The Tyrant Wants To Live Honestly

Chapter 1

The moral of my life: encourage good, punish evil. And I happened to be evil.

I was able to obtain all that I wished for; money, power, strength, and even the man I wanted. But all that awaited me in the end was ruin.

Who would have thought? That instead of days of happiness forevermore, my life would go up in flames leaving behind naught but insignificant ashes. Perhaps I had nothing from the very beginning…

The man I loved bore hatred for me even as he chose death, and those I shared power with used what I gave to wring the noose around my neck.

The people condemned me for a tyrant, and their anger laid waste to my palace. Thus my castle shone more brilliantly than ever before amidst flames.

Yes, this is enough. This is enough for a lesson on life.

So I gladly accepted death.

***

“Oooh, peek-a-boo?”

But what is this situation?

I wondered, observing the face of the gesturing woman before me.

This nanny, she’s familiar to me.

I struggled to move my unresponsive limbs and saw hands, small and white as cotton, pawing the air pitifully. Hands, small and chubby like those of a newborn baby.

“Princess Dorothea, look here!”

The nanny spun the baby mobile above me, but it was her words that stole my attention.

Dorothea? Did she just say, Dorothea?

My name, Dorothea Millanair…the former imperial princess and empress of Ubera who killed the crown prince, my brother, to take the throne.

Tyrant Dorothea, who was sentenced to public execution at a young age.

“Oh, Princess Dorothea. You’re such a darling, but why is it that you won’t laugh at all?”

The nanny gazed at me, crestfallen.

But of course, I can’t laugh!

It was only moments ago that the entire world was screaming for my head, the tyrant…yet that miserable, regretful end I was met with had vanished into nothing.

Could it have been but a dream? A nightmare?

Oh how I wish it was so. If only it was all in my imagination…

But the memories in my mind were too vivid, chillingly so, to dismiss as delusion.

Unbearable anguish weighed down on my heart, which led to triggering the all-too sensitive tear glands of a newborn.

“Dearie me! Is she hungry?”

The nanny gathered me up in her arms as I teared up, and I was enveloped by long-forgotten warmth that was tender, cozy, and considerate…

Yes, perhaps this is another lesson—a lesson to live virtuously. An opportunity to wash my life of evil and regrets.

I no longer had the drive and passion in me to live one more life, as nothing but fatigue and melancholy remained in me, but nonetheless, life must go on.

Yes, it can’t end like that again. I won’t repeat the same regrets. I’ll live with virtue.

That is my goal this time.

***

But putting aside everything else, there was nothing I could immediately do in the present as a baby incapable of even walking. To fidget while lying in my cradle, staring at the spinning mobile, then sleep when drowsiness took me. That was the entirety of my everyday life.

Cutting back on the whining and crying was all the good I could do, I suppose.

The days passed in such cozy comfort, though I did feel some frustration.

‘Come to think of it, when was the last time I slept like this again?’

A baby’s urge to sleep was truly astonishing; I would end up closing my eyes whenever I felt snug in the slightest.

It was a heavenly-sweet time compared to when I was unable to sleep properly due to insomnia before.

But just as I was about to doze off into precious slumber, a noise shattered my peace of mind.

“Dorodosy!”

From outside my cradle came a voice, noisily calling my name with the lisp of a child.

“Baby, my sister!”

A head popped above the cradle following a high-spirited greeting.

“You sleep well?”

Blue eyes like the clear ocean; soft, curly, platinum blonde hair; and cheeks full of chub. There he was, my elder brother with his rosy cheeks full of life. Or more accurately, my foolish brother who once died by my hand: Raymond Millanair.

“I wanted to see you baby!”

As Ray beamed down at me, I thought his flushed cheeks were like peaches, and that he smelt like baby milk. Love was in his pure, innocent, and round eyes.

Yes, it was those eyes. Eyes so foolish yet so pure to the point of repulsiveness that they pushed me to take the first step to become a tyrant.

“Big brother is gonna protect you baby.”

He was always like this.

His eyes glittering with innocence struck me as laughable, and I could not help but snort.

Protect me, when you died at my hands?

I killed the legitimate imperial crown prince, Raymond Millanair, my blood-related brother, and took the crown. The history of Tyrant Dorothea Millanair began with his death.

That day, when I pierced his heart…even now I can almost feel the sensation from back then, with these tiny little hands of mine.

‘I can’t repeat the same mistake in this life.’

Killing Ray and usurping the throne. It was the starting point of everything I regretted.

I can’t kill him again. I can’t become a tyrant, not again.

That was why I had to endure anything without resenting…

“Squishy-squishy softy-soft.”

Ray pawed at my cheeks with such enthusiasm that it felt like he wasn’t going to stop until they wore off.

I have to endure. Endure to not kill…

“Cutie!”

I watched as my cheeks extended, and in the end, my patience was stretched thin.

“Waaah!”

I unleashed a wail and vehemently pinched Ray’s hand.

“Baby! Crying!”

Ray hastily withdrew his hands from the pain and went looking for my nanny.

Serves you for touching my nerves when I’m trying to be good!

I ceased crying the moment Ray took his hands off me—there was no need to cause a racket for no reason, after all—but still, my surprised nanny came to take me in her arms and comfort me.

“Prince Ray!”

“I didn’t touch her hard…”

“But the princess’ cheeks have become all red!”

Ray pouted at my nanny’s reproachful tone.

“But baby is way too cute.”

Ray held onto my nanny’s arm to take a close look at me, and his round, pearly face filled my vision.

Gah, for the love of…

One might tell by the fact that I killed Ray and stole the throne, but I never liked Ray, to begin with—him being frustratingly dim-witted and slow gave me no reason to. Yet despite his shortcomings, he had more than I did, and that I could not accept.

That being the case, while I did feel sorry for having killed him, that did not mean I was going to gleefully tolerate him breathing hot air down my face.

‘It’s unpleasant, like a donkey sniffing at me from the side.’

There I was, frowning because of Ray not respecting personal space when suddenly he grinned and pushed out his pink lips.

“Baby smooch!”

Excuse me?

I felt my forehead wrinkle up with three-times the power than before, having heard the most horrifying thing ever in my second life.

But alas, I felt a wet and soft sensation upon my cheek—Ray smooched my baby chops so hard it was audible.

Hell unfurled before my eyes, as my cheek blubber failed to resist the slippery and gross force of suction.

‘Eugh! Yuck!’

“Waah! Waaah!”

I struggled, expressing my displeasure in the best way I could, and my cries once again caused Ray to retreat in surprise.

Dear God, I beg you to take this blighter away so I can be good in this life!

It really was not easy trying to live honestly.

***

I grew fast. My height was not much different from children my age, but I learned to walk and speak earlier than most. It was only natural since I intentionally practiced what I already knew how to do.

My nanny could not help but be amazed at my speed of growth and was surprised every other day. Ray was the same.

“Humanitarianism? What’s that?”

“Treating people more important than anything.”

“How does Dorothy know something like that? You must be a genius!”

Ray hugged me tightly. He smelled of fresh grass, and I could feel his tousled blonde hair gently tickling my skin.

“Let go.”

“How come you know such cool words when you’re this little and cute, Dorothy?”

“Let go I said.”

“I bet no baby in the world is as cute and clever as Dorothy!”

Ray lifted my three-year-old self high into the air, and up I went like a little doll.

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‘Of all things he’s strong!’

Ray was merely five years old, yet he was strong enough to shake me up and down midair. Then all of a sudden he stuck out his lips and began smooching my cheek in succession—a whopping five times at that too!

“Gross!”

Unlike when I was newly born, I was capable of speech as well as expressing myself with precision.

I rigorously rubbed at where I was smooched with the back of my hand.