The thought came out almost reverent. Almost grateful.
Almost scared.
Because this was too much. Too fast. Too good. The universe didn't hand people like him upgrades this obscene without attaching a bill so large it would make a loan shark blush.
Basic economics: you don't climb from rooftop suicide attempt to harem protagonist without the cosmos demanding collateral. The System had a price. Everything had a price.
He just didn't know what it was yet.
And that unknown itched worse than any bruise.
Stop.
Just—stop.
Phei forced himself to breathe. Forced the spiral to slow, to settle, to stop trying to catastrophize what was objectively a massive fucking win wrapped in silk and desperation.
The Dean wasn't his enemy anymore.
That was what mattered. That was the strategic victory buried underneath all the making out, the decades-old virgin revelations, and the way she'd looked at him like he was the first real thing she'd seen since the Nixon administration.
