Beast Gacha System: All Mine

"...my Lord?"

Bessa’s voice cracked, and she instinctively stepped back as she registered who was standing in her doorway.

Of all the people in the world, of all the moments in time, why did it have to be him? He truly was the last person he wanted to see here at this very moment.

Yadriel frowned. He didn’t know who this man was, but the sight of him set something prickly running down his spine. This man was... incredibly dashing! Unfairly so, one that made other men want to check their reflections and sigh.

Dark hair, a broad stature, a face that looked like it had been carved by a sculptor who specialized in making husbands feel inadequate.

Who was he? Some ridiculously handsome farmer from a nearby village? He had come at the wrong time, whoever he was. The Emperor would surely be displeased by this interruption.

Yadriel sat back, resolved to ignore the man entirely. A person of such lowly origin didn’t merit acknowledgment from a Marquis. But his intention to do absolutely nothing was immediately curbed when, without warning, Damon stood up.

Huh?!

Was he actually mad?!

Was he about to have this pretty farmer thrown into the nearest ditch? That seemed a bit much, but Damon wasn’t particularly regarded as a sane man either.

"Your Maj—" Yadriel scrambled to his feet, ready to manage the situation. But then he caught sight of Damon’s face.

It was calm.

"Your exalted friend with the esteemed palate, Miss Bessa?" Damon asked, tilting his head, his tone warm and respectful.

W-why was it respectful? This... this felt even more scary—

Damon smiled. "Please, join us."

What?!

Yadriel’s brain stuttered. Why would the Emperor entertain this farmer-looking dashingly handsome man?! Was this some kind of imperial power play? Why was everyone being so polite to a man who had just materialized out of the countryside?

Yadriel had misunderstood. He hadn’t seen the man properly, but Damon had. For a split second when Bessa opened the door, Damon thought he saw a pair of horns, dark green hair, and something that might have been a tail behind him.

But before he could even blink, it all vanished like a mirage.

Did he see wrong? No, why would he imagine something like that? Was the man a beast?

Right now, he looked like a normal man with dark hair, no horns and no tail. The glimpse from before could have been a trick of the light, since they were inside, after all, and the light outside was much brighter. But still.

Whoever or whatever he was, if Bessa called him respectfully like that, it was only proper courtesy to be respectful too, for her sake. Damon understood this but Yadriel did not.

Seeing the Emperor stand so respectfully and invite the man in, Yadriel’s suspicion deepened. Was this man someone Damon knew? Or was the Emperor being polite simply because Bessa knew him? That seemed excessive.

But then again, why would the Emperor want to marry a woman who lived in a place like this? None of this made sense.

Damon’s eyes never left Bessa, even as he regarded the stranger.

As a man trained in swordsmanship, Damon possessed a sensitivity that ordinary men lacked. The Marquis, who had also trained with a blade since childhood, should have felt it too. But Yadriel hadn’t noticed.

He didn’t notice that this man had appeared out of nowhere, with no warning, no footsteps, no presence at all until he was suddenly there.

Strange. Had the Marquis let his guard down in the cozy intimacy of the cottage, or did this stranger have a presence so deceptively ordinary that people instinctively dropped their defenses?

"P-please... come in..." Bessa managed.

She stepped aside, and Jenggala walked silently into her home, his eyes sweeping the room before immediately frowning.

There were no more chairs.

The three chairs in the room were humble, short wooden things with high backs, used for both lounging and dining.

Bessa did have one more chair, a tall stool she used to raise her indoor potted plant toward the window so it could catch the sun.

She felt mortifyingly awkward. There was no way she was going to let Jenggala sit on that. So she offered him her own seat, and Jenggala sat without a word.

Now she was the only one without a chair.

But before she could do anything, Damon, who hadn’t sat back down, casually crossed to Bessa, and gently guided her into his seat. Only to walk over to the potted plant, picked it up, and sat down on the stool with the plant cradled in his lap.

Bessa sat dumbfounded.

This...

The emperor... was sitting...

His movements... the familiar way he...

Damon smiled at her. "I suppose I need to apologize to..." He paused, glancing down at the plant. "What’s his name?"

"S-Snakey," Bessa blushed so red she could have been mistaken for a sunset. How did the Emperor know she was one of those people who named plants?!

"Mr. Snakey, for stealing his throne." Damon sighed, then leaned down and whispered to the plant, "You can take mine instead. How about it?"

Meanwhile, Jenggala, who had entered the room in a daze, started to fume again. He didn’t even know why! All he knew was that this Emperor was holding a plant, sitting on a stool, whispering to it, and Bessa was looking at him like he’d just hung the moon!

Why?!

What’s so special about him?!

The crack in Jenggala’s chest widened and the molten iron in his veins was back.

The plant had no business being that comfortable there, and the Emperor had no business being that charming the way he didn’t understand how Bessa found him charming.

"So, would you kindly introduce us, Miss Bessa?" Damon asked.

That was the moment both Bessa and Yadriel snapped back to their senses. Yadriel shot to his feet, back ramrod straight, looking like a man who had just realized he’d been sitting at the dinner table while the house was on fire. "My Lord! P-please let me hold the pla—"

Damon glared at him, pulling the potted plant closer to his chest possessively. "Why do you want the plant?"

I don’t want the stupid plant, you madman! Yadriel screamed internally. I just can’t let you, the Emperor of Iondora, sit there with a potted plant on your lap!

Thankfully, Yadriel’s flustered reaction eased Bessa’s own incredulity.

Good. That was the normal response. She was also normal.

The Emperor was not normal, but at least she wasn’t alone in her suffering. She felt better now, marginally. Enough to stop wanting to sink into the floorboards.

"Snakey is very honored to sit on your lap, Your Majesty," Bessa finally chuckled, the tension in her shoulders loosening just a little.

Damon turned to her, and his expression softened with visible relief. "Ah, you’re finally loosening up."

Bessa smiled, genuinely grateful. He had noticed. He was Princess Angela’s elder brother. Blood never lied.

This man, for all his madness and marble-hewn beauty, was considerate enough to promise to transplant her soil, after all. Of course he was considerate enough to sit on a stool with a plant on his lap just to make her laugh too. He’d do these kinds of things.

"Your Majesty, I’d like you to meet my exalted friend. This is... Lord Jenggala." Bessa hesitated, and because she saw that Jenggala had come with his appearance transformed into a complete human disguise, she stopped there. She didn’t introduce who or what he was.

"And, my Lord, this is His Majesty, Emperor of Iondora, Damon Iondora..." Bessa turned to Jenggala with a small smile, "...my fiancé."

CRACKLE—CRACKLE—CRAAASH!

Jenggala’s heart...

...broke beyond repair.

***

The Grey Cat Inn’s downstairs dining hall was quiet in the pale afternoon light. After a long morning of work with the muffled hush of snow falling beyond the frosted windows, it was a nice, rare time.

Stormy the werecat, moved through the room. His purring filled the space loudly, steady and warm. It wasn’t a sound he made on purpose, it simply happened. Yes, a bit embarrassing at time. But it was almost the way breathing happened! He couldn’t help it when he was content!

He wiped down the heavy oak tables diligently, no longer noticing that he was purring himself.

He was a very furry man. His fur was thick and well-groomed, covering his entire body. His ears, large and tufted, twitched occasionally at the small sounds of the inn.

His posture was upright, but still unmistakably catlike, with a slight forward lean and a way of turning his head that was too fluid.

He wasn’t powerful enough to shift into a more humanoid form, but he didn’t mind. Not at all. He enjoyed his work here at the inn, the warmth of the hearth, the smell of fresh bread, the steady companionship of travelers and regulars.

It was a good life. A simple life. A life with plenty of fish and the occasional sunny windowsill.

Di-ding!

The bell above the front door jingled, and Stormy’s ears perked.

"Welcome!" He turned, his tail curling with curiosity, and felt his whiskers twitch with recognition.

A weresnake woman stood in the doorway, her clean nurse’s uniform immaculate despite the snow outside.

"Ah! You came again!" Stormy beamed, setting down his rag.

The woman smiled, her eyes a little tired but warm.

"Is... Is she here...?" she asked, her voice soft and a little hopeful.

"Unfortunately, she left a couple of days ago. I’ll inform her of your arrival," Stormy said gently. Then, without missing a beat, "Would you like some lunch? It’s on the house!"

The weresnake lady’s smile grew. "Thank you. I’d like it."

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