Let the record show that I tried.
I wore the outfit. I rehearsed the lines. I brought a briefcase, for Gods' sakes. It wasn't even mine. I borrowed it from a particularly judgmental monk who said it would help me look more "contractual."
And then, when I arrived at the System Integration Office of Eternal Rebinding and Legalese—
The System rejected me.
Out loud.
In writing.
And in interpretive dance.
Let me explain.
It started when Belladonna received her formal System Contract: a gleaming document made of golden code, signed by three minor deities, a disembodied voice that smelled like judgment, and what might've been Fluffernox's paw print.
It detailed her responsibilities as Co-Sovereign of Echo, including:
Mask stewardship
Cult diplomacy
Judicial ladling
And bi-weekly flirtation evasion seminars
Then the clerk—an animated clipboard with superiority issues—turned to me.
"And you must be the Glitch."
"That's... not usually how people start conversations."
The clipboard sniffed.
"I have a custom draft prepared for you. The Tribunal has asked us to bind you into a more... narratively responsible framework."
It snapped open a folder titled:
"CONTRACT FOR: Kael (Species: Error?)"
Which was not encouraging.
SECTION ONE: HEROIC COMPLIANCE
"By signing," the clipboard droned, "you agree to the following heroic responsibilities:
No breaking the fourth wall more than twice per chapter.
All emotional growth must be followed by appropriate plot development.
No further romantic entanglements with vegetables, sentient furniture, or System mascots."
I blinked. "Okay, one: rude. Two: who told you about the chair thing?"
The clipboard coughed pointedly.
"Item four: You agree not to glitch reality during moments of high romantic tension."
"That's like ninety percent of my life!"
Belladonna whispered, "He's not lying."
SECTION TWO: POWERS, PRAYERS & PROPHECIES
Clause 7 stated I was not allowed to willfully alter prophecy unless supervised by a responsible adult or "Mythical Spoon of Record."
Clause 8 required me to limit spontaneous existential declarations to under thirty-five per week.
Clause 9 read:
"User shall not, under any circumstances, attempt to fix divine machinery with soup. This has never worked. Stop trying."
I raised a hand.
"It worked once."
Belladonna crossed her arms. "You flooded an entire shrine."
"It was delicious."
The clipboard sighed, or did the emotional equivalent with a flapping sound.
"Sign here," it said, extending a quill made of sarcasm and secondhand destiny.
I looked down.
And froze.
The contract had begun… twitching.
Like it didn't want me to sign it.
The letters blurred, rearranged themselves into new messages:
"Are you sure?"
"We have a refund policy."
"Try reincarnating again. Maybe be a dentist."
Then the parchment screamed and burst into flame.
I hadn't touched it yet.
"Did the System just... set itself on fire to avoid hiring me?" I asked.
A second clipboard spawned. Warped. Died screaming.
The Spoon floated in, munching popcorn.
"I told them. But nooo, they thought they could handle Kael. Like he was a regular narrative construct. Amateurs."
Belladonna picked up one charred corner of the now-smoking contract.
"Clause 13 spontaneously rewrote itself into a knock-knock joke."
SYSTEM NOTICE:
🟥 ERROR: CONTRACT REFUSED
REASON: Subject is Too Weird for Canonical Binding.
RECOMMENDATION: Contain within ironic subplots or emotional flashbacks.
Also: consider therapy.
"Is this common?" I asked the clipboard.
"Never happened before," it said grimly. "We once had a reincarnated llama god apply for divine janitor. Even he got a form approved."
"So… I broke bureaucracy."
"You broke the concept of paperwork," Belladonna muttered, massaging her temple.
We were ushered into an emergency arbitration chamber. Which is a fancy way of saying: a glowing room of floating chairs, high-minded logic sigils, and at least one eldritch kettle boiling in the background.
Three System Advocates appeared.
One looked like a judge made of binary.
One was an unpaid intern with godlike stress levels.
The third was a baguette. I don't know why.
"Kael," said the binary one, voice warping across dimensions. "You are unfit for contract standardization. Explain yourself."
"Well, I was reborn by accident."
"We know."
"I didn't want a harem."
"We know."
"I flirt under pressure, cry in monologues, and I once tried to solve a prophecy with emotional honesty."
The baguette gasped.
The intern whispered, "He's… narratively unstable."
"Thank you," I said, "but I prefer emotionally complex."
Belladonna stepped forward. "He's impossible, but he's real."
"Irrelevant," snapped Binary Advocate #1. "Kael defies structural logic. His glitch makes him metaphysically slippery."
"That's his entire charm," said the Spoon.
The tribunal stared.
The Spoon floated forward, tiny monocle gleaming.
"Your System is collapsing because you only allow perfect heroes. Because you reject contradictions. But Kael is the contradiction that survived. He breaks you because he refuses to break."
Silence.
Even the kettle stopped boiling.
A soft light appeared in the air, forming new words:
"Maybe the System isn't broken. Maybe it just wasn't built for someone like him."
The contract reformed.
Not out of paper.
Out of story.
A scroll of living narrative unfolded in front of me. It shimmered with scenes from my life—my birth, my mistakes, my soup. My rage. My regrets. My refusal to leave.
And at the bottom?
A single line:
"Sign, not as a hero. Not as a god.
But as yourself."
I looked to Belladonna. She nodded, very slightly. Her eyes said: I see you.
I looked at the Spoon. He winked.
Then I signed:
Kael. Just Kael.
Immediately, the room warped.
Reality snapped inward, like it had just chugged a quadruple espresso of plot.
Every System bell in the multiverse rang out at once.
SYSTEM UPDATE:
Kael is now officially bound by Narrative Exception Clause 777-G: The Glitch Rewrite.
— Status: Authorized without compliance.
— Role: Disruptor.
— Purpose: To choose. To change. To contradict.
Elsewhere:
A monk fell out of bed screaming "KAEL SIGNED!" before realizing he had no idea who Kael was.
A soup pot boiled over in joy.
A mask fragment cracked and whispered, "He chose to stay."
Back in the Hall of Arbitration:
Belladonna read over my shoulder.
"Clause 5 says you're allowed to emotionally spiral once per chapter."
"Only once?" I asked.
She smiled. "You're already over quota."
I looked down at the glowing contract. It shimmered in my hands, warm, real, mine.
Finally, mine.
"I didn't think they'd accept me."
"They didn't," Belladonna said. "You made them rewrite the rules."
The Spoon twirled dramatically in the air.
"And thus begins the Era of Narrative Recalibration. Time for soup."
The tribunal fled.
FINAL SYSTEM LOGS:
Kael Contract: ACCEPTED (somehow)
New Role: Glitch Sovereign of Self
Mask Status: Fully Integrated
Harem Status: Emotionally Volatile
Fluffernox is now legally a witness. (He's asleep.)
Next time on Kaelverse:
Mandatory Sovereign Team-Building Retreat!
Flirtation Bingo!
Belladonna's Dream Journal: Leaked?!
And the Spoon joins a band.
Bring tissues. And possibly a ladle.