Never Die Villain

Weeks passed.

Anastasiya’s lessons only grew harder from there. Once her instructors realized she was no longer trying to avoid every lesson she disliked, they began demanding more from her, correcting mistakes they might have once overlooked and pushing her whenever they thought she could do better.

Complaining had once come naturally to her, but lately she found herself swallowing the words before they could leave her mouth.

One evening, Mariya noticed the bandages around her palms.

"My goodness, Ana." She immediately took her daughter’s hands. "What happened?"

"Training."

"Again?"

"It doesn’t hurt that much."

Mariya frowned. "You shouldn’t push yourself so hard."

"I have to."

"No, you don’t."

Anastasiya looked at her.

Mariya carefully unwound one of the bandages and examined the torn skin.

"You’ve always been so hard on yourself." Her thumb carefully avoided the wound. "Even when you were little, you’d cry and cry because you couldn’t do something, then wake up the next morning and try again anyway."

"...I used to run to Ilya."

"Yes." Mariya smiled at the memory. "You depended on him for everything."

"...."

"Of course, things are different now." Mariya began wrapping her hand again. "You’ve become so much stronger, Ana. I hardly have to worry about you anymore."

"...You don’t?"

"Isn’t that a good thing?"

Her mother laughed softly.

"You’re becoming such a wonderful young lady. Meanwhile, your poor brother can barely swing the sword anymore." Mariya tied off the bandage before gently squeezing her hand. "I’m grateful that at least one of my children doesn’t need me constantly worrying over her."

"One of your children..."

Anastasiya looked at her newly wrapped hand.

"...Right."

Mariya kissed her forehead.

"I’m proud of you."

The words should have made her happy. However, Anastasiya found herself wishing that her mother worried about her, too.

"Mother."

"Yes?"

"Could we have breakfast together tomorrow?"

Mariya looked up from the letter she was reading.

"Just the two of us?"

Anastasiya nodded. "We haven’t done that in a while."

For some inexplicable reason, asking felt embarrassing.

"Of course we can."

"Really?"

"Really."

Anastasiya smiled. The following morning, she arrived early.

She waited under the gazebo with two cups already prepared, occasionally glancing toward the path leading back to the mansion. Ten minutes passed before a servant finally approached her.

"My Lady."

"Where’s Mother?"

"Her Ladyship sends her apologies. Young Lord Ilya was feeling unwell this morning, so she will be taking breakfast with him in his chambers."

Anastasiya stared at the empty chair across from her.

"Oh."

"The Grand Duchess asked whether you would like to join them."

"...No."

"My Lady?"

"Tell her it’s fine."

She picked up her cup.

"I already ate."

The servant glanced toward the untouched plate in front of her but wisely said nothing.

That afternoon, Mariya found her.

"Ana."

Anastasiya continued reading.

"Hm?"

"Are you upset with me?"

"No."

Mariya sat beside her.

"I promised we’d have breakfast together."

"I said it’s fine."

"Ilya wasn’t feeling well."

"I know."

"I couldn’t just leave him alone."

"I know, Mother."

Anastasiya turned another page. Mariya watched her for a while before reaching over and gently taking the book from her hands.

"Ana."

"...What?"

"You know I love you, don’t you?"

Anastasiya finally looked at her.

"Of course."

"And you understand that Ilya has no one else right now."

"...He has us."

"Exactly."

Mariya smiled.

"He has us."

Something about the way she said it made Anastasiya feel ashamed.

"He lost Diane, his relationship with your father has become... difficult, and most of the family has never treated him particularly kindly."

Mariya gently tucked Anastasiya’s hair behind her ear.

"You and I are fortunate, Ana. We still have each other. Ilya lost something he’ll never be able to get back."

Anastasiya lowered her eyes.

"...I know."

"I knew you would understand."

Mariya kissed her forehead.

"You’ve always had such a kind heart."

Anastasiya couldn’t tell her anymore, not after that conversation.

To complain that she wanted her mother to herself for a single breakfast suddenly sounded unbearably childish when Ilya had watched his own mother die. To admit that she felt lonely seemed cruel when Ilya was apparently still waking from nightmares about Rabelle.

So Anastasiya smiled.

"It’s okay, Mother."

Mariya smiled back. "I knew it would be."

One evening, Anastasiya returned from another exhausting day of lessons and heard laughter coming from Mariya’s chambers.

She stopped outside the door.

"I told you already, Mother. That’s not what the author meant."

"Oh? Then explain it to me, Professor Ilya."

"Don’t call me that."

"Hehe. But you’re so serious whenever you explain these things."

"...."

She had spent the entire day being corrected.

Her swordsmanship instructor had criticized her footwork. Her etiquette tutor had complained about her posture. Her history tutor had given her twice as much reading after she failed to answer one of his questions.

Her father still wouldn’t see her, and now, standing outside her mother’s room, Anastasiya found herself hesitating once again. Her hand reached for the door, but before she could push it open, Mariya’s words from several days ago returned to her.

’I hardly have to worry about you anymore.’

Anastasiya kept her hand on the handle for a moment before slowly letting go. Her mother was right, wasn’t she?

She was the older sister, Father’s chosen successor, and if she was going to become Grand Duchess one day, she couldn’t keep running to her mother whenever she had a difficult day.

"...It’s fine."

She could tell her mother about her day some other time.

Anastasiya continued down the hallway, clutching the books against her chest as Mariya and Ilya’s conversation faded behind her.

She never noticed that the voices inside the room had gone silent shortly after she walked away.

Mariya’s eyes had shifted toward the door.

She had heard the footsteps approach. Yet she made no attempt to check who it was and simply returned her attention to Ilya.

"Ilya."

"Hm?"

"You were saying?"

* * *

For Anastasiya, the passing months had become unbearably lonely.

She had told herself that there was nothing wrong with the way things had changed, that eventually, even admitting she felt neglected became difficult.

Her father remained shut away from the world, Ilya had grown closer to Mariya in ways Anastasiya had never expected, and whenever she wanted her mother’s attention for herself, she found some reason to decide that whatever she wanted to say could wait until another day.

It took her nearly a year to finally gather the courage to stop doing that.

"Mother... can I talk to you?"

Mariya looked up from the papers spread across her desk.

"Of course, Ana." She immediately set them aside and smiled. "Come here. What’s wrong?"

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