Void Lord: My Revenge Is My Harem-Chapter 226 : Opening Shop and Increasing Harem Members IX

Chapter 226: 226 : Opening Shop and Increasing Harem Members IX

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It had been a few days earlier than the Edda’s return road scene, back when the jungle mud was still drying in the seams of John’s boots and the academy courtyard still felt too clean for someone who had spent a night turning beasts into cores.

John did not go to Professor Snake’s tower with pride in his chest. He went with a list in his head.

He needed a legal way to leave. He needed a way that did not start rumors. He needed a way that would not hand his enemies a handle to grab. Most of all, he needed a way that did not turn him into the kind of person he hated, the kind who solved everything by borrowing someone else’s power.

Fizz floated beside him, unusually quiet for the first ten steps, then he ruined the silence like he always did.

"Polite voice," Fizz reminded him, wagging a paw as if he were conducting an invisible orchestra. "Eyes respectful. No threatening the walls. No sucking anyone’s hat into the void, even if the hat looks at you funny."

John glanced at him. "When have I ever sucked a hat into the void?"

Fizz puffed up. "Not hats. Yet. But the vibe is there."

John did not laugh. He almost did, which counted as progress.

They crossed the academy grounds where students were moving between lessons, gossiping, practicing small spells in their hands like nervous habits. Some glanced at John longer than normal. That has become common lately. He could feel it even when he did not look up. After the jungle task, a certain kind of attention followed him. It was not fame exactly. It was more like suspicion mixed with envy and then stirred with curiosity until nobody could admit which flavor they tasted first.

Fizz noticed too. He always noticed.

"They are staring," Fizz whispered, delighted. "We are seasoning. We are narrative spice. We are the crunchy topping that makes people chew slower."

John kept walking.

The headmaster’s tower stood slightly apart from the other buildings, as if it preferred privacy the way some people preferred breathing. The stone was older, darker, and cleaner than it had any right to be. The door had no visible lock. It also had the rude habit of making visitors feel as if it was judging the shape of their intentions, which was irritating because John was already judging his own.

He raised a hand to knock.

The door opened before his knuckles touched.

Snake stood inside, pipe in his mouth, eyes calm and sharp, robe falling straight as if gravity itself had signed a contract to behave for him. As always his hat sat on his head like a secret that knew how to bite.

"You are early," Snake said, as if John had arrived for tea rather than to negotiate his life. "Come in."

John stepped in. Fizz floated after him like a bright orange comet that had learned manners. The door closed behind them with a soft sound, the kind a book makes when it decides it has heard enough nonsense for one day.

The office looked the same as always. It was an organized disaster. Books stacked in piles that looked like small cities. Papers with notes written in handwriting that could have been a spell or a headache. A chair behind the desk that looked expensive, not because it was decorated, but because it had the confidence of something that never got used by fools.

Snake gestured toward the sofa in the corner.

"Sit," he said.

John sat. Fizz landed on the armrest and pretended to be a serious scholar by crossing his paws and squinting at a book title upside down.

Snake did not sit. He moved around the desk, adjusted a few papers without looking at them, then leaned back like the desk belonged to him and the world did too.

"You want something," Snake said.

John’s throat tightened once. He did not show it. "Yes."

Fizz nodded enthusiastically. "We do. We want many things. Snacks. Glory. A statue of me in the courtyard with a small fountain that pours pudding."

Snake lifted a finger without looking at him.

Fizz fell silent instantly and then pretended he had been silent the whole time, which was impressive because Fizz usually could not pretend to be quiet even in his own dreams.

John took a breath. "I need permission to leave the academy regularly."

Snake’s gaze did not change. The air did, slightly. The room did not become hostile. It became attentive. It was the difference between an animal sleeping and an animal opening one eye.

"Leave," Snake repeated. "You have been granted supervised leave before. Task leave. Training leave. You returned."

"Yes," John said. "This is different."

Snake’s pipe made a small bubbling sound. John hated that sound. It always made Snake feel like someone who had all the time in the world, and John felt like someone who had to steal his minutes with his teeth.

"Explain," Snake said.

John kept his hands still on his knees. "I have property in the capital. A shop. A small forge behind it. A small house attached."

Fizz’s ears perked. "Our shop," he corrected with pride. "Fizz Holdings. We are a brand. A movement. A lifestyle."

Snake’s eyes flicked to Fizz for the first time. There was no warmth in the glance. There was no cruelty either. It was the look of a man checking whether a candle might tip over.

Fizz smiled innocently, which on him looked like a criminal trying to be adorable in court.

Snake returned his gaze to John. "You want to run a business while enrolled."

"Yes."

Snake’s expression stayed calm. "That is not common."

"I know."

"It will attract attention."

"I know."

"It will create enemies."

"I already have enemies."

Snake’s brow lifted slightly. "That was honest."

John did not flinch. "I do not want to hide behind the academy walls and pretend the world stops. The shop is part of my future. If I leave it untouched for months, it will rot before it begins."

Snake took the pipe from his mouth and set it down with care. He studied John’s face as if reading a page written in invisible ink.

"Why do you truly want this," Snake asked, "when it would be easier to focus on points and classes and survival."

John held his gaze. "Because I am tired of being owned by other people’s choices."

Snake’s eyes narrowed, interested. "Explain."

John did not rush. He chose words that were true but not dramatic. "My family threw me away. People like Aqua Fartray tried to buy my future like it was a meal. The academy gives structure. But it does not give independence. I need something that is mine."

Fizz hummed softly. "Also money. Money is very good. Money buys sweets and bread. Bread and sweets buy happiness. Happiness buys more sweets and bread."

John continued, ignoring Fizz like a practiced sibling. "The shop will be my base outside the academy. A place where I can bring people I trust. A place to work, to build, to trade."

Snake’s gaze sharpened. "Trade."

John nodded. "Yes."

Snake’s eyes became very still. The stillness felt like a hook that could catch lies. John did not lie.

"You want a pass," Snake said, "that allows regular exit. Business purpose. Quiet. Controlled. Not something first years usually touch."

"Yes."

Snake walked to the window and looked out at the courtyard. A group of first years were practicing mana control with small spheres of light. One sphere flickered and died. The boy holding it looked devastated, as if the light had been his only friend. Another boy laughed at him. Somewhere across the yard, a girl tried to be proud and failed because her spell turned into smoke and then sneezed.

Snake watched them like someone watching ants build a hill. Patient. Observant. Slightly amused at the idea that they thought they were important.

"You could ask the academy office," Snake said, still looking out.

"They would deny me," John replied.

Snake smiled faintly. "You are not wrong."

He turned back. "You came to me because you believe you are special."

John’s jaw tightened. "I came to you because you are the only person who can authorize it without turning it into a spectacle."

Snake’s eyes crinkled slightly. That was as close to praise as the man ever came. "Better answer."

Fizz clapped again, silently this time, with exaggerated seriousness, as if applauding a speech that had moved him to tears. Then he whispered, "He complimented you. In his language. That was basically a marriage proposal."

Snake glanced at him. Fizz stopped existing for a second, then resumed existing quietly.

Snake returned to his desk and opened a drawer. John’s fingers itched, not with void, but with the habit of preparing for trouble. Snake pulled out a thin slip of metal, smaller than a palm, etched with layered sigils that moved when John’s eyes shifted. It looked like a permission letter that had eaten a spell and grown teeth.