It wasn't shock like seeing the cabinet sliced in two. It wasn't anger like hearing his ill-advised compliment. This was different. This was a disruption of her core logic, her understanding of how the world, how knowledge, was supposed to function. It simply did not compute. The mediocre, unimpressive Lloyd Ferrum, spending hours meticulously finding errors in established economic theory? It was inefficient. It was illogical. It was… baffling.
Lloyd held her confused gaze, the faint smile lingering on his lips. He offered no further explanation, letting her grapple with the anomaly. He had tossed another pebble into the still, icy pond of their relationship, and the ripples were spreading in ways he hadn't entirely predicted.
He watched the confusion war with the ingrained coldness on her face, wondering which would win out. He didn't know what errors he was truly looking for beyond satisfying his own intellectual curiosity and maybe, just maybe, finding exploitable loopholes or hidden opportunities this backward world hadn't considered. But confusing Rosa Siddik? That, he decided, might be a worthwhile pursuit in itself.
He returned his gaze to the book, leaving her adrift in her silent, logical bewilderment. The scratching of his graphite stick resumed, a small, persistent sound challenging the foundations of her ordered world.
The pre-dawn chill clung to the opulent fabrics of the sofa, a familiar unwelcome companion to Lloyd Ferrum as consciousness reluctantly returned. He blinked, the intricate patterns on the high ceiling slowly swimming into focus. Day four. Sofa: still lumpy. Potpourri scent: still vaguely offensive. Status quo: depressingly stable, at least regarding his sleeping arrangements.
With a sigh that was becoming as routine as breathing – sigh number… who was even counting anymore? – he swung his legs over the side. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet. First order of business, before facing tutors, potentially grumpy fathers, or the lingering ghost of yesterday's intellectual sparring: Operation Canine Cuisine Upgrade.
He reached for the small, smooth Spirit Stone tucked securely within his tunic, channeling the now-familiar trickle of energy. The air beside the sofa shimmered, coalesced, and Fang materialized.
Lloyd paused mid-reach for the waiting platter of chicken. He stared.
Okay, hold on.
This wasn't just better. This was… transformation. The scrawny, hesitant wolf-dog hybrid of three days ago was gone, replaced by something sleek, powerful, and radiating vitality. Fang's grey coat wasn't just clean; it possessed a deep, healthy lustre, hinting at silver highlights in the dim pre-dawn light. Muscles rippled subtly beneath the fur as he stretched, a fluid movement full of latent power. His ribs were a distant memory, replaced by a lean, well-defined torso. The slight droop to his ears was gone, replaced by alert, attentive points that swiveled slightly, tracking the faintest sounds. He carried himself with a quiet confidence, a predator's awareness.
And his eyes… those large, intelligent brown eyes fixed on Lloyd, no longer held bewildered confusion, but a sharp, unnerving focus. There was a depth there, a flicker of something ancient and knowing that sent a faint shiver down Lloyd's spine.
Four days of chicken did this? Lloyd's internal eighty-year-old scientist scoffed. Impossible. The protein uptake, the cellular regeneration… the rate is exponential. This isn't just good nutrition; this is like… injecting him with concentrated wolf growth hormone laced with unicorn tears.
He crouched down, cautiously extending a hand. Fang leaned into the touch, accepting the scratch behind his ears with a low rumble that vibrated with surprising power. It wasn't the pathetic whine of a starved pup; it was the contented purr of a well-fed predator.
What was driving this? Was it simply the activation of his Spirit bond, jump-started by consistent attention and decent food, finally allowing Fang's true potential to surface? Or was the System involved beyond the task itself? Lloyd quickly checked his mental interface. Still 6 SC. The task was still listed as ongoing: 'Feed the wolf chicken for 7 days'. No mention of passive buffs or accelerated growth.
Maybe it's innate, Lloyd mused, scratching Fang's surprisingly thick neck ruff. Maybe he wasn't just a 'weak wolf' Spirit after all. Maybe he's something… more? Just suppressed? And the consistent energy flow, even my pathetic trickle, combined with actual food, is unlocking it? The thought was both exciting and slightly terrifying. If Fang was capable of this kind of hidden potential, what else in this world wasn't as it seemed? What other assumptions was he making based on his flawed first life?
He tried to subtly gauge Fang's power signature. It felt… dense. Solid. Far more potent than he remembered any newly Manifested spirit feeling. Still firmly in the Manifestation stage, yes, but pushing right up against the upper limits, humming with contained energy.