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Levi woke up to silence.
Real silence. Not the kind filled with distant horns or buzzing streetlamps, but the rich, velvet quiet of an ancient building that breathed with dignity. No ticking clocks. No flickering fluorescent lights. Just the soft ambient hum of magic woven into brick and shadow.
He blinked twice, brain struggling to catch up with reality.
"Right. Haunted bookstore," he muttered.
He sat up slowly. The plush bedding resisted his movement like it wanted him to stay asleep just a little longer. The master bed on the third floor of the Front Store was obscenely comfortable. Thick mattresses, embroidered silk sheets, pillows that adjusted automatically to his spine alignment. Quiet luxury, the System had called it.
Levi swung his legs over the side, yawning as he rubbed his face. His hands brushed against the fabric of a midnight-black pajama shirt, custom-fitted and impossibly soft. He didn't remember changing into it. One of the golems must have done it.
He stood and walked barefoot across the dark wood flooring, his footsteps silent on enchanted grain. Morning light leaked in from the edges of the black curtains, barely piercing the gloom that clung to the room's gothic design.
With a soft sigh, Levi reached out and pulled the curtain cords.
The heavy drapes parted.
Sunlight flooded in.
Not from one sun.
But from three.
High above the city of Myreth, three golden suns blazed in the sky, each positioned at different angles, casting overlapping shadows and bathing the world in a layered warmth. One shone like a slow-burning forge, deep and orange-red. Another pulsed like a heartbeat, its rays shifting subtly as if alive. The third was distant and pure white, like a cold divine sentinel.
Levi squinted and raised one hand to shield his eyes. "Still not used to that."
The stained glass windows caught the sunlight and refracted it into dancing spectrums across the walls. Hues of crimson, emerald, sapphire, and gold rippled like a silent hymn. For a brief moment, the gothic interior of the haunted bookstore felt holy.
He just stood there, basking in the light. Not because he was particularly poetic, but because it felt real. Not a dream. Not a hallucination.
This was his life now. A cursed bookstore. A divine library that rewrote fate. And him? The overqualified therapist-turned-novelist-turned-librarian of madness.
"Morning," he murmured to no one in particular.
.
.
.
Levi stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom, freshly shaven and sharper than usual. A faint floral-sandalwood scent clung to his skin from the enchanted soap. His hair, still damp, had been combed neatly back, and he'd changed into a crisp black shirt, high-collared with silver cufflinks, paired with tailored slacks and his signature long coat.
He looked at himself in the mirror, gave a half-nod of approval, and descended the stairs.
At the bottom, he reached the bookstore's grand double doors, flipped the sign from CLOSED to OPEN, and paused.
Across the street, sitting cross-legged on the cobbled ground with perfect posture, was Princess Celine von Revola.
Clad in gleaming white armor that reflected the morning sunlight like a divine mirror, she had a short ceremonial sword at her hip and a pleased, almost radiant expression on her face. She looked like a holy knight waiting outside her master's temple.
Levi furrowed his brow.
Celine spotted him and instantly brightened. She stood and ran across the street with the energy of a puppy that had been waiting all night.
"Good morning, Master Levi!"
Levi sighed. "Did you even sleep?"
"I'm perfectly fine! Master Velgrin healed me last night."
His eyes narrowed slightly. Still, he checked her out of habit, examining her gait, skin tone, posture. No limping. No bruising. No trembling in her hands. Velgrin's magic did thorough work.
"Alright."
He turned back toward the door and opened it wider. "Follow me. Upstairs."
Celine nodded and followed him without hesitation.
.
.
.
Levi opened the door to the second floor with a resigned sigh.
"Guess I really am a therapist again."
The interior was spotless. Velvet carpet, bookshelves with neutral-toned hardcovers, a sleek marble tea table with two minimalist chairs, and of course, the centerpiece: a long leather couch facing away from the desk. The classic therapy lounge piece. Soft lighting drifted down from a series of floating mana lamps, each glowing with warm golden light. Everything radiated calm professionalism.
Celine stepped inside, her eyes wide with wonder. "Woah..."
Levi raised an eyebrow as she stepped further in, twirling slowly like a country girl stepping into a holy cathedral.
In fairness, the concept of therapy didn't exist in this world. At best, you got a slap from your instructor and a sermon about honor. At worst, a priest threw salt at you and told you to stop crying.
Celine walked up to the iconic therapist's couch, the one angled just right to encourage dramatic confessionals and weeping monologues, and squinted at it.
"This looks weirdly familiar," she murmured under her breath.
"I think Father has one in his private room..."
Her face turned red.
Levi, completely unaware of her internal royal trauma, casually walked over to the coat rack and hung up his jacket. "Alright. Armor off. Get comfortable."
Celine blinked. "Huh?"
"Take off your armor," he repeated, glancing back at her with a therapist's casual authority. "You can't relax properly while clanking like a knight in a tin barrel."
Celine's heart skipped.
Wait... wait what?
Take off... my armor?
He wants me... comfortable?
Her cheeks turned brighter.
So... you want my body, huh...?
A dangerous glint lit up in her eyes.
Well, if it's him... I wouldn't mind if he's my first time.
"Celine," Levi said, walking past her, completely oblivious.
"We're starting with basic emotional grounding. No combat drills, no mind magic, just you and your thoughts."
He didn't even notice the internal breakdown she was having.
Celine stared at the couch again.
That couch is dangerous. That couch has intentions.
She placed a hand on her chest.
No. I'm a princess. I can't just throw myself at him... even if he's gentle... even if he smells like midnight tea...
She smacked her forehead against the wall.
THUD.
"OW!"
Levi startle jumped 2 meters from the floor. He spun around. "What are you doing?!"
"I-I'm sorry!" she yelped, rubbing her forehead. "I was... calming myself!"
"By headbutting the wall?"
Celine bit her lip. "I'm a princess, Mr. Levi. I can't be casual about things like this..."
Levi furrowed his brow. Things like what?
He knew the look. He'd seen it before. It was the face of someone who'd just tripped over their own assumptions.
Ah. Right. This is the resistance part of therapy. Most people don't want to sit on the couch. They think it makes them weak.
He switched gears. Voice soft, posture relaxed, he smiled the smile of a man who used to talk people off ledges and coax out childhood trauma with cocoa and eye contact.
"I know it's hard the first time," he said gently.
"But I'm not your commander. Or your priest. I'm just someone who's here to listen."
Celine blinked at him.
"The session doesn't have to be serious. Just think of me as a friend."
Celine's heart fluttered.
Mr. Levi is so kind... His smile isn't like the nobles at court. It's not fake. It's warm. Real. I bet he gives amazing hugs...
"Okay," she whispered, her voice dainty and pink.
She began removing her chest plate. One buckle. Two. Her armor slid off with a soft metallic clink. Then she reached for her undershirt.
Levi, now seated across from her on his own chair, sensed something was off. The air felt charged.
He looked up.
And saw her fingers reaching for the hem of her shirt.
"Stop."
His voice was calm.
Celine tilted her head. "Hmm?"
Levi's eyes widened. "STOP!"
He leapt to his feet, flailing like someone had just walked into his apartment bathroom.
Celine froze. "W-What's the matter?!"
"What are you doing?!"
"I—well—I thought... since you asked me to get comfortable..."
"Comfortable doesn't mean NAKED!"
Celine turned red. "I-I'm already nineteen! It's okay, Mr. Levi! I'm mature!"
Levi looked like he'd just suffered a heart attack. "No! Listen to me!"
He pointed at the couch. "That is not a seduction couch! It is a therapist couch! No clothing removal allowed within three meters of that furniture!"
Celine blinked. "You're really not trying to seduce me?"
"NO!"
He practically screamed it.
Celine looked at the couch again. "Oh... ohhhhh... so this is for talking?"
"Yes!"
"Not... cuddling?"
"Gods, no!"
"I thought you wanted my—"
"No further words!"
She covered her mouth.
.
.
.
Levi sat on the therapist's chair with a thousand-yard stare, pinching the bridge of his nose like it owed him money.
Behind the folding partition, Celine was (thankfully) redressing herself, humming some innocent little tune while he tried not to die of secondhand embarrassment.
That's when the voice chimed in.
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION:
Congratulations! Host has successfully prevented an unlicensed romance scene.
Reward: +1 Self-Control. +10 Therapist Reputation. +Title: "Couch Defender."
Couch Defender?
SYSTEM:
You bravely stood between your therapy furniture and royal thirst. A true hero.
I stopped a girl from stripping in front of me because she confused therapy with foreplay. That's not heroism.
SYSTEM:
And yet you handled it with only one scream and minimal psychological bleeding. A performance worthy of—
SYSTEM REWARD: You have unlocked a new ability!
Ability: Empty Box of False Hope
Effect: Absolutely nothing. Just disappointment. Like your love life.
You know, I'm starting to understand why cursed libraries don't have HR departments.
SYSTEM:
Correction: We do. It's just me. Filing complaints with myself builds character.
You gave me a fake reward. You literally called it False Hope.
SYSTEM:
It's important to emotionally prepare you for future interactions with nobles, gods, and angsty teenagers. Think of it as emotional resistance training.
I already have PTSD, I don't need stat buffs for it.
SYSTEM:
Too late. New Trait Acquired: 'Mentally Resigned.'
Effect: Increases sarcasm output by 30%. May cause eye twitching when exposed to drama.
Okay. Okay. Deep breath. Focus. She's dressed. The crisis is over. I can be professional again.
SYSTEM:
Until she calls you "Master Levi" again in that voice like you're the final boss of a dating sim.
I swear if you keep talking, I'm going to shove you into the therapist couch.
SYSTEM:
Host cannot harm the System.
Doesn't mean I won't emotionally vent at you.
SYSTEM:
Ooooh, are we having a session now? Here, let me get my clipboard.
I'm the therapist. You're the cursed paperclip.
SYSTEM:
And yet, I'm the only one who hasn't screamed today. Curious, isn't it?
Levi reached into his coat, pulled out a peppermint, and popped it into his mouth with a dead stare toward the ceiling.
Go fuck yourself.
SYSTEM:
Physically impossible. Emotionally redundant. Request denied.