I froze for a split second before slowly turning my head toward him, only to meet Soren's calm, observant gaze. My ears twitched in reflex.
'Since when did this guy get here?'
I hadn't even sensed his presence—no footsteps, no shift in air. That alone was unsettling.
My eyes flicked back to the chaos I had created. Floating holograms hovered midair, half-transparent pages overlapping each other, while physical books lay scattered across the table in no particular order. '…This looks bad.'
'Since he's here, I might as well clean up before the teacher gets here,' I thought, scrambling internally to salvage some dignity
With a quick swipe of my paw, I shut down the holograms one by one. The glowing panels dissolved into particles of light, and I hurriedly stacked the books as neatly as I could, aligning their edges and pushing them into tidy piles. Only after everything looked presentable did I turn back to face him.
Then I craned my neck slightly, peering past his shoulder. 'Where's my teacher?'
My tail flicked behind me, betraying my impatience. No—I needed to learn. If I couldn't speak, everything would be ten times harder. Explanations, defenses, even just asking questions would turn into a nightmare of guessing and misunderstanding.
Soren seemed amused by my obvious searching. He calmly pulled out a chair and sat down directly in front of me, folding his hands together. "There's no one else," he said evenly. "I'll be the one teaching you instead."
I blinked once, then shrugged my shoulders. 'Fine by me.' As long as I could learn, I didn't really care who the teacher was.
And just like that, our "lecture" began.
Soren spoke slowly and clearly, enunciating every syllable. "Energy stone."
I stared at his lips intently, listening with everything I had. I opened my mouth and tried my best. "Nya-ang."
He didn't laugh. That alone earned him a few points. Instead, he continued evenly, "Carver."
I nodded seriously and tried again. "Nyang."
Still no reaction. His patience was almost frightening.
Then, with a faint curve to his lips, he spoke again—this time far too smoothly. "Little leopard."
"…"
I glared at him, my ears flattening slightly. 'Is he making fun of me?' That tone definitely felt intentional.
"Soren," he corrected, pointing lightly to himself.
I hesitated, gathering my courage. My mouth felt stiff, my tongue refusing to cooperate the way I wanted it to. "Sh—Sho-reng…" I pronounced slowly, painfully aware of how awkward it sounded.
Soren's eyes softened just a little. He nodded and praised me lightly. "Fair enough."
'Fair enough? Fair enough?!' I practically screamed internally. I did my absolute best just now! That wasn't a "fair enough," that was a miracle!
He didn't give me time to complain.
"Energy stone."
"Nyang."
"Carver."
"Nyang."
"Blanca."
"Nyang."
Again.
And again.
And again.
It became an endless loop of humiliation. —names, objects, titles—it all came out the same useless sound. My throat felt strange, like the words were stuck behind an invisible wall. I could understand everything perfectly, but forcing my mouth and tongue to shape human speech while in beast form felt utterly unnatural.
'Can beastmen really speak in their beast form?' I wondered miserably. At this point, I was starting to doubt it entirely.
I didn't know how many repetitions passed before something inside me finally snapped.
I huffed loudly, tail lashing as I turned away, paws digging lightly into the tabletop. 'This is a disaster!'
In my previous life, I had been a top student. Teachers praised me endlessly, calling me gifted, a fast learner, someone who grasped concepts almost instantly. Sculpting techniques, theory, structure—I mastered them all with ease. So why was something as basic as speaking driving me to the brink of madness?
'If only I had transmigrated earlier…' I thought bitterly. 'If I had grown up here from the start, maybe my mouth and tongue would already know how to shape these sounds. Maybe... I wouldn't feel so helpless.'
I let out an irritated huff, my shoulders slumping.
Then I froze.
Soren's hand rested gently on my head, his fingers brushing through my fur in a slow, steady motion. "You spoke very well," he said calmly. "And you're making good progress."
I stiffened, torn between swatting his hand away and leaning into the warmth despite myself.
'…Is he consoling me? Or is he subtly insulting me?'
I didn't feel any progress at all. The only word I could even half-pronounce was his name—and even that sounded wrong. My tail swayed uncertainly as I sat there, conflicted, frustrated,
Soren seemed to sense that I didn't believe a single word he had said. His gaze lingered on me for a moment before he spoke again, his tone thoughtful rather than amused. "Should I transform to my beast form to teach you?"
That… might actually work. But—
I glanced around the room instinctively. The study wasn't small, but it was still inside an aircraft. Spacious, reinforced, and clearly designed for high-ranking figures—but a beast form? A dragon's beast form?
'Does he seriously think his beast form will fit in here? Won't this aircraft—
…Never mind. Something told me that if he said it, it meant it was already calculated.
Soren stood up and walked to the center of the room, giving himself just enough space. His posture was relaxed, as if transforming into a massive beast indoors was nothing more than a casual stretch.
In the blink of an eye, a powerful wave of energy rippled outward.
Black scales replaced human skin, spreading like liquid obsidian over a colossal frame. Wings unfurled with a low, heavy sound, membranes taut and edged with faint metallic sheen. Horns curved elegantly from his head, and golden pupils burned like molten metal within slit eyes.
However, compared to what I vaguely remembered from the desolate island, his beast form was… smaller.
Not small by any normal standard—far from it. He was still enormous, easily three times my size, but clearly compressed, as if deliberately scaled down to fit the enclosed space.
Even so, the pressure alone made my fur prickle.
I completely forgot about learning how to speak.
My eyes widened, pupils dilating as I stared at the black dragon before me. Without even thinking, I hopped down from the table and padded toward him, curiosity completely overwhelming reason.
I stretched out my paws and touched him.
First his scales—cool, hard, yet faintly warm beneath, layered perfectly with no rough edges. Then his arms, thick with coiled strength, muscles shifting subtly under the armor-like surface. Then his wings.
I pressed my paws against the wing membrane, gently rubbing, tracing the veins and texture.
'…So this was the real thing.'
My heart pounded.
…My previous carvings hadn't been like this. I knew that much. The form had been correct, the proportions mostly right, the momentum captured through posture and silhouette. But now that I was touching actual flesh and blood, the difference was painfully obvious.
My carving had relied too much on imagination.
It lacked the subtle tension beneath the surface, the elasticity of the wings, the way the scales overlapped not rigidly but organically, flowing with movement. My dragon had looked powerful—but it hadn't felt alive.
This—this was different.
On the desolate island, I had only seen the dragon from afar. I had captured the overall form and momentum, the dominance of its presence—but the details had been guesses.
No wonder it felt wrong.
'Next time… If I find the right material. If I have real arms and hands again… I can carve the wings better.'
I moved around him, utterly absorbed, examining every detail like a scholar possessed. The more I observed, the more flaws I found—not in him, but in my previous work.
I didn't notice the faint smile that flashed through Soren's eyes.
The black dragon lowered his head slightly, folded his wings just enough to give me space, and carefully curled his tail in front of his claws. Then, with surprising gentleness, he reached out, lifted me up, and placed me on his back.
I didn't even protest.
Instead, I scrambled up unceremoniously, climbed straight to his head, and planted myself there. Squinting, I leaned forward, scrutinizing his horns, the ridges along his skull, the precise placement of his eyes.
I lay down flat and studied his gaze from top to bottom, tilting my head this way and that.
Soren shifted slightly, lifting a claw to the top of his head, allowing me to touch freely. I poked, pressed, turned, and examined everything without restraint. He remained perfectly still, indulgent to an almost ridiculous degree.
Only after I was completely satisfied—after every scale, joint, and contour of this dragon had been thoroughly etched into my mind—did I slide down along his wing.
That was when embarrassment finally hit me.
'Ah—right. He transformed to teach me how to speak.'
I hurried toward his face, tail flicking awkwardly, ready to refocus.
But when I looked up, I froze.
Soren was asleep.
The massive black dragon lay still, breathing slow and steady. Each exhale released a faint, fiery scent—warm, dry, and dangerous. Heat rolled gently from his breath, and instinctively I stepped back, fur standing on end, feeling as though I might be scorched if I got too close.
Carefully, I padded forward and lightly tapped my paw against his nose.
No response.
A wicked grin spread across my face, sharp little teeth peeking through as I teased softly, "Shoren!"
Nothing.
I frowned slightly, my ears drooping. 'I guess he's really tired…' Teaching me, handling all those affairs, and then maintaining a restrained beast form indoors—it must have taken more energy than I realized.
I hesitated for only a moment before crawling under his wing. The space there was warm and enclosed, safe. I leaned my body against his side, the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulling me almost instantly.
As my eyes drifted shut, stray thoughts floated through my mind.
'Maybe next time… I could carve a sleeping dragon.'
One with a slightly bulging belly, wings tucked in awkwardly, claws holding his tail, snoring softly—a smaller, cuter version of the fearsome black dragon.
The thought made me smile smugly even as sleep tugged at me. My tail curled naturally, fitting snugly against the dragon's neck.