I Regret The Kindness I Gave You (20 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 6
“Hey, can someone please teach this idiot a lesson!”
“If you want to shove your head in water all day, go ahead—no matter how hard you bark, not a single hair on your head will be heeded here.”
“You little punk, acting so damn rude? Should I teach you what ‘manners’ even means? Huh?”
His mind was filled entirely with hallucinations.
Even though he knew this world was false—a fabrication of his own making—Lud dared not break free from it.
It was a scar carved by violence, his own personal prison.
The day he went from being an orphan surviving on alleyway pickpocketing to becoming an arena slave—
From that day onward, his hell continued relentlessly until Lud finally realized his reality and bowed his head.
Rebellion brought flogging; rebellion again brought water torture. Such was the teaching method of the vast underworld known as ‘the Underground.’
They meticulously tamed and subjugated the young boy who dared to defy and claw his way up, ultimately forging him into a usable fighter.
Yet only the conclusion seemed so simple—the process itself was anything but.
Lud developed an intense aversion to water. The mere hint of its fishy stench sent shivers crawling up his spine.
The searing pain of raw, open wounds touching water, the suffocating sensation of being held underwater by the hair even as he retched—none of it could be forgotten.
Thus, the moment Lud abruptly awoke from sleep and realized his body was submerged in water, he was instantly dragged back into that past hell as though flung headfirst into it.
It was useless knowing these were mere auditory and visual illusions—his mind had already been completely paralyzed.
His ears felt muffled, his thoughts a chaotic, filthy stew.
The stench of water and the persistent damp discomfort pressing against his skin left him unable to regain his senses even for an instant.
What did he care? Whose gentle hand was pulling him upright? Whose warm, tickling voice was trying to rouse him? What did any of that even matter?
He merely thrashed wildly, trapped in his own personal hell.
The sharp object his hand found carved red streaks across something pure and pale, gripping with all the strength he could muster.
What was this? What could possibly be so frail, so delicate?
Just as this question began to form in his mind, something covered his ears.
“Lud.”
A familiar voice—certainly one he’d heard before. But who…?
The jeers and coarse curses of men that had tormented him dissolved into a hazy blur.
Someone pressed their lips close to his ear and whispered his name. “Lud, snap out of it.”
The strained voice, choked by a tightened throat, was unbearably thin—as if it might snap at any moment.
In that instant, all hallucinations vanished completely, and his vision cleared.
“…Lud.”
The first thing he sensed was the small hand covering his ears. Next, the voice. Then… her face.
The moment their eyes met, his breath stopped.
It was as if he’d become a newborn infant taking its first breath—completely unsure how to inhale or exhale.
Her presence was like a painting—yet not like the cheap artworks he occasionally passed by in underground auction houses. Rather, she resembled an immensely expensive masterpiece, always hidden beneath layers of exquisite silk, revealed only briefly when the wind parted the fabric—something he scarcely dared to look upon.
It was overwhelming. How could he possibly describe this feeling, this impression?
The very instant he looked at her, he felt nothing more than black ash piled beside a fireplace.
If his unrefined, coarse mind strained hard enough, the only thought it could produce was this: she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Nothing else existed in his vision beyond her—even colors around her faded.
In his world, she alone possessed color and radiance.
“Lud, are you alright now?”
Though he understood the question was meant for him, he couldn’t answer.
Their eyes had locked perfectly at the exact moment she asked.
Her eyes shimmered with a reddish hue. Her eyelashes—pale white, or perhaps a faint golden tint—draped downward like peacock feathers, above which lay a lake.
It was a lake that threatened to swallow him whole if he lost focus.
Only a masterful mix of deep blue and white pigment could produce such an ethereal shade of blue—her eyes, glistening with moisture, fixed upon him.
…Moisture? They were wet?
The moment he realized this, time itself seemed to pause—just the two of them, suspended in the world.
Reality snapped back as if from a dream when he saw tears trailing down her pale, soft cheeks.
“You—you lunatic! Have you lost your mind?!”
Her throat, as red as her eyes, had been strangled by his hands with all his might as she cried silently.
He jerked his hands away in horror—only to find even more horrifying sights waiting.
Wounds undoubtedly made by the shards of glass he’d just flung, now tangled messily with flowing blood.
Damn it, did this woman have no sense of self-preservation? She was clearly half his size—what reckless madness made her think she could grab a lunatic like him?
“Have you gone completely insane? What on earth made you come in here? Do you really want to get yourself killed playing hero?”
His coarse, uneducated speech—carefully suppressed until now for fear of appearing vulgar—spilled out uncontrollably.
Yet the noblewoman before him, so clearly refined that even the polished tips of her shoes marked her as utterly incompatible with a lowlife like him, offered no reply to his crude words.
Now that he looked again, those lake-like eyes he’d been so entranced by seemed blurred.
As if about to close—no, wait, they really *were* closing, damn it!
“Damn quack! Where the hell are you? Someone’s dying here!”
Just as he was about to scoop her up recklessly and dash out—
The woman he’d assumed unconscious in his arms reached out and lightly tapped his shoulder.
Her touch was so fragile it felt like a feather brushing against him—yet it struck Lud like a bolt of lightning, freezing him instantly.
“…I’m fine. Please bring some cloth or bandages from Mr. Burke’s bag to cover the wound.”
Even in this state, her voice remained unbearably lovely.
What drove him nearly mad wasn’t the request itself—but the fact he had no idea who this “Mr. Burke” was.
Lud swallowed his curses with great effort and, at his absolute best attempt at gentlemanly conduct, asked:
“Who’s Mr. Burke?”
“…I’m sorry. I meant the attending physician who’s been treating you.”
“Oh, that old quack… But what are you apologizing for?”
“I never properly told you his name before. I should have explained who he was before making such a request.”
“What nonsense—”
He cut off the end of his sentence before finishing.
Truthfully, his foul mouth had already been fully exposed moments ago, but he still didn’t want things to get any worse.
Lud took a steadying breath and stared fixedly at the area just beside her cheek—
Too afraid that meeting her eyes again would leave him breathless like some lovesick fool.
“…Fine. I’ll go get cloth, bandages—whatever’s needed. But let’s get out of here first.”
This damp, humid bathhouse was unbearably unpleasant. Lud stood, cradling the limp Merche in his arms.
[This is the timeline separator]As if handling an exquisitely fragile glass artifact, he laid her on the bed—afraid the slightest misstep might shatter her.
Only after thoroughly rummaging through the quack’s medical bag (whose name he hadn’t even known was Burke) and gathering every bandage available did Lud belatedly realize something.
“Where the hell is that quack… I mean, Mr. Burke?”
As soon as he asked, a sense of foreboding gripped him.
He saw a flicker of awkwardness seep into her eyes the moment she heard his question.
In a voice as delicate as her gentle manner of speaking, she replied:
“He appeared to need treatment himself, so I suggested he step out for a while.”
Ah, treatment… Right. After the way he’d thrown, shoved, and beaten everyone around, of course both servants and physicians would need medical care—and he himself was the one who’d put them in that state.
Speechless, Lud kicked the floor pointlessly with his foot. Already in a position where he could only receive pity, now he was likely about to earn contempt too.
The thought of her looking down at him with cold, disdainful eyes—as others always had, treating him like a pile of filth—strangely made his head burn hot with frustration.
Damn it… Maybe he should try changing the subject?
He sat down heavily on the floor and looked up toward her—
Careful, as always, not to meet her eyes directly, but glancing slightly to the side.
“What’s your name, miss?”
Come to think of it—that careless remark had revealed a truth. He truly didn’t know her name.
What could it possibly be? Hopefully something plain.
Wouldn’t it be infuriating if someone already absurdly beautiful and noble also had a lovely name?
“My name is Merche Ashtad.”
Of course—the gods had always been unfair, and those who had everything always took even more from those who had nothing.
What else could he expect? Resigned, Lud quietly murmured the unfamiliar name under his breath.
Merche, Merche… Even the pronunciation felt sickeningly sweet.
Rustle, rustle. Amid his silent grumbling, the sound of bandages being wrapped filled the quiet space.
It was during this endless murmuring of her name that Lud, turning his eyes absentmindedly, suddenly raised an eyebrow.
Without warning, his large frame surged upward, and he reached out a hand—
toward the wounded spot Merche was trying to bandage.
Naturally, as a noble, her technique was clumsy.
Wrapped like that, it’d come undone within half a day. It was out of this small consideration that Lud—doing something utterly foreign to his nature—made an awkward attempt to help.
But before his hand even reached her, Merche pulled her body slightly backward.
“It’s done.”
She’d rejected him—bluntly, decisively. Lud stared silently at Merche, who had dodged his hand, then let out a cold laugh.
“What, is my filthy touch too repulsive for you?”
Her usually calm, lake-colored eyes slowly traveled up from Lud’s lean torso.
It was clearly an attempt to meet his gaze—but Lud’s eyes remained deliberately averted.
“Of course. You’re a precious noble miss, and I’m just a lowly slave—our blood is fundamentally different. Your blood is noble, mine is base. Naturally, this is only to be expected.”
“…If I’ve been misunderstood, I apologize. I swear that wasn’t my intention at all.”
“Wasn’t it? Do you now feel the need to play the benevolent lady?”
“Lud.”
At her call—meant to calm him—he instinctively stopped his rant and snapped his mouth shut.
He wasn’t some obedient puppy wagging its tail at its master’s voice… Just as he was about to scowl and speak again, Merche cut in first.
When yandere male lead believes she loves him — but she never did
“How dare you!”
“How dare you make me love you, only to cast me aside as nothing more than a friend?!?
“I will never accept that.”
“I will never let you return to him.”
“Even if I have to burn myself to ashes.”
“Even if I must shatter my purity, my dignity, my very soul.”
“I will never let you escape me!”
This was the first novel that introduced me to the matriarchal genre. I’ve read it three times already!
At first, the male lead despised the female lead. Later, he misunderstood that she liked him, so he condescendingly and reluctantly reciprocated her feelings.
Then, he suddenly discovered that she was kind to everyone in the same way, and there was already someone she cherished in her heart, and that person was not him.
The male lead couldn’t believe it, he became angry and crazy. He was determined to capture her body and heart by any means necessary.
Synopsis:
Want to see how a green tea bitch male lead falls in love with the female lead?
Want to see how he flirtatiously pursues the female lead?
Want to see how he gets slapped in the face repeatedly?
The male lead is a green tea bitch, a poisonous lotus, jealous, ruthless, unscrupulous, with a venomous heart, and he’s also a delusional maniac.
The female lead is righteous, positive energy-filled, kind, a holy mother.
Let’s see how two people with extreme personalities come together~
_____
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