Succubi Chapter 162. Pride Eats Ego
The imp squeaked aggressively, hopping on one foot while rubbing its tail, muttering in a rapid unknown infernal dialect that sounded like it was cursing my entire bloodline and possibly my future children.
"I genuinely did not mean that," I said quickly, crouching slightly. "Are you okay? Nothing broken? Spiritually traumatized but physically intact?"
It glared at me, cheeks puffing in outrage.
"I am really sorry," I repeated, hands raised in surrender. "Please do not sabotage my socks later as revenge."
The imp huffed loudly and scurried down the hallway, tail flicking like it was writing my name on a grudge list.
I straightened slowly.
"…That thing is absolutely going to curse my laundry."
I rubbed the back of my neck and kept walking, still thinking way too much for someone who should probably just be focusing on not committing accidental imp assault.
By the time I reached my room, the dorm noise softened into a comfortable background hum. I stepped inside, setting my books and supplies onto my desk.
I sat down and opened my academy assignment.
Arcana theory. Rune channel stabilization. Dominion aura layering equations. The usual magical nightmare math disguised as education.
I sighed and grabbed my pen.
"Be a good student," I muttered to myself. "Focus. You can handle feelings later. Like… when you are fifty. Or dead."
Time passed.
At some point I stretched and finished the work.
Done.
I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling.
Silence settled around me.
I stood, shuffled toward my bed, and collapsed face first onto the mattress.
I turned onto my back.
"…Complicated," I murmured.
My chest still felt tight. But not painful. Just heavy. Full. Like something inside me was growing and I did not know whether to nurture it or set it on fire for safety.
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, the dorm noise outside blended into a distant lullaby. Footsteps. Laughter. Someone arguing about potion storage regulations. Normal. Domestic. Weirdly comforting.
My hand rested over my chest.
"Love, huh…" I whispered.
The word felt foreign on my tongue.
Dangerous.
But…
Not unpleasant.
Then my door clicked.
Not loudly. Not aggressively. Just… opened.
I did not even need to turn my head to know who it was. The scent hit first. Something floral, sharp, and faintly metallic. Envy always smelled like something beautiful you were not sure you deserved.
"You don't like it?" Evelyn said.
Her voice was quiet, casual, but I caught the hesitation under it like a tremor in a blade before it struck.
I turned my head.
She was sitting in my chair, legs crossed, fingers absentmindedly tracing the armrest like she was mapping territory she was unsure she was allowed to claim.
Yeah.
This dorm has no privacy at all.
I watched her for a second before sitting up slowly, leaning back against the headboard.
"I do," I said.
She blinked. "You do?"
"I felt it the first time with Val," I admitted. "But it was subtle. Like background noise you only notice when it stops."
I exhaled slowly. "Then you."
She leaned forward just a little. "Then?"
The word hung there, delicate and dangerous.
"You regret it?" she asked.
"No," I answered immediately.
I ran a hand through my hair, staring down at my fingers as if they might translate my brain for me.
"I'm just… confused," I said honestly. "Feelings are not exactly my skill tree."
She huffed a quiet laugh, but it carried no mockery. Just understanding. Maybe a little fondness. Which made my chest do that traitorous warm tightening again.
She rested her chin on her knuckles, studying me like I was a puzzle she both wanted to solve and preserve.
"I started thinking," she said slowly, "you suppress yourself too much."
I looked up sharply. "Suppressing?"
She nodded. "Pride."
The word landed heavier when she said it.
"Pride eats ego," she continued, voice calm but steady. "I know you thrive on it. You wear it like armor. Like a crown. It makes you strong. Untouchable."
She shifted slightly in the chair, leaning forward more now, elbows on her knees.
"But when you reach deeper feelings…" she added quietly, "…you deny them. Like you are protecting something instead of consuming it."
I stared at her.
"I do," I admitted after a long silence.
I swung my legs off the bed and stood, crossing the space between us slowly. Each step felt heavier than it should. Not from fear. From honesty. Which was arguably worse.
I stopped in front of her. Close enough to smell her soap and the faint lingering heat of her aura.
"I dislike when I have someone that could influence my mood," I said.
My voice dropped lower. Rougher. Not angry. Just… honest in a way that felt dangerously exposed.
"I dislike it… Evelyn."
Her gaze did not break. Not once.
I leaned closer, bracing one hand on the back of the chair behind her.
"And feelings…" I continued, my tone slipping into something darker, sharper, more instinctive. "I always thought feelings would dull my judgment. My logic. My sharpness."
The words tasted bitter and familiar, like an oath repeated so often it became law.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Evelyn finally spoke.
"You think emotions make you weak," she said softly.
"I think emotions make me predictable," I corrected.
She raised an eyebrow. "And predictable means vulnerable."
"Yes."
She nodded slowly, absorbing that.
Then she stood.
Now she was close to me. Very close. The difference between us shrank until I could feel her warmth against my chest. Her fingers lifted, hovering near my collar before gently gripping the fabric of my shirt.
"Can I tell you something without you turning it into a philosophical war," she asked.
"…Try me."
Her lips twitched.
"Pride doesn't mean you stand alone," she said. "It means you refuse to kneel."
I frowned slightly.
"That is not the same thing," she continued. "Standing alone is isolation. Refusing to kneel is self respect."
Her fingers slid lightly over my chest, not seductive. Grounding.
"You are not dull when you feel," she said. "You are terrifyingly sharp when you care. You just don't know how to aim that part yet."
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