Unwanted Alliance | Yandere boy x reader

prog

You lived in a rough world that you didn't want to live in.

As people would mostly likely assume, you were not suicidal. Even if life itself controlled and limited your actions, you never thought once about leaving it.

You just didn't like the system of life bestowed upon you.

With a world without kings or queens, presidents or emperors— some part of the world was ruled by a particular government. More specifically, your world. Your land.

No ordinary civilians knew the members of the government, nor the name or number of the members.

Social status in the land was strictly divided based on your wealth, heritage and influence.

Without all of those, you were a speck of dust passing through.

But even then, most of the upperclass society were just as clueless as the lower class civilians. With their wealth and power, life was too good to worry about such political matters.

You supposed it was only those in the government who knew everything.

Those with no high status whatsoever, knew nothing about your where you are— who you are. How you ended up here, why you were here. What was your purpose of existence in this place they call home.

The leaders believed that without knowledge of the politics of this land, the land itself can function without problems.

You simply just do what you were tasked, which was given by the government without further question. A routine was set for every low-status civilian family to follow robotically and with no complaints. That was the way of life in your land. That was the law.

It angered you, a lot, however. The mystery of where you were as of now always lingered on you. You didn't even know what your land was called, if you were in a country— or if this was some sort of island.

(Un)fortunately, your family was lower class. That meant you knew nothing about anything. You lived in a small two-story home with white walls and brown tiled floors, tables that were made of wood and stones.

Whenever you went outside and scanned the houses around your own, you found every one of them the exact same exterior as your house. Even the same interior.

You then came to realize that it was not only the houses on your street, but every house was the same. There was no house that sparked any difference. It was like someone had copy-and-pasted each house and aligned them symmetrically.

You guessed this was one of the laws in the land you stood on. It was forbidden to change the design of your home, even the smallest form of change could lead you to be detained.

Your father worked in a factory that was an hour away from where you lived. Everyday, you saw his large brown hat dusted with dirt and coal. His uniform was always dirtied and wrinkled, that even the washer could not clean off. Everyday he looked exhausted, angry, and helpless.

Your mother was a housewife. You always catch her wearing a red apron every hour of the day, often powdered with flour, juices or pieces of meat. She looked more miserable than your father, her gaze longingly towards the windows that viewed the outside.

It made you conflicted.

If they were to switch jobs, would they hold the same expression?

Your brother was two years older than you, and a prodigy of his athletic and academics.

At the age of 18, all civilians are assigned a mandatory job based on the grades you held throughout the three years of high school.

That was unless you are a prodigy at something.

Your gpa told you who you are as a person in this economy, and that was what many people had come to believe as the truth. All their worth is based upon academics.

Your brother was a prodigy. Always had been since birth, since his younger years and eventually developed into someone that could rival an upperclassmen.

He basically was those rich and privileged men, in your eyes. At the way he was treated by everyone, especially your parents, it was hard to believe he was your sibling.

His future was bigger and brighter, more important than yours.

That was what your father had said after he slapped you with his palm.

You looked at the ground as your eyes cried.

You hated the system of life, but you didn't want to die.

Not when you had hope in becoming someone to you. Someone you could be proud of.

But how could you when the government wouldn't let you?

It had to be someone outside of the government, outside of this place.

"This really is the best painting I've ever seen!"

You watched the curly-haired girl hold up your painted portrait up in the air, her little hands clenching the sides as her eyes widened with awe.

The two of you were sat on a grassy hill filled with flowers and fallen berries from the tree. The sun was almost setting, and the air was calm.

Your 6-year old self grinned wide at the girl.

"You think so Leta?"

Leta.

The upperclass girl who you ever talked to. The beauty, the princess, the privileged girl who disobeyed the social status treatment and hung out with you during last year.

The girl who made you feel genuine.

"Yeah! It is! You really are talented,"

You watched her eyes flickered to your own, her hands lowering your artwork when her eyes twinkled upon you.

This girl was someone who you were with since all of your life until high school. She was someone who came onto you, treated you like someone that was a nobody in society.

You never would forget the name Leta.

You didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing.