Crazy Awakening: My luck can copy Talents.

"Ishtar. Get out of my room."

"No."

"Ishtar."

"No."

"I’m going to count to three."

"Count all you want, sister. I’ve already seen everything there was to see."

Rhea Alastor closed her eyes with the patience of someone who’d been accumulating exactly this type of fatigue for eighteen years. Without moving from Adrián’s chest. Without covering herself. Without ceding a single centimeter of dignity.

"One."

"You’re not even covering yourself," Ishtar observed, taking another sip of her coffee with genuine admiration. "That’s the power of female confidence, Vega. Learn from it."

"Two."

"Vega, have you seen what’s underneath yet? Because to answer my sister properly, I need to know how much context you have."

"Ishtar. Three. Out."

"I’m drinking coffee."

Rhea opened her eyes. Her golden eyes—which ten seconds ago had been sleepy—focused with the precision of a sniper.

Somewhere in the room, an object moved without anyone touching it. Adrián registered, with the vague curiosity of a man no longer sure which existential category he inhabited, that the crystal vase on the nightstand was floating a meter above the table. Rotating slowly. Pointing its base in Ishtar’s direction.

"Oh," said Ishtar without any concern. "The vase. Again with the vase. Sister, your threat repertoire is getting repetitive."

The vase shot forward.

Ishtar turned her head half a second before impact, with the elegance of a cat that had dodged the same object many times. The vase hit the doorframe behind her, bounced, and crashed into the hallway.

"I’m going, I’m going," said Ishtar, stepping back but not turning around. "I’ll leave you to your metaphorical post-coital breakfast. Vega, a pleasure. See you in five minutes in the dining room. Put on pants. Or don’t. Either way works for me."

She closed the door.

Silence.

Rhea let out a long sigh against Adrián’s chest.

Adrián, who had spent the last ninety seconds executing very controlled breathing to avoid dying for the second time in twenty-four hours, swallowed.

"..."

"Don’t talk yet," Rhea murmured, still not moving. "I need a moment. Every morning I need a moment. She’s been like this since she was four."

"Okay."

"And you’re not going to talk about this either. Ever. At no point in your life or your death. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Excellent."

Rhea finally straightened up. Sat up in bed. Stretched like a cat, arms above her head, making absolutely no effort to cover herself. Adrián discovered with horror that he was already well-trained enough by life not to look, but he also discovered that "not looking" and "not seeing out of the corner of his eye" were very different ethical categories.

Rhea noticed.

"Sweetheart."

"Yeah?"

"You can look. You were reincarnated naked on top of me. You already lost that game."

"Well, I’m not going to say no to that."

She laughed. It was a short, rough, real laugh. She got out of bed with the fluidity of someone who’d spent centuries inhabiting her own body, walked to a dark wooden armoire on the other side of the room, pulled out a wine-colored silk robe, and put it on without rushing.

Then she pulled out a second robe—black, larger, clearly masculine—and tossed it at Adrián’s face.

"Get dressed. We’re having breakfast in the dining room. We’re going to talk."

And she walked out of the room without looking back.

---

Adrián sat on the bed with the black robe in his lap.

He looked at the robe.

He looked at the room.

The room was enormous. Bigger than his entire apartment in Kuoh. Dark wooden beams on the ceiling. Persian carpet covering an old wooden floor. A four-poster bed covered in cream silk sheets—rumpled, at that moment, by the evidence that three people had slept in them and one of them had bled through his chest before healing without a scar. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a night city—was it night? was it already another night? how much time had passed?—that Adrián didn’t fully recognize from that angle.

He ran a hand over his chest. Smooth skin. The pink line had almost completely faded.

He ran a hand over his face. Stared at his own hand.

I’m a demon.

I’m a demon.

Say it until it sounds less absurd.

I. Am. A. Demon.

No. Still sounds absurd.

He stood up. Put on the robe. Discovered that they’d also left him men’s underwear on a chair next to the bed—clean, folded, obviously bought specifically for him because it was his size. Adrián decided not to wonder how Rhea knew his size. There were already too many weird things that morning.

He dressed as best he could. Walked out of the room.

The hallway was long. Very long. Red carpet down the center. Walls with portraits of people who weren’t human—Adrián knew because one of them had horns in a Renaissance-style oil painting and another had three pupils in each eye. The portraits watched him as he passed. Adrián decided, again, not to question things.

At the end of the hallway was a double marble staircase descending into a main hall with a vaulted ceiling. At the bottom of the stairs was a broken vase—the one from five minutes ago—and a human-looking maid sweeping up the pieces. The maid looked up at him. Gave a small bow.

"Good morning, young master," she said in a completely neutral voice.

"...good morning."

"The dining room is to the right, through the wooden archway."

"Thanks."

Adrián walked to the right. Crossed the wooden archway.

And stopped.

The dining room had a dark wooden table as long as a medium-sized yacht. It could comfortably seat twenty people. At the nearest end, three places had been set: one at the head and two flanking it. Coffee in silver pots. Warm bread. Cut fruit. One perfectly boiled egg per plate. Bacon. Pancakes. Fruit Adrián didn’t recognize.

Rhea was already seated at the head, the wine-colored silk robe exchanged for a simple black dress—simple for her, meaning "expensive as hell but minimalist"—with a glass of red wine in her hand.

Ishtar was seated to her left. She was no longer wearing the devil cat pajamas. Now she wore a plain white t-shirt two sizes too big, no visible bra, and very short shorts. The lollipop was still in her mouth. She watched Adrián enter with genuine delight.

"Bro-in-law!" she said, patting the empty chair to Rhea’s right. "Come. I saved you the best seat. Next to me."

Rhea remarked, without stopping her wine-drinking, "Of course—because it’s right next to your older sister, little sister."

"Yeah. Next to me, across the table. It’s the same thing. Sit down now Bro-in-law."

Adrián sat.

A servant—this one with a discreet tail behind his formal trousers, which Adrián decided, categorically, not to process yet—poured him coffee. Adrián thanked him out of reflex.

"You don’t need to thank them," said Rhea, without looking up from her glass. "Lesser familiars are made to serve. If you thank them, they get confused and think you’re one of them."

"..."

"Don’t make that face. It’s a practical explanation, not a moral judgment. Eat."

Adrián looked at his plate. The smell was spectacular. His stomach, traitorously, decided that being freshly reincarnated didn’t prevent him from being hungry. He started eating.

Ishtar watched him eat. With concentrated intensity. Without blinking.

Adrián stopped chewing.

"...what?"

"I’m analyzing," said Ishtar, lollipop tucked into one side of her mouth. "How you eat. It’s information. Humans eat differently depending on who they are. You eat fast but not carelessly. Careful not to make a mess. That means you grew up without servants and taught yourself. Dad an engineer, mom..." she looked at him for a second. "Mom dead."

Adrián went very still.

Rhea, without turning her head, extended her arm laterally and hit Ishtar’s elbow with perfect precision.

"Ow."

"Ishtar. It’s his first day. Stop doing your little routine."

"I was just observing."

"You were invading him. Vega, ignore her. And finish eating, we have a lot to talk about."

Adrián nodded slowly. Looked at Ishtar. She smiled at him around the lollipop, her slightly too-long fangs glinting under the lamp light.

"She did die," said Adrián quietly. "When I was seven."

"I know," said Ishtar, still smiling. "I’m sorry."

"...thanks."

"You’re welcome, bro-in-law."

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Rhea drinking wine instead of coffee, as if it were eight in the morning in some universe where that was acceptable. Adrián eating mechanically. Ishtar destroying a pancake with her fingers.

Then, without him asking for anything, Ishtar said casually:

"Oh, bro-in-law, before I forget."

"Yeah?"

"Last night all three of us were naked."

Adrián stopped chewing for the second time.

"..."

"Yeah. All three. Reincarnation is a ritual that requires direct skin contact with the master and at least one blood-related witness. It’s tradition. Also I was curious. Also it was hot. Also I was too lazy to get dressed afterward. Lots of reasons."

"Ishtar," said Rhea, very slowly, very dangerously. "I swear if you finish that sentence—"

"If you’d woken up a little earlier," Ishtar continued, completely ignoring her sister, "I probably could have convinced Rhea to have a threesome. She always says no to these things at first, but after two glasses of wine and a well-placed compliment, she gets flexible. Ask me how I know."

Adrián choked on his bread.

"For real?!!! Shit, next time I’ll drink a lot of coffee so I don’t miss the opportunity."

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!