Nemesis. Start on the End.

I sat down heavily, my thoughts a storm of anger, frustration, and confusion. I couldn't shake the weight of the conversation with her—the way she looked at me, like I was losing myself. She didn't understand. Not yet. But she would. I was certain of it.

The sound of the door opening snapped me from my thoughts. I looked up, expecting her to be gone for at least a little while. Instead, she was back almost immediately, her footsteps hurried and deliberate as she stepped inside.

I wanted to ask her why she'd returned so quickly, but something stopped me. Maybe it was the exhaustion dragging at my body or the sense that nothing I said would come out right. My chest felt heavy, my head throbbing faintly. I tried to muster the strength to speak, to demand answers, but my eyes started to droop, my vision blurring. The pull of sleep was too strong to resist.

I gave in, letting the darkness claim me.

When I woke, sunlight streamed through the window, painting the walls in a pale gold glow. My head felt clearer, the pounding in my skull dulled to a faint ache. The first thing I noticed was the weight in my arms. My sister was curled against me, her head resting on my chest as if we'd always been like this.

I frowned. How had this happened? I didn't remember her coming to me during the night, yet here she was, her small body snug in my embrace. Her warmth was comforting, grounding in a way I couldn't quite describe.

The sound of footsteps drew my attention to the doorway. I looked up to see my mother standing there, holding a glass of water. Her expression was unreadable, a mix of weariness and determination.

"You're awake," she said, walking toward me. She handed me the glass, her movements calm, deliberate. "Here. Drink this."

I took the glass, the coolness of the water shocking against my fingers. I watched her closely, trying to decipher the thoughts swirling behind her eyes. Something had shifted in her, something subtle but significant.

She pulled something from her pocket—a small, familiar item that caught the morning light. The keys to the apartment. She placed them on the table beside me, her fingers lingering on the surface for just a moment before she straightened.

"You're the man of the house now," she said quietly. Her voice was steady, but there was a weight to her words, as if they carried more than just responsibility. "I thought a lot last night. About us. About you. I don't know why you're different—why you've changed. But I've decided to accept it, at least for now."

I stared at her, the words sinking in slowly. The keys glinted on the table like a symbol of everything she was relinquishing. Control. Trust. She was giving it all to me.

But then her tone shifted, growing sharper, more guarded. "One thing, though," she added, her eyes narrowing slightly. "No kissing. No touching me like that again. I'm still your mother. That hasn't changed."

Her voice wavered, just for a moment, as if she was trying to convince herself as much as me. She turned away quickly, pretending to busy herself with something on the counter. I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands clenched briefly before she forced them to relax.

She didn't say the words, but I could feel it. The kiss from before lingered in her mind, the memory a storm she couldn't escape. And maybe... maybe I didn't want her to.

My attention shifted back to my sister as she stirred against me. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she looked up at me with a sleepy innocence that made my chest ache. But then her lips curled into a knowing smile, and I froze.

"You're awake," she said, her voice soft but teasing.

"I am," I replied cautiously, unsure of where this was going.

Her smile widened, her gaze sharp and unrelenting. "I love you, brother," she said, her tone light but laced with something that made my stomach twist. "I wanted the first kiss, you know. But you decided otherwise."

My breath caught, and I felt my heart race in a way that had nothing to do with affection. "What?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She shrugged, her expression almost playful. "It's fine, though. Now you have both of us. So... be ready."

The words slammed into me like a physical blow. My mind reeled, struggling to process what she was saying—what she meant. I opened my mouth to respond, to deny or question, but the words wouldn't come.

Instead, a sharp pain blossomed in my head, a headache so intense it felt like my skull was splitting. I gritted my teeth, trying to fight through the fog of confusion and discomfort. But the truth was undeniable.

Nothing was the same anymore. Nothing could ever go back to the way it was.

Nothing was the same anymore. Nothing could ever go back to the way it was.

But wait—nothing isn't the same, because if it is, then they will die. That's something I won't let happen.

I must be king. This is a good start.

I stood from the couch, carefully disentangling myself from my sister's arms. Her teasing smile lingered in my mind, a spark of something I couldn't yet name. I avoided her gaze as I walked to the door, locking it behind me. My mother stood in the kitchen, her back to me, the tension in her shoulders betraying her inner turmoil. I couldn't let her or my sister carry this weight. It was mine alone to bear.

They were mine. Both of them.

But being king didn't mean just claiming what was mine. It meant protecting it, ensuring that nothing could ever take it away. That was the promise I'd made to myself. That was the reason the voice had chosen me.

Aurora's voice echoed faintly in my mind, the same words that had started this journey, the ones I could never forget:

"Reborn to kill the final boss."

This wasn't a simple message. It wasn't just a call to adventure. It was a command—a second chance at life after everything had been stripped from me. A chance to rewrite my story, to forge a destiny carved from fire and steel.

As I thought of the game launching tomorrow, one thought echoed in my mind: I needed strength. True, unyielding strength.

But strength wasn't just about stats or skills. It was about strategy, and I had one in mind—a secret that had been whispered about on forums and message boards, a rumor so elusive that most dismissed it as a myth.

I remembered the hushed conversations and cryptic posts: the Demon Lord subclass.

Most players believed it was just an NPC role, a figure designed to be a boss, not a playable class. But a select few claimed otherwise. According to them, there was a way to unlock it—a hidden path tied to a specific starting NPC.

The details were vague, deliberately obscured by those who wanted the secret for themselves. But one thing was clear: the Demon Lord wasn't just a class. It was a role of dominance.

Players who unlocked it would gain unparalleled power—command over any weapon, mastery of every type of magic, and the ability to control others. Pawns, both NPCs and players, would serve you, bound to your will.

And then there was the most controversial aspect: the seven wives.

For most players, the idea was horrifying. The thought of binding seven people to your will, manipulating them into serving your class, was too much.

But for me, it was perfect.

Girls weren't to be trusted. I'd learned that the hard way. Betrayal, lies, and manipulation were the only things they seemed capable of. But this—this subclass would turn the tables.

The Demon Lord's mechanics ensured that the wives couldn't leave you, couldn't betray you. They were bound, body and soul, to your control.

To others, that might have seemed terrifying or dangerous. To me, it was freeing.

If they couldn't leave me, they couldn't betray me.

They would be mine, completely. Not people, not partners—items. Tools to control, to wield, to own.

I no longer cared about love or trust. Those things were illusions. What mattered now was power, loyalty, and control. If the Demon Lord required seven wives to reach full strength, then I'd find them. I'd take them. And I'd make them mine.

I dropped to the floor, starting my first set of push-ups. My arms burned, but I welcomed the pain. It reminded me that I was alive, that I had a purpose.

I had to be ready. I didn't just want the Demon Lord subclass—I needed it. It was the only path that aligned with my vow, my purpose.

I paused mid-set, my mind racing as I pieced together the fragments of what I knew. The subclass wasn't listed in any official documentation, but the rumors all pointed to a single NPC: the starter guide. If you said the right words to them—words that no one could agree on—you'd unlock the path to becoming the Demon Lord.

It wouldn't be easy. The game's developers had clearly designed the subclass to be nearly impossible to unlock, let alone master. But that didn't matter. I'd overcome every obstacle, no matter how high.

I stood, my breath steady despite the ache in my muscles. The next phase of my preparation would begin. I needed information—every detail I could gather about the game, its mechanics, and the hidden subclass. I combed through forums and guides, scouring for clues, piecing together the puzzle.

But physical preparation was just as important. I needed to be strong—not just in the game, but in the real world. I would be the protector, the shield for those who mattered most.

My mother. My sister.

They were my foundation, my reason for everything. And if the Demon Lord required me to manipulate, to control, to dominate, then so be it. I would use its power not for conquest, but for protection.

The seven wives weren't a goal—they were a necessity. The game's mechanics were clear: the Demon Lord needed these bonds to reach full strength, to face the final boss.

But in my case, they wouldn't just be pawns. They'd be part of my family, part of my kingdom.

The sun dipped below the horizon as I leaned back in my chair, exhaustion threatening to overtake me. Tomorrow, the game would launch. And when it did, I would claim the Demon Lord subclass.

Not to build a kingdom. Not to conquer the game.

But to protect what was mine. To fulfill the voice's command.

"Reborn to kill the final boss."

This was my second chance. My rebirth. And I wouldn't fail.