Thank You For Being Trash

Chapter 18: Raphael (End)

Two years from that, he went to the brothel where he had grown up. The streets were still there. He remembered an idea that he once had as a child.

‘When I become a noble, I won't live like that.’

Thinking about it now, that was pretty funny.

He wanted to transform this street into a space full of happiness and dreams. However, it was impossible.

One day, he had expressed the opinion that they should invest in streets of prostitutes or underdeveloped villages. They then replied with a laugh, ‘If there is light, there must also be darkness, so that won’t do.’

It was a terribly disgusting reason, Raphael said to himself.

He put on his hoodie and went to the store. He didn't have good feelings for the women who raised him. Having had such a childish thought that he wanted revenge on those who treated him as much, still, he was in the past.

"Welcome."

He followed the waitress who greeted him to the room where the women were waiting.

It was not yet an active time, though the room was full of women. They seduced him, who was in fine clothes, with a playful smile.

Raphael glanced at the women with cold eyes.

There were no women he knew. There was no woman who gave birth to him and raised him. He was taken aback for a moment before grabbing the employee and shaking him.

“Where did the woman with the silver hair and brown eyes go?”

He recounted the appearance of the one who gave birth to him. There were so many women who died so often that the waitress could not remember the woman he was talking about. Raphael thought about the woman's age. Though he did not know her age.

There it was.

When he wandered the streets without saying a word, when he disappeared silently and put blood on his hands and set up the Emperor. When he received the title of Raphael and was being beaten by the noble society, the woman died…

Raphael felt something cut off.

He never thought for a moment that he wanted to be successful and did good to the woman because he thought that only those who work hard could be happy. Nonetheless, he thought of the past years he had passed.

The child did not expect his mother's love, but remembered her indifference to him. The cold meat side dish was the only affection he could fully feel.

It was twisted. Where he was desperate to survive, a meat side dish was once the only reason he lived.

Although it was embarrassing to even call it motherhood or love, for a child who was in need of a piece of love, it was enough of a reason for living. There was no place to express his anger, no place for his achievements to be recognized, and his past had disappeared.

His past, as he stumbled upon it, was gone. He disappeared, as no one knew of his past.

It was unbearably sad that the past when he cried and struggled, and the achievements of him crawling upwards had become a fictional story that only he now knew.

He took drugs he had never done since he lived in the Imperial Palace. He enjoyed colors he had never seen before. He held this woman and that woman without hesitation. People on the street looked up to him. They respected him very much. In bed, everyone acknowledged Raphael, and whispered pleasant words that he was cool and the best.

That temporarily filled the emptiness inside. He didn't even know what he was wandering this street for.

* * *

What was the reason he was standing here, soaked in blood and losing his humanity? He couldn’t change anything.

Empty, empty, and empty…

…Then, anger.

He didn't like the nobility. He wanted to pluck out their tongues, who said that if there was light, there must be darkness.

Only the poor know the privileges of the rich. They did not know the value of what they were enjoying. Of course, they didn't even know how to give. Their donations were frivolous and pretentious, and the lowly people did not know what they really needed.

At a Count's charity party, he drank while listening to their disgusting and pretentious stories. It was what he expected from a charity party.

“Count Loneston put a clock tower on the brothel street.”

"Oh, my! That’s good. As expected, the wealth of Count Loneston is great.”

“Also, Lady Arren donated the dress she didn’t wear to a salon run by commoners.”

“Oh, my… she was still young, but she was amazing.”

How the poor had a watch, and how they wore fancy dresses… Even so, they wouldn't even think of ripping off the accessories on the dress that the nobleman gave them and selling it.

Raphael stared at the party full of pretense and vanity. He covered his mouth as he felt his disgust creeping in. He stumbled out of his seat while trying to look for the terrace. Other people's gossip stuck in Raphael's ears.

“That’s why he has low status because he donated bread to a brothel this time.”

“He must have donated what he wanted to eat. They say he grew up there.”

Hundreds of eyes stared at him.

It was hard for him to breathe, as all the other people's words that were whispering in his ear seemed to be aimed at him. He wanted to scream. Disgusting, disgusting, and it was hard to even breathe, so he gasped for breath.

Still, he was holding his breath. Why was he here, what was he here for.

He wanted to live.

He wanted to live happily.

But, his happiness was nowhere to be found.

A year has passed since then. He was twenty-six years old. Raphael was living a long life.

He heard rumors that Distria had summoned the King of a small kingdom. He thought that Distria’s disease had risen again. At first, he only expressed his condolences to the King, though he was too tired to breathe, so he paid no attention to the King.

When he happened to find her quietly reading a book in the library, it felt like something in his heart was falling apart.

That was enough for Raphael to bring out the trauma he had forgotten.

…That one chance made him forget his pain and dropped him, who was barely alive, into the abyss.

Even in Distria’s face, she was upright and answered him with a calm face. Even though he made Distria emperor, he himself was busy holding his breath in front of him as well.

Even when she was arrested, she was confident. She was upright. That was humorous. It was so humorous.

He laughed so much in the room because it was so funny. He gave up on being human, he gave up on being recognized, and he gave up on being happy in high places.

He wanted her to be just like him…

Raphael’s feelings towards her were neither resentment nor anger. It was just a remnant of the ugly, old feelings that were sleeping inside.

He didn't know why he was mad at her, why he had ugly feelings blooming for her.

* * *

Raphael faced Arne, who had become a slave.

She was still upright. Even though she was wearing revealing clothes, she never bowed down or withdrew her body. He didn't like it. He was told that she had spent the night with Distria. He was told that when she was King, she was raped like a bedroom slave.

The rumor was spread secretly by the nobles.

Vivid scarlet marks that had not yet been erased on her inner skin, which he could see at first glance through the transparent clothes, stimulated him. If he was to freely play with noble blood under him, would this raging anger subside…?

He thought so.

Raphael spoke as he said something Distria had never done.

“This is something His Majesty wanted to deliver. Sit at the desk and spread your legs.”

He wanted to see her shaking her body in shame. He expected her reaction.

"You… Aren’t you afraid of the repercussions after saying this?”

It was funny, how she struggled.

Nevertheless, he did not like the fact that she was not subservient even at that moment, and that she was maintaining her dignity. He couldn't stand the feeling of disgust in the eyes that stared down at him arrogantly.

…Why? Why are you looking at me with those eyes?

Raphael grabbed Arne's arm roughly and dragged her to the desk. He took off her robe and used it to tie her arms.

He forcibly grabbed her legs and spread them apart, poking at her private parts with a pen. He, himself, has been living his life with his legs spread wide since he was a child. He was overjoyed to be able to mistreat this woman who looked down on others from high above.

Something filled his empty heart.

“Uhk…”

She let out a soft moan. Raphael liked that she had reacted to him in this way, even though she would not have looked at him normally. That was enough to calm his anger, so he genuinely laughed.

“You are more lewd than you looked?”

Loosening his belt, the pen that had stabbed Arne was already wet with love liquid and was lying in the corner of the desk on the floor. He couldn't stand it any longer. He shoved his thing into her entrance at once and pushed Arne roughly.

Books fell from the bookshelf, making a loud noise, but he didn't care. Raphael only focused on the woman in front of him. He frowned heavily and focused on the woman biting her lip with a crying face.

Her expression, the sound of her breathing, every little thing.

“Heup—Do you think it’s okay to do this?"

“Hahh… You've already done it with the Emperor. What's the matter?”

He smiled brightly. His smile was as bright as a flower in full bloom.

Raphael laughed heartily, as this resentment that had been holding his lungs down made him unable to breathe, he finally could breathe as it reduced its size.

After he had s*x with Arne, he met several nobles. To relieve his own anger, he trampled on them, forcibly insulted them and held them. Still, Raphael's anger did not diminish. He looked at the woman who was hanging on to him and moaning, and he thought of Arne.

He remembered her, who even when she was drenched in wetness in his arms, had held her head in contempt at him. Those eyes that didn't change even though she shed tears. Those eyes that didn't change even after s*x…

Even though he hated it so badly, it was Raphael's idea that he could do whatever he wanted to give her that look, reducing his anger. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to hold the rebellious her.

He wanted to trample and tear her at will.

How long would this anger go away by trampling on others? Even though he knew it was an illusion, he rushed to fill the empty inside with something.

When he met her walking on four legs in her garden, he felt a similar feeling of joy. It was a forgotten, positive emotion, and he did not want to give it up. He didn't want to miss out.

It decreased, decreased.

Then, it filled… Filled.

Raphael was sad. He felt like he was living like a human now.

The happiness he had longed for—the happiness he hoped for even as he threw away his humanity was the happiness that came from swearing at someone, not his life itself.

It was sad.

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