The acrid sting of bile burns his throat. Those four wretched words echo in his mind, agitating him, stirring a recurringly specific headache. Stelly doesn't read the article; the picture is enough.

"Who was, darling?"

The trash, traitor, disgrace. The one who left, gone and died, abandoned him. Threw his life away. Fantasized about garbage, silly dreams, and the filth outside their walls.

Him. It was always him.

He'd had everything.

And he went and ruined it.

Not like Stelly. He, who'd clawed his way up, nails bleeding, pride long-forgotten in favour of impressing various, many, countless cretins. His useless birth parents, for one, who actively besmirched their own line. Clapping their hands like monkeys on top of it, more so whenever Stelly brought back a glowing report – very often, that was. It was easy to do well; the exams and lectures were laughable and his competition worthless.

Upper school was infested with every snotty minor noble who stank of bad hygiene, and teachers who understood nothing of the importance of courtesies and politics. Dull and empty, their eyes. They might as well have been dead. Their dreams and ambitions long gone and buried.

He stemmed without privilege and toiled his way up, yet he never despaired, never even thought of surrendering. Stelly accepted the rules - the hierarchy, and strived to succeed within it.

He'd always envied Sabo.

Stelly had been noble in name only, his family having fallen from grace a generation ago and losing standing with every passing day. Not like Sabo, who came from generations of well-respected aristocrats. The world Sabo was born in, Stelly had to learn. His mannerisms, Stelly had to emulate. The respect his last name brought, as the adopted second son, Stelly had to earn.

His new family was wealthy, old and stable. The mansion smelled clean. His room was the size of his previous house, and the bathroom was twice as big as his previous bedroom. They had servants, many of them – Stelly had his own butler. They called him young master. One day they'd call him king.

The servants talked – of course they did; Stelly listened to stories of another young master, a kind one, an intelligent one, one loved by the staff. A shadow hanging over him and much to live up to.

But during those first months, Stelly was the star, not the missing Sabo.

He'd been calm with the knowledge of being the only son and heir until, during one of his spying sprees, he overheard the dreaded news. "Sabo is alive. I saw him today."

Stelly's blissful boring routine would be interrupted by his arrival. Soon he'd come face to face with his unsuspecting nemesis, the original young master he was consistently compared to. Stelly had always been an only child, but if there was one thing he knew, it was how best to adapt.

His first impression of Sabo…

… he smelled.

Badly and a lot. But that would be doing a disservice to Stelly's vocabulary. Rancid, rotten, reeking; those were the words his tutors would praise him for. Sabo knew just as many, Stelly acknowledged, yet he would never use them.

Still, through days spent with him, Stelly discovered he was worthy competition. For the first time ever, actual, real competition. He wasn't fighting against the system, against his parents, against those who'd hide his brilliance. No, Stelly was competing against Sabo, the first son, someone only slightly older than him who was well-read, reasoned, and capable of elaborate thoughts. Someone of true high noble blood, not a bastard. A future maybe-companion, Sabo.

He wasn't normal by any stretch. He didn't act normal. Sabo was rude and abrasive to tutors – to Stelly as well. Yet, he was obviously, unfailingly noble; Stelly saw it in his posture, steps, tone of voice, vocabulary, handwriting. Sabo may pretend to speak like a commoner, but some things he couldn't rid himself of; he couldn't mask. Ever. Not then, and not now. He is high-born; he should've just accepted it.

Stelly often pretends that he'd tried to understand. But he didn't, not hard enough. If he'd tried harder, he would've anticipated it. Stelly succeeded in everything he set his mind to – that must mean his mind hadn't been set enough on Sabo. The how is a mystery to him; he thought of Sabo often – too often.

Sabo seemed to think Stelly was the crazy one. "They're not my family," he'd said one day.

'You're not my family,' Stelly heard. He is certain Sabo meant it, too. Sabo never said things he didn't mean.

He started antagonizing Sabo more then. Stelly came into his room. He deserved it; he returned home smelly. Stelly told him he was stupid, called him trash, and repeatedly tried to convince himself Sabo was the spare, not him.

"The creatures on trash mountain are trash in the shape of people," he parroted their father's words to Sabo. They were bitter on his tongue; the man had never been the most eloquent. To hide his grimace, Stelly added more words, and told Sabo he stank of them.

Sabo was always brutal and to the point. Aggressive in his ways but smart and competent. So Stelly was surprised when he didn't receive a black eye or a broken nose for his efforts.

No, Sabo grimaced, as if Stelly was the one who smelled.

The two were never amicable, not even close to it, but their relationship changed after that.

Sabo daydreamed often; he ignored Stelly.

Stelly tried to ignore Sabo, but that was the sole effort Stelly never succeeded at.

Sabo hated him since then, likely does still. The thought is wrong and Stelly knows it.

Sabo didn't care about Stelly, not enough to muster a strong emotion towards him. They'd been members of the same household to Sabo. Nothing more.

He'd been present when Sabo ran away the second time. "A lot of people live there! They'll all lose their homes! And they make a living out of that mountain of garbage!" The words were expressed with a passion unlike any before. Stelly's breath hitched and he turned away, hiding the way his lips wobbled, fists clenched to mask their shaking.

Sabo had jumped through the window, uncaring that they were on the third floor. Stelly hadn't told anyone of his departure. If Sabo insisted on being a brat, if he wanted to throw away every good thing in his life, then he could do that.

It was not Stelly's problem.

He'd left and returned again, covered in bandages and exhausted. His eyes hadn't been dead; they'd never be dead.

Outlook tried to be amicable towards Sabo. He was terrible at it. Outlook's attempts at affection were plainly fake and juvenile. It bothered him that Sabo was perhaps the only other person within the walls who understood this – who could possibly understand Stelly's situation.

Sabo didn't flaunt his power, not as others did. He glared at the prince Stelly worked so hard to befriend and sneered when Stelly made an effort and extended that stupid offer to join them.

Stelly's duty, goal, dream, all given and taken for granted, insulted even. He made no more efforts.

Sabo had been on the road to success. He was born on it. Everything Stelly had ever wanted, given to him freely, by right of birth. A stable home, a family. So what if the parents were questionable? Outlook and Didit had fed and clothed him, entitled him to private education.

Thinking Sabo an idiot for his choices and hating him are two wildly different standings. Father and Mother fall into the latter category – they always did; there was no use in keeping up pretences, not anymore. And Stelly…

If he'd had a different approach, would Sabo have run away? Would he have left for good?

It hadn't been a priority to Stelly at the time. Celestial Dragons had been announced for the day after. Father had taken him to buy expensive clothes. There'd been no time to worry about Sabo.

Sabo running away for the third and last time had nothing to do with him. Stelly mocking Sabo and insulting the burnt trash on garbage mountain had been a daily occurrence for the both of them.

He repeated those words to himself whenever he had trouble sleeping.

Then it happened; his world crumbled with only words. The single time he'd despaired.

News of Sabo's death came that day, or maybe the one before; Stelly was too busy endearing himself to royals and observing the Celestial Dragon to notice anything unusual. He heard it from the servants – the first and only time he initiated a conversation with those. One of equal standing, that is.

"What did you say?" he'd asked, out of breath. The gossiping cleaning maids had bowed their heads, their wearied faces appearing older as they confirmed what he feared – hoped.

Heart plummeting – soaring, Stelly looked for Outlook – father; he searched for father. Didit wouldn't be of help. She was rarely of help. Stelly's adoptive mother was adept at introducing him to other aristocrats, she did her sole duty well.

Sabo died on that day. On the day when politicking had been the single thing Stelly was concerned about.

Stelly never received a clue as to why. He set sail on a boat, alone, ran into a Celestial Dragon, and got himself killed. Why? What was the point?

He'd sailed in a dinghy. Alone.

The mere concept was illogical and confusing and what the hell was he thinking?

Stelly tried to bury his questions, he tried not to see that which bothered Sabo, the circumstances which drove him to that stunt. Stelly tried to.

He buried his grievances. Not deep enough, he never succeeded. Not when it came to Sabo.

Nobles of Goa Kingdom mentioned him often at first. Then often gave way to sometimes and it turned to seldom. Every reminder of Sabo's existence would send prickles up his spine.

Outlook's shame, they would call him.

Until Stelly and Isntoinette began courting, Sabo's case was never brought up anymore. Not in Stelly's presence, not outside it. No one dared mention Sabo. The one Stelly remembered. The one whose name he'd never let others sully. Not anymore.

Other nobles took it as a sign of Stelly's contempt. After all, why wouldn't he despise the son of Outlook and Didit? One who gallivanted through life, spit on Stelly and his efforts.

Stelly married rich, the richest, exceeded all expectations. He was smart, cunning, capable. Plotting the deaths of the King and Prince was a necessity; Stelly would do anything to achieve his dreams.

He was king now. His dream, his goal, the only thing that mattered. He made it.

No one suspected him. No one saw him. No one truly looked at him. After all, why would they? Only one person had been capable of seeing Stelly's potential and yet chose not to. He could hide his nature well, become whoever he desired. Stelly could act and put up a facade of devotion at the drop of a hat. To everyone but him.

He tried to forget about Sabo, did his best to erase the memories he agonized over during quiet nights. Every single quiet night. He despised it. What could've brought him to do it? Why didn't he tell Stelly? Why go against everything he's been brought up to – against all principles? What did Sabo see so clearly? How is Stelly still missing it?

To the deepest pits of hell where only the worst lowlifes resided, Sabo had never tried to drag Stelly down with him – he'd never tried to explain things to Stelly. How would've Stelly reacted if he did? How long would've passed until he cracked?

It's easier to think Sabo was crazy, insane even, nonsensical, wrong, and Stelly was the one without a screw loose. Sabo was wrong, plain and simple; Sabo had to be wrong. His values were skewed. He couldn't see the full picture. That was the reason for him being so… him.

Sabo was born wrong.

Stelly would accept no other explanation; he wouldn't dare think of one. Because if Sabo was right, what would that say about Stelly? He now had noble, respected parents, a family, a queen for a wife, and a line of aristocrats currying for his favour daily. He lived in the kingdom's biggest mansion, the palace, and sat on its most important chair. Stelly was king; he'd succeeded in life, achieved his dream. Stelly was happy.

Twelve years passed since he last saw Sabo. Only news of a horribly dangerous criminal, of doings which, frankly, terrified Stelly. Somehow, it was easy to believe that the same criminal was him. Sabo.

They had known each other for only a few short weeks. Sabo had never shared with Stelly what he wanted, what his goals were. Would Stelly's life be different now if he had?

They'd lived in the same house.

Just as Outlook and Didit did with them.

Not close, only existing together.

Never family.

.

"He was in Marijoa."

.

"Who was, darling?"

.

.

.

"My – my brother."

.


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