Chapter 53: "Crimson Tendrils, Caught in the Act"
Kimchi was… smug. A particular flavor of smug, the kind only a hyper-competent sword-wielding cuddle freak could achieve after six solid hours of manic, obsessive architectural labor. She'd been working non-stop, no food, no breaks, no self-care—just pure love-fueled momentum, carving out a battlefield with the tenderness of an over-attached war wife.
And godsdamn, was she proud.
She'd tailored the course specifically for Irvine. It was nostalgic. Familiar. A deliberate emotional ambush designed to lower his guard and tickle his memory glands. A cruel kindness.
All while continuing to rehearse her "natural speech," a slow-motion rebellion against the psychic chains once embedded in her throat. Her voice, still mechanical and clipped, was now laced with burgeoning inflection. Practiced humanity.
Out loud, to no one but herself, she muttered:
