God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem - Chapter 865

Chapter 865: Tell Me You’re Lying!
“You…altered his mind to resemble me?”

Kafka’s throat went dry, as he heard the absurd thing that his mother was saying.

Vanitas nodded faintly.

“I simply helped him remember how to be you. And before long, I had something so close that, sometimes…sometimes I would forget who I was speaking to.”

She gave a small, broken laugh.

“There were even moments when I honestly couldn’t tell if it was him or you. That’s how convincing it became. It scared me.”

Kafka could feel the blood rushing in his ears. His mother’s words made him feel so utterly sick that he felt like vomiting on the spot.

“But even then…” Vanitas continued softly. “I realized that fear didn’t matter. Because I’d found the solution. I had created a way to live with my feelings…the ones I could never show you.”

Her eyes glistened as she smiled, fragile, guilty, heartbreakingly sincere.

“The feelings of love that my true son could never accept. The love I could never voice. He became the vessel for it.”

Kafka’s hands clenched at his sides, his body shaking.

“I truly thought it wouldn’t work…” Vanitas admitted. “…but I started spending time with him, talking to him about things I could never tell you. About love. About a relationship. And he…responded.”

She swallowed.

“He responded in a way that you never could, because he isn’t bound by what you and I are.”

Her gaze lifted slightly.

“At first, it was only words. Just conversations. But somehow, those talks soothed me. They made me feel like I could breathe again. I realized my mind was…healing.”

“That I could look at you without losing control. I could be your mother again—because the part of me that wanted more finally had somewhere else to go.”

She smiled faintly, but there was pain beneath it.

“He became the perfect outlet. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like a monster who went after her own son.”

Hearing this Kafka finally snapped.

He took a step forward, his voice breaking with anger and disbelief as he really couldn’t hold back anymore at the absurdity happening in front of him.

“What are you talking about, Mom?! H-How could you possibly love someone like him?”

He gestured furiously toward the other version of himself.

“He may look like me—but he’s not me! We have nothing in common!”

His eyes burned as he shouted.

“He’s just a copy! A fake! I don’t care if he’s from this world or another, if he has my blood or tears—he’s not me, and he never will be!”

The ground beneath them trembled, the divine energy around Kafka surging uncontrollably, leaves and petals whirling through the air like a storm.

Vanitas winced at the force of it—but she didn’t move.

Seeing him like this—furious, hurt, betrayed—made something in her heart twist painfully. She shook her head, her voice trembling.

“I know.” She said softly. “I know he’s not you. And he never will be. You’ll always be my son, my one and only. But Kafka…” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Her hand came to her chest, clutching the fabric there.

“I was desperate! I needed an outlet! I needed somewhere to pour the love I couldn’t show you without destroying everything. He was the only one who could bear it.”

She looked at him with tearful eyes, full of guilt and exhaustion.

“It’s not that I wanted this. It’s that I needed it. For you. For me. For the universe itself. Because if I fell apart, everything—everything—would have ended.”

“I don’t care about the universe! Kafka shook his head violently, his voice rising. “Let it fall apart if it means you don’t have to—”

But she interrupted him, her tone calm, almost heartbreakingly gentle.

“No, Kafka. You may not care…but I do. I do because if the universe is destroyed, there’s a very high change that you’ll disappear along with it!”

He stared at her, speechless, while Vanitas took another step forward, her eyes warm and sorrowful.

“Trust me, baby! I’m not doing this to spite you, or because you’ve ignored me! I’m doing it because it’s the only way I can protect you! Because I love you too much to let my own feelings destroy you!”

Kafka trembled, his fists still clenched.

“B-But I don’t want this.” He said hoarsely. “I don’t want my mother to fall in love with some fake version of me. I-It’s disgusting. It’s wrong!”

Vanitas’ lips curved into a small, sad smile.

“You think I don’t know that?” She said softly. “You think I haven’t told myself that a thousand times?”

She shook her head slowly.

“But love isn’t always clean or pure. Sometimes it’s just desperate and necessary. And as a mother…I’ll do anything—anything—to keep my son safe and happy.”

Kafka’s breathing trembled. His heavenly aura began to fade, confusion and heartbreak overriding his fury.

Vanitas then smiled faintly, her eyes misting again as she decided to drop the bomb that was going to break his heart.

“And it’s not what you think, Kafka. I’m not suffering. I’m not broken. I’m…content. In my own way.”

He looked at her in disbelief. “Content?”

“Yes.” She nodded slowly. “I won’t lie to you—what I’m doing is wrong. But I don’t hate it. The time I spend with him…it brings me peace. I’ve grown fond of him, even if he’s not you. It’s not the same, it could never be—but it’s enough.”

Her voice softened further, almost pleading.

“Please, believe me when I say this: you don’t need to worry about me anymore. I’m fine. Truly.”

Kafka stood frozen, his mouth half open, unable to form words.

He had prepared himself to argue, to yell, to plead—but faced with her quiet, genuine tone, he found himself completely disarmed.

She wasn’t lying. He could see it in her eyes—she truly believed what she said.

But then, something about that thought ‘lying’ made something click in him.

His gaze sharpened, his lips twisting slowly into a small, trembling smile that bordered on manic disbelief.

He chuckled under his breath.

“Wait…” He murmured, his voice low at first, then rising. “I get it. I get it now!”

Vanitas blinked, startled. “Kafka…?”

He took a step forward, smiling wider, a broken, desperate smile.

“This whole thing, this entire story, it’s a sham, isn’t it?” He said, his tone teetering between laughter and fury. “All of this—the replacement, the excuses, this other me—it’s all just some grand act, right? A lie. A lie you made up to make me accept you not just as my mother, but as a woman!”

Vanitas’s eyes widened, her lips parting slightly in shock.

“You’re trying to make me confess something, aren’t you?” Kafka said, his voice rising now, trembling with disbelief. “You’re trying to make me admit how I feel about you—to change how I see you. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”

“Kafka—”

“No!” He cut her off sharply, pointing a trembling finger at her. “You swore to me, remember? You swore the day I met you that whenever I asked you for the truth—you would never lie.”

“You said the heavens themselves would strike you if you broke that promise!”

Vanitas went silent, her expression unreadable.

“So now I’m asking you.” He said, his voice softer now, shaking. “Tell me the truth. The truth, Mom! Tell me this is all just some stupid plan to get me to say it! To admit what I feel for you! Tell me this isn’t real!”

“Please…just tell me you’re lying.”

He looked at her with eyes filled with fragile hope—waiting for her to laugh it off, to call it a misunderstanding, to ease the suffocating ache building inside his chest.

But instead, Vanitas met his gaze, her eyes shimmering—and then she slowly shook her head.

“No, Kafka.” She whispered. “This isn’t a lie. This isn’t a plan. Everything I’ve said…is the truth.”

For a moment, the world stood still.

The air left Kafka’s lungs.

His smile vanished.

His body froze where he stood, his face draining of all color as though his very soul had been ripped away.

He stared at her—wide-eyed, pale, hollow—unable to even breathe.

Vanitas’s own eyes glistened as she took in the sight of him—her son, the one she swore to protect, now looking like an empty husk.

Her heart ached painfully. She wanted to run to him, to hold him close, to say she was sorry, that none of this was his fault.

Her body trembled as she took a small step forward—

—but before she could move again, a hand gripped her wrist.

The other Kafka.

He frowned and shook his head slowly, his expression cold, warning her without words.

‘Don’t do it.’

Vanitas’s lips trembled. Her eyes pleaded silently,

‘Please, let me comfort him.’

But the other Kafka only narrowed his eyes further, his tone unspoken but firm.

‘If you go now, you’ll ruin everything.’

And realising that what he was saying was true, reluctantly, painfully—she stopped.

Her fingers curled tightly at her side, her heart breaking with every second she stood still.

The other Kafka also let out a quiet breath of relief.

She had almost undone everything.

Then, slowly, he stepped forward.

It was time to make his move.