TBR CH104

Don’t be shy, girls and boys—when facing someone you like, be proactive, be bold. Let them fully trust in your love for them; that’s the unbeatable rule of romance.

—Excerpt from the “Letters to Your Love” forum, a famous quote by the most popular relationship coach, Alyssa.

The kiss is fleeting, and Asta pulls back slightly, releasing its hands from the human’s shoulders.

The places where they touched feel like they’re burning. Its heartbeat isn’t as frantic as before but steady and resolute. When it tasted the human’s lips, when it saw its own reflection in Isidor’s emerald-green eyes, the monster knew the answer it had guessed was the only true one.

“I love you,” it declares.

The human is utterly defeated by those words, struck speechless, sitting there dazed, staring up at Asta. He blinks rapidly, as if unable to believe what just happened, afraid to miss even a second. But as the monster straightens, he instinctively reaches out, grabbing its wrist.

“Asta, I…” the emerald-eyed human stammers, “this is too much for me. I need a moment to process. God, do I look ridiculous right now?”

Not at all.

He looks rather adorable, actually.

This reminds Asta of something. Isidor’s blood-soaked clothes were ruined, so he changed into pajamas stored in the seaside cabin—too thin and loose for someone injured, leaving large patches of skin exposed. The monster picks up the fluffy blanket from the ground, dusts it off, and drapes it over him again.

“Should I make you clothes from my tendrils?” it asks, a bit troubled.

“What… what?” The human’s voice tightens, sounding nervous.

The idea is clearly too strange for him. Based on Asta’s understanding of human norms, wearing clothes made from a living creature is highly unconventional. But it doesn’t give up easily. Its experience with shapeshifting makes crafting human clothing simple, and tendrils are excellent material—thick and warm.

“I’d choose a soft one,” the monster explains. “It wouldn’t look any different from normal clothes, like the ones I’m wearing. You can touch them.”

Isidor’s eyes flicker slightly.

He seems tempted but hesitates for some reason, not agreeing.

The blanket starts slipping again, revealing skin still marked by red welts from the tendrils. His wounds haven’t fully healed, and these usually minor injuries now seem troublesome. Asta can’t help but lightly touch his neck. The red marks tremble under its pale fingers, starkly vivid.

It meant to punish the human for not valuing himself, but was it too harsh?

Lost in thought, Asta forgets to withdraw its fingers, its fingertips lingering on the slightly swollen skin, unconsciously brushing it. When it snaps back, Isidor is biting his lip, visibly embarrassed, his ear tips red, blending with the marks on his neck, struggling not to flinch.

“What’s wrong?” Asta moves its hand away, asking with concern. “Does it hurt?”

The question is nearly impossible to answer. Isidor looks at it helplessly, meeting its earnest eyes. The monster doesn’t understand his current feelings, only genuinely worried he’s uncomfortable. The clothing suggestion is the same.

But this…

Isidor lifts his head, a watery glint in his emerald-green eyes, but he smiles. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s just… because I like it. Do what you said—I trust you.”

Asta finds it hard to believe anyone would like the sensation of tendril marks. But on second thought, Isidor’s words make sense. The closer they are, the more he shows that flustered look. His ears flush crimson, and he becomes more emotional, softer.

The monster notes thoughtfully: he likes this.

Isidor, of course, has no idea of the problematic understanding he’s sparked in Asta or its future consequences.

With a slight flick of its hand, tendrils naturally coil upward. Unlike the still-weak human, Isidor’s intervention preserved most of Asta’s strength. The black tendrils surge, reflecting arcs of light under the glow.

Under Asta’s guidance, they deftly morph, forming a loose researcher’s uniform.

“Put this on,” Asta says, handing it to Isidor, then adding reassuringly, “It’ll adjust to fit you later. Once it’s fully detached from me, it won’t move anymore.”

The human visibly relaxes.

Asta, too, silently breathes a sigh of relief. So that was his concern. No need to tell him now that it takes a long time for tendrils to fully sever their connection to its body.

When the Black Book hurriedly arrives, it sees Asta affectionately adjusting Isidor’s collar. The human sits obediently, looking soft and compliant. Their closeness seems unbroken, as if no distance ever existed.

…The World Consciousness feels its worries were for nothing.

Fine. Every world’s villain finds a lover, leaving it as the lone single Heavenly Way—a fact it’s long accepted. It must admit, though, seeing this scene brings a rare sense of relief. Couples should be harmonious—why stir up conflict? It doesn’t know how they reconciled, but as the intermediary, it surely played a significant role.

This thought restores some balance.

Isidor notices the Black Book first but clearly has no intention of acknowledging it, carefully maintaining the atmosphere with Asta, his emerald-green eyes lowered.

Only when the World Consciousness flaps its pages, circling Asta twice, does the monster look up as if waking from a dream. “Oh, you’re here.”

It doesn’t sound particularly welcoming, though its usual polite demeanor remains, and its mood is noticeably better than before. The Black Book tentatively writes on its page:

“Seeing you together is great, but the situation now is…”

“I told it everything,” Isidor says.

Noticing Asta release his hand, he subtly leans back, nestling into the monster’s embrace.

The Black Book pretends not to see, focusing on a more pressing issue. It writes in disbelief: “Everything… wait, you told it about the prophecy too?”

“Of course,” Asta answers, lifting its eyes. They remain as they were at their first meeting—beneath the black disguise, a kaleidoscope of chaotic, otherworldly colors flickers, the absolute power of the monster’s lord burning like sparks in its pupils. It looks calmly at the World Consciousness.

“I understand why you hid it from me. But I have my own stance. Trust me—I’ll do everything in my power to stop it from happening, if not for the world, then for the one I love.”

“You—”

The World Consciousness instinctively lowers its voice—or rather, lightens its script, as if murmuring to itself: “How could you not consider yourself? Only when a fuller prophecy appeared before me did I understand the truth, but it was too terrible. I… I’m also sorry for not trusting you sooner. But at that time, both Isidor and I thought our chosen path was the best.”

“I know,” Asta pauses at Isidor’s name, noticing the human’s tension, and casually ruffles his hair.

“You’re trying to solve three problems.”

“First, the Institute’s Dawn Project. Isidor’s goal was to subvert the plan, fend off the special forces’ attack on me, and induce my dormancy, keeping me in an impregnable safe room until the next phase. Meanwhile, he’d willingly expose himself to the Institute’s scrutiny, surviving as a valuable asset, enduring torment.”

The human’s chestnut hair is soft, not as striking as his eyes, but the monster enjoys its texture.

Under the intimate touch, Isidor gradually sheds his unease, though he sits up straighter, like a small animal caught misbehaving.

“Second, my ‘escape.’ Two weeks from now… no, less now. The Institute will face a orchestrated mass monster uprising, led by Isidor and an external group that reveres me as a deity. Honestly, I’m not surprised ancient legends evolved into this—humans’ worship and fear of power is something I’ve long understood.”

Isidor is the external group’s key informant within the Institute, yet also a suspected traitor. His closeness to the “deity” makes them believe his influence clouds Asta’s judgment.

“Though they couldn’t contact the Institute’s insiders, they connected with ‘Flower,’” Asta says, a faint smile not reaching its eyes. “It desperately wants to escape, so it eagerly cooperated. Its task was to make me doubt Isidor, and it succeeded.”

This plot twist is known only to the monster, catching even Isidor off guard.

The Black Book quietly takes notes.

“Finally, the issue of the Child of Fate.”

Asta touches the Black Book. “You planned to deal with it all at once, didn’t you? I’m not angry, just… isn’t that too much?”

The World Consciousness’s energy in this plane was meant for capturing the System, setting flawless traps to prevent its escape. But, worried about the world’s future, it spent too much on other matters.

Before, it and Isidor even decided to face the enemy unprepared.

The monster continues: “On that day, the external forces will exploit the collapse of the Institute’s defenses to rescue me in dormancy. Isidor will escape his cell—he held back, and you preserved some of his strength, letting him become the ‘Kingfisher’ again. I gave you ‘Flower’s’ list, and you plan to act on it.”

Among the monsters on the list who interacted with Hill, some are highly dangerous carnivores, delighting in human slaughter; others are milder herbivores, seeking only to escape their shackles.

The former are Isidor’s to kill, along with other high-tier monsters. The latter can be released—they’ll likely seek Hill within the Institute, realizing humans care little for them, with countless replacements available.

The Black Book isn’t optimistic enough to think unstable monsters will all abandon their obsession with the Child of Fate.

But any doubt weakens the System’s power.

Kill those who must be killed, persuade those who can be swayed. Isidor and the Black Book will do their utmost to reduce the System’s strength to its lowest. At the final moment, the World Consciousness will intercept the fleeing System, engaging it in direct combat.

“Sorry,” the Black Book writes slowly. “Time was too short, so my preparations aren’t complete. But there’s some chance of success. It’s my duty—I must do this.”

“You two,” the monster closes its eyes, reopening them with a faint golden glimmer in its black pupils, its words like a soft sigh. “Why are you always apologizing? I must admit, the plan’s internal logic holds, and it could succeed, but it’s an utterly terrible plan.”

Sensing Asta’s mood, Isidor quietly slips his hand free, tentatively reaching out. The moment their fingers intertwine, it’s as if countless tiny veins sprout. The monster grasps his hand without hesitation, a bit unsteady after reviewing their “utterly terrible” plan.

It holds tight, its expression unchanged. Isidor feels as if damp tendrils coil up from their clasped hands, securing him firmly.

“Your plan is awful,” the monster says, “because it forgot about me. I’m part of it—the most precious, protected part, never to be harmed. But I’m not one of you.”

It sits upright, its skin unnaturally pale, barely disguised. Ominous tendrils writhe in its shadow, and its pupils gleam with inhuman light. Yet Asta’s words are firmer and gentler than most humans’.

“Remember? We’re teammates.”

After so long, the Black Book hears this word again. Initial unfamiliarity fades as it recalls arriving in this world, forming the “world-saving team” alliance with the human and monster in a small room. The mood was warm, everyone smiling, and it was haphazardly added to the roster.

…But this is probably meant for Isidor. As the Heavenly Way, it doesn’t expect to be part of any group, always lingering outside worlds.

“You, too,” Asta says, gently tapping the book’s pages, interrupting its thoughts. “I didn’t trust you at first, but you truly care about this world, going far beyond your duty. That’s the World Consciousness—resolute in protecting everything, courageous in acting. We’re on the same side, and you’re vital to us.”

The Black Book is at a loss, stammering if it could speak. Isidor’s eyes crinkle, smiling at it.

“Thanks,” he says simply.

Their connection, once abruptly severed, left them unable to trust each other. Lies, opposing roles, and obsessive protectiveness masked gentleness and true love, alongside exhaustion from mending rifts with allies.

Now is the perfect time to start anew.

After preliminary discussions, the Black Book leaves, energized to tackle its tasks.

For the monster and human, now isn’t the ideal time to act. They have at least one evening free. As the World Consciousness departs, the room’s noises quiet, and the newly minted lovers sit in the serene space, needing no words. Just being together holds a quiet, profound meaning.

Isidor gazes at Asta, silent, but his lips curve uncontrollably, his emerald-green eyes shimmering like a gently rippling lake, flecked with star-like glints.

“Sleeping here tonight?” Asta asks naturally. “It was prepared for you anyway.”

The human thinks for a moment, then asks, “What about you?”

The monster doesn’t need sleep; it’s used to passing time in the deep sea when no one speaks. But now Isidor is here, and though it hasn’t fully adjusted, it’s already shifted his label from friend to lover. With a lover, you should be proactive, closer—that’s what the relationship guru on that pink website said.

“Of course I’ll stay with you,” Asta says, then adds, “Besides, your wounds haven’t healed.”

The first half comes without hesitation, and the human can’t hide his joy, his pinky subtly curling to brush Asta’s palm. But at the second half, he sits up straighter, suddenly nervous.

He clearly wants to say he’s fine but can’t tell such an obvious lie.

What to do? The tendril marks on his skin haven’t faded, and Isidor finally regrets getting so gravely injured. He’s not afraid of pain, but the faint itch along the red marks burns, ignited fully by touch. If wrapped up for another night, he’s not sure how embarrassed he’d be.

Especially now, having bared their hearts to each other, he can’t handle being treated this way.

He’s worried he’ll lose composure.

Asta keenly notices the human’s tension, curling its fingers to still his fidgeting pinky. His wariness about healing is its fault, it realizes, recalling the sensation through its fingertips when its tendrils coiled around him.

Isidor is a compliant prey, but when he squirms from discomfort, the tendrils hold him fast, bringing a satisfying sense of capturing something vital. In the deep sea, some creatures hoard shiny coins from shipwrecks, dragging them to their nests—it’s like that.

It… kind of likes it?

But it can’t be that rough, especially not when Isidor’s injured. Asta smiles, not letting go of his hand, its black eyes enveloping the human, reflecting nothing else. “Is that okay?” Its voice is low, irresistibly trustworthy.

When it speaks like that, Isidor knows from the first syllable he can’t refuse. He stares at Asta for two seconds, then gives up, leaning lightly into its embrace. The monster releases their clasped hands, letting the human rub its back, finding a comfortable anchor.

“Okay,” Isidor whispers near Asta’s ear, “but you have to kiss me first.”

His warm, humid breath trails downward with his words. Eyes closed, the human moves from its ear to its lips, the monster carrying the damp scent of seawater yet feeling warm to the touch. No predator would willingly close its eyes and approach dangerous prey.

So it’s the human whose breath quickens, a damp flush at his eyes’ corners. His hands wrinkle Asta’s clothes, feeling as if he’s been embraced by the dark ocean, sinking deeper.

When Asta pulls back abruptly, he stares at it, dazed.

“Your heart’s beating too fast, and your breathing’s uneven,” the monster says reasonably. “Your wounds haven’t healed, so you can’t get too excited.”

Isidor’s injuries are healing from the outside, but the internal mess—bullet wounds nearly piercing his heart—requires Asta’s power to mend slowly. Though he claims it doesn’t hurt, Asta suspects he doesn’t even recognize pain worth mentioning, so careless is he with himself.

Isidor sits, touching his lips, grasping at the fleeting, subtle sensation.

He truly doesn’t think his unhealed wounds matter. For him, such pain doesn’t warrant a frown. His training years ago included pain tolerance and death desensitization, and he was the top graduate.

“You should rest,” Asta says quickly.

The human tries again. “I’m fine. One more kiss, please?”

The kiss was already a bargained privilege; next comes healing. Just thinking about it makes Isidor shiver, the clothes brushing his skin somehow sending vivid sensations straight to his brain.

“No—” Asta says without thinking, then feels its refusal was too stiff. It casually takes the human’s hand, recalling their kiss. Before learning to kiss, it never knew it was such a wondrous act. Unlike the initial fleeting touch, there’s more behind the sweetness.

A deeper, obsessive impulse and possessiveness spread through their lips, nearly overwhelming even it.

They’ve only just redefined their relationship, yet Asta feels their seven years were a long poem of love, their feelings overflowing, unstoppable.

The thought is strange but not unwelcome.

Isidor sits on the bed’s edge, his emerald-green eyes sparkling, dressed in pajamas, utterly defenseless. “It’s not that I don’t want your healing,” he says earnestly. “I’m just not used to this method. Don’t mind my reactions.”

They’ve come this far. Asta listens, a smile tugging at its lips.

It sits beside Isidor naturally. Though it doesn’t need sleep, the soft bed feels cozy. Isidor seems surprised but quickly shifts to make room. The monster, taking advantage, doesn’t let him off easily, pressing his hand down.

“What are you worried about?”

Finally, it reveals a mischievous monster side, speaking the truth only now: “Isidor, this time you just need to be held by me. I won’t summon the tendrils. Is that okay?”