CHAPTER 463: ’ALL OF THIS ALREADY HAPPENED.’

’So much livelier now than I was before so...’

Hendrix really does remember the past.

Doesn’t he?

Florian continued to stare up at him, his breath caught in his throat as Hendrix’s hand remained gently on his cheek.

The way Hendrix was looking down at him—with such fondness, such familiarity—it made something heavy stir in Florian’s chest.

Why... did he feel guilty?

"J-Just tell me... about this future. You... You told Cashew about a future where I died..." Florian’s voice faltered slightly, tripping over his words. He was momentarily thrown off by the softness in Hendrix’s gaze, the quiet intensity behind it.

Hendrix’s eyes dropped, his expression shifting—mournful now, regretful.

He looked... genuinely sad.

"Right," Hendrix murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over Florian’s cheek. "I have to tell you the truth, Your Highness. Or rather... I believe I should show you the truth instead."

"Huh?" Florian blinked, confused.

What did he mean by show?

"May I?" Hendrix asked gently.

Florian tilted his head. "May you what? I’m... confused." And he truly was. Hendrix’s words felt like riddles, and Florian could barely keep up.

"May I show you the truth?"

Florian blinked again, realization dawning.

Oh.

Hendrix wanted to show him what happened—what truly happened—in their first life. Not just what the novel told him. Not just what the original Florian had revealed in fragments. But the rest. The missing pieces. The raw, unfiltered memories.

The ones that might hurt.

Florian’s chest tightened. He wanted to say yes. He was curious—desperate, even—for answers. But...

"Uhm..." His voice trembled slightly. His hands clenched and unclenched by his sides. Something inside him recoiled, pulled back. Because all he could remember was—

The kidnappers. Forcing foreign, violent memories into his head.

Stabbing him when he tried to resist.

The pain. The terror. The helplessness.

It all flashed before his eyes.

And Hendrix must’ve seen it. That flicker of fear in his expression.

"What’s wrong?" Hendrix asked, his voice still calm, but now layered with concern.

"I uh... I got kidnapped recently," Florian admitted quietly, eyes dropping to the floor.

"I’ve heard of that," Hendrix said gently. "Is there... anything making you uncomfortable?"

"W-Well... you, you’re the strange man, right...? I... you were the one who showed me that... vision...?"

A small smile tugged at Hendrix’s lips. "So it did work. And you do remember."

Florian gave a reluctant nod.

"My... kidnappers did the same," he murmured. "But... they showed traumatic memories. They... used it to torture me. If... if you’re going to do the same, I..."

His voice cracked, just a little. He wasn’t used to being this vulnerable. This exposed.

But he couldn’t go through that again. Not right now.

Hendrix’s smile faded into something softer. Understanding.

"It’s fine," he said gently. "Take your time, then. May I just talk instead? Tell you why I’m here, the truth about everything. About my brother. About... us, Your Highness?"

Florian exhaled, then nodded slowly. "Alright," he said, finally stepping away from Hendrix’s touch. He paused, glancing back. "Also... please stop calling me ’Your Highness’. You have a much higher status than me, so it’s a bit awkward."

Hendrix chuckled at that. A quiet, almost nostalgic laugh.

"You said the exact same thing."

’Really?’ Florian blinked. The original Florian told him the exact same thing?

His brows furrowed as he walked across the room toward the intricately carved couch. He sat down slowly, taking a moment to steady himself. Then, he lifted his hand and gestured toward the seat adjacent to his.

Hendrix followed without a word, settling onto the opposite couch so that they were facing each other—two lifetimes caught between them.

There was a moment of silence between them. Hendrix simply stared at Florian—calm, composed, and unreadable. Meanwhile, Florian tried his best not to shift uncomfortably under the weight of that stare. It wasn’t hostile... but it was heavy.

Hendrix didn’t seem like he planned to speak first. So, to ease the thick quiet and avoid spiraling into more awkward tension, Florian finally opened his mouth.

"You showed me a vision," he began, tone steady, guarded. "You mentioned to Cashew that I was going to get executed in the future... and yet, you speak as if we’ve known each other for a long time. You always refer to me in the past tense. So I’m confused."

He kept his expression as neutral as possible, even while subtly mimicking the real Florian’s mannerisms—clueless, composed, and careful. His hands folded neatly on his lap as he continued.

"You’re Prince Hendrix Obsidian, so I don’t think we’ve met before that incident... before you showed up as the strange man. Yet you speak with so much familiarity."

Hendrix’s smile twitched wider—subtle, but undeniably there. Almost amused.

’They’re so similar yet at the same time not.’ Florian thought, eyes narrowing just a little as he studied him. Heinz and Hendrix—both were Obsidian princes, both looked nearly identical, yet... there was something off. Something fundamentally different beneath the surface.

"To tell you the truth..." Hendrix finally spoke, voice low but steady, his expression softening. He took a breath. "What I showed Cashew. What I showed you. And... what I’m about to tell you now—it’s not the future."

He paused.

"It’s the past."

Florian’s eyes widened a little, his posture tightening. That—that wasn’t what he expected.

Hendrix wasn’t going to dance around it.

He was going to tell him everything?

That was... new.

"The... past?" Florian echoed, his voice laced with disbelief. He furrowed his brows, adding a slight scoff under his breath for effect.

"Rather, our first life," Hendrix clarified gently.

There was a beat of silence. Then Florian let out a small laugh. Sharp, slightly amused.

"My, who knew the second prince was such a jokester," he said, tone lightly teasing—feigning denial, to make his disbelief more convincing. He leaned back slightly, just enough to signal doubt.

But Hendrix didn’t flinch. His expression didn’t shift.

He was serious.

"I am telling you the truth," Hendrix said quietly, firmly. "All of this... it’s already happened."

His eyes met Florian’s without wavering. There was no hesitation, only certainty.

"I know it’s hard to believe. But the proof was in the memory I showed you. Deep inside, you already have that memory. Because the world—somehow—reset. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. But I do know that my memories remained. You and I..." Hendrix exhaled slowly, his gaze never leaving Florian’s, "we’ve met before."

Then his voice dropped, just slightly—enough for the weight of his next words to settle coldly in the room.

"And my brother... Heinz..."

Hendrix’s eyes darkened, sorrow and bitterness curling into his tone.

"He had us both executed."