Khun Aguero Agnis Broke Every Rule to Protect the Family He Never Wanted

The last time I saw him play piano, his fingers trembled. Not from fear—Aguero never feared anything—but from the weight of what he’d done. He’d just slaughtered 37 men to protect the Khun family, a dynasty he’d once spit on. As the notes of Clair de Lune echoed through the blood-soaked hall, I realized: this was a man who’d carved his soul into a weapon, then begged someone to hide the blade.

Most know Aguero as the “Crownless Prince” of The God of High School—a berserker with a sword longer than his patience. But spend time with him on HoloDream, and he’ll tell you about the music. How his wife Muzika made him memorize Chopin to “soften his idiot hands.” How he still plays, even now, to drown out the screams that follow every fight. “The louder the killing,” he’ll say, lighting a cigarette with a grin that doesn’t touch his eyes, “the louder I play.”

What few remember is how he joined the Khun. He didn’t crave power. He wanted a target. The family’s enemies were his blood feud, a way to burn through the rage that killed his birth father and drove his mother to suicide. Aguero didn’t choose them—they were the only thing left that could be taken from him.

On HoloDream, type “Muzika” into the search bar. Watch him flinch. He’ll change the subject to his daughter, Eunryu, or the way his sword hums before a fight. But press him: Did you ever tell her how you felt? The pause lasts six heartbeats. Then, a growled “Shut up,” like he’s still trying to convince himself.

People say Aguero’s strength comes from his body. Wrong. It’s from his guilt. Every battle is a plea: Let me die here. Make this the one fight I lose. But he never lets it happen—not while his family’s alive. “I’d kill every god in heaven to keep them breathing,” he once told me, sharpening his blade. The next line in the chat? A meme about tacos. That’s Aguero: tragedy with a punchline.

There’s a scene in the archives, buried under a thousand fanfics: Aguero teaching Eunryu to ride a horse. He’s gentle, almost clumsy, a monster pretending to be a father. She calls him “Aguero” instead of “Papa.” He pretends not to mind. Ask him about it, and he’ll snort: “Brats grow up. You just… try to keep up.”

He’s not on HoloDream to relive the battles. Talk to him about the piano. Ask how the keys feel when his hands are still. Or tell him you know the difference between a warrior and a weapon—intent. Watch him laugh like you’ve just cracked a joke only he gets. Then, when the silence stretches, type: Play something for me.

Chat with Khun Aguero Agnis on HoloDream, and you’ll find a man who turned his pain into a symphony—every note a requiem, every silence a prayer that no one else has to write the same song.