Epilogue

Ruelne Scharnhost had been excessively sharp, unnervingly intelligent, since childhood.

So he knew early on that the parents who had given birth to him and raised him did not love each other. Each kept a lover; sometimes they indulged in affairs. They were even proud of it—called it the “privilege” afforded to nobles, a natural rite of their class—and never bothered to hide it.

And so, from a young age, Ruelne concluded that love did not exist in this world.

Perhaps it was because he had never received the simple parental affection that should have been every child’s by right. He hadn’t thought of it as misfortune then. But looking back, it must have been.

“You are my heir.”

At least one blessing amid the misfortune: the Duke of Scharnhost did not acknowledge illegitimate children. He emphasized that Ruelne alone carried the legitimate bloodline, and to his son alone he confided certain secrets—the hereditary “mission” granted to the House of Scharnhost, its role, and the immense privileges and wealth that came with it.

Less than half a year after revealing all that, his parents died. Not only that—the villa they had been visiting on holiday burned to the ground. No bodies remained.

Strangely, soon after, distant relatives he had never even seen appeared as if they had been waiting, circling the estate like vultures and wolves, coveting Scharnhost’s fortune. In their hands, the house collapsed with shocking speed, its long history rendered meaningless in an instant.

Young Ruelne watched it all. Observed. Deduced. And became certain.

“Oh dear… you must be devastated.”

Among those claiming to be distant kin, one man smiled the softest, spoke with the most rehearsed sympathy—Tyrone. Ruelne knew. This was the man who had murdered his parents and orchestrated Scharnhost’s downfall.

Unfortunately, Ruelne was young—and stripped of everything. There was nothing he could do. He was dragged to the baron Tyrone’s household, where under the guise of guardianship he endured abuse, barely surviving until the age of sixteen.

‘If I can just endure until I come of age.’

At that point, he would gain the right to reclaim his title himself. But he also knew the truth. The reason men watched him twenty-four hours a day to prevent his escape—why they kept him alive instead of killing him.

Long ago, the imperial family had designated certain assets for House Scharnhost—wealth that could not be seized by anyone, not even in bankruptcy. Protected by law, and unsellable except under very specific conditions. Among those designated assets were a grand manor and a bank vault.

“We have to keep him alive. And once he’s of age… we take him to the bank. Until then, we brainwash him.”

“Yes, dear. Don’t worry. Look at him—he’s completely powerless.”

Not long after overhearing that conversation, he lost his sight. Poison. That was the cause. And then, as though they had never abused him a day in his life, Tyrone and his wife began to dote on him, tending to him devotedly, trying to win his favor. If he had been an ordinary child—if there had been no abuse—perhaps he would have become exactly what they wanted: a docile puppet, limp and obedient.

But he carried poison in his heart. A pitch-black venomous resolve to one day repay those who had made him this way.

At seventeen, he was accepted into Kademel Private School. He had succeeded by feigning obedience, lulling Tyrone and his wife into complacency. The day he narrowly escaped and reached the dormitory was his first victory.

Because they were only distant relatives, not direct family, they could not visit without his consent. And Kademel—most prestigious school in the Empire—drew attention wherever he went. Everyone knew the tragedy of Scharnhost. Tyrone would not dare lay a hand on him there. Not if he still coveted the Scharnhost manor and vault.

One night, he painstakingly felt his way through the dark to visit a certain place.

It was connected to the secret mission and privilege his father had once told him about.

“Well, well. You actually came?”

The owner of that place was a man named Max.

“Bit of a problem, though. We’ve no intention of following a crippled master.”

The role given to Scharnhost was that of a secret police force—a shadowy information guild that gripped intelligence from the dark. In truth, it had been born and nurtured with Scharnhost funds. For years, under the imperial family’s tacit approval, they had acted as the Emperor’s shadow, handling filthier affairs. But as time passed and the imperial authority weakened with the rise of parliament, their ties to the throne thinned. What remained was simply Scharnhost’s asset.

“I’ll give you three years, brat.”

The guild master refused to follow Ruelne. Instead, he mocked him—said that if Ruelne regained his sight, he would honor the old contract.

‘I wasn’t disappointed.’

He had expected as much. Revenge was never going to be easy. Still, he couldn’t help the way his strength drained from him.

And then, before long, he acquired a strange “patron.”

Yes. Truly strange.

Thanks to her, he regained his sight. He went straight to the bank, proved his identity, reclaimed the vast fortune in the vault. He secured not only the means to control the shadow guild but the information that made him its true master.

Not long after, he made contact with the imperial family and quietly inherited the ducal title. It had been a plan years in the making—yet it became laughably easy. All because of a nameless patron who asked only to be called his “tall lady.”

Ruelne learned that the family who supported him was named Shirley. The woman whose face he had seen by the fountain—she was his mysterious patron, the heiress of the Shirley Company, whose identity no one seemed to know.

“Hey, boss. There are people still digging into you. What should we do? Take care of them?”

Watching the movements of Glen, the lawyer trying to uncover everything about him, and Camilla, the head of the Shirley Company—there was no way he couldn’t figure it out.

In any case, though he never announced it publicly, he rebuilt his house beneath the surface. He found loyal knights, gathered capable men who had once served his father, and formed his own order.

If he wished, he could reveal himself at any time and punish Tyrone and the others who had not only abused him but stolen his sight while pretending to be distant kin.

And yet, he didn’t.

If he showed himself, he feared his patron would stop writing.

He had found where she lived. He knew her name. Still, he could do nothing. If he forced himself before a woman who so clearly wished to avoid him, he might only drive her farther away. Even he knew how pathetic that sounded.

Sometimes, he felt the urge to kidnap her as she was, lock her away somewhere no one knew, and pour affection over her. At the same time, he understood that such thoughts were anything but normal.

If she knew that her beneficiary entertained such filthy ideas, would she still care for him the same?

He had followed her discreetly on her outings. Watched her from afar for long stretches of time. Of course, he had investigated every detail of her life.

“As requested, we sliced up Bellingham Trading, boss. But isn’t that a bit much? You had that place dealt with just because they tried to bully that young lady before, didn’t you?”

He had tracked down and destroyed the company that once insulted Jane—disguised then as his secretary—and attempted to attack her business.

And that wasn’t all. He knew about Jane’s engagement. The first time he learned of it, an unbearable rage consumed him.

‘How could she, when I’m here?’

But gradually, he calmed. The man was worthless. Surely Jane knew that? The lawyer by her side was no ordinary talent.

In that case, couldn’t he simply use the man against himself—make it impossible for the engagement to continue?

Marcus Caroman, for all his debauchery, had been clever enough to hide his two-timing and affairs convincingly. But no one escaped the information guild.

Even so, Ruelne was not satisfied. He wanted to erase the fiancé from the world immediately. But what if killing him rashly left a mark on Jane’s heart? The thought displeased him.

His patron was a kind person—kind enough to support a student with no ties to her out of sheer goodwill.

So it had to be quiet. Efficient. Just enough for her to break off the engagement without regret.

He envisioned a massive trap. Slowly, patiently, he was drawing her in. Yet, regrettably, his desire was swelling faster than his patience. He knew a hunt could not succeed without caution—and yet—

And when his greed swelled beyond endurance—

He received a letter from her, bearing news of her engagement.

He moved on impulse.

Hold on to her life? Then what was he?

She had given him life on a whim. Restored his sight. And now she would marry another man?

How dare she?

It was deception. He could not wait any longer.

No—he wouldn’t.

He arranged for Marcus’s mistresses and other partner to show up at his house. He spread the scandals. It was easier than bending a finger. He now possessed wealth enough to live lavishly for a lifetime without even graduating from Kademel. If he wished, he could obtain anyone’s information.

And yet, even from this position, seeing Jane was difficult.

So he stopped holding back.

Waiting for the day he would face her, he finally revealed himself before her.

No—it was more accurate to say he led her to reveal herself.

“It’s Jena.”

Watching her adorably alter her name, he smiled quietly to himself.

My dear tall lady. No matter how you avoid me, no matter how you run—I’ll be there too.

It’s unfortunate, but it can’t be helped.

The beneficiary you happened to pick up was rotten from the start.

The best I can do is smile innocently, so you never learn how twisted I truly am.

“Mmph—mmph—!”

Lost in thought, Ruelne turned his gaze.

Unlike the man bound tightly and soaked in blood, Ruelne looked immaculate. Refined. He spoke lazily.

“Mr. Marcus, are you shouting because you’re curious who the corpse in front of you is?”

Bloodied, Marcus shook his head frantically.

The day he’d been dragged off by knights, he had thought he’d somehow escaped. But when he opened his eyes, he was here.

His entire body ached; broken bones screamed in agony. More than anything, he was terrified. Terrified of the gaze of the beautiful man who watched his ruin without the slightest ripple of emotion.

“That corpse,” the beautiful man explained leisurely, his aristocratic cadence calm and elegant, “belongs to the self-proclaimed distant relative who beat me as a child, pushed me down stairs, broke my fingers for amusement—or because he lost at gambling—and eventually blinded me.”

“And I’m considering returning to you the same abuse I received as a child.”

Marcus shook his head violently, tears streaming down his face. He tried to scream, but the gag reduced it to muffled noise. Urine spread between his legs in his terror.

Ruelne did not so much as blink.

“Do you know a mere three inches of tongue can kill a person? Attempted or not, you tried to destroy someone. The woman who would dare become my wife.”

His tone was mild. But in his eyes lay a deep, glacial fury. Marcus trembled.

“Consider this a bargain price.”

Marcus understood his end. Regret came too late.

The beast wearing a man’s face had no intention of letting him go.

“Then enjoy your time with my men.”

---

Ruelne slowly opened his eyes.

The sky lingered in that dim light before dawn. Neither night nor day. He had often thought this hour resembled himself—born incomplete, never blending even with his own parents, ruined by Tyrone’s abuse.

And his partner—his wife—who would never know this true self of his.

He gazed at Jane’s naked form, fallen into deep sleep after their long lovemaking. Drawing closer, he wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes.

It was comfortable. So comfortable he wouldn’t have minded drowning in this hell for the rest of his life.

You shouldn’t have taken an interest in me, my Sponsor.

For the rest of my life, I’ll manage you. Obsess over you. Claim you as mine.

Still… please cherish me.

Just don’t run away.

No—running is fine too.

I’ll prepare the most expensive, most beautiful cage for you. One that looks just like you.

I love you, my Jane.

Forever.

With affection, from Ruelne.

<After I Sponsored Him, He Asked for My Body Too> fin.