Trash, scum, petty villain, piece of garbage, waste of space...

"Hahh, this useless piece of shit bastard..."

Ah that's right. And useless piece of shit bastard. These are all words and phrases that have been used to describe our unwilling protagonist. 

[User, Do you not have somewhere to be?]

"Get out of my head..."

He muttered, rubbing his temples with his fingers as he sipped on his flute filled with champagne.

"You're giving me a headache."

"Who the hell are you talking to? Have you been ignoring me?"

The furious drunkard sitting across from him spat, glaring at him with a hardened scowl.

[User, I am required to inform you that in order to increase the Fate Progression Meter you must detach yourself from the bar.]

"Hence the reason I am doing anything but that. Now shut up you annoying automaton."

"Oi, are you speaking to yourself and ignoring me?! You really are a deranged psycho it seems."

[Once again User, I am not a mana operated automaton. I am System 4113. Your voyage into the karmic system has sparked the...]

"Stop. If I have to listen to this explanation one more time, I might just sober up."

[Then, shall I keep explaining?]

"Hey! How dare you ignore me?!"

"Ah for fuck's sake. Can you just shut up for two seconds? I have a headache and I can't even blame it on a hangover."

He snapped, speaking louder than he usually ever did.

"What? Shut up? Me?"

The angered drunk spoke, his words slurred and his temper rising.

He hadn't really been speaking to him, but now that he'd caught his attention, he'd hoped he would shut up too.

"Hm... Who are you?"

He asked, squinting as he gazed at the drunk stranger for a few seconds.

"What?"

The drunkard asked, his face turning red as his scowl hardened further.

"You're speaking to me quite informally, but I don't think we've ever met before."

His words only fueled the drunkards anger more.

"So, even trash is pretending not to know me now?"

"Pretending? But I really don't know you," 

He thought to himself, wondering whether he could ignore the situation altogether and get back to enjoying his drink.

"Very well. Shall I help jog your memory?"

The drunkard spat, grabbing a bottle of wine from the bar counter and tightly gripping it by his side.

"Wow. How do I keep ending up in these types of situations?"

He pondered, watching as the drunk took light steps towards him, now gaining the attention of the bystanders nearby and amassing a growing crowd.

[That is because of your accumulation of Karmic D-]

"I told you to keep quiet. Every time you say something, it's like needles are pricking my brain. Just disappear already."

He uttered, swatting at the bluish grey screen in front of him in an attempt to make it disappear from his sight.

"What are you doing? Don't think speaking to yourself and acting insane is going to help you right now."

The drunkard spoke, pacing to him as he looked on with a glare.

"So? Do you remember me now?"

"No."

He answered internally, not sure what to make of the situation.

Many people hated him, it would be too much of a task to have to remember each and every one of them, so he never bothered to.

"What's going on?"

"I don't know. It seems like a fight."

"Are there people seriously causing a scene here already?"

"Are you surprised? It's that bastard son again. He can't even keep his act together for his own brother's engagement party."

The whispers and chatter from the growing crowd were unpleasantly sobering him up, and he couldn't help but let out a sigh.

He knew it wasn't entirely possible, but he'd hoped he would've drunk himself under the table just enough to forget he was even at this overly gaudy party, surrounded by these overly garish people and their snobbish fakery. Nobles were the same wherever he went, but when they were around each other and especially higher ranking nobles, they truly became insufferable.

"Who is that with him?"

The chatter went on.

"Isn't that Viscount Brantley's son? What in the world has come over him?"

"Birds of a feather flock together they say. Of course two trash bastards will be found together."

Though the incessant chatter from the crowd annoyed him, he had at least picked up useful information. 

"So he's Viscount Brantley's son? That would explain why he's picking a fight with me like this."

He thought, scanning the appearance of the drunk before him.

"As the son of a viscount, he has not only an inferiority complex about his family rank as against to mine, but also the rank in our public perception. We're both supposedly regarded as trash, however as the son of a duke, even as a bastard son like myself, I can carry on day to day without much hassle despite being trash. However, the same cannot be said for Victor Brantley who has neither the wealth nor the peerage to get away with doing so. Or at least that is his thinking."

"Let me know when that brain of yours starts working again,"

The drunk Victor Brantley muttered, waving the wine bottle in his hand around as he got closer.

"Still, trash or not, isn't this behavior towards the son of a duke just a bit too much?"

 He thought to himself, watching on with a calm demeanor.

"I wouldn't come any closer if I were you,"

He spoke, his gaze drawn to the tower of champagne glasses being hoisted by two servers headed their way.

"Hah? What, are you threatening me right now? Do you not understand the situation?"

The drunk uttered, increasing his pace and closing the gap quick.

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you."

He sighed, turning back to the tower of champagne that was now tilting. 

Stepping back slightly, he managed to barely evade the crash of the multitude of glasses stacked elegantly on a tray. 

His opponent, the drunk however, lay still on the floor drenched in champagne and covered in a few minor cuts from the broken glass.

"Oh my goodness!"

"Quickly, get some help!"

"Is he alright? What happened?"

Using the commotion, he quietly docked out of the growing scene, heading for the door as he let out a tired sigh.

"I guess good luck is next?"

As he stalked lightly towards the exit, the hoarse tone of a familiar voice caused him to pause his motion, and his hairs to stand on end.

"Eilyan. Where do you think you're going?"

"Ah shit. Just when I thought I'd finally escaped." 

He mused to himself, forcing his body to turn around to the direction of the voice.

"Brother. I didn't expect you to come out so quickly. I was just on my way out to get some fresh air."

He responded aloud. Avoiding the gaze of the man that stood before him looking at him with disdain.

"Is that so? You can do so after the introductions. Let's go."

"I'm actually not feeling so well right now, so maybe another t-"

"You think I want to introduce my fiancée to a disgraceful drunk bastard like you?"

The man spoke, his tone fierce and resentful.

"These are father's orders, so shut up and come along. And tidy yourself up, will you? You're a mess."

"Fuck."

He cursed internally, kicking himself that he'd bothered wasting time with the commotion earlier.

The only person that hated him more that his brother, was his brother's fiancée whom he was currently and begrudgingly on his way to meet. He had intended to do everything within his power to avoid this meeting, but every time he tried, he'd get countered. It was like some invisible force was purposefully making his situation difficult.

[I must remind you that you can neither avoid nor go against Fate, User]

"Tsk."

He clicked his tongue as he swatted the system screen away, following closely behind his brother as they made their way to the audience room.

"Challenge accepted,"

He uttered to himself, taking gentle steps further into the room as his brother stalked over to stand by a lean blonde haired woman who in a few weeks, would be his wife.

Ten people stood poised in the room, their chattering immediately ending as they noticed him trudge in. Eight of those people hated his guts, one held him in contempt, and the other treated him like air- neither liked nor disliked.

The atmosphere was tense and hostile, yet he had to introduce himself to his future in-laws despite their disdain for him. 

"How vile and fake." 

He thought, pushing on towards the group despite the hidden glares.

"So you're the second son of Duke Desinix. I have heard so much about you. I am Stella Enilyn Annette Hardil. It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

The blonde woman attached to his brother's side started, extending her hand to him.

Stella, the second and most treasured child of Count Hardil. It only made sense that he'd have her be the one to wed his all perfect elder brother. Taking a glance at the brunette woman that stood silently beside the count at the other end of the room, he almost found the situation amusing.

"Good evening. I am Eilyan Anya Von Verda Desinix. The pleasure is mine."

He spoke as he leaned forward, gently taking her hand as he planted a small kiss.

From the corner of his eyes, he glimpsed a brief scowl spread on her face, but watched it vanish as he resumed his position upright. 

"If you didn't want to be touched by trash, why extend me your hand in the first place?"

He mused to himself, using every fiber of willpower in his body to stop himself from letting out an exasperated sigh.

He didn't want to be there, but he also didn't want to make things difficult for himself. He had to toe the line between being acceptable and being excessive.

Though, the situation would turn out better if he'd accept that no human can defy the will of fate, especially one who has caught a glimpse of destiny.

[The User is bound by fate to adhere to his role. If the User continues like this, his efforts will once again be for naught.]

"Kiss my ass," 

He responded to himself, reading the text displayed on the bluish grey screen only he seemed to be able to see.

There was a reason this whole scenario was a disaster, and not just because everyone in the room disliked him, but because in a few moments, his entire life would start it's arduous journey downhill.

How did he know? Because he had seen it. He had seen everything. His whole life from the moment he was born, up until the moment he was impaled by a sword.

Most people dream of being able to see the future, but that gift- no, that curse was nothing but shackles to him, binding him to agonizing torment. After all, there was nothing good about his future. All he'd done was suffer, overwork, trust and be betrayed, and then die in vain. Why would he want to go down that route? It didn't matter to him that he'd seen the world's end, or that he'd seen the death of countless people. None of it mattered. Not anymore. The only thing he wished for now, was to enjoy his life, lazing about and doing nothing until the end came for all equally.

Since the accident that showed him his future, he'd been hounded by his fate, and the off-putting ability to see the future of others, but no longer his own. Still he didn't care if the world needed him, or if fate desired him to be someone great, because this time, he was going to be as selfish and stubborn as he pleased. He was going to be utter trash. Destiny be damned.

Plastering a phony smile across his lips, he continued.

"I congratulate the both of you on your engagement. I'm very happy for you, though..."

All eyes turned to him as he put a sly pause in the middle of his sentence, garnering the attention of both his family, and the ones to be joined through marriage.

If he wanted to stop his ideal lazy life from flying out the window and onto the hard marble called fate, he needed to change things from the start.

He'd already began doing so by giving up on the previous route of his future. He no longer worked hard or diligently at anything, and slowly turned into someone people referred to as 'trash bastard' over the years. 

Now, he needed to stop this dangerous scenario. This entire meeting, and the reason his brother's fiancée and everyone on his future in-law's side hated him so much was because despite his reputation as scum of the earth, they still needed to sell one of their own off to him.

Under the guise of introductions, Count Hardil and his father, Duke Desinix intended to announce another engagement within the two families. That is, Stella's sister would be betrothed to him.

A truly disastrous scenario that would signal the sinking of the ship that was his life. Marrying the brunette in the corner who had to grit her teeth and dig her fingernails into the palm of her hands just to meet his eyes without showing an outward scowl was the iceberg that would knock his entire life towards a hurricane of torment. There was absolutely no way he would let that happen.

"I can't say I'm envious of you, since it is my life long dream to remain single until the day I die."