CHAPTER 456: ’LET’S TALK ABOUT HENDRIX.’

’Now why does he seem so angry?’ Florian thought, his brows furrowing slightly as he observed Heinz’s rigid posture and sharp gaze.

Whatever the reason was, he needed to clear it up—before this got worse.

"Your Majesty, I’m not protecting him," Florian said calmly, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

Heinz’s eyes narrowed. "Then why did you stop me from killing him?"

Florian drew in a slow breath. "Why... do you want to kill him? He hasn’t done anything wrong—at least, not yet." His voice was firm but not confrontational.

It was true. As far as Florian knew, Heinz had always been coldly indifferent toward Hendrix.

He had only ordered Hendrix’s execution in the original timeline after learning the original Florian and Heinz had slept together.

That hadn’t happened here—so what changed?

"He—" Heinz started, but the words died in his throat. He paused, jaw tightening.

Right. Even he couldn’t argue this time.

Technically, Hendrix hadn’t committed any crime. Even presenting the late King Henry’s will wasn’t illegal. In fact, it was one of the two things Florian had wanted to discuss.

"Your Majesty," Florian said carefully, "did you know about that will?"

He didn’t really need the answer—it was written all over Heinz’s face.

Still, he needed to hear it from him.

Heinz’s grip on his arms finally loosened. He let go, stepping back with a frustrated sigh, fingers dragging roughly through his long hair.

"...Yes."

Florian frowned. "How did you know about it? Why does he have it? Have you known about it... before you killed the previous king?"

He paused—then added with quiet intensity, "Please tell me the truth. I need every piece of information before I tell you what I might know."

He wasn’t going to repeat his past mistakes. Not again. Not when Heinz always seemed to be three steps ahead.

Heinz’s eyes flicked to him briefly. "What information could you possibly have on Hendrix?"

Florian didn’t say a word—he just stared. Unwavering.

That silence was enough.

Heinz exhaled again, deeper this time, and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "I didn’t know at first. In my first life, I mean."

Florian’s heart skipped.

"I..." Heinz hesitated, but Florian’s steady gaze kept him going. "Hendrix came to the palace just before my birthday ball. I was about to dismiss him like always, but he stopped me. He said his mother had given him a letter—from our father. A letter with instructions. Directions on how to find the final will."

Florian’s breath caught in his throat.

"He followed those instructions and found it. A will that stated he was the rightful heir. Legally... he was supposed to be king."

Florian’s eyes widened. That hadn’t been mentioned in the novel at all.

"...Why did he tell you?" he asked quietly. "Did he want to claim the throne?"

Heinz turned away, his voice low. "No. He offered it to me—in exchange for a pardon for his mother."

Florian stared at him, stunned. "What?"

That... didn’t make sense.

Hendrix had the upper hand, and that was what he asked for?

"That doesn’t make sense, Your Majesty. That was all he wanted?"

Heinz gave a half-shrug. "Hendrix, as I’ve said, is weak. Naive. Soft. My father coddled him into thinking the world would respond to kindness. That’s why I knew he could never rule. That’s why I ignored him."

Florian studied Heinz carefully. His words sounded detached, logical—but something about the tension in his shoulders said otherwise.

"Then why... were you about to kill him earlier?" Florian repeated, voice quieter now. "If he wasn’t a threat."

But Heinz didn’t answer.

Instead, he looked back at Florian with that same unreadable expression and spoke, his voice colder this time.

"Why did you stop me from killing him? And what information do you think you have?"

The shift in tone sent a shiver down Florian’s spine. It was sharp and almost...cold.

Florian resisted the urge to glare at Heinz. The man was clearly trying to avoid any real conversation about Hendrix, brushing it all aside in favor of violence.

’Why does he always default to bloodlust?’

But no—he couldn’t let that happen. Not this time.

So, he inhaled deeply, steadying himself.

"Your Majesty," he began, carefully choosing his words, "I believe Hendrix is—or was—the strange man."

The change in Heinz was immediate.

He froze.

"...What?"

Florian’s hands curled into fists on his lap, knuckles tight against his thighs. "When I bumped into him earlier, it felt... intentional. Like he bumped into me on purpose. He spoke to me with a kind of familiarity that felt off—and his manner of speech, it was exactly like how I remember the strange man speaking."

He paused for a breath, forcing the words out evenly.

"And when the strange man kissed my forehead... the memory it triggered was somehow related to him. The one where the original Florian and Hendrix were about to be executed."

Heinz turned toward him slowly, his crimson eyes wide in disbelief.

The implication hung heavy in the room.

If Hendrix was the strange man... then he wasn’t weak. Not even close. He had enough magical power to access memory magic—powerful, ancient magic that only a few could even attempt to use.

But more than that... it meant Hendrix remembered.

All of it.

And from the way he acted—his bold words, the way he challenged Heinz so openly—it was clear that this Hendrix wasn’t the same soft, naive version from Heinz’s memories.

Or even as he was briefly described in the novel.

He wasn’t the same at all.

Neither was Heinz, really.

They were both deviating from the path of their first life—and Florian had Cashew’s reaction earlier to back it all up.

There was no denying the signs anymore.

"Wait, he..." Heinz’s voice broke the silence, low and shaking. His hands trembled, fingers twitching in fury.

Florian didn’t flinch. He had been expecting it.

This wasn’t just information—it was a bomb.

"He kissed your forehead?" Heinz’s voice came out sharper now, the rage simmering just beneath the surface.

Almost threatening.