Leo, a dedicated 'minimalist' and pet shop owner, discovers a dusty, old 'Pet Care Guide' hidden behind a loose floorboard after Milo comically knocks over an ancient vase.
The apartment was quiet.
Too quiet.
Leo narrowed his eyes, a sense of unease prickling at the back of his neck.
In his experience, silence was merely the brief, terrifying calm before the storm.
A storm that usually came in the form of a silver tabby American Shorthair named Milo.
A sudden, calamitous crash from the living room confirmed his suspicions.
He sighed, a long, suffering sound that was becoming the background music of his life.
He walked out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishtowel, already mentally preparing for the scene of devastation.
It was worse than he imagined.
The antique vase his mother had gifted him, the one she claimed was a priceless family heirloom from the Qing Dynasty, lay shattered on the floor.
Porcelain shards glittered like fallen stars amidst a puddle of water and drooping daisies.
And in the center of the carnage, sat Milo.
The cat was meticulously grooming a single paw, utterly oblivious to the chaos he had wrought.
He paused, looked up at Leo, and let out a soft, questioning meow.
The sheer, unadulterated audacity of it made Leo's eye twitch.
"Milo," Leo said, his voice dangerously calm.
The cat blinked, a picture of feline innocence.
He's a performance artist of hunger and destruction, Leo thought, his temple beginning to throb. And I am his perpetually exhausted, underpaid manager.
He knelt, carefully picking up the larger pieces of the vase. So much for minimalism. His life was a constant battle against clutter, most of it cat-induced.
As he gathered the last of the porcelain, his fingers brushed against the edge of a floorboard.
It was loose.
Curiosity, a dangerous and often expensive emotion, got the better of him.
He pried at the edge with his fingertips.
The board lifted easily, revealing a dark, shallow recess beneath.
Nestled inside, covered in a fine layer of dust, was a book.
It was an old, hardcover volume, its cover a faded, nondescript brown. The title, embossed in simple gold letters, read: Basic Pet Care Guide.
Leo frowned. He'd lived here for years and never knew this compartment existed.
He pulled the book out. It felt heavy, ancient. The pages were yellowed and smelled of dust and time.
Milo, his destructive duties apparently concluded for the moment, padded over.
He sniffed the book, then nudged it with his head, a gesture of profound, unearned wisdom.
As Leo's fingers brushed against the cover where Milo had nudged it, a faint light pulsed from the book.
He snatched his hand back as if burned.
The light intensified, a soft, ethereal glow that seemed to emanate from the very fibers of the paper.
The air grew still.
A low, almost imperceptible hum filled the room, a whisper from a world he didn't know existed.
The letters on the cover shimmered, dissolving and reforming.
Basic Pet Care Guide morphed into Advanced Feline Husbandry.
Then it flickered to The Canine Conundrum.
Then A Treatise on Aquatic Temperaments.
This book is sentient, Leo's brain screamed, a thought so absurd it felt perfectly at home in his current life. It's sentient and it can't decide on a title. My life is being dictated by an indecisive, possibly magical, library book.
Finally, the light subsided, the letters settling into a new, far more ominous title: The Lesser Spirit Codex.
Before he could process the sheer insanity of it all, the book flipped open on its own.
A beam of pale light shot out from the pages, scanning Milo from head to tail.
The cat, caught in the beam, merely yawned, as if being analyzed by a mystical artifact was a perfectly normal part of his afternoon nap schedule.
Then, text began to appear on the yellowed page, written in glowing, silver script.
Familiar: Milo
Species: American Shorthair (Manifesting)
Bloodline: Ancient Gourmet Beast (Trace, 0.01% Awakened)
Secondary Bloodline: Nine-Tailed Celestial Cat (Fragmentary, Dormant)
Current State: Spiritually Malnourished (Critical)
Required: Substantial energy intake to stabilize awakening
Potential Growth Paths: Gourmet Overlord, Nine-Tailed Illusionist, Shadow Thief
Innate Abilities: [Voracious Appetite], [Unscientific Luck (Latent)], [Superior Agility]
Leo stared.
His mouth was dry.
Gourmet Beast? Nine-Tailed Celestial Cat? His Milo? The same cat who thought a plastic bottle cap was the pinnacle of entertainment?
This defied Newton. This defied biology. This defied every rational thought he possessed.
How do I explain this? he thought, a wave of hysteria bubbling in his chest. 'Sorry, Mom, the priceless vase was destroyed by my cat, who is apparently a part-time demigod with a dormant illusionist career path.'
He cringed. The eye-rolls would be epic.
Milo, seemingly sensing his owner's existential crisis, chose that moment to stretch languidly.
He padded over to his empty food bowl.
He stared at it with profound disappointment.
Then, he turned his gaze to Leo, his eyes filled with a familiar, tragic accusation.
The human is attempting to process trivial information instead of providing sustenance, Milo's gaze seemed to say. A grave error. My internal void echoes with the promise of more. Offer tribute, primate.
Leo's mind snapped back to the book. 'Spiritually Malnourished (Critical)'. 'Substantial energy intake required'.
A cold dread, more terrifying than any mythical bloodline, washed over him.
He was going to have to buy a lot more cat food.
The book in his hands pulsed once more, a soft, final thrum.
The glowing text faded.
The cover shimmered, the title The Lesser Spirit Codex dissolving back into the comforting, mundane words: Basic Pet Care Guide.
Leo just knelt there, amidst the ruins of his mother's vase, holding a book that was pretending not to be magic.
His cat, a supposed descendant of a Gourmet Beast, was now trying to trip him on the way to the kitchen.
Just another normal Monday.
He stared at the words on the now-normal book, a cold dread mixing with an undeniable, terrifying thrill.