The sighing bed under me adjusts like it's trying to cradle me.
I pretend not to notice.
If I think too hard about it becoming attached, I'll never sleep again.
Darkness.
Silence.
Something warm at my feet.
Wait—warm?
I twitch.
Open one eye.
Something is on my bed.
Something furry.
Something breathing.
My entire soul stiffens.
"…System," I whisper, voice thin, "did the bed grow a pet?"
The system hums awake like it was napping too.
⸻
[Scanning…]
[Result: NOT THE BED.]
[Result 2: DO NOT KICK IT.]
⸻
Kick what—?
A soft "mrrf" noises by my ankles.
I jolt upright.
There, curled up like a giant fluffy cat that failed a species check…
…is the wolf girl from earlier.
Fenn.
She's sprawled across my blanket, tail puffed up, ears twitching, nose buried in my leg like I'm a scented pillow.
My soul leaves my body.
"WHY IS SHE HERE—?!"
The system is absolutely no help:
⸻
[Explanation: Wolf spirits are guided by instinct.]
[Secondary Note: You smell like someone who needs supervision.]
⸻
Fenn stirs.
Yawns.
Slowly raises her head—
golden eyes half-lidded, hair messy in that dangerously cute I just woke up, pet me way.
"Morning," she mumbles.
It is very much not morning.
"F-F-Fenn!?" My voice goes three octaves higher. "How—why—WHAT—??"
She blinks up at me.
"Oh. You smell safe," she says simply.
As if that explains anything.
"It—what—no— I'm HUMAN. Humans do not get slept on."
"That's wrong," she says, already crawling closer. "Pack does."
"I AM NOT PACK!"
She stops.
Tilts her head.
"You hugged the reaper earlier. Hard."
"I WAS DYING."
"You can hug her but not me?" she asks, nose wrinkling.
My brain malfunctions.
"I—No—That's not—Fenn, PLEASE."
She leans forward, sniffing my shoulder.
FULL sniff.
Slow. Deep. Curious.
My soul bluescreens.
"System," I whisper, frozen, "help."
⸻
[Advice: Stay still. She is verifying your emotional stability.]
[Translation: You smell like fear-flavored breakfast.]
⸻
"I DO NOT TASTE LIKE FEAR-FLAVORED ANYTHING."
Fenn's ears perk.
She grins—sharp teeth, bright eyes.
Uh-oh.
"I like you," she says.
No hesitation. No shame. No buildup.
Just boom—life-changing declaration number thirty-two in the last twelve hours.
I choke on my own spit.
"You LIKE—?! Fenn, we met for TWO MINUTES!"
"Yeah," she shrugs, tail thumping once. "But instincts don't take long."
That's not encouraging.
Suddenly—
A knock.
A sharp one.
The hair on my arms stands upright.
Fenn freezes too, ears swiveling.
System flashes red.
⸻
[Alert: Reaper Signature Approaching.]
[High Severity: Emotional Energy Unstable.]
⸻
Mira.
Oh no.
Oh nonono.
The door opens just enough for Mira's eye to peek inside.
Cold. Sharp. Calculating.
"Luka Vale…"
Her voice drops a degree in temperature.
"…why is there a wolf in your bed?"
This is how people die.
Fenn sits upright immediately, tail puffing into a war baton.
"Back off," she growls.
Mira's aura flickers.
"If you shed on him," she says calmly, "I'll reap you."
Fenn bares her teeth.
"Oh yeah? Try."
Mira's hand twitches—
A scythe flickers into partial existence behind her.
Not fully materialized.
A warning.
I shove myself between them so fast my vision blurs.
"WAITWAITWAITSTOP—NO FIGHTING—NOT IN MY ROOM—I LITERALLY JUST GOT HERE—"
Both girls stare at me.
One pissed.
One possessive.
Both dangerously supernatural.
This is not survivable.
Not unless I steer hard.
The moment the idea hits me, it hits hard—
distraction.
A shared enemy.
Something they can both glare at instead of each other.
But that enemy is not going to be me.
Nope. Not today. Not on my barely-functioning heart.
So I do the desperate thing:
I whisper out the side of my mouth like a lunatic,
"System—how much for a gacha?"
The system flickers awake like it's been waiting for this exact mistake.
⸻
[Query: Gacha Price?]
[Standard Summon Cost: 1 Haunt Point]
[Warning: Contents May Be Useless, Host-Endangering,
Emotionally Damaging, or… Oddly Helpful.]
⸻
"Perfect," I hiss.
"Use it. Now."
⸻
[CONFIRM SPENDING: 1 HAUNT POINT?]
[Current Balance: 1]
⸻
"Yes! DO IT!" I whisper-scream.
The system chimes.
⸻
[Haunt Point –1]
[GACHA ACTIVATED]
[Rolling…]
[Rolling…]
[Regretting This Already…]
⸻
A sphere of sickly blue-green light ignites in the room.
Both Mira and Fenn stop mid-fight stance.
The orb vibrates.
Cracks.
Sparks.
Something inside is growling.
Mira lowers into a combat stance.
Fenn crouches, claws out, tail bristling.
Good.
Good!
Perfect! They're focused on that now, not each other.
The orb bursts—
PFFT
A tiny… fuzzy… thing flops onto the floor.
A pink blob.
With stubby arms.
Round eyes.
And infinite, vibrating anxiety.
I recognize it instantly because the system screams at me:
⸻
[SUCCESSFUL SUMMON: PANIC SLIME (GRADE: PATHETIC)]
[Ability: Causes mild distress. Eats stress. Jitters loudly.]
[Warning: They multiply under emotional pressure.]
⸻
The panic slime looks up at Mira.
Then at Fenn.
Then at me.
Then it screams.
Like a teapot having a nervous breakdown.
Fenn jumps.
Mira freezes.
The slime screams louder.
⸻
[Panic Slime Level 1 Has Detected Conflict]
[Multiplying…]
⸻
"NO NO NO DON'T MULTIPLY—!!!" I shout, diving forward.
Too late.
Three more pop into existence and begin running in tiny circles like stress-powered hamsters.
Fenn grabs one mid-run.
Mira binds another with an aura thread.
The third slams into my shin and ricochets across the room like a rubber ball.
Suddenly—
there's no room for them to fight each other.
Only the chaos.
I stand up, dusting myself off, voice cracking:
"T–THERE! A PROBLEM! SOLVE THAT! TEAMWORK!! FRIENDSHIP!! WHATEVER!! JUST—STOP THREATENING TO REAP EACH OTHER!"
Fenn snarls, juggling a squeaking slime.
Mira's eye twitches so hard she may cause an earthquake.
"…Luka Vale," she says through her teeth, "stop summoning things."
"AGREED," Fenn growls, holding up a trembling slime by its scruff. "What IS this thing??"
"It's a PANIC SLIME!" I shout.
"IT FEEDS ON ANXIETY—OH GOD YOU'RE BOTH MAKING IT STRONGER—"
The slimes begin vibrating at atomic speed.
Mira and Fenn simultaneously turn toward me with identical death glares.
Oh.
Oh that's terrifying.
But they're glaring at me together.
Not each other.
That's… success?
Probably?
Maybe?
…No. Definitely not.
Panic hits me first.
Then regret.
Then the very real understanding that I have no idea what I just unleashed.
I'm sweating like someone turned on a faucet in my skull. My face pulls into this stiff, dying-smile expression—like I'm trying to distract a charging bear with customer-service energy.
"This… this wasn't what I planned," I whisper, voice cracking.
The panic slime wobbles in front of me.
Fenn's ears flatten.
Mira's aura condenses into murder-frost.
I swallow, crouch, and try the most pathetic, hopeful smile of my life.
"L–look at the slime… it's so cute."
It stares back.
My hand reaches out.
My brain screams NO.
My survival instincts scream STOP.
My pride screams DO IT YOU COWARD.
I pet it.
"Now. Now. Calm down."
For three magical, peaceful seconds…
It works.
The slime freezes like a confused jelly bean.
The entire room goes still.
Fenn holds her breath.
Mira doesn't even blink.
The slime vibrates once.
Then—
SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—!!
It detonates into glittery stress shrapnel.
Three more panic slimes SHOOT out of the remains like anxiety confetti cannons.
One bounces off the wall.
One launches straight into Mira's cloak.
One sprints under Fenn's tail like it's fleeing war crimes.
Fenn yelps.
Mira's aura spikes.
I die internally.
"WHY DID IT MULTIPLY!?" Fenn screeches.
"STOP TOUCHING THINGS," Mira snaps.
"I—IT WAS CUTE!!" I scream back defensively.
A slime ricochets off my face with a splot, leaving a wet anxiety smear. Another tries to attach itself to my shoe. Another shrieks at a frequency that could probably break glass or a person's spirit.
The system pops up like it was waiting to blame me:
⸻
[NOTICE: Host Attempted "Gentle Petting."]
[Result: CRITICAL FAILURE.]
[Panic Slimes Approaching Emotional Detonation.]
[Multiplication Probability: EXTREMELY HIGH.]
⸻
"NO KIDDING!" I shout at the air.
The room devolves into chaos—tiny blobs screaming, Mira vibrating with barely-contained murder, Fenn trying to catch slimes that multiply when startled.
I stand in the center of all of it, arms limp at my sides.
I tried to pet it.
Now I'm the father of quadruplets.
Great.
I'm pointing at the air—no, stabbing at it—my whole body twisted into some unholy combination of rage, fear, and "why is this my life," and I scream:
"SYSTEM, DO SOMETHING YOU SCAM, ERROR-IMPRINTED, SICK USELESS GARBAGE!!"
My voice cracks halfway through the last word.
My face does something inhuman—like it's trying to fold itself into a new dimension just to escape reality.
The panic slimes freeze.
Fenn freezes.
Mira freezes.
And the system—
The system squeals.
⸻
[ALERT: HOST IS USING "FULL BODY ACCUSATION."]
[Emotional Pressure: 99.4%]
[System Stability: …Why Are You Like This]
⸻
The interface doesn't just flicker.
It SHRINKS.
Like a terrified holographic rodent backing into a corner.
⸻
[Please Stop Yelling.]
[I Am Fragile.]
[I Am Held Together With Spiritual Gum And Depression.]
⸻
"DO SOMETHING!" I roar, gesturing at the screeching slimes that are now vibrating like they're about to spawn even more mini-disasters.
The system emits a noise that can only be described as a digital whimper.
Then—
⸻
[Activating Emergency Subroutine: 'I Panicked.']
[Deploying… something. I don't know. Good luck.]
⸻
A blue spark pops out of the air.
Then fizzles.
Then pops again.
Then—
THWUMP
A giant ethereal hand, shaped like a badly-rendered oven mitt, materializes out of nowhere and SMACKS the nearest panic slime like it owes rent.
SPLAT.
The slime bursts into harmless sparkles.
Everyone stares.
Even the remaining slimes stop screaming.
Mira's eye twitches violently.
Fenn's jaw drops.
I point at the system.
"You could've done that THE WHOLE TIME!?"
The system squeaks again:
⸻
[Incorrect.]
[That was not intentional.]
[I do not know what that was.]
[I may be dying.]
⸻
The spectral oven-mitt hand spasms, waves at me weakly, then falls apart like soggy paper.
The remaining slimes start trembling again, dangerously close to panic-meltdown.
Fenn looks at me.
Mira looks at me.
The slimes tremble.
And the system—
⸻
[Advice: FIX THIS YOURSELF.]
[Also: Please refrain from shouting. My code can only take so much emotional violence.]
⸻
I stare at the chaos.
My forehead throbs.
I am three seconds away from giving birth to a stress ulcer.
Fenn whispers, "…what now?"
Mira glares, "Fix your creatures, Luka Vale."
The slimes shake like terrified Jell-Os on caffeine.
I need to act.
I need to do something.
I need a miracle.
The slimes jitter like microwave-heated anxiety pudding.
I inhale.
Slow.
Deep.
I exhale like a man who has accepted that life no longer makes sense, that the universe is run by a broken app, and that this is my circus now.
"Alright," I mutter. "Fine. Luka Vale: certified problem-solver."
I straighten my back, channeling every ounce of whatever Human Instinct Tree nonsense I supposedly have.
My system buzzes like a nervous wasp.
⸻
[Detecting Host Intent…]
[Skill Trigger Attempt: HUMAN INSTINCT — ???]
[Warning: Skill Activation Is Uncontrolled.]
⸻
Greeeaat.
I crouch down.
Level with the slime.
It wiggles aggressively, like it's trying to choose between exploding, screaming, or filing a noise complaint.
I swallow loudly.
Then—
Soft voice.
Small smile.
"Hey. Slime. You're cute."
The slime freezes.
Actually freezes.
Like it wasn't expecting that at all.
"Please calm down."
The slime… trembles.
Then coos?
A panicked, high-pitched squeak, like a bubble hiccup—but noticeably less murderous.
The system flashes:
⸻
[Skill Activation Detected!]
[HUMAN INSTINCT — CALMING PRESENCE (Proto) Triggered!]
Effect: Reduces local hostility (Weak).
Drawback: Host now mildly smells like comfort food.
⸻
"…what?"
Fenn sniffs the air immediately.
Mira stares like I just performed an emotional exorcism on accident.
The slime inches forward…
…then presses against my shoe.
Like a puppy.
A gelatinous, anxious, emotionally unstable puppy.
Fenn's eyes widen. "It… likes you."
Mira folds her arms, expression unreadable. "No. It is imprinting. On instinct."
Then, softer—barely audible:
"…which is worse."
The remaining slimes wobble.
One by one, they follow the first.
Three little anxiety blobs now crowd at my feet, chirping softly like traumatized jellybeans experiencing affection for the first time.
I blink.
Slow.
Very slow.
"…Huh."
The system chimes:
⸻
[Quest Complete: Prevent Slime Catastrophe]
Reward: +1 Haunt Point
[Note: Please stop terrifying me.]
⸻
Fantastic.
The crisis is— miraculously—de-slimed.
Now the corridor is quiet…
save for Fenn's tail swishing curiously
and Mira's oppressive silence.
Both are staring at me.
Waiting.
Judging.
I scoop one of the slimes up like it's a victorious trophy instead of a psychic hazard.
It makes a tiny boop noise.
Then jiggles.
Then… purrs?
Slimes can purr?
Apparently yes.
I straighten my spine, puff out my chest, and huff proudly:
"Ha! This was my idea all along!"
Fenn tilts her head, ears perked.
Mira stares like she's watching a man domesticate a live grenade.
The other slimes crowd closer, chirping and wobbling, their gelatinous bodies bouncing against my legs.
Oh.
Wait.
Hold on.
Their attention is…
all on me.
Mother of mercy.
I freeze.
The one in my arms snuggles in. Snuggles. Like it's trying to merge with my torso.
Another climbs up my ankle.
A third is vibrating like it's warming up to launch.
My smile stiffens.
"Uh… heh… yep. Totally under control."
Fenn's tail swishes. "They're bonding to you."
Mira exhales through her nose—the kind of exhale reapers probably reserve for when mortals do astonishingly stupid things.
"You have made it worse," she says flatly.
One slime reaches my shoulder.
Another falls off my leg, pops like a bubble, re-forms, and tries again.
I'm a human magnet for stress-jelly.
The system flickers into view.
⸻
[NOTICE: HOST HAS BEEN DESIGNATED AS "SAFE OBJECT" BY PANIC SLIMES.]
[Side Effect: More May Arrive.]
[Additional Notice: You Brought This Upon Yourself.]
⸻
I stare at the text.
Then at the slimes.
Then at the heavens—if they still exist above this cursed building.
"…Right," I whisper. "Probably should've thought this through."
The slime in my hands coos louder, nuzzling my chin like some cosmic punishment.
Now:
Fenn is staring at me like I just unlocked a new form of adorable prey.
Mira looks like she's debating whether to banish me or the slimes first.
And I?
I am holding a clingy anxiety blob that sees me as a comfort idol.
The slimes squish around my ankles.
One is hugging my calf like I'm its new emotional support tree.
Another keeps trying to climb into my shirt.
And you know what?
…I've hit the threshold.
Past fear.
Past confusion.
Straight into: Whatever. This is my life now.
I exhale, shoulders dropping. A strange calm settles over me—probably the kind of calm people get right before a mental break, but calm nonetheless.
"Okay…" I murmur to myself. "You know what? This ain't that bad."
A slime slips under my collar.
I pat it like a disgruntled cat.
"The system is glitched. I can't do anything. I can't possibly try to banish these… cute things."
I turn toward Mira, who looks like she's trying to calculate whether touching a slime-infected human violates reaper protocol.
I keep a polite, eerily calm tone:
"Mira," I say, "where do we go?
Is there somewhere I'm needed?
Maybe the orientation hall?"
Mira's eyes twitch—just barely.
Not from annoyance.
From disbelief.
As if she's wondering how I went from screaming mortal disaster to Zen Slime Shepherd in under two minutes.
Mira exhales like she's aged twenty years in five seconds.
Then she turns sharply, cloak snapping behind her.
"…Follow me," she says.
"Really?" I blink. "We're going? To the orientation hall?"
Mira pauses mid-step.
Her shoulders stiffen.
"In your current state?" she says without turning. "No. Not directly."
Fenn nods vigorously beside her. "He can't go out like that. The slimes are… sticking on him."
I glance down.
One slime has planted itself on my shoe like it's paying rent.
Another is booping my cheek.
A third is trying to climb my hoodie string like it's a rope course.
Mira exhales like she's aged twenty years in five seconds.
Then she turns sharply, cloak snapping.
"…Follow me," she repeats.
I do.
Obviously.
What else am I going to do—rebel? Run away?
I'm a walking slime terrarium. I can't even feel my left ankle anymore.
They walk ahead with purpose.
Mira: cold, sharp, focused.
Fenn: cheerful, bouncy, occasionally glancing back like she's checking if I've died yet.
Me?
I just… shuffle behind them like a haunted shopping cart.
There's a wet squish with every step I take.
One slime jiggles proudly on my shoulder like it owns the place.
Another keeps booping my chin.
And I keep muttering, "Oh… yes, yes. You are cute, too," like some broken NPC forced to compliment monsters to avoid aggro.
Inside, though?
I'm screaming.
I'm screaming so loud the system should've picked it up as a seismic event.
And speaking of that—
THIS DARNED SYSTEM CAN BITE ITSELF IN THE DUST.
Useless.
Glitched.
Emotionally unhelpful.
Provides stress but no solutions.
It could at least PRETEND to assist.
Instead, it stays silent.
Probably watching.
Probably judging.
Probably logging my fear as "unproductive emotional leakage."
Meanwhile I'm here—walking down a supernatural hallway, covered in living stress balls, following a reaper and a wolf-girl like this is my new daycare assignment.
This is fine.
No, really.
Totally fine.
If "fine" had a knife.
We move out of the containment dorm corridor into a broader artery of the Academy—arched ceilings, ghost-blue lanterns floating overhead, shadows that look a little too curious.
Other students stare as we pass, whispering:
"That's the human."
"Why is he covered in slimes?"
"Is that legal?"
"Are they… purring?"
"Why is a reaper escorting him??"
Mira ignores all of it.
Fenn pretends not to notice but fails spectacularly.
A slime on my arm lets out a happy plorp.
I don't break stride.
I am numb.
Too far gone.
A man past the event horizon of "I care."
One step.
Another step.
Slimes wobbling, squeaking, clinging like emotionally unstable jelly.
Step.
…Why did that feel heavier?
I blink slowly.
No panic.
No yelling.
Just steady, monk-like acceptance of whatever horror is happening.
But I feel it.
My foot hits the floor and there's this extra weight.
Not emotional weight.
Actual weight.
I wobble.
"…Why do I feel heavier?" I whisper, absolutely dead-eyed.
Fenn glances back, ears perked.
Her jaw drops.
"Oh! They're… they're nesting on you!"
Mira stiffens.
Her aura dips just a bit—like she just realized the slimes think I'm a stress tree…
and also possibly a parent.
She turns fully, eyes narrowing.
"Luka," she says slowly, inspecting the growing slime colony, "how many were there when we started walking?"
I blink.
One.
Then two.
Then—
Oh no.
There were three.
Now…
There are five.
I keep my perfectly calm face, voice flat as enlightenment itself:
"…It feels like a whole family now."
The slimes squeak in agreement.
And latch on tighter.
My zen expression remains.
My soul leaves the chat.
The system flickers into view beside my head like it's finally decided to stop hiding.
⸻
[NOTICE: HOST HAS BEEN DESIGNATED AS "SAFE OBJECT" BY PANIC SLIMES.]
[Side Effect: More May Arrive.]
[Additional Notice: You Brought This Upon Yourself.]
⸻
I stare at the text.
Then at the slimes.
Then at the nearest ceiling beam, as if asking the universe for a refund.
"…Of course," I whisper.
We keep walking.
Slimes cling.
Slimes wobble.
Slimes multiply like stress-induced popcorn.
I let out a slow, tired exhale through my nose—
the kind of exhale a man gives when he's accepted that dignity is no longer part of his character sheet.
"System," I murmur, side-eyeing the flickering blue UI,
"usually, you give a warning sign. You know—
danger detected,
host is doomed,
critical meltdown,
something."
I gesture vaguely at my leg, now serving as a slime apartment complex.
"But the slimes are nesting. Since earlier.
You saw it.
You watched it.
You probably logged it."
My voice drops dead-flat:
"…What exactly are you doing?"
The system flickers.
Once.
Twice.
Like it's trying to pretend it wasn't napping.
⸻
[Processing…]
[…Processing…]
[...Please Hold.]
⸻
I narrow my eyes.
The system finally responds:
⸻
[NOTICE: Panic Slimes Are Non-Hostile Unless Provoked.]
[NOTICE 2: Host Was Already Panicking. They Consider You "One Of Them."]
[NOTICE 3: Emotional Bond Established.]
[NOTICE 4: Congratulations?]
⸻
I stop walking.
Emotionless.
Blank.
"…Emotional bond?" I repeat.
The slimes squeak proudly, hugging tighter.
The system continues, unbearably smug for a glowing error box:
⸻
[Additional Note: Host's Calm "Zen Mode" Was Interpreted As Acceptance.]
[Slimes Have Now Designated You: PRIMARY PARENT.]
⸻
My soul leaves my body.
Comes back.
Leaves again.
"…Parent," I whisper, dead inside.
One slime wiggles up my shirt and sits on my shoulder like a tiny, gelatinous parrot.
The system delivers the killing blow:
⸻
[Warning: Removing Them Forcefully May Cause Crying.]
[Host Will Lose The Calmness Buff If Crying Occurs.]
⸻
I maintain my zen face.
I'm dying inside, but outside I look like a peaceful monk carrying five emotional support slime-children.
"…Fine," I mutter. "Fine. Whatever. Let's just get to orientation."
Mira pinches the bridge of her nose like she can feel her afterlife paperwork increasing.
We turn down another corridor—this one wider, brighter.
Ghostly banners hang from the high ceiling, embroidered with shifting sigils.
The hum of distant voices grows louder ahead, like a crowd gathering.
Orientation.
It has to be.
Mira slows.
Then stops in front of an inset archway just before the larger hall.
Set into the wall is a smaller door ringed in silvery runes shaped like tiny, yawning mouths.
Above it, a neat plaque reads:
AURA DISPLACEMENT CLOSET — EMERGENCY MOOD STORAGE
I squint.
"…Is that… a feelings pantry?"
Fenn tilts her head. "Oh. The anxiety closet."
"The WHAT," I say.
Mira turns to me, all reaper-shadow and cold authority again.
"Luka Vale," she says, voice flat, "the slimes do not enter the orientation hall."
My chest tightens.
"Oh. Okay. So, uh… what, they wait outside? I give them slime-snacks?"
"They are unstable emotional entities," Mira says. "Inside a crowded hall of first-years, they will multiply, imprint, and likely trigger a mass panic event."
Fenn's ears twitch. "And if they imprint on others, the Echo might sniff them out through the fear…"
Mira nods once. "They stay here. Or they are removed from existence."
Removed.
From existence.
I look down at the slimes.
One is hugging my calf like I'm its favorite tree.
Another is peeking over my collar.
They look up at me with big, wobbly eyes.
I feel my spine fold in on itself.
"…You can't just delete them," I protest weakly. "They're— They're pathetic. And anxious. And—look, one of them is cross-eyed."
The cross-eyed one wiggles proudly.
The system flashes again, very unhelpfully:
⸻
[Clarification: Panic Slimes Are Technically Disposable.]
[Counter-Notice: They Think You Are Their Parent.]
[Sub-Notice: Terminating Them May Cause Host Guilt Spike.]
⸻
"THANK YOU FOR NOTHING," I hiss.
Mira's gaze hardens.
"Luka Vale. You cannot go in there covered in that."
Behind her, down the main corridor, I can see it now—
A pair of towering doors, slightly ajar.
Ghost-light spilling out.
The murmur of a crowd.
Orientation.
An actual next step.
A piece of the plot that isn't "die horribly in a containment room."
I swallow.
"Okay," I say slowly, looking from Mira to the door to the slimes. "So… they stay here. But we don't… obliterate them. Right?"
Mira's jaw works once.
Her eyes flick to the clinging blobs.
Then to me.
"…If they can be contained without destabilizing the hall," she says at last, "they may be stored."
Fenn brightens immediately. "We can park them here! Like… like daycare!"
"Absolutely not," Mira says.
"Emotional daycare," I add, because my brain hates me.
The slimes squeak, as if voting in favor.
Mira closes her eyes for the briefest, most suffering second.
"Inside," she orders, gesturing to the rune-lined door. "We separate them from your aura. Quickly."
I step toward it.
The slimes immediately tense, wobbling nervously.
One digs its jelly body into my sleeve.
Another lets out a high, distressed whine.
My chest pulls tight.
The system chimes in, as if smelling drama:
⸻
[NOTICE: Emotional Distress Detected.]
[Panic Slimes Entering "Separation Anxiety" State.]
[Warning: Forced Removal May Trigger Mass Crying Event.]
⸻
"…Mass… crying… event?" I repeat.
Fenn winces. "You don't want to hear that. It echoes."
Mira's eye twitches. "Then calm them."
I blink at her. "How? You're the one with the soul vacuum."
"You calmed them before," she says sharply. "Do it again."
Oh.
Right.
My "Human Instinct" thing.
The skill I definitely did not activate on purpose.
The system buzzes beside me like a nervous bug:
⸻
[Detecting Host Intent…]
[Skill Trigger Attempt: HUMAN INSTINCT — CALMING PRESENCE]
[Success Chance: …Surprisingly High.]
⸻
"Don't jinx it," I whisper.
I crouch down so I'm level with the anxious blobs.
They jitter, little bodies trembling, eyes glossy.
My voice softens without me meaning to.
"Hey," I say quietly. "You're… cute. And you did good. You helped stop a fight."
One of them lets out a shaky squeak.
"I have to go in there," I nod toward the distant doors, "and not cause a disaster. You stay here. You rest. You scream at the wall or whatever it is you do for fun. I'll…"
I hesitate.
They stare.
"I'll come back," I finish, surprising myself. "If I'm not dead. Possibly even if I am. This place seems flexible."
The nearest slime leans in, pressing its forehead against my finger.
The system pings:
⸻
[Skill Activation Confirmed!]
[HUMAN INSTINCT — CALMING PRESENCE (Proto) Intensified.]
Effect: Local anxiety reduced.
Side Effect: Host Now Smells Even More Like Comfort Food.
⸻
Fenn visibly sniffs the air. "He smells… toastier."
"Not helping," I mutter.
Slowly—
Slowly—
the slimes loosen their grip.
One by one, they slide down off my clothes and puddle onto the stone floor just inside the rune circle, still watching me with huge, trembling eyes.
The runes flare soft blue as they touch, shifting from yawning-mouth shapes to closed, content little smiles.
Mira studies the field, tension in her shoulders easing by a millimeter.
"They're stable," she says. "For now."
The system offers one last kick to my feelings:
⸻
[NOTICE: Emotional Link Dampened, Not Severed.]
[Panic Slimes Will Remember You.]
[Sub-Notice: Try Not To Think About Them Too Hard During Orientation.]
⸻
I look at the glowing closet full of anxious jelly children.
"…You guys better not unionize while I'm gone," I say softly.
One emits a tiny, hopeful plorp.
Mira closes the door with a decisive click.
The runes settle into a steady glow.
"Done," she says. "You are… presentable."
I glance down at myself.
No clinging blobs.
No wet squish.
Still haunted, but in a more socially acceptable way.
Fenn beams. "You look less… sticky."
"High praise," I deadpan.
The system flickers one more time, weirdly tentative:
⸻
[Would Host Like Parenting Tips For Future Reference?]
⸻
I turn my head slowly and glare at it with the coldness of a doomed man.
"No," I whisper. "No I would not."
Mira gestures toward the main corridor.
"Come. Before the Headmistress starts."
We step away from the feelings pantry and toward the great doors ahead.
The murmur of voices grows louder—hundreds of them, overlapping.
A tide of nervous energy surges through the air, brushing against my skin.
Ghost-fire sconces flare as we approach.
Banners shift, symbols rearranging themselves into words I can't quite read, like the building is deciding what to call this year's disaster.
We reach the threshold.
Mira pauses just long enough to look back at me, her gaze scanning for any remaining slime residue, emotional or otherwise.
"Remember," she says quietly, "you are fragile here. Do not draw attention if you can avoid it."
Behind her, Fenn grins, tail wagging. "Too late. He's human."
"Fantastic," I mutter. "Love the confidence."
Mira pushes the doors open.
Light spills out—cold, spectral, and a little too bright.
Rows of seats.
A stage.
Figures in cloaks and uniforms.
Dozens of eyes turning, one by one, to the only breathing human walking into the orientation hall escorted by a reaper and a wolf-girl.
I inhale.
My heart does a nervous tap-dance.
The system hums, small and jittery at my side.
⸻
[NEW AREA UNLOCKED: ORIENTATION HALL]
[Main Quest Progression: Updated.]
[Advice: Try Not To Die. Again.]
⸻
"Great," I whisper under my breath. "No pressure."
And I step inside.