The Reincarnated Villainous Young Master's Guide to Happiness

Chapter 35: Asphodel

Also, Nazareth was an Odum through and through. He had the features of Duke Odum and a similar facial bone structure to that pitiful younger brother of his. They weren't related.

Thank all the gods they weren't related...

He didn't think he would meet Nazareth here of all places, but the gods were toying with him.

Julius had been wanting to punch Nazareth across the face since that letter arrived. Might he end up in bed again for choosing violence? Absolutely. But would it be worth it to give this scum a black eye for breaking off their friendship with a fucking letter?

Absolutely.

Lester and Elliot had been quiet ever since Nazareth broke everything off, and Julius was helpless in bed. He was so tragically out of the loop, it was crazy how everything was escalating. He wasn't even there. He didn't know what was going on.

It was frustrating.

Julius shoved the tiny gift box he was holding into Thomas' arms—it was a set of diamond earrings made by an up-and-coming jewelry designer—and squared his shoulders as upright as he could, ignoring the strain of his muscles as he gave Nazareth a cold glare.

Behind him, he could hear Thomas fumbling with the rest of the gifts he had bought earlier today for his mother. That woman deserved the best and Thomas better not drop the box containing the winter coat that was made from the pelt of a Mountain Beast.

"Nazareth," Julius stepped forward slowly, his cane clicking the ground, "I'd like to say it was nice seeing you, but that would be a lie."

Nazareth stared at him, his face devoid of any warmth beside a slow blink of disinterest.

"You shouldn't be out of bed."

Because of course, Nazareth would look at his cane and have all the asshole conclusions readied against him.

"I am fine," Julius said, resisting the urge to hit the other with his cane.

Nazareth's lips thinned disapprovingly.

Julius felt his mood plunge further into an abyss of grievance.

He could hear his own consciousness screaming at him, "Go on, Juli! He's dishonored you!" with the most elitist accent to ever deign his ears.

And Julius slapped the voice across the head because it was being a dumbfuck.

You said you wanted to punch him in the face.

Wanted. Not 'will.' His desires and reality were not capable of fusing, unfortunately.

Julius had better luck standing upright for his class' version of the Tragedy of Ohmlet last year than giving Nazareth a black eye.

"You are pale."

Nazareth's voice cut through his thoughts like a thin blade, stating the obvious like an unsocialized brat who couldn't read the room properly even with adult supervision.

Julius took a step forward nonetheless and raised his chin. "I'm flattered by your concerns, but it's none of your business."

At least not anymore.

Nazareth looked away. Julius snorted.

"Um," the florist behind the counter who was staring at them back and forth like he was watching some type of high-class musical operetta finally spoke, "Do the two of you need a moment?"

The florist then eyed Nazareth hesitantly.

There was complete silence in the store.

Nazareth's face nearly turned to stone. He held up a hand. "This isn't what it looks like."