There was a moment—just a flicker, barely noticeable—when the chamber of the Root Council emptied and the last echo of footsteps faded down the stone halls…
…that I felt the walls closing in.
Not literally.
Though given how deep underground we were, that wasn't impossible.
No—this was something subtler.
A tightening in the chest.
A crawling across the skin.
A pulse beating in rhythm with a very specific thought:
"I wasn't built for this."
Paperwork?
Meetings?
Approval charts?
Diplomatic briefings?
My past life included corporate hell, yes, but that had been a means to an end.
A grind I accepted because I needed to survive, to afford escaping into the worlds i really wanted to live in.
But after waking in this world—after gaining the System—after fighting, bleeding, conquering, exploring…
Sitting still felt like a slow death.
And ruling, properly ruling, felt like I had voluntarily placed my head in a vice.
