At noon, Lazry woke up with a slow, heavy breath, the kind that felt like it had been pulled from the bottom of a warm lake.
He blinked at the ceiling for a moment, then lazily extended his hand toward the clock beside his pillow. His fingers brushed against it, pulled it closer, and he squinted at the glowing numbers. It was already twelve in the afternoon.
He sat up straight. Twelve? Seriously? For a moment he wondered if he was still dreaming. He never slept this well. Even yesterday, after everything that happened, he did not truly sleep. He only rested with his eyes closed, his mind refusing to shut up, turning over memories and worries and frustrations. But today felt different. As if someone had pushed a soft blanket over his thoughts and forced them to stay quiet.
He lifted his hand to his chest and muttered, "Is it because of the system?"
The question lingered, and he leaned back, rubbing his forehead. It was strange. He had always slept poorly. Stress never let him rest. Fear of falling behind never let him breathe. Every night in the Lycannis Family felt like a test. Every morning felt like another reminder he was not enough.
But now, something had changed.
He let out a slow sigh and whispered again, "Is it really because of the system?"
He stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling as thoughts began to spiral—long, messy, tangled thoughts he usually avoided. Why did he suddenly feel so light? Why did he not care about those things anymore? Why did the claws on his chest feel like they had been pulled out?
For so long, he wanted strength. For so long, he wanted recognition. For so long, he wanted his mother to look at him and not see a failure. For so long, he wanted his clan to stop treating him like an embarrassment. And when they took his nine tailed demon fox from him, he should have been devastated. He should have felt hatred or anger or some crushing sadness.
But he felt nothing.
Not even a pinch of irritation.
He sat there for minutes, letting his thoughts unravel.
Maybe it was the system. Maybe having something so straightforward and certain made everything else feel small. He had a system that made him stronger without needing to fight, without needing to bleed, without needing to impress anyone.
A system where missions were optional. Even when missions appeared, the punishments were mild. They weren't those terrifying, life-shattering punishments systems in stories usually gave. His system did not threaten him. It did not pressure him. It simply existed, like an idle breeze.
And if that was the case, did he even need the Lycannis Family anymore? Did he need the recognition he used to chase like a starving dog? Did he need to cling to people who threw him away the moment he stopped being useful?
The answer slowly formed in his chest like a soft, almost embarrassing truth.
"No wonder," he whispered. "No wonder I don't give a shit anymore."
The realization was so honest and so simple that he sat there stunned.
He had lost his nine tailed demon fox. He had lost his place. He had lost everything that once defined him. But now, he had something better, something quieter. Something that felt like it belonged to him alone.
"Is that why I'm like this?" he muttered again as his thoughts continued to run. "Because I finally know I'll grow stronger anyway? Because the path I'm walking doesn't rely on them?"
He let out a laugh. It was small and weak, but it felt real.
But then he stopped himself and shook his head. His face turned serious. "Someone's trying to kill me, I need to find out…"
He lifted his gaze and looked around the room. Sunlight spilled through the curtains, warming the floor. The room looked unusually peaceful. Too peaceful. And then he saw it.
His small six eyed demon dog.
It lay curled up near the corner, its black fur rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. Six glowing eyes flickered faintly under its lids. It looked relaxed, even cute, if someone ignored the unsettling aura it always carried.
Lazry calmed his raging heart down and exhaled in relief. "Come here."
He reached for his phone and checked the system window for the dog's status.
Hunger: 60 out of 100.
Lazry frowned. He wanted that number to go up. At least ninety. Preferably full. For some reason, even though the dog looked calm, seeing its hunger that low made him uneasy.
He tapped his phone and dialed a number. After two rings, a familiar deep voice answered.
"Yes, young master? How may I assist you?" Butler Winston asked politely.
"Winston, can you bring me the capsules full of demon beasts?" Lazry said quickly. "The ones Dad kept in the cold storage. My dog won't eat human food. It only eats curse demon beasts."
There was a short pause, then Winston spoke again, still respectful. "Of course, young master. May I ask what kind?"
"The easy ones," Lazry replied. "Low level ones. It doesn't matter. I just need food for it."
"I understand," Winston said. "I will bring them right away."
When the call ended, Lazry let the phone fall onto the bed and looked around the room again. Everything felt strangely fresh, as if he had been gone for months instead of sleeping a few hours.
He stood and began cleaning up.
And for some reason, he did it slowly, taking his time. He folded the blanket, fixed the pillows, cleaned the bedside table, arranged his scattered clothes, emptied the trash, and even wiped the floor near the bed. Normally, he would have ignored this mess or left it for someone else to deal with. But today, he wanted to fix things himself.
Maybe he was simply in a good mood. Maybe he wanted a fresh start. Or maybe, after everything, he needed a moment of control, even if it was small.
He cleaned for several minutes. Picking up things. Straightening them. Putting them where they belonged. The movements were soft, almost therapeutic.
Once he finished, he stepped back and nodded. "Looks decent."
Just then, someone knocked on his door.
He blinked. "Winston already?" No, Winston would never knock like that. The rhythm was different. Lighter. Less formal.
He walked toward the door and opened it.
A girl stood there. Young. Maybe around his age. She had shoulder length chestnut hair tied behind her ears, bright eyes that curved when she smiled, and a warm, casual outfit of a white shirt and slim jeans. She held a clipboard against her chest.
She was the landlady.
"Hi, good afternoon," she said cheerfully. "I just wanted to check up on you. How's your stay so far? Everything okay?"
Lazry scratched his cheek. "Yeah. Everything's fine. Sorry I didn't greet you earlier. I was… uh… adjusting."
She laughed lightly. "It's okay. Tenants get busy. As long as you're comfortable."
He nodded, feeling a bit awkward. She seemed nice, maybe too nice for him to handle first thing in the afternoon.
But suddenly, her smile froze.
Her eyes widened. Her lips trembled. Her pupils shrank to pinpoints. She stared past him, into the room behind him, her whole body stiffening.
Lazry felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
Her hand shook as she lifted her finger and pointed.
"T… that thing…" she whispered. "What… what is that thing with six eyes…?"
Fear wrapped her voice, twisting it into something shaky and fragile.
Lazry turned his head slowly.
His eyes widened.
What?