine."
Tap! Tap! Tap!
Suddenly a maid approached and bowed her head low.
"My lady, young master Victor has returned."
My eyes widened.
Victor? Back?
Vivienne broke the hug and turned toward the maid, her mouth opening to respond.
But before she could say anything—
"Here you are, mother... and little brother."
A chilling tone swept across the courtyard from where the maid stood.
Shivers ran down my spine.
The peaceful evening air suddenly felt suffocating, like the temperature had dropped ten degrees in an instant.
My hands trembled against Vivienne's dress.
No way. No fucking way.