Reborn as the Psycho Villainess Who Ate Her Slave Beasts' Contracts

"You mean when she explained that repeated careless death would regress my consciousness," Elara said.

"Bingo. Before that, you were in ’high-functioning self-destruct’ mode. We don’t waste full system support on people determined to throw themselves into metaphysical recycling bins."

"I wasn’t determined to die," Elara said. "I was indifferent to the risk. There’s a difference."

"In practice?" The mouse snorted. "Not enough of one. But now—" It pointed a tiny paw at her. "—you have officially agreed not to treat your life like disposable office equipment. Congrats. You unlocked me."

Elara leaned her head back against the sofa and closed her eyes briefly. The ache behind them receded a millimeter.

"So," she said. "You’re here to... what. Give me missions? Scold me about sleep? Hand out gold stars if I don’t get murdered in the next three months?"

"Oh, I ’like’ you," the mouse said. "Sarcastic ’and’ accurate. Yes, roughly. I monitor your status, offer guidance, occasionally intervene if you’re about to do something cosmically stupid. Think of me as your... project manager."

"I’m the project," Elara said. "You’re the tool."

The mouse’s wings stuttered. "You did ’not’ just call me a tool."

"You’re a process bridge between designer and product," Elara said calmly. "That’s what a tool is. That’s not an insult."

It squinted at her for a long beat. "You’re lucky she likes you, you know that?"

"I’m aware she’s invested in my continued existence," Elara said. "She made that extremely clear."