I wake up with a dry mouth and a twisted neck. First thought: no screams, no mutant hooves, no poison dripping on my head. Just that already feels like a victory.
Linie is still asleep against me, curled up like a kitten clinging to her blanket. Her hair sticks to her forehead. She whimpers in her sleep, her fingers gripping my coat. For a second, I hesitate to just stay lying there, to enjoy it. But my stomach growls, betraying any attempt at sentimentality.
"Alright… up, sleepyhead."
I gently shake her shoulder. She blinks, mumbles something incomprehensible, then rubs her face. I'm already bouncing out of bed like a prisoner dreaming of coffee.
We head down for breakfast. Here, that means stale bread and a bowl of grayish soup. But compared to labyrinth food, it's haute cuisine.
I bite into the bread. It's hard as a brick.
"Ahhh… luxury." I snicker. "Tokyo had its konbinis, here I've got… this."
Linie carefully dunks her bread into the soup. She glances at me out of the corner of her eye, like she's checking if I'll steal her bowl. I pat her head.
"Don't worry, I haven't fallen into child cannibalism yet."
[ Note: This is not reassuring. ]
"It was a joke, Senpai."
[ Your jokes reduce your social relationship potential by 67%. ]
"Wait a second, I'm not rich? Well, we'll see later!"
I sigh and keep chewing my bread-brick.
That's when he arrives.
A guy in an elegant coat, definitely not a peasant. Draped in black and silver, fine embroidery stitched onto his chest. I recognize the emblem: the Baron's crest.
He inclines his head slightly when he sees me, but I don't understand a word of his babbling. Too fluent, too confident. His gestures, though, I get.
He pulls out a sealed parchment and places it in front of me. The seal is clear: Baron-approved.
Linie freezes, scooting back in her chair. Me, I just stare at the guy without flinching.
"…Who the hell are you?"
He keeps talking, uselessly.
[ Probable identity: servant of the Baron. Function: messenger. ]
"Thanks, Sherlock.exe. I guessed from the embroidered logo."
The servant bows again, then gestures toward the door. Outside, two guards are already waiting, standing like statues.
I grit my teeth.
"Great… now I've got my own personal fan club."
It doesn't take much to figure out. No translation needed. The Baron summons me. And this time, it doesn't feel like a public show. It feels… like learning. Maybe finally the damn language.
I glance at Linie. Her eyes say no. No way she's letting me go without her.
I awkwardly stroke her cheek.
"You stay here. There are two guys outside, they'll keep watch over you."
She shakes her head, tears already pooling.
I sigh, lean closer, and whisper:
"Listen, I'm not about to get eaten by a dictionary. Promise."
I press my forehead to hers, just for a second, then pull back. She sniffles, nods, and clings to her spoon like the soup will protect her.
I turn to the servant.
"Alright then… let's go, tour guide. Show me the deluxe version of your circus."
[ Suggestion: avoid unnecessary provocation. ]
"Relax, Senpai. That's not provocation. It's punctuation."
And I follow him, ready to cross the city with my escort.
The street swallows us immediately.
Two guards in front, two behind, and the servant in the middle, stiff as a rod. I look like a prisoner being marched to the gallows—only without chains. Just stares.
Because the stares, those rain down.
Passersby stop, lift their heads, step back when I pass. Some whisper, others avert their eyes like I'm the plague itself.
I chuckle under my breath.
"Yep, admire the monster on her school trip. Free, no ticket needed."
[ Analysis: your notoriety in this city is increasing. Collective anxiety index: high. ]
"Thanks, Senpai, but I think I can read their faces."
The streets are narrow, paved with worn stones. The air reeks of sweat, leather, and rotten fish. Barefoot kids dart between stalls, chased by an old woman brandishing a broom like a weapon of mass destruction. Stray dogs scavenge trash, growling over bones bigger than them.
I wrinkle my nose.
"Tokyo had sewers. Here it's open air."
Merchants shout their prices: shriveled fruit, patched fabrics, rusty blades "blessed by the gods" if you believe them. I catch scraps of words I don't understand, but the tone is enough: sell, scam, survive.
I look up. Between the shaky red-tiled rooftops, a tower rises higher than the rest, covered in flags snapping in the wind. Symbols I don't recognize, but they reek of ego.
[ Observation: the wealth gap is obvious. ]
"No kidding. It looks like a cosplay Versailles dropped in a dumpster."
We keep moving. The closer we get to the center, the more the scenery shifts. Facades turn clean, whitewashed, streets wider, better paved. The stink of rotten fish fades, replaced by the heavy perfume of flowers tended by servants.
The people change too. Fewer rags, more colorful fabrics, flashy jewels, well-fed bellies. And when they see me pass, they don't bother pretending to look away: they stare, coldly, like I'm a badly trained circus beast.
I hold my head high.
"Go on, keep staring. Burn my face into your minds, so you can shit yourselves when I come knocking on your doors later."
[ Suggestion: reduce mental provocations. They increase your blood pressure. ]
"Shh, Senpai. I'm brooding. It's therapeutic."
Finally, we leave the crowd behind. We pass under a monumental arch decorated with gold leaf and religious symbols, and suddenly… the contrast.
In front of me, an avenue lined with perfectly trimmed trees, marble polished so bright my boots squeak like they're apologizing for stepping on it. At the end, a villa. No, not a villa. A miniature palace. Columns, statues, carved balconies. The Lord's ego piled up stone by stone.
I chuckle, a bit too loudly.
"So that's where the taxes go. No wonder the streets reek of shit—they spent it all on the moldings."
The guards don't react, but I see their necks stiffen. Doesn't matter. If the Baron wanted me to shut up, he would've sewn my lips.
We cross the wrought iron gate. Inside, the contrast sharpens: spraying fountains, blossoming gardens, servants bent low like reeds in the wind. And me, in the middle, with my bloodstained clothes and filthy boots.
"Hope they planned a giant doormat corner for guests from the Labyrinth."
[ Note: self-destructive humor detected. ]
"You say that like I've got another operating mode."
The servant finally turns, pointing toward a wing of the building. I don't catch his words, but his finger and his tone are enough: the library.
The villa's interior hits me like a perfumed slap.
The floor is polished marble, shining like a mirror. The walls are covered with embroidered tapestries—hunting scenes, heroic battles, probably invented just to flatter the Lord's ego. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, bathing the hall in warm, steady light. No smoky torches here. Nope, here they burn magic just to make things glow.
I raise an eyebrow.
"Nice décor. You can really feel how much the people love paying for your curtains."
A valet, tiny behind his silver tray, looks away stiffly, like he just saw a ghost.
[ Observation: contained hostility. They consider you an anomaly. ]
"Don't worry, Senpai. I consider myself an anomaly too. That's something we share."
We walk down an endless corridor. The servant opens a set of double doors… and I freeze.
The library.
Towering shelves climb up to the ceiling, packed with bound books, rolled parchments, grimoires swollen with ink. The air smells of dust, leather, and dried ink. Movable staircases line the walls, and the worktables sag under piles of papers and quills.
I almost smile.
"Okay… I take back what I said. A little. This is classy."
Someone is already there, sitting behind the central table. Old. A neat gray beard, scholar's robes, fingers stained with ink. His eyes are clear, dry, sharp. He sizes me up without moving, like I'm a difficult word he's trying to read.
The servant bows to him, mutters his babble, then leaves. The guards remain outside.
Silence.
The old man gestures toward a chair across from him. His tone is firm, cutting, even if I don't catch the words. But the gesture is clear.
I sit.
He opens a leather-bound book, and in a dry voice, slowly pronounces a word I don't understand. He repeats it. Then he looks at me.
[ Analysis: common word. Probability: "bread." ]
"Bread?"
He nods, satisfied. Repeats it. I repeat it. My pronunciation comes out weird, but Senpai adjusts inside my head.
[ Phonetic correction: place your tongue higher. ]
I try again. The old man raises an eyebrow, surprised.
A second word. Longer. Senpai whispers the structure. I repeat, clumsy at first, then again, and again.
After ten minutes, I get the game: he wants to teach me like a five-year-old. I let him, but I move faster.
I grin, ironic.
"You know what, Senpai? I feel like I'm in Dora the Explorer, but gore edition. Like: 'Say it with me: mass slaughter!'"
[ Note: I do not recognize this reference. ]
"Good. It's better that way."
The old man watches, intrigued by how fast I pick it up. He tries a more complex word. I hesitate, but Senpai corrects me. I repeat it correctly.
A crease forms on his forehead. Not contempt. Interest.
I keep going. Word after word. The sounds stumble out, but I catch on quickly. I retain them. I understand the patterns. My brain runs at full speed.
After an hour, he shuts his book and examines me as if I'd just violated his expectations.
I smile, predatory.
"What? You thought I'd just drool on your carpet?"
He doesn't understand the words, but I swear he gets the tone. His eyes glint coldly, then he opens another book.
Another word. The old man repeats it, sharp as a blade. I mimic him.
My tongue slips, my teeth click. It comes out… wrong.
Silence falls.
The old man frowns. His eyes flick from the book to my mouth, then he flushes slightly.
He repeats. I try again. Same mistake.
A throat clears, heavy with discomfort.
[ Approximate translation: you just said "shit" instead of "bread." ]
I freeze, then burst out laughing.
"Seriously?!"
I slam my fist on the table.
"Say it with me: today's menu—shit soup and shit toast!"
The old man stiffens, lips tight. He mutters a prayer under his breath, like I'm possessed.
[ Observation: you probably just insulted three generations of local bakers. ]
"I already love this language."
I calm down, then meet the old man's eyes. Despite himself, he can see I'm making progress. I keep going, words tumbling out, sounds caught and remembered. It's not fluent, not yet, but it's fast. Too fast for a foreigner.
For a moment, I close my eyes. And it hits me.
"Senpai… how come you're helping me this much with the language? Before, you couldn't even translate three words straight, and now you're almost feeding me phonetics."
Silence. Then his voice, lower than usual:
[ Explanation: I am not fixed. I am not a manual, nor a complete interface. I am… evolving. ]
I frown.
"Evolving?"
[ My system is tied to you. Your way of thinking, your memories, your needs. The more you progress, the more I progress. You need to understand. So I develop tools to help you understand. ]
I stay quiet for a moment, finger tapping the table.
"…So basically, if I grow, you grow too?"
[ Correct. My learning depends on yours. ]
I snort, half amused, half uneasy.
"Great… I don't just have a voice in my head. I've got a digital kid growing up alongside me."
[ Correction: symbiotic partner. ]
"Yeah, yeah… partner."
I chuckle, but my gut tightens. Because if Senpai changes with me… that means the weirder I get, the weirder he does too.
The old man opens yet another book and throws a series of words at me, sharp and fast. I echo them. I stumble. I fix it. I improve. And every time, Senpai whispers in the back of my skull.