When I Finished Playing the Terminally-Ill Villainous Omega C7

Chapter 7

“I have brought your medicine.”

“……”

Feigning sleep, I listened as footsteps approached.

Locke set a dish and a glass of water on the table beside the bed.

Whenever I appeared asleep, he always left the medicine there and departed quietly.

All I had to do was wait a little, and he would leave.

…Yet this time, even after placing the medicine down, he did not walk away.

Why isn’t he leaving?

Just as I wondered—

“…Forgive me.”

With a quiet murmur, Locke suddenly pulled back the blanket and forced me upright.

My heart nearly burst from shock; trembling violently, I clutched the blanket with both hands as though my life depended on it.

“I—I was wrong! Please, spare me! I had a reason—there was a reason I couldn’t stop them earlier—!”

I had no idea what I was saying.

I only knew I needed to beg.

But the pain I braced for never came.

Seconds passed—nothing happened.

And then, a calm voice:

“I do not understand what you are referring to, but this is Lady Cecile’s order. I apologize.”

“M—Mother?”

Through tear-blurred vision, I stared at Locke.

“Lady Cecile commanded me to confirm you take your medicine with my own eyes. And… why do you continue to speak formally to me?”

Oh. So he wasn’t here to kill me.

Relief washed over me, my chest loosening.

“Ahem. I—I was sleep-talking. Just woke up…”

Still avoiding Locke’s eyes—terrified the system window might appear—I popped the two pills into my mouth and swallowed hard.

“There. Done—ugh—done—”

I flung open a drawer and pulled out the tin of candy. Three pieces went into my mouth, and I held two out to him hastily.

“For you.”

“…I do not require them.”

“They’re bitter… Why? You ate them before. Take them.”

Locke stared at my hands for a long moment. Then, face frozen like a statue, he said,

“…I am not fond of grapes. Thank you for the thought. I will take my leave.”

He picked up the glass and dish, bowed shortly, and strode out before I could respond.

Still sitting there with two candies in my palm, I stared blankly at the closed door.

“…You ate them just fine last time.”

Had his taste changed overnight? I blinked in disbelief—then froze.

He probably thinks I abandoned him.

Earlier, I had retreated without intervening properly at the garden. From my perspective, I had done my best, avoiding the system trigger—but from his? It likely looked like hesitation. Or cowardice. Or that I ran, and he suffered for it.

Damn it.

Leaning against the headboard, I racked my brain for excuses. I needed to clear this up. Quickly.

But all that kept replaying was his rigid expression as he left, voice cool:

“I do not like grapes.”

“Then you shouldn’t have accepted them in the first place!”

❖ ❖ ❖

I spent the entire morning pacing like a restless puppy.

My pocket bulged with an orange I’d swiped from the kitchen—one of the most expensive imported fruits.

He can’t say he hates oranges too… right?

If he refused this as well, then yes—he was angry.

While wandering near a side entrance, I spotted Locke speaking with a servant.

I brightened, intending to approach—but something about the atmosphere made me freeze and duck behind a corner.

“…so I saved a portion just for you.”

Wait, what? Is this flirting?

Accidentally stumbling upon the scene, I grimaced. Then, oddly enough, I nodded internally.

Locke, without the monstrous future—tall, beautiful, Alpha, eventual Emperor—of course someone would fancy him.

“Go on, take it.”

The servant handed him a basket filled with perfectly ripe grapes.

They were clearly handpicked.

But giving grapes to someone who “hates” them? Pitiful.

I shook my head in sympathy.

“I never did anything to deserve such kindness.”

Locke’s tone was ice as he turned away.

Colder than winter wind. I’m offended on that servant’s behalf.

“Ah—well, you helped at the vineyard the other day. My father manages it—he insisted I bring you some as thanks.”

At that, Locke accepted the basket and immediately plucked a grape, placing it into his mouth without hesitation.

You said you don’t like grapes.

I stiffened.

“They’re good. Thank him for me.”

Jaw slack, I forced rationality upon myself.

Fine. Maybe he dislikes them but was being polite—

Then Locke picked another grape and ate it. Slowly, thoughtfully.

…

Eyes half-lidded, he stared toward a distant hill—the one with the old stable, where he had been brutalized.

Not with sentimentality, surely. Perhaps at the large tree near it.

Then, closing his eyes, he inhaled over the basket.

“…Careless.”

Too far to hear clearly, but one thing was obvious:

Locke liked grapes.

He really liked grapes.

I remained mute.

Perhaps he hadn’t rejected the candy because of grapes—perhaps he had rejected me.

Or perhaps—my gaze drifted to the retreating servant—Locke liked someone else.

Shoulders sinking, I then lifted my head sharply.

I needed the truth.

For my survival—my future—I could not afford misunderstandings.

I learned Aiden was invited for lunch and headed to the dining hall.

Except for my father, away on estate business, everyone was already there. Aiden too.

At the head of the table sat Cecile Allure Hestian, my mother.

The first time I saw her here, I had collapsed in tears. She looked exactly like the mother I’d lost in my original life. She remained the person I held most dearly here.

“I heard you’re designing the ceremonial floral crown for the imperial hunt. How magnificent,” Aiden praised her with a charming smile.

“Ah, nobles do love their gossip. It seems word travels fast.”

“And your awakening—everyone knows. They’re already discussing your ennoblement.”

Ciel quietly set down her teacup as she spoke.

In this world, awakening as a trait-bearer earned automatic title—regardless of one’s lineage. A nation’s strategy to secure gifted bloodlines.

Naturally, my mother and siblings congratulated him.

As for me—titles were none of my concern.

My thoughts churned. I cut into my lamb, brooding.

Was I so unbearable he’d reject even food?

We had been making progress—little by little. And now—

I bit my tongue, swallowing frustration.

Later, I would find that gardener and confirm what happened to Locke afterward. If it had been me—what more could I have done? Had I stepped closer, the mission would have triggered. And then, in front of everyone, I would’ve—

Ugh. My injustice—who would understand it?

Another sigh escaped me.

Just then, servants opened the grand arched doors to bring the next course—

And Locke, passing by, halted at the sight of us.