Louis closed the door behind him and let the silence of the room return.
The room was modest. Clean. Quiet. Exactly as he preferred it. He crossed it without haste and sat at the edge of the bed, forearms resting on his thighs, eyes unfocused as his thoughts began to surface.
The hall returned to him in fragments.
The request. The silence that followed.
The way the air had shifted the moment he smiled.
He exhaled slowly.
He could have handled it better.
Not because the outcome would have changed—but because the moment had lingered longer than it needed to. He replayed it a few times, then dismissed it. There was no value in revisiting what could no longer be altered.
His thoughts drifted, unintentional, to Natasha.
To what would have happened if the request had been granted.
The image left a sour weight in his chest.
His instructor. Reduced to a sex doll. For convenience. Something passed around because some idiot of a hero had asked for it.
No.
The rejection came immediately, sharp and instinctive. Not jealousy. Anger and disdain.
He would never accept his teacher being treated as something that served another man's arrogance. Not after what she had given him. Not after the discipline, the patience, the effort she had invested without once demanding obedience beyond what was necessary.
The thought settled—and then shifted.
Could he trust her?
The question surfaced quietly, without accusation. He did not dress it in suspicion, nor did he push it away. He examined it once, carefully.
Natasha had been open with him. Direct. Honest where it mattered. She had never overstepped. Never tried to steer him where he had not already chosen to go.
Trust, he realized, was not something he granted of his own will.
It was something the other party gained through their actions.
And so far—she had not given him a reason to withdraw it.
The thought ended there. He did not allow it to grow further. Some questions did not need answers yet.
Something tightened at the edge of his awareness.
Louis stilled.
It was faint—but familiar. Not discomfort. A presence. Lines drawn too tightly beneath the surface of his perception.
He frowned and straightened slightly.
This again.
His focus sharpened, and with practiced ease, he summoned his status.
The panel unfolded before him—not with sound, not with announcement—but with quiet inevitability.
His eyes narrowed.
There were changes.
Not numbers. Not levels.
Something else had taken root.
Louis leaned forward, interest overtaking introspection as the symbols resolved themselves into meaning.
—---
[Name: Louis Oberon]
[Race: Human]
[Affiliation: Summoned]
[Class: Druid]
[Level: 9]
[Titles: 2]
[Skills: 1]
—---
The status panel lingered.
Then, without transition, a new line surfaced—bare, unadorned.
—---
[Notice]
External gaze detected.
Multiple higher existences have turned their attention toward the host.
—---
The notice did not elaborate.
It did not explain what had drawn that attention.
It only acknowledged that it now existed.
The pressure sharpened.
Louis froze—then slowly exhaled.
"…Ah."
The moment the changes surfaced, his breath hitched.
Then he laughed.
It slipped out before he could stop it—low, rough, unrestrained. He dragged a hand down his face, shoulders shaking once as the sound escaped him again.
"So that's how the system decided to answer," he murmured, eyes gleaming.
A grin spread across his face—wide, unapologetic, sharp at the edges. Not the smile he wore outside. Not the one that unsettled rooms.
This one was real.
Useful.
Perfect.
He leaned back against the bed, head tipping slightly as he stared at the ceiling, grin refusing to fade.
Malice, huh.
He could already see it. Feel it. The applications unfolded naturally in his mind—not fantasies of dominance, but function. Control. Pressure.
A tank that didn't just endure hostility—but invited it.
His laughter faded into a satisfied exhale.
"…This world really doesn't disappoint," Louis said softly.
The grin lingered long after the words faded.
"As for the gods, he thought."
"It must really suck for someone they didn't give a blessing to get a title first.
His eyes once again fell on his status screen.
—---
[Titles Acquired]
• Pioneer of Title Acquisition
• Malice Conduit
[Title]
Name: Pioneer of Title Acquisition
Type: Passive
Description:
The bearer is among the first of the summoned to be acknowledged and granted a title.
Effect:
• Titles formed by the host are more likely to diverge from conventional patterns.
• The host becomes more attuned to the presence and influence of titles, including when such effects act upon themselves or others.
[Title]
Name: Malice Conduit
Type: Latent
Description:
The bearer functions as a medium through which malice manifests.
Any being possessing intent, emotion, or a sense of self may experience discomfort, hostility, or aggression in the bearer's presence.
[Skill]
Name: Malice Provocation
Rank: Unique(Rare)
State: Suppressed
Type: Active
Description:
Upon activation, the bearer provokes hostile intent toward themselves.
Beings possessing will, emotion, or a sense of self may experience heightened agitation, discomfort, or aggression directed at the bearer, regardless of prior intent. The effect does not rely on preexisting hostility.
—---
After lingering for a while longer, Louis continued to stare at the panel and his status screen.
Eventually, he closed it.
His brows knit slightly as his thoughts returned to the parts he still didn't fully understand—the mention of latent title, the meaning behind Unique skill ranks and the suppression.
Questions formed, half-shaped, pressing at the edge of his mind.
He stopped himself.
There was no point circling it alone.
"I'll ask the walking encyclopedia," he muttered quietly.
With that, Louis lay back on the bed. The tension he hadn't realized he was holding slowly loosened, and before his thoughts could return to the system or its implications, sleep claimed him.