“Don’t mess with me! What do you think I’ve done wrong!?”
A young man kneeling at the execution platform shouted furiously.
“Silence, you traitor!”
“Guh…!”
The knight restraining him tightened his grip, forcing the young man into silence.
In the capital city of Clockronde, at the grand plaza, a crowd had gathered to witness the impending execution of a single man.
The young man on the platform was named Claym Bradley, a marquis of the Chronostaria Kingdom. Among the public, he was infamously known as a ruthless, villainous aristocrat—a hopeless scoundrel. The repeated descriptions of him as “evil” might make one question the creativity of those speaking, but it was the undeniable truth. And now, his public execution was about to begin.
Why?
There was only one reason for his death sentence: he was deemed a threat to the nation’s future and prosperity, guilty of heinous crimes, and declared a traitor by both the king and the people.
“Just disappear from this world already!!”
“You’re a disgrace to the marquis family!!”
“You’re not even fit to call yourself a noble!!”
The spectators hurled abuse and insults, their collective hatred, contempt, and disgust bearing down on Claym, urging him to die immediately. Surrounded by this flood of negativity, his thoughts weren’t filled with repentance or reflection but pure anger.
Why did it come to this?
The young man—Claym—struggled to understand why he was on the execution platform, why he had to be punished. From his perspective, he hadn’t done anything wrong. If anything, he believed his actions deserved praise and recognition. So why was he being treated this way?
He had only worked for the kingdom’s sake. As a noble, he took pride in his efforts to build a better nation and devoted himself tirelessly to its prosperity. He didn’t think he had caused anyone any trouble—or perhaps he had caused some, but surely not enough to warrant this.
But his obliviousness only fueled the people’s anger further.
“You cost me my family! Do you have any idea what it’s like to lose someone you love because of your reckless actions!?”
“Because of you, I lost my job! If it weren’t for you… I could’ve had a happy future!”
“Give him back! Give me back my beloved father!!”
This was the result: the culmination of his efforts and the price he had to pay. The gap between the future he had envisioned and the harsh reality was vast and insurmountable.
Truly… why did it come to this?
Despite his outward protests, Claym’s thoughts grew colder. He truly couldn’t grasp the situation.
Born with noble blood, raised with a prestigious family name, and gifted with extraordinary talent, Claym had been trained in the principles of leadership from a young age. He believed he had stood up to the strong and helped the weak. But from an outsider’s perspective, every action he took was excessive, a nuisance, and a burden. To them, he was nothing more than an arrogant noble abusing his power.
His execution was seen as inevitable, a rightful consequence of his deeds. This irreconcilable difference in perception only deepened the chasm between him and the people.
Before he realized it, a guillotine blade, sharp enough to sever even a dragon’s neck, loomed above him. Everything was prepared. All that remained was for the king to give the command, releasing the blade to sever Claym’s neck in an instant.
“■■■■!! Where is ■■■■?! If ■■■■ were here, they’d prove my innocence! Help me, ■■■■!!”
At the last moment, Claym called out to the one person he trusted—the one friend who had shared his joys and sorrows. He was certain they would help him. But—
“I never knew you were this kind of person, Claym… You’ve been deceiving me all this time, haven’t you?”
“...What?”
The friend he trusted most denied him, pretending to be a victim and betraying him in the end.
Why?
Questions flooded his mind. The friend, who now watched the execution with an indifferent face, almost seemed to be smirking. Realizing this, Claym felt as though he had awoken from a forced dream.
I wasn’t betrayed… I was deceived. I was nothing more than a pawn to be discarded.
“────!!”
The moment this thought took root, a torrent of emotions surged through Claym. Above all, it was anger. He roared, hurling incoherent shouts of rage at the friend who had betrayed him.
“If they won’t help me, then my family must!”
Turning to his blood relatives, he pleaded with his younger sister.
“......”
But the girl, his own sister, looked at him with contempt before averting her gaze.
She won’t help me either.
“F■■■! You’re my fiancée! You’ll help me, won’t you!?”
Desperate, he turned to his nominal fiancée. But, as expected, she merely spat out a single word.
“Die.”
She won’t help me either.
“Someone, anyone! Please help me!!”
One by one, he begged for help. His classmates at the academy, the crown prince, the prince’s fiancée, even the descendant of a hero from a commoner family. Yet no one extended a hand.
Why?
Because everyone hated him, saw him as a blight, and believed he deserved to die.
His desperate cries only deepened the crowd’s disgust. Hoarse from screaming, Claym eventually fell silent, slumping in despair.
“......”
As if the earlier chaos had been a lie, he was now utterly dejected, consumed by regret. Born as the heir to a marquisate, with unmatched looks, martial prowess, and magical talent, Claym had been a prodigy.
He had strived to fulfill his duties as one of the chosen, but in the end, he was deceived, flattered into arrogance, and used as a pawn in a power struggle—only to meet this fate.
If only I had kept a low profile and stayed humble.
He wished he could abandon the responsibilities of the chosen and live a quiet, ordinary life of peace.
But regret was too late. No matter how much he lamented, death was all that awaited him.
“Do it.”
At the king’s command, the blade fell, severing Claym’s neck in an instant.
“Ah────”
As his consciousness faded, Claym thought one last wish:
If I could live again, I’d live humbly and quietly...
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself not in the afterlife, but back in his childhood—10 years in the past.