The Male Lead Is Obsessed With My Health Chapter 313

Mehen’s expression twisted.

“Not knowing isn’t an excuse.”

“Why isn’t it? Everyone lives like that.”

Valer offered consolation that didn’t suit him at all. It was a considerate remark—saying that since she hadn’t known, she could just let it go—but Mehen couldn’t do that.

“Even if everyone else lives like that, I—”

A surge of self-loathing rose belatedly, bringing bile up Mehen’s throat.

Her emotions wouldn’t settle.

It sounded ridiculous, but Mehen still couldn’t forget the sun-like boy who had saved her when she was young.

Valer had been her savior—the one who changed the fate that would’ve seen her die uselessly wandering the streets—and her benefactor, who had given her precious things she’d never even imagined having in her lifetime.

It would be a lie to say the time she’d spent effectively running Halbern alone hadn’t been grueling.

But Valer was the reason she couldn’t leave Halbern—despite Lord Morden’s gaze that saw her as nothing more than an amusing toy, and despite Sione’s pity-filled question of why she didn’t run away.

Because her only friend—the one who saw her as human—was here.

Even as disgust, rage, and self-hatred churned her insides, her sharp mind continued to function.

What had she been doing while Valer went through all of this alone?

She’d just gotten annoyed that he wouldn’t explain things, snapped at him, called him a damn bastard. Sure, the years of trouble he’d caused her hadn’t exactly been pleasant—but still…

Compared to Valer, who had experienced those things firsthand, her situation had been far better.

“Guess none of my stories were interesting.”

“Who the hell finds stories like that interesting?!”

“Well, probably more people than you think.”

Mehen gagged again at that.

Valer didn’t fully understand Mehen’s self-loathing—but at the same time, he liked this side of her.

Compared to those who dodged guilt by saying they were victims too, that they’d only done what they were told—how human was this reaction?

“So what’s the real reason you’re telling me all this now?”

Watching Mehen interrogate him harshly, her face pale, Valer rested his chin on his hand.

“I have an illness.”

“What kind.”

“Maybe I spent too much time playing with test subjects as a kid? Sometimes people look like monsters to me.”

Mehen stared at him like what kind of bullshit is that.

“I’m serious. The hallucination that bothered me the most is gone now, but…”

Valer clenched and unclenched his empty hand, tilting his head crookedly.

Even though his sister’s apparition was gone, even though he’d sealed away the power of regression, nothing had really changed. He’d already been broken long before that.

“I still struggle with impulses. Even now, there’s a sweet voice whispering in one corner of my head. It tempts me, saying it’d be easier if I let everything go. That I’d be free if I just released what I’m holding.”

Whatever tormented him, Valer had long possessed the power to end it all.

If he killed everyone, it’d be over easily.

Ah—maybe he should just kill them all?

If he slaughtered and slaughtered until the world became a sea of blood, wouldn’t that be fair? Everyone destroyed equally.

“But whenever I want to give in, faces start popping up, one by one…”

Valer’s slow voice sank.

When his sister was alive, it was her.

After that, it was Mehen.

“Me?”

Mehen asked incredulously, but Valer just stared at her.

His last shred of humanity.

Proof that there had once been a time when he still shone.

The only friend who had shared his happiest days, however brief.

The anchor that kept those memories from fading.

Morden had kept Mehen close to prevent Valer from running—but to Valer, utterly alone, Mehen had been his only lifeline.

“I like that you’re a good, upright person. That you’re kind to others too.”

How precious was someone who could scold you and set you straight when you were wrong?

Through countless regressions, Mehen had always stood in the same place like a signpost—and because of her, Valer never lost his way.

“It’s all thanks to you.”

Valer was grateful for all of it.

He hadn’t lost anything.

Not Mehen. Not Arellin.

Maybe this was the first time, across countless regressions, that he’d been this intact.

“I’m truly grateful.”

Mehen felt burdened by this display. These were Valer’s true feelings—things some people would want to hear forever and never get the chance to.

If he were always this honest, maybe—but suddenly laying his heart bare like this made her uneasy.

It sounded like someone heading off to die.

‘It’d be better if he just caused trouble.’

Downing the harsh whiskey in Valer’s hand in one go, Mehen felt her throat burn, her head snapping clear. Only then did she speak.

“Fine. I get it. So what do you actually want to say to me? What are you trying to get me to do with this long build-up?”

“I don’t really have an agenda.”

“Then why are you buttering me up like this? It won’t work.”

At Mehen’s firm, distant response, Valer’s eyes curved lazily.

“Capable and handsome Lady Mehen, don’t you want a territory?”

“Flattery won’t work either.”

“Seems like it is. You like me.”

“Ha. Bullshit.”

“You like my daughter too.”

“Ha!”

“We’re already family, aren’t we?”

Mehen wanted to deny it outright—but at this point, insisting otherwise felt ridiculous.

“…Yeah. Guess we are.”

She wanted to get drunk.

Mehen felt a powerful urge to escape reality.

“Let’s drink. Enough bullshit.”

“Sure. Whiskey?”

“No. Doesn’t suit my taste. Why drink something that hurts your throat? Beer’s better.”

“Such commoner tastes.”

“I’ll seriously kill you.”

Valer dropped the barrier and called the attendants in. Once her glass was filled, Mehen started drinking like her life depended on it. Then Valer casually tossed out an absurd remark.

“If I ever start acting strange one day, kill me.”

Mehen choked on her beer. Who says something like that while someone’s drinking?!

Valer handed her a handkerchief and added,

“I can’t ask my precious daughter to do something like that.”

“Drink your alcohol and shut up.”

“I am drinking.”

“Then shut up and drink.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And another thing.”

“Hm?”

“Go a little easy on your future son-in-law.”

“That depends on how the brat behaves.”

Valer lifted the corner of his mouth in a spiteful smile.

 

 

****

 

 

“Huh? I thought they were fighting—did they already make up?”

Seeing the sudden drinking spree, Arellin tilted her head.

Her dad, who’d been glaring at Pession like he wanted to kill him, suddenly started talking with Mehen, then Mehen frowned—and Arellin had thought they were fighting.

She’d been about to rush over when Pession stopped her.

“Maybe they made up? That’s why they’re drinking like that.”

The attendants continuously bringing alcohol—like they meant to empty the imperial wine cellar—was an impressive sight.

But Pession’s peace didn’t last long.

“Now hand Arellin over to me.”

“And who are you supposed to be?”

“Me? Arellin’s friend!”

Because Pession kept monopolizing Arellin, Sirua—who hadn’t been able to exchange even a few words with her long-lost friend—finally made her move.

Pession absolutely didn’t want to give her up, but…

“I’ll just go hang out for a bit.”

…With Arellin saying that, he couldn’t go against her wishes.

“See? You heard her.”

“…….”

Sirua beamed as the instant victor, while Pession crumpled under the shock of defeat.

Having successfully separated Arellin from Pession under the pretense of introducing her to more friends, Sirua chattered brightly.

“Everyone was so excited when I said I’d introduce Arellin—they told me to hurry up.”

Arellin found it surprising that Sirua had “ladies she knew,” but Sirua was royalty. She was bound to know noblewomen one way or another.

As Arellin was dragged along down the corridor—

“…?”

She stopped at the sight of a familiar figure from behind.

Why was that person here?