Transmigrated as the Cuck.... WTF!!!

"How did you…"

The words tumbled out before I could stop them. I stared at her, my eyes widening so far it almost hurt, as if that alone would help me make sense of what she'd just said. Shock wasn't a strong enough word.

Her brows lifted at my reaction, a flicker of curiosity crossing her face. She tilted her head slightly, a movement so small but deliberate that it felt rehearsed like a cat studying a cornered mouse. There was no malice in her eyes, but there was amusement.

"Now that's a response I never expected from you," she said at last, her lips curling in a faint smile that wasn't entirely warm. "Honestly, Arawn, you've piqued my interest even further."

She leaned forward, elbows resting against the polished surface. Her voice dropped to a hush.

"Come on," she murmured, "tell me everything. Everything about your experience with this element. Every corner, every hidden place, every story. Don't you dare leave out a single detail." She smiled faintly. "And don't even think about lying. I'll know. I always know."

Her words weren't a request. They were summons. The confidence in her voice suggested she was already sure of my answer.

Unfortunately for her, she was wrong.

"No."

I said it simply, flatly, like a door slamming shut.

"Huh?" She blinked at me, thrown off for the briefest second. "Repeat what you just said right now."

"No." I repeated, letting the syllable land between us like a stone in still water.

There was a moment of silence before she burst out laughing, the sound loud and almost musical. "Hahaha! You have some nerve, Arawn. Really dense nerves."

"This isn't about nerves," I replied, my tone still calm. "I just don't feel comfortable with you knowing about me or my history. I'm a rather mysterious guy, and I'd like to maintain that persona." I shrugged, as if brushing off the entire subject.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but the smile didn't leave her face. "Fair enough," she said after a moment. "If you don't want to share, I won't force you. Still…"

She leaned back, fingers drumming lightly against the table. "It wouldn't hurt you to share something, anything, about your element. As your teacher, I need as much information as possible if I'm going to make your training effective."

There was something in her tone then regret, maybe, or disappointment. Not enough to make me feel guilty, but enough to make me pause.

I was honestly surprised she didn't press further. Just a statement, a soft letting-go. Was that generosity? Strategy? Or simply patience? I couldn't tell.

"I'll share," I said at last, "when I see improvement in my powers. Right now, though…" I met her gaze steadily. "I don't trust you enough to hand over that kind of information."

Her brows rose again, but this time she only shrugged, as if she'd expected that answer all along. "Fair enough."

She turned then, swam across the water toward the round table near the side of the room.

The motion was fluid, unhurried. She sat down on one of the high-backed chairs, her posture perfectly poised, and extended her right hand in a beckoning gesture.

"Come," she said. "Sit in front of me. This is going to take a while. I want to share as much as I can with you, especially since, if you see progress, you might finally feel like telling me something interesting in return."

Her eyes glimmered faintly, equal parts challenge and invitation.

I gently shook my head. Her antics, as amusing as they were, often resembled that of a child. A child who never really had the chance to be one.

Then again—

She had let something slip back when I was checking the Ancestral Codex. A passing remark about her father, his cruelty, how he wasn't exactly the kind of man one would call a "good parent."

That wasn't the sort of detail one says lightly. And if even half of it was true, then she must have grown up in an environment that would have swallowed most people whole.

Maybe that was why she sometimes acted like this. A patchwork of playfulness and iron authority, constantly shifting between the two. Maybe she was simply trying to fill the void of a stolen childhood.

I scoffed—not out of amusement, but because of how uncannily familiar it felt.

She had a terrible childhood. I had a terrible childhood.

We were comrades in misery, though not by choice, and certainly not for reasons either of us would boast about. It wasn't a bond to be proud of—more like an unspoken scar we both carried, one that neither of us would admit outright.

Shoving that thought away before it could drag me further down, I pulled out the chair opposite her and lowered myself into it. The wood creaked faintly beneath me.

She sat there with a posture far too regal for her casual tone, her hand still hovering in the air from where she had gestured earlier.

"So," I said, voice flat and without any particular tone, "what's my first lesson?"

Wannre tapped a finger against her chin, tilting her head as though she were some philosopher entertaining a question of great depth.

A thoughtful expression took root on her face, but it was the kind of thoughtfulness that seemed rehearsed—like she enjoyed drawing out the suspense just to get a reaction.

Then, with a sudden snap of movement, her gaze cut toward me. Her eyes bore into mine, not with curiosity, but with an intensity that stripped away any room for evasions. She wasn't merely looking at me; she was dissecting me.

"Tell me, Arawn," she asked, her voice low yet commanding, "have any officials tried to recruit you? Whispering mutiny in your ear, perhaps? Offering you a place in something… less loyal to me?"

I met her stare evenly and slowly shook my head. "Unfortunately, no. No one has tried to recruit me. And honestly,"

I allowed a thin smile to tug at my lips, "I doubt anyone would be stupid enough to approach someone who was handpicked by you. That would be like digging their own grave with a silver spoon."

"Hmm." She hummed, nodding slightly, though her expression didn't soften. "You're right about that. But you're underestimating merfolk. Especially the officials. Not everyone is a fool like Gange—loud, reckless, predictable. The others… are sharper. More deliberate. Many of them know how to play their games well, and if my instincts are correct, some already harbor dissatisfaction with my rule. Not many, but enough. Enough to fester into something dangerous. And when I catch those rebels…"

Her lips curved, not into a smile but into something colder, "I will butcher them. One by one. Their blood will set the ultimatum. A reminder of what happens when one dares to test my authority."

I scoffed outright at that. "So instead of reforming your ruling into something better, more accountable, you'd rather double down on the tyrant act. Of course. Whatever keeps your throne warm, I suppose. But fine. If you train me well, I'll play along—I'll even snitch on them for you."

"Oh?" Her smirk sharpened, like a knife catching the light. "So conversely, if I don't train you well… you'll join them. That's what you're really saying, isn't it? I'm not wrong to assume that, am I?"

In response, I let out a quiet chuckle. A sound that wasn't amusement so much as it was an answer in itself.