Seated at the grand dining table, I munched on my food with quiet delight. The flavors were rich and savory, far beyond anything I'd tasted since arriving in this world. Compared to the usual fare Sophia had brought me, plain bread and lukewarm milk, this was practically gourmet.
As I chewed, savoring each bite, a thought surfaced. One that had been slowly forming over the past few days.
'So they do have real food.'
Given that this was a noble household, I had assumed such a meal existed, but there was something odd about the way Sophia had been eating. Every day, without fail, she'd bring back a tray from the kitchen, but it was just bread and milk.
At first, I chalked it up to regional circumstances, but that explanation no longer holds up. The meal before me now was proof that the household had no shortage of proper cuisine, which led me to a more unsettling question.
'Why is Sophia only eating scraps?'
No matter how medieval this world might be, I couldn't imagine a noble daughter being fed like a peasant unless something was seriously off.
'Was it some kind of rule? Was food like this only served in the dining hall? Or was there something else behind it?'
For now, I wasn't sure what to make of it.
Even if I wanted to dig deeper into the situation, there was another problem getting in the way.
I glanced between Sophia, her mother, and her father as they exchanged words across the table. From the outside, it looked like a perfectly normal family breakfast.
But as I listened, something nagged at me.
'I can't understand them at all.'
It wasn't that they were whispering or using coded language. The issue was more fundamental than that.
'Why is it that I can only understand Sophia?'
To my cat ears, everyone spoke in the same language, but only Sophia's words registered as actual meaning. The rest might as well have been noise, completely incomprehensible.
I let out a cat-sigh.
Still, it didn't bother me too much. If anything important came up, I could always ask Sophia later.
Besides, I had already made peace with my role here.
In this world, I was a cat. Cats didn't speak, nor did they concern themselves with the noble family drama.
And honestly? That suited me just fine.
***
Naphael sat in silence, quietly eating his meal.
The tension in the room had softened, thanks largely to his wife's efforts to guide the conversation into safer waters. He responded when needed, offering a few words here and there, letting her take the lead.
But his mind was elsewhere.
His gaze drifted to Sophia, and a familiar ache settled in his chest.
'She's grown so much.'
He still remembered the child who used to cling to his arms, laughing, calling for him, trusting him with the whole of her tiny world. That image felt like a memory from another life now, quietly fading.
Throughout the meal, Sophia never once looked his way. Her eyes stayed fixed on Valeslina, her voice light and animated as she spoke to her. Naphael noticed the avoidance, but chose not to press it. For now, simply having her at the table felt like a massive progress.
Then, his attention shifted to the cat beside her.
It was busy eating, seemingly oblivious to the mood in the room. Yet something about it caught Naphael's attention. Something that didn't sit right.
'This cat...'
Its appearance was ordinary, even charming, but his instincts said otherwise. A subtle wrongness clung to it, like a shadow that didn't quite match its source.
Then, Valeslina brought up the cat, pulling Naphael's attention back to the conversation.
"Sophia, who is this adorable cat you've brought with you?" she asked, her tone light with curiosity.
"Mom, this is Sir Seraphix," Sophia said, beaming with pride. "I forgot to mention earlier, but I've become a beast tamer! Sir Seraphix is my 'nine-stroke' beast. I tamed him myself!"
Naphael's expression darkened the moment he heard the term.
'A nine-stroke beast?'
Valeslina, still enchanted by the cat's cuteness, didn't seem to register the significance. She smiled, already leaning forward as if to pet it.
"Oh my! I had no idea this adorable creature had such an impressive origin," she said, her voice playful and amused.
"Hehe, yes, Mom. Sir Seraphix is truly incredible. You should feel his fur, it's so soft!" Sophia replied, nearly glowing with excitement.
Seizing the moment, Valeslina reached out, clearly intent on touching the cat. "Well, now I'm curious—"
"There is no such thing as a nine-stroke beast. Sophia, you need to stop this nonsense," Naphael said, his voice cutting through the conversation with sudden sharpness.
In an instant, the warmth in the room vanished. The atmosphere grew cold and brittle, and every gaze shifted toward him.
Naphael sat rigid, his expression firm, eyes locked on his daughter in silent disbelief.
Sophia felt her chest tighten under the weight of his stare, a knot of fear and shock rising in her throat.
Beneath the table, she clenched her fists, forcing herself to steady her voice. She knew she wasn't wrong.
"No, it's true. Sir Seraphix—" she began, but was cut off.
"Sophia, enough," Naphael said, his voice rising. "That 'pet' of yours is not a nine-stroke beast, and you are not a beast tamer," he said flatly. "I don't recall ever teaching you how to make up lies."
Sophia's earlier excitement crumbled under the weight of his words. Her gaze dropped to the table, fingers curling tighter into trembling fists.
'I thought... he would praise me...'
Tears welled in her eyes, soft sniffles breaking the silence. But just as despair began to take hold, another feeling surged up to meet it.
Anger.
She had given everything, months of effort, sleepless nights, all for this one breakthrough. She had promised herself this would be her final 'try.'
And now, just when she had finally succeeded…
'Why... why won't he believe me?'
The thought echoed like a wound reopening. All the work she had done, everything she had endured, suddenly felt meaningless in the face of her father's scorn.
With a sudden burst of emotion, Sophia pushed back her chair and stood. Her tear-streaked eyes locked onto her father, defiance burning beneath the pain.
"I-it's true," she said, voice trembling. "Sir Seraphix isn't a pet. He's my tamed beast."
Naphael's expression darkened. Lying was one thing. But to say it with such unwavering resolve, as if she truly believed it, felt like a direct insult to him.
"Sophia," he said, his tone cold and sharp, "you know this better than anyone. You have no 'talent.' Is it really so hard to accept that you've started clinging to delusions?"
The word 'talent' hit her like a blow, tightening her throat. No one understood her lack of talent better than she did.
Tears slipped down her cheeks, the pressure inside her chest finally cracking. Still, she didn't back down.
Not yet.
Because she had proof.
"If you still don't believe me…" Her voice wavered, thick with desperation, as she pulled off the glove on her right hand.
She held it out to him, revealing the mark engraved on her skin: a distinct and intricate mark, the unmistakable crest of a nine-stroke beast pattern.
Naphael's eyes locked onto the mark on Sophia's arm and froze.
What she showed as a beast pattern mark, he saw as something else entirely.
A scarred hand.
A surge of boiling anger coursed through him.
"Father, this is the—" Sophia began, voice unsteady. But she couldn't even finish her words.
"Sophia!" Naphael snapped, his voice thunderous, far harsher than before.
Sophia flinched at the sudden change. Her shoulders hunched as she lowered her head, trembling beneath the weight of his fury.
Naphael stepped forward, striding across the room with heavy steps. He seized her right arm, yanking it toward him without restraint.
"Naphael, stop!" Valeslina called out, rising sharply from her seat.
He didn't hear her. His focus was entirely on Sophia's hand, now trembling in his grip.
His eyes narrowed on the scarred pattern.
"Sophia, what kind of madness is this?!" he demanded, voice shaking with fury. "Are you so desperate to be believed that you'd 'burn' your own hand?!"
To his eyes, the mark was nothing more than a self-inflicted scar. The idea that she would go this far only deepened his anger.
"Naphael! Enough!" Valeslina's voice rang out, sharp and commanding. Her palm struck the table with a loud crack, cutting through the rising chaos.
But Naphael heard nothing, nothing except the sound of his own voice. His emotions surged as he inspected the mark more closely. The faint redness at the edges, the way the skin was still tender, it was fresh.
It was recently made.
That realization only fueled his anger even more.
"Who told you to do this?!"
Sophia said nothing. She couldn't. Fear had gripped her so tightly that her lips refused to move.
Her silence was met with more force. Naphael's grip tightened around her wrist as he pulled her arm closer.
"Sophia! Tell me now!"
Valeslina, finally had enough, stepped forward, ready to intervene.
But she stopped.
Mid-motion, her body froze, paralyzed by a sudden, crushing pressure that filled the room.
The atmosphere had changed.
It was abrupt, unnatural, and Heavy.
Like the air itself had turned to stone.
Valeslina gasped softly, unable to move. The oppressive force clung to her limbs, to her breath, to her very skin.
Naphael felt it too.
As a Grand Magus with high sensitivity, the shift hit him even harder. The force wasn't just physical; it pressed directly against his body, like a wall of malice bearing down on his soul.
***
Even though I couldn't understand the language, I could instantly feel the shift in the room the moment Naphael cut into the conversation.
The air turned heavy.
What followed was a cycle: Sophia trying to speak, only to be interrupted again and again.
'Was it really that hard to just let her finish?'
From the sidelines, my attention was fixed on Naphael. With each word Sophia managed to say, his expression grew darker, his frown deepening like her voice was some kind of personal offense.
And in that moment, I understood.
'He's not here anymore.'
I'd seen that look before. That mix of fury and desperation. It was all too familiar.
He wasn't speaking to her; he was speaking to himself inside his own head. Nothing could reach him.
I didn't understand what they were talking about, but it was clear the argument had something to do with me, especially since Sophia kept mentioning my name.
Honestly, I didn't mind not being welcome. I didn't mind being thrown out. Just like in my old world, I would've kept going, surviving off whatever scraps I could find, pretending nothing mattered.
Because for me, it didn't. Nothing ever really did.
At least... that's what I told myself.
But then, why?
Why was this anger welling up inside me?
'Shouldn't he be mad at me instead of her?'
I shouldn't get involved. I knew it wouldn't end well for me. The odds were stacked against me from the start.
But then, I heard it, a quiet sniffle beside me.
I turned and saw Sophia, tears silently streaming down her cheeks as she struggled to maintain her composure, still trying to argue back against Naphael.
And in that moment, something inside me cracked. An old memory surfaced. A different girl, in a different time, but with the same circumstances.
The anger rising in me surged even faster. My jaw tightened, teeth clenching on instinct as my eyes locked onto Naphael.
'What the hell did you do to her?!'
Then, he stood. Without hesitation, he marched toward Sophia and grabbed her arm, yanking it with force. Sophia's expression twisted in pain and fear as she looked down, unable to meet his eyes.
But he didn't stop. He started shouting directly into her trembling face, as if yelling louder would somehow force the voice out of her.
Watching it unfold, something inside me gave way. I couldn't hold back anymore.
'Naphael, you crossed the line.'
I made my decision.
I would act.
In the short time I'd spent with Sophia, I'd come to understand just how fragile she was when it came to her father. If this kept going, she might truly break.
Even with rage boiling inside me, I forced myself to stay rational.
I needed to think carefully.
Out of the three skills I had at my disposal, the choice wasn't hard. Essence Devour was too dangerous, considering it was a calamity-class skill I barely understood. Using it now could trigger consequences far worse than anything Naphael might do.
Transmogrify Essence crossed my mind. I could shift into an adult body and land a solid punch across Naphael's face. But revealing that side of me, abandoning my cover as a cat, wasn't a move I could take back.
That left one option.
I chose Veil of the Abyss.
---
Veil of the Abyss
Class: High-tier
Attribute: Abyss
Effect: Envelops the user in an aura of the abyss.
---
Since this skill only caused me to emit an aura, I figured it might at least be enough to draw Naphael's attention. I wasn't exactly sure what I'd do after that, or what he'd do once I became his target, but honestly, that didn't matter to me.
'I just need to get him away from Sophia.'
I fixed my gaze on Naphael, readying the skill. As the heat began to stir within me, a single thought pushed itself to the front of my mind.
'At the very least, I need to leave him with a scratch he won't forget.'
***
As Naphael stood frozen beneath the crushing weight of the atmosphere, a slow, creeping realization began to take hold.
'An aura…?'
Summoning what strength he could, he turned his head toward the source. He already knew where it was coming from.
There, seated calmly and watching him in silence, was a black cat.
It didn't move. It simply watched.
But the moment their eyes met, something in him recoiled. Without knowing why, he instinctively lowered his gaze, as if he understood he had no right to meet its eyes.
Suddenly, Naphael felt something slip into his mind. The words were foreign, spoken in a language he couldn't recognize, yet somehow, he understood their meaning.
"Let go of her." It commanded.
Without thinking, he obeyed.
Then, like a dam breaking, a torrent of incomprehensible, massive information flooded his mind. Along with it came a surge of overwhelming malice that crashed into his head with brutal force.
His thoughts fragmented. Sweat began to pour from his brow as he struggled to maintain even a shred of clarity.
The cat began to walk toward him. With each step, the pressure intensified. Naphael's body tensed, and without realizing it, he lowered his head further.
"You've truly tested my patience," the voice echoed again, sharper, heavier, more oppressive.
As the cat reached him, it raised its paw, claws extended, and it was ready to strike.
But just before it moved, a voice cut through the storm.
"N-no, Sir Seraphix… don't hurt Father."
Naphael turned weakly toward the sound.
It was Sophia.
She clutched her right arm tightly. His eyes fell on it and froze. On the pale skin of her forearm was a deep, clearly defined bruise with the shape of his hand.
The sight struck him harder than any blow.
Even through the chaos clouding his mind, a wave of regret surged through him.
Sophia, who seemed untouched by the heavy tension still pressing down on the room, took a deep, shuddering breath, wiped the tears from her eyes, and sniffled softly. Then, lifting her gaze, she met his eyes, not with fear, but with a calm, quiet resolve.
"Father, if you don't believe me, so be it… It was my mistake to expect you to." Her voice trembled slightly, but her words were steady. "I've said what I needed to. I'll be leaving now."
Carefully, she reached for Seraphix, cradling the cat gently against her chest. With a small, respectful bow, she added softly, "Thank you for the breakfast."
Then she turned toward the doors, opened them slowly, and stepped outside, closing them behind her with a soft, deliberate click.
As Sophia walked out of the dining room, the oppressive atmosphere lifted almost instantly, leaving the space feeling eerily normal again.
In that same moment, Naphael's thoughts began to settle. Sweat ran down his face as the storm that had overtaken his mind slowly began to retreat.
'What just…'
Fragments of what had happened returned in pieces. And then it struck him, his 'unconscious realm' had been invaded.
'How?'
He knew the strength of his 'innate barriers'. In all his life, there had never been a single instance where someone broke through so forcefully. Yet in front of that cat, it was as if those barriers hadn't existed at all.
Then another memory surfaced, one that unsettled him even more. The moment he had instinctively lowered his gaze.
That had never happened before, not even before he became the Grand Magus.
A chilling realization took root.
'Am I… afraid?'
He struggled to make sense of it. He had faced countless enemies and never once had he felt this.
Just as Naphael's thoughts began to spiral further out of control, a sharp gasp jolted him back to the present. He turned his head and saw Valeslina on her knees, clutching her chest and gasping for air as if she hadn't breathed at all during the entire ordeal.
Panic surged through him. He rushed over and dropped to his knees beside her. "Valeslina, are you oka—"
Before he could finish, her hand struck his cheek with surprising force. She was still panting, her expression twisted in anger.
"What is wrong with you!" she snapped, her voice hoarse but fierce. She had held it in this whole time, and that slap was the first release of everything she'd been suppressing.
Naphael touched his cheek and lowered his head. "I'm sorry."
Valeslina let out a long, trembling sigh. Leaning against him, she tried to stand, though her legs were unsteady. Naphael supported her without a word, rising with her and keeping her close.
Valeslina then frowned, her thoughts drifting back to what had just happened. "More importantly, what was that earlier?"
"I think... it was an aura?" Naphael said hesitantly.
"An aura?!" Her eyes widened in disbelief. "How could that be an aura?!"
"I don't understand it myself."
There was a pause before Valeslina asked, more carefully this time, "So... was that cat really a nine-stroke beast?"
"I'm not sure," Naphael replied grimly. "For now, I'll write a letter to the Grand Tamer."
"Alright. At least we know it wasn't hostile to Sophia."
"You're right..." he said aloud, though his thoughts told a different story.
'It was following her command.'
He glanced at Valeslina again, quietly checking her condition.
'I'm glad she's okay.'
Then it struck him, the overwhelming surge of information and malice the cat had emitted had been aimed solely at him.
Without thinking, he placed a hand on his head.
The mental attack still clung to him, like a parasite latching onto its host.
'It'll take time for me to recover from this.'