New Chapters will be posted every Monday.
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There’s an old saying:
A face that can bring a nation to ruin.
I never really believed it. How could a war start over someone’s looks?
At least, that’s what I thought—until the day I died.
Jet-black hair like night, skin pale as snow.
Eyes as red and vivid as stars embedded in the sky, lips as tempting as ripe pomegranates.
A boy who looked like he was crafted by the gods themselves—noble, mysterious, and hauntingly beautiful.
And I’d become him.
I was now Anakin Descartes, the main bottom of a BL novel.
Not just any BL novel, either—one filled with obsessive, insane tops in a dark, explicit, high-angst multi-top/single-bottom story.
Kidnapping and imprisonment were the bare minimum.
I was destined for forced relationships, brainwashing, and worse.
It was hopeless.
But when I actually met them, those future predators were… surprisingly docile.
Maybe because they were still young.
“You can touch my hair if you want.”
“Didn’t you say you didn’t like that?”
“…You seem okay.”
At this rate, I’d definitely get entangled with all of them eventually.
So what if… I started manipulating them early on?
Maybe then I could rewrite my future.
▶ A Quick Glimpse
To Harca, Anakin seemed like someone who might disappear the moment he reached out his hand. Fragile, fleeting.
And yet, the boy would smile brighter than anyone else and tell Harca stories of the outside world—things he’d never heard before.
How much fun there was beyond the palace walls.
How many things there were to do.
Every time those vividly red lips spoke those strange, foreign words, time seemed to slow around Harca.
A beautiful boy. But not just beautiful—something more.
When Anakin came to him, the endless, dull hours Harca had endured suddenly felt worth living again.
“…You’re really strange. No, ‘strange’ doesn’t even cut it.
No one offers help knowing they’ll gain nothing from it.
At least, not in this palace.”
“Harca, there are people in this world who do good without expecting anything in return.”
Harca frowned at those words.
Sure, those people might exist.
The kind who pity you on their own terms and then get disappointed when reality doesn’t match their fantasy.
Most of them, Harca believed, were just hypocrites in love with their own kindness.
There was no guarantee this pretty little boy would be any different.
But somehow, with Anakin…
Even if he was faking it, Harca thought maybe that was okay.
He meant it, sincerely.
Anakin had the air of someone who didn’t quite belong in this world.
Skin as pale as porcelain, eyes so red they demanded attention.
He radiated an ethereal beauty—but always smiled like an innocent child, full of light.
Anyone could see it—he was something special.
A once-in-a-lifetime kind of existence.
Then one day, that small, snow-pale boy suddenly appeared in front of Harca.
Unlike anyone he had ever known.
From that moment on, Harca’s attention was entirely his.
That tiny, delicate boy.
His name was Anakin.
Anakin Descartes.
