Hunter’s first impression of the library was that it felt more like a cathedral than the cozy little places he was used to. Its interior was cold and immense, built of pale stone, and dimly lit here and there with hovering magelights. In front of him was a dark wooden circulation desk, and behind that was a recessed floor littered with tables and chairs. Circling around that space were floors and floors of books, spiraling up into the dome above until they vanished into darkness. There were no windows, just thin slabs of semi-opaque stone that glowed begrudgingly, and the result was a tomb-like atmosphere that seemed to imply this place hadn’t seen sunlight since it was built a thousand years ago.
There was also a strange quality to the air in the room like the pressure before a thunderstorm. An invisible heaviness settled on him the moment he stepped inside, rich with a barely restrained potential that almost felt conscious.
He paused just inside the doors, pinned down by a very old instinct that said the only thing he should do if he found himself inside of something alive was to find a way back out. Thoroughly spooked, he struggled with a surprisingly intense urge to leave, until it occurred to him that maybe this was just par for the course when it came to magical libraries.
Yeah… that made sense, didn’t it? Really, it would have been disappointing if this place wasn’t creepy and mysterious. If anything, it ought to be praised for so thoroughly nailing the right ambiance.
“Good job, fantastic vibes,” he congratulated the library as he strode towards the circulation desk. “All it’s missing is an orangutan.”
The librarian on duty—a short, pale man with, to Hunter’s delight, ginger hair—was standing with his back to the door, having failed to notice Hunter’s arrival. He jumped a few feet in the air when Hunter cleared his throat, then whirled around with an angry expression, clearly ready to scold, only to then recognize the person in front of him and turn even whiter.
“President—can I help you with something?” he asked, his smile polite and painfully nervous.
Hunter, relieved to once again be doing the bullying instead of being bullied, demanded, “Take me to the section on curses.”
The little man nodded and quickly led him across the tiled stone floor and up a flight of stairs to what looked like a massive section of medical books. The librarian guided him to an aisle, pointed at a label on it with a quivering finger, and skittered off before Hunter could even thank him.
Letting out a sigh, Hunter looked at the shelves.
Yep. These were books on curses, alright.
There sure were a lot of them.
Where should he start? He didn’t even know what kind of curse Ianthe had, the game was never clear on that, or maybe he just hadn’t been paying attention when they’d said it?
He felt his eyes slide over the titles and noticed that he wasn’t the only one up here.
A girl was sitting at a table by the railing, the dark skin of her round face illuminated by a white magelight, her indigo braids tucked neatly behind her ears. In front of her was a leather folio and a short stack of papers, and as he watched she frowned and scribbled something out on it.
Wait a second. Wasn’t she one of the protagonists?
He was trying to match illustrations to real people, so it wasn’t always easy to be sure, but from her hair to her skin to her body type, she definitely resembled one of them.
If she was from the game, what should he do? He hadn’t expected to run into one of his future children-in-law so soon, and he knew from experience that Euhpy hated it when he approached her buddies without her permission. However, if she was one of his students, didn’t that make things different? He just had to approach her as a professional, not a parent.
Anyway, it wasn’t like he planned to mess with her or anything. On the contrary, if he remembered the plot correctly, the poor thing was probably under a lot of stress right now, what with her mom being so sick. Surely a little meddling couldn’t hurt, and anyway, he was pretty sure she was that healer girl, so maybe if he helped her she could help him with…
With…
Why was he here again?
”Fuck,” he hissed, coming to a stop. He was doing it again! He hadn’t noticed he’d been approaching her until he was already well away from the shelf he’d started at. Clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, he turned back towards it, only to find that the strange gravity in the room seemed to increase out of nowhere, pressing him down so hard that every step back was a struggle.
What the hell was happening to him? What kind of magic could mess with a person’s mind like this? He knew psychic spells were a thing, but those almost always required physical contact and active mental control, and other than when he’d been with Selene he’d been alone this whole time! Here, other than the girl by the railing, he was the only one standing in between the dark bookshelves.
So why didn’t he feel like he was alone?
It was a subtle sensation, one that disappeared the second he stopped thinking about it, and it felt familiar. There was someone he’d seen since he’d come here, someone Ianthe knew that he’d run into just like Anemone or Chiron or Iphis or Selene, only his impression of them was vague, like a half-remembered dream.
He once again felt the strong urge to leave the library, to run away before whatever creature he’d stumbled into realized he was there and thought to eat him. He had the sense that, if he just gave up now, everything could go back to normal, only—
Fuck that! Normal? What fucking bullshit! There was nothing normal about what was happening to him, and ignoring it wouldn’t change that! Something just wanted him to think that, and it was the same thing that was diverting his thoughts, tricking him with suggestions, leading him around in circles, and he was fucking sick of it! Whatever it was, if it thought it could control him it was wrong. He already knew it was there, he’d already seen it, it was the first thing he met in this world that wasn’t dead, when he’d looked into that mirror and into Ianthe’s eye and it’d made him look away, even without a mirror he could still visualize it, sitting at the bottom of that dark pupil, and when he imagined himself looking at it—
It looked back.
[ Hello. ]
Then, it laughed.
Oh, Hunter thought. Oh, I’ve really fucked up.
Fear bubbled up within him, the frozen dread of a rabbit that’s finally caught onto the wolf behind it. His instincts shouted at him to run, that maybe if he was fast enough he could still get away, except—
He couldn’t.
He was already caught.
It was inside him and it’d been there the whole time, ever since he’d come here. Before it’d been content to just watch, to entertain itself by hiding behind him, amusing itself with his ignorance, but now the jig was up. It stood—no, it unfurled, rising from endless coils to spread itself out in the darkness he seemed to have fallen into, and somewhere between awe and terror Hunter wondered, how did it fit? How could he have ever failed to notice something so impossibly big?
[ You’re persistent, aren’t you? ]
Was this why Ianthe had run? Had she found a way to escape and, like a fool, he’d stumbled in and taken her place?
[ Look down. ]
He did, and saw that he had been impaled here and there on sharp, twitching insectoid limbs like a mouse dropped on a thorn bush. Then came a white-hot anguish that seemed to burn through his entire being, and with it a strange sense of connection between him and it. Just like that he could feel what it was feeling as it felt that he could feel what it was feeling and over and over and back and forth in a maddening echo until he wasn’t sure what was him and what was alien.
His sense of self was flaking away like dust off a moth’s wing and there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to stop it.
Why?
He didn't need to ask. He knew because it knew: because it hated him. They were both trapped, it within him and him in there with it.
It did not matter that he had not trapped it, that he was just unlucky, that he couldn’t save it any more than he could save himself from it. It suffered, and it refused to suffer alone.
[ Don’t worry. ]
That torturous recursive awareness drained away from him and he was no longer drowning, just gasping and choking in its aftermath.
[ I’ll play with you, but not yet. ]
Even cut off from its mind he knew what it meant by that, knew why it had dropped him like a shrike into its misshapen hand.
It was going to eat him alive.
It just wanted to watch him struggle first.
[ So be a good boy and wait for me. ]
There was a flash of golden light from somewhere far away, and the darkness faded, replaced by a strange impending feeling of calm.
He knew it must be a lie so he refused it, flung it out of himself before it could take root. God, he was sick to death of being forced to think and feel thoughts and feelings that weren’t really his.
“Huh,” a voice said, surprised. “I don’t think anyone’s rejected one of my blessings before.”
He blinked and he could once again see the leather spines of old books. He found that he was clinging onto the shelves to keep himself upright, breathing hard like he’d been sprinting. The taste of blood was on his tongue, and he felt cool trickles of it dripping down his face.
“What the fuck was that?” he muttered, shivering.
“It was supposed to be a blessing of peace, but I take it you’re pretty resistant to psychic magic?” Next to him the indigo-haired girl clicked her tongue, her lips turned ever so slightly down, “I’m sure my intention was benevolent. Interesting.”
“I…” He was going to say he hadn’t meant her, but that felt like too much effort. His skin felt painfully tight all over, and his head was pounding so hard he couldn’t handle even the library’s low light, and had to keep his eyes shut.
“Here,” she said, and pushed her shoulder up under his arm so that she could hold up his weight, which was good because he couldn’t. The calm, smooth efficiency with which she did everything was the only reassurance he’d found so far, so he let her drag him to her table and into a chair.
“Are all of your mana stones charged?”
”Um,” he said, because he still couldn’t think.
”Then put some in here.”
A cool, heavy disc of metal was pressed into his hand, and he followed her instructions without complaint.
The relief was instantaneous. Much of the pain seemed to be coming from a feeling of impossible fullness, like he’d drank so much water that every cell in his body was fit to burst, and as it drained out of him he began to feel better.
”You’re suffering from mana oversaturation,” she said, her tone as casual as if they were discussing the weather. “I can examine you further if you let me, but I won’t be able to if you reject my spell again.”
Oh… that light earlier, that had been a spell, sort of like the one Iphis had used on him before.
He felt very glad that he’d somehow figured out how to resist those.
”Yeah… go for it,” he said, placing the disc back on the table once he’d poured enough mana into it.
“Here,” she said, handing him a white handkerchief.
He removed his eye patch, then pressed the cloth against his face to wipe up the sweat and blood. Looking down at it, it seemed he’d been bleeding a little from his eyes, nose, and mouth, which he found pretty fucking alarming. Judging by the itching feeling on his neck, he’d bled from his ears as well.
Unbothered by his appearance, the girl sat down across from him and reached out to take his slightly bloody hand.
Where her hand touched his there was a glow of golden light, and this time he paid attention, this time he felt that split second when something outside of himself asked to come in. To his surprise, the moment it did he could sense the intention behind it, that it wasn’t meant to be harmful. He accepted it, and just like when Chiron had treated him, he felt a golden warmth flow through him that melted away most of his discomfort.
Should he look into learning healing magic? It seemed he was getting way more mileage out of that than any other magic since he’d gotten here.
”Some moderate hemorrhaging, but no serious internal ruptures… that’s normal for mid-stage mana oversaturation. I’m not sure about the fever, though,” she announced, withdrawing her hand and settling back in her chair. “I’m also not sure if your spirit normally does this to you, but… regardless, I think we should go to the infirmary.”
Moderate hemorrhaging? He frowned at the handkerchief which had been stained into a distorted red clown’s face where it’d picked up his blood. Looking at the skin on his hands, he saw that even his sweat had a reddish tint.
Was this what she considered moderate? What was major, then?
He decided to stop thinking about it.
“My spirit?” he asked, finally feeling well enough to join the conversation.
“You’re…” The indigo-haired girl paused, and for the first time since she’d intervened she seemed unsure. “You’re possessed, aren’t you?”
Possessed?
Yeah. That sounded right.
“I… work a lot with possession cases, I apologize if I assumed wrong,” she hedged, her eyes flicking away like she was worried she’d offended him.
”No, no, you’re right, I’m possessed. My new b—this body’s a fucking timeshare.” He threw the handkerchief down on the table and put his head in his hands. “What the fuck do I do now?”
No, really, what was he going to do? He didn’t want to sit here and talk to her, he wanted to run off into a quiet corner and fall the fuck apart, but his knees felt weak, and if else anyone saw him looking like he did now they’d probably faint.
“It’s recent?”
The girl sounded surprised. The fact that President Ianthe was cursed was widely known; the only secret had been what kind of curse. Hearing that the possession was new, the girl seemed to conclude that Ianthe had now been cursed twice, and couldn’t quite hide the pity in her expression.
“Have you consulted with any healers yet?”
”No, uh… haven’t gotten around to it,” he said quietly.
”Oh, then let me introduce myself. I’m Med-Healer Psyche of House Lycoscura—that’s my medallion in front of you, if you want to verify my certification.”
Ah, his earlier guess had been right—she really was one of the protagonists. Right now she was watching him carefully, seemingly oblivious to the blood staining her expensive dress. Between her impeccable posture and her air of confidence, she gave off the impression that she was one of those rare college students who had their shit together.
Hunter knew better. Even if he hadn’t remembered anything about her story, he would have been able to see it in the lines of fatigue around her fever-bright orange eyes. This girl had been burning the candle at both ends and that flame was about to go out.
Seeing that helped him get a hold of himself. She’d done more than enough to help him already, it wouldn’t be fair to burden her further.
So he said, “You can just call me President—and I don’t need to check it, I’ve heard good things about your abilities, Med-Healer.”
He decided to do something about the blood on the two of them, and tried to recall that blood-dissolving spell he’d used earlier. How did magic work here again? Some kind of mental mnemonics to do with magic circles…
Ah, fuck it. He didn’t have the energy to think, so he snapped his fingers and that seemed to do the trick. In seconds the blood on the both of them lifted and dissolved into nothingness.
Next to healing, it was swiftly becoming his favorite spell.
“You’ve heard of me?” Psyche asked, looking suspicious.
Right, right… Ianthe’s piss-poor reputation must have struck again. How in the world was he supposed to convince this daughter-in-law to trust him when he couldn’t even give her a compliment?
“I like to keep an eye on particularly promising students.”
Picking up his freshly cleaned eye patch, he slipped it back on with a sigh.
No wonder Ianthe wore it. The last thing he needed was Psyche accidentally spotting whatever the fuck that thing was.
“I see, thank you,” she replied, accepting the compliment with a lift of her chin, preening like she felt she deserved the praise whether he meant it or not.
He had to press his hand against his mouth to stop an unexpected smile. Daughter-in-law candidate #1 was a bit haughty, wasn’t she? Very cute.
Good, good, it would be a nice contrast to Euphy’s rather fragile confidence.
“You said you’re from House Lycoscura. I take it you know of Arch-Healer Chiron?”
For the first time she seemed to openly perk up, smiling slightly. “Yes—as a healer, of course, but he’s also my uncle.”
“He’s the one treating me for the fever and the other stuff, you don’t need to worry about it,” he reassured her.
Her eyes widened in shock at that, and Hunter remembered that Chiron was not someone who treated just anyone, and that he should probably look for a different healer to bother when he needed someone in the future.
“But like I said, the possession thing is new. How could you tell?”
“I saw your attack. I thought you were having a seizure at first, but the mana oversaturation gave it away. I’ve only ever seen that happen due to possession—normal people can’t absorb that much mana on purpose, the pain knocks them out first.”
Yeah, most people probably wouldn’t do that sort of thing intentionally. He, for one, would like to never do it again.
“I’m sure my uncle can assist you with the issue, but if you do have any questions, I have some experience in this regard, so maybe I could help?”
Her words sounded humble, but there was a passionate look in her tired eyes that screamed, I know more about this than he does! Talk to me instead, I’m the most qualified person you’ll ever meet on this subject!
He had to turn his face away and hide another smile.
Nerds were the same in any world, huh?
“Alright. I’m not comfortable disclosing specifics, but if you have any general advice I’d be glad to hear it.”
He watched her work so hard to force back a triumphant smile that sweat beaded on her forehead.
Euphy got the same look on her face whenever she pretended to be calm about her current special interest. He wondered how she was doing right now. It would have been nice if she’d been here too.
Though, on second thought, he wasn’t sure this was something he wanted her to know about.
“Then, generally speaking, the most important thing for you to do now is try and figure out if your spirit is malicious or not. When a spirit accidentally possesses someone, it can make them angry or confused, and some of them lash out. However, most spirits have no real desire to harm their host.”
Spirit? She kept saying that word, but he was pretty sure what he had wasn’t a spirit. As far as Ianthe knew, spirits were beings of pure mana, and they usually took on the forms of animals or plants.
The thing he’d seen in his head did not look like a dog or a flower. He’d stared straight at and he still had no idea how to describe it, as though whatever he’d witnessed wasn’t something his eyes were able to understand. Even as he tried to picture it now he could feel his mind guessing random shapes to try and fill in the gap.
That thing wasn’t a spirit, it was a fucking demon.
“If it isn’t malicious, and you can figure out what kind of spirit it is, the best thing you can do is modify your lifestyle to try and make it comfortable. If it likes sunlight then sunbathe, if it doesn’t like meat don’t eat it, et cetera.”
“Why?”
“Pardon?”
It was the first time in their conversation his tone had been so sharp, and it startled her.
“Why should I change my life for it?” he asked, a surge of anger tightening his shoulders and jaw unconsciously.
“Because…” Psyche pursed her lips, trying to figure out what to say so that she wouldn't upset him further. “They don’t get stuck because they want to be, and they can’t get free unless you die. If you can convince them they’ll be okay with you, they’re usually willing to wait until your lifespan runs out naturally.”
They didn’t like it?
They didn’t like it?!
Well neither did fucking he!
He put his hands in his lap and unconsciously squeezed his left wrist, rubbing the skin until it burned, hating how smooth it now was, how none of his old scars came along with him.
The memory of that vision, of the cruel and condescending way that thing had tormented him, made him so furious he wanted to spit. Oh it was trapped? It didn’t have a choice? What about him!? It was his body it was invading, not the other way around!
It wasn't like he was unreasonable! If it really had been just lost and confused like the spirits she described then maybe he would have been willing to sympathize with it, to work with it, but it wasn’t like that!
It knew what it was doing was unfair and it didn’t care. No, in fact, it found the idea of consuming him fun.
That thing wanted him all to itself and… he really had no way to stop it.
There had to be a way to escape, wasn’t there? He’d chew off his foot like a fox in a trap if he had to.
He’d done it before.
“President?”
Psyche’s voice pierced through the loud ringing in his ears, and he realized that he’d completely lost focus, that his heart was beating too fast. He took a deep breath in and slowly let it out, then said to Psyche, “Give me a second.”
Looking down, he saw that he’d pinched and scratched the skin of his left wrist until it was red and bleeding. He pulled his sleeve down over it and swallowed hard.
“Sorry about that… still getting used to this,” he gave her an apologetic smile, which seemed to make her uncomfortable.
Right, right, no smiling. He’d forgotten.
“Med-Healer,” he asked, forcing the words out when they tried to stick in his throat, “The spirit… what if they’re not willing to wait?”
Psyche stiffened, her fingers twitched and then clenched, and she pressed her full lips into a thin pale line.
This clearly was not a question she liked answering or thinking about.
“Some people… last longer than others.”
Ah.
That was about what he’d expected.
He thought of that old X-ray he’d gotten, of the little gray smudge he once thought would end his life.
He’d been lucky, then. He’d always been lucky when it came to escaping death.
Until somehow he wasn’t, and he ended up here.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember how long the story had lasted. A year, maybe? A few? He wasn’t sure.
Regardless, he was here for Euphy, not for himself. Who cared if a bastard like him died? All he needed to do was stick around long enough to shield her from the worst of it. Hadn’t that always been his purpose?
Opening his eyes, he looked at the subdued girl across from him and suppressed a sigh.
He regretted asking her that question, he should have figured it out on his own.
Her mother was possessed by a malicious spirit, wasn’t she? No wonder Psyche acted like everything that had just happened to him was normal. To her, it probably was.
In the game, the stuff with Psyche’s mother hadn’t gone very well.
Originally he’d been planning to mostly leave Euphy’s future beaus alone. To help how he could, but from a distance, and preferably through an intermediary like Iphis or the Saint.
However… his daughter was the main protagonist, and she wasn’t going to run. Whether he liked it or not he was stuck here, and he was a lot shorter on time than he’d expected to be.
If he tried to help the protagonists directly, considering Ianthe’s reputation, they probably wouldn’t be willing to trust him. They might even get into trouble trying to go against his advice for fear he was trying to trick them.
So he needed to come up with a way to keep an eye on them, to help them, without it seeming like it was out of the goodness of his heart.
Ah.
He had an idea.
He leaned back in his chair, feeling much calmer, and tapped his finger on the table. “Surely those aren’t the only two options? What about exorcism?”
“That… it used to be possible, but the practice has been lost. The Fourth Saint was the last person who could perform them, and most of her records were destroyed in a fire.”
This girl in particular had a lot of reasons to doubt generosity from strangers. So, if approaching her as a good guy would freak her out…
He’d just do it as a bad guy instead.
“I’ve made reviving the practice the center of my graduate project, but I’m not sure how much progress I’ll be able to make without the support of a cohort,” she continued.
Bingo.
Cohorts were groups set up, usually by professors, to provide additional monetary and staffing support for particularly promising graduate projects. They generally relied on outside investors for funding, so projects that would either generate a lot of money or a lot of good press tended to get prioritized over others.
For students with wealth and power backing them, cohorts weren’t necessary. However, Psyche’s family situation was a little complicated, and that wasn’t an option for her.
“Really?” he asked, keeping his expression neutral. “You’ve already applied?”
“Yes, for early admission last spring, but I didn’t get any offers.” She gestured to the folio on the table, the one she’d been working on earlier. “I’m working on a more profit-oriented revision to see if I can get any of the remaining spots, but it’s not a popular subject.”
He winced, feeling that was an understatement. He might not have known what his curse was, but he knew how cursed people were viewed by Cydonian society. The overwhelming opinion was that curses only happened to people who deserved them.
Even someone like Ianthe who had political, social, and economic power was looked down on for being cursed. She was maligned even further for not bothering to hide the fact that she was, as though she was flaunting her moral failings by refusing to do so.
In the game, Psyche failed to get that placement, and while she hadn’t given up on her project, that lack of support eventually led to tragedy. He’d been noodling on the idea of using his influence to force someone’s cohort to accept her, but now?
“Alright. In that case, consider this an invitation to join mine.”
“… Pardon?” she asked, blinking in confusion. “You have a cohort?”
“Not yet, I'll have to make one,” he replied, once again very much enjoying his new tyrannical president persona. “I’ll have it set up in a few days.”
Psyche looked horrified, and he knew why. Creating a cohort was a lengthy legal and financial bureaucratic process that usually took months. To force it through so quickly meant a lot of people were about to have a bad time—ahh, in fact, an even worse time, since he’d need it to keep going even if he died.
Inside, he apologized to the employees he was about to abuse. If not for the sword of Damocles that was his left eye, he'd have planned to do things in a more humane way.
He’d have to find a way to make it up to them too… Money, probably? He had a stupid amount of it, he might as well use it.
“You’re being serious?”
She kept her face and voice carefully neutral, trying to act like this didn’t affect her, but he knew better. Like a fairy godmother he’d shown up out of nowhere and presented her with a dress to the ball, and from the way she swallowed hard and looked down at the folio on the desk, she really wanted to accept it.
Only, that fairy godmother was President Ianthe, someone who was not known for helping others, someone who was instead suspected of committing a litany of crimes no one had been able to stay alive long enough to hold her accountable for.
Even setting aside Ianthe’s well-known selfishness, if she wanted someone to research curses she could afford to hire them herself. Why bother helping out a desperate student?
So he gave her a more believable reason.
“You’re the only one who knows about my condition, and I’d like to keep it that way,” he continued, and this time the smile he gave her was meant as a threat. “And since your research involves that condition, I’d like to keep an eye on your progress.”
Psyche’s eyes widened as understanding hit her, and in response to the threat she actually seemed to relax.
Cydonia had no HIPPA laws, so while the practice was frowned upon, there was nothing legal to stop healers like her from selling medical information about their patients. Ianthe’s status as the heir to a duchy meant that no matter how reclusive she was, people would be interested in gossip about her regardless, especially if she was so corrupt she’d been cursed not once but twice.
From Psyche’s perspective he didn’t care about her project, he was just buying her silence.
“Let me know whatever you need. Budget, materials, staff, access… We can work it out.”
“What about my results?” Psyche asked, frowning. “I want to make any findings available to the public.”
He pretended to hesitate and said, “Are you sure about that? The demand isn’t huge, but you could still make some money if people have to pay to access or use your methods. You’d be giving up on a lifetime of royalties, and…”
He didn't say the next part, which was, ‘So would the university.’ He had a feeling this was probably the point at which most cohorts rejected her.
“I’m willing to charge for any artifacts I develop in the process, but I won’t for the research behind it. It’s not a complete loss, and it would mean a lot more people would be able to get treated,” she insisted, radiating an air of coldness at the suggestion she’d do something as low as letting people stay possessed just so she could make more money. “It’s not something I’m willing to negotiate on.”
Inside, he felt very pleased that his daughter-in-law was so generous, even though that generosity had screwed her over in the game.
Outwardly, he did his best to look disappointed and said, “Well… alright, if you say so. It’s all the same to me.”
He thought, I just bribed your uncle yesterday, he scared me right into it… but you have a golden opportunity to blackmail me under your nose and I practically have to do it for you! Kids these days just aren’t ruthless enough.
“Give me a copy of your proposal—the original you submitted is fine." He held out his hand expectantly, and she quickly grabbed a sheaf of papers from her folio and handed it over. “I’ll look into getting you some assistants. My secretary will be in touch soon.”
Assistants? Oh, he’d get her some assistants!
One way or another he was going to capture all of the protagonists and his daughter and force them into his cohort! That way he’d have them all in one place where he could easily keep an eye on them, and they could all learn about the power of friendship or whatever.
It felt a little bit like setting up play dates for Euphy, and he made himself promise that he would never say that aloud to her because she’d probably kill him if he did.
He stood up, ready to leave, when Psyche interrupted with an, “Um…”
He stopped and looked at her, trying very hard to look like a domineering CEO who’d just bought his way out of some trouble instead of the excited father that he was.
”Thank you for this opportunity. I won’t let you down,” she said, giving him a solemn bow.
He gave her his kindest smile, which instantly freaked her out, and then turned and walked away.
On his way out he grabbed a few books, noting that the mental fuckery from earlier seemed to have vanished now that he’d discovered the thing inside his eye. Had it given up because it’d tried to stop him and failed, or did it just get bored of the game?
He checked out the books at the circulation desk, then tucked them under his arm and headed out of the building, emerging from the cool dark into the bright early afternoon sunlight.
Birds were chirping. The air smelled like flowers.
All things considered, he felt like he’d handled that pretty well.
He walked until he came to the side of the building, at which point he turned and headed down it. This area was less open than the front, covered with plenty of trees and foliage.
He put his jacket down on the grass and placed the books on top of it. His grandfather had taught him to respect the value of libraries and the things they loaned out, and even in his second life he didn’t have the heart to risk getting the books dirty or wet.
Then he bent in half, slapping his hands against the stone exterior of the building, and gasped, “Holy fuck! This fucking curse shit! Fuck! Shit, hell! What the fuck is wrong with this fucking place!? Seriously, fuck!“
He beat his fists onto the stone a few times for good measure, breathing heavily.
Why had Ianthe been cursed!? Why had he been the idiot to take her place!? He’d already been pretty upset about literally everything else and now he had to deal with a goddamned dybbuk1demon squatting in his left eye!?
This sucked! If it was in his head, could that thing read his thoughts!? He had no idea! But just in case it could, he wanted it to know it could go fuck itself!
“Ugghhhh,” he moaned, sliding down into a crouch and putting his forehead against his folded arms.
He’d really thought he could keep what was happening to himself, but he had no way of knowing when the brain slug he’d picked up would commit to mercing him. What if he died before he could figure out how to anonymously communicate what he knew to Iphis and or the Saint? What if he dropped dead halfway through the plot, how could he be sure someone would know to look out for Euphy and her dates…?
He needed help.
He pulled a card and his receiver from his pocket. Activating it, he tapped the card against it to register its mana signature, and then cast a voice recording spell.
“Professor Iphis, this is… President Ianthe. Would you happen to have some time to meet later tonight?”