"Yes, I’m fine. It’s nothing," he said, calming himself, clearly feeling the presence of that cursed marking pressing against the edges of his mind like a cold, jagged shard of ice.
It still sealed away a particularly cruel portion of his ntal trauma—hadn’t even let him recall his mother’s na, let alone the event that occurred that day. He could feel the phantom weight of it, a heavy shackle on his subconscious that throbbed with every heartbeat.
He knew exactly how to cure it. He simply lacked the power to act on it—his maternal family was the source, and lifting the curse would send them a signal. Make him their target.
So. Removal was out.
Refusing to be driven by emotion, he focused. Logical. Forward.
’Then why didn’t you reveal yourself until now? Were you waiting for to acquire sothing powerful enough to be worth bonding with?’
[Affirmative. As per the system’s rules, it must aid its user to its fullest capability. With its ability to permanently upgrade and fuse a single ability upon bonding with a new user—and temporarily boost any of the host’s other abilities—the system was waiting for the host to acquire an ability whose permanent enhancent would benefit him most.]
’And that opportunity ca when I obtained Lira’s ability... But why wait until I killed her—and all that drama?’
He already understood the intent. He wasn’t surprised to learn the system had originally belonged to his mother. He had witnessed far too much in this world to be shaken by that fact. If anything, it eased his caution toward it, a strange, lingering warmth of familiarity settling in his chest.
[To make my appearance more dominant and mysterious.]
’...So you can talk casually too,’ Cruxius thought, caught briefly off guard by the shift. The voice was the sa chanical tone—but now it assembled full sentences. Like a person.
[Yes—]
’Don’t do it again,’ he cut in.
It had already told him what he needed. Its origin, its two core functions, the reason it had waited. All of it laid out its limitations clearly. And Cruxius didn’t need a parrot living in his skull.
[...]
"How does big sis even pull that off?"
The voice yanked him back to the present.
He turned. Standing beside his table—close enough that he should have noticed her sooner—was Neuril. She had one hand resting on the counter’s edge, her body angled toward him. She held a stack of empty bowls, her knuckles pale against the ceramic. She was watching him with open curiosity, her gaze lingering on his face a second too long to be casual.
Eighteen, nearly nineteen. Blonde hair swept over one shoulder, still slightly damp and clinging to the nape of her neck from the kitchen heat. She wasn’t tall—compact, actually—but there was nothing childlike about her anymore. The kind of figure that filled the space she stood in without announcing itself. Her white uniform shirt was thin, and the humidity of the kitchen had made the fabric slightly translucent where it pressed against her skin. The bib of her apron was knotted crookedly at her back, pulling the material taut across her chest, subtly outlining the firm, rounded swell of her breasts and the distinct, pointed shape of her nipples through the light cotton.
She had the relaxed, unstudied stance of soone who didn’t yet know how to be self-conscious about how she moved. Wide-set amber eyes caught the dim shop light and held it, shimring with a mix of defiance and interest.
She’d clearly slipped away from the kitchen the mont she spotted an opening.
"Your sister prohibited you from coming out here, didn’t she?" Cruxius said, glancing at her with a slight smile, folding his arms and leaning back. His eyes took a slow, deliberate path over her before eting her gaze.
He looked at her and, behind his expression, rembered.
Four years ago, when she was sixteen and already a superhero. He had killed her—not out of hatred, but because he had been left with no other option.
"Yeah, but—" Neuril shrugged with the specific confidence of soone who had already decided the rule didn’t apply to them. "I snuck out. I had a question for Uncle." She gave a firm nod to herself, eyes closed for a half-second, like she was confirming her own logic.
"Pfft."
Ytrisia. The laugh escaped before she could swallow it. She caught herself and coughed, her own skin-tight suit shifting over her thighs as she adjusted her posture. "Sorry."
"Was it about how I knew your na," Cruxius said, already reading the girl, "or is it about the golden light you’re seeing around ?"
"!?!"
Neuril’s collected expression collapsed completely. Her eyes went wide—genuinely startled, the bowls shifting in her grip with a soft clatter.
"H-how did you—wait, you know?" The casual teenage posture vanished. She leaned forward instinctively, the movent causing her apron to dip, revealing a glimpse of the soft cleavage beneath. She lowered her voice like it was a secret shared only between them. "I thought I was the only one who could see it. That’s... actually kind of insane. You’re kind of insane."
A beat. She bit her lip, a flush creeping up her neck.
"...I an—in a cool way. Obviously."
Cruxius nodded, sothing quiet and heavy in his expression.
Because of that sa golden light, I once had no choice but to end your life, he thought. He didn’t say it.
The story behind it was a long one. Lira and Neuril’s parents had been killed by a supervillain. With the insurance and governnt support granted to the families of fallen heroes, they had rented an apartnt in Hero City and opened this modest, fading curry shop to survive.
At twelve, Neuril awakened her powers. Burning with the need to fight back—to do sothing—she had quietly begun working as an anonymous part-ti superhero, without telling her sister. Two years in, she crossed paths with the very supervillain responsible for her parents’ deaths—a man who could shift his appearance entirely.
Neuril had a rare sub-ability: she could mark a target with a trace only she could see. A mark that transcended life and death.
Cruxius had learned that the hard way. He’d killed the villain during a clash with the Syndicate—but the mark didn’t return to Neuril. It transferred to him, like a curse changing hands.
And Neuril ca for him. Again and again, no matter what he did, no matter how many tis he reset. She was relentless in a way that had nothing to do with anger—she simply could not stop. It was embedded in her ability. He’d been trapped.
He couldn’t have known she was Lira’s sister. Back then, he couldn’t afford to know.
With a small smile, he made his decision.
"This is the mark your power left on ," Cruxius said simply. "Think of it as your ability recognizing that I might be worth trusting."
He pulled out a checkbook without ceremony. Signed it with a crisp flick of his wrist. Held it out.
Neuril stared at it. Then at him. Then at the paper again.
"...What is this?" she asked, her voice dropping half a register—not childlike confusion, but the particular caution of soone who suspects they’re being played and can’t tell the price yet.
"A dowry," Cruxius said, the smirk arriving naturally, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "From , for your sister. Tell her exactly that."
Neuril’s mouth opened. Closed. A deep crimson bloom spread across her cheeks.
Then—"You’re insane."
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