CHAPTER 458: ’NOT ONE BIT.’

Ha.

Ha?

Was Florian joking?

Heinz waited—expected, even—for Florian to laugh, to say it was some kind of bad joke or exaggeration. But Florian just stared at him, expression dead serious. Not a hint of teasing. Not a flicker of doubt.

"How could that be? That’s ridiculous," Heinz muttered, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. "The God turned back time for me, not for Hendrix. There is no possible way Hendrix has his memories."

His voice carried conviction, but the more he repeated it, the more it felt like he was trying to convince himself. He could almost hear the cracks beginning to form.

Because Heinz did remember that the original Florian also somehow retained his memories. A fact that never sat fully right with him.

But he’d rationalized it—told himself that it was because Florian had been replaced by ’Aden.’ That maybe the vessel, or the soul, or whatever strange divine mechanism had been used, preserved the memories somehow.

Or maybe, more cleverly, the God had chosen Florian because he’d already died—because he was the least likely suspect in the crime that led to Heinz’s own murder.

And it was logical.

That was the exact train of thought Heinz followed when he first realized time had been rewound.

But Hendrix?

What reason could there possibly be for Hendrix to return with his memories?

Nothing, Heinz thought coldly. Nothing good, at least.

And then Florian looked at him.

That look.

It wasn’t angry, it wasn’t pitying. It was something worse.

Something sharp and quiet that Heinz didn’t know how to defend against.

It was disappointment.

It was the kind of look that made Heinz feel something he wasn’t used to feeling—something foreign, unfamiliar, and unwanted.

Shame.

Because Florian was staring at him like he was the dumbest man alive.

And that was impossible.

Heinz was not dumb.

Still... the sting of that look stayed.

Florian let out a sigh. "Your Majesty, you said it yourself—last time, Hendrix came to your birthday and showed you a letter, begging for forgiveness or something of the sort. Now? He’s come to challenge you. He spoke to me with so much familiarity. He’s been trying to trigger the original Florian’s memories."

His brow creased, and he looked down, eyes shadowed. "Not to mention..." He glanced toward the door Cashew had just left through.

’Oh? Is he finally going to address the Cashew situation?’ Heinz thought, watching him carefully.

"I’m sure you’ve noticed Cashew’s strange behavior. His sudden overprotectiveness... and his clear disdain for you." Florian’s voice was steady now. "I confirmed Hendrix was the strange man because Cashew didn’t even flinch when Hendrix appeared earlier. He wasn’t surprised at all."

He looked up at Heinz then—calm, sure. "For whatever reason, you and maybe even Lucius knew Cashew was suspicious, and neither of you did anything about it. I’d like you to continue doing nothing, and let me handle him."

Heinz didn’t reply right away.

Yes, he had suspected something about Cashew. There were inconsistencies. There was

that subtle malice.

Heinz had tested him multiple times, watching to see if he’d harm Florian, especially since all the attacks in this life seemed to revolve around Florian.

But Cashew never did. He never made a move against Florian—or against Heinz, for that matter. And Florian, smart as he was, had clearly already picked up on it himself. So Heinz had let it go. Had forgotten about it, even.

Until now.

But then...

If Hendrix really was the strange man—

"Why is he targeting you?" Heinz demanded, his tone low and sharp.

His eyes narrowed, voice filled with an edge of something dangerous.

Rage curled up his spine again at the memory—the kiss on Florian’s forehead, the way Hendrix looked at him. That arrogant familiarity.

It made Heinz sick.

It made him furious.

He wanted to kill Hendrix all over again.

Florian let out a small laugh—but there was no joy in it. Heinz caught it right away.

It was bitter.

"Same reason he’s taunting you, Your Majesty." Florian’s voice had quiet fire behind it. "You had him and the original Florian executed. Remember?" He took a breath, gaze steady. "And knowing the original Florian’s most trusted aide was Cashew, I assume Hendrix gained Cashew’s loyalty the same way he got to me—with that magic."

His eyes slowly locked onto Heinz’s.

Heinz’s eyes widened slightly, realization dawning.

"Showed him the past," he muttered.

"Yes."

’Fuck.’

Heinz thought. Why did everything feel like it was spiraling again? Alexandria was finally gone.

That nightmare was over.

But now Hendrix?

Hendrix, of all people, returned?

And worst of all... he was after Florian?

His Florian?

Again?

Heinz grit his teeth. He really needed someone—anyone—to give him a solid reason not to kill Hendrix.

Because right now?

He had none.

"You’re thinking about killing him again, now aren’t you?"

Heinz’s eyes snapped to Florian, who looked thoroughly unimpressed—done, even. The kind of look that made Heinz pause. And for a moment, all he could do was stare back in disbelief.

’Why is he so done with me exactly?’ Heinz thought, irritation curling in his chest. ’As far as I see it, I’m not even in the wrong.’

But despite the urge to argue, Heinz caught himself. He could tell Florian was reaching the edge of his patience.

The irritation in his voice, the way he wouldn’t even meet Heinz’s eyes—he was clearly annoyed.

And if Heinz wanted to salvage the conversation, he needed to cool his temper.

So he swallowed it all down—the frustration, the rage, the violent urge to end Hendrix once and for all—and tried to be rational.

"Do you have any other things to propose to deal with him?" Heinz asked, voice tighter than he intended. He ran a hand through his long hair, fingers visibly trembling as he forced himself to stay calm, to shove the fury back down.

Florian didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he began fidgeting with his fingers, eyes averted, and the moment Heinz saw that—he regretted asking.

Regretted it deeply.

Because Florian’s posture, his silence, his refusal to look at him—all of it screamed that whatever he was about to say, Heinz wasn’t going to like it.

Not one bit.