We Lease The Kraken! - A LitRPG Pet Shop System Story.

The giant man had crossed the street in only a few strides, though Jeremiah barely noticed. His gaze remained fixed on the empty space where the knife had been just seconds before.

I almost died.

The thought clung to his mind like a stubborn stain. The scene replayed in an endless loop. What was I doing? He wondered. Why did I think it was a good idea to fight? He should have taken a cue from Mani and run the moment those thugs laid eyes on him. Maybe a part of him had grown tired of running.

Running from his problems.

Running from his feelings.

Running from life itself.

It felt like that's all he'd done for months — run.

So when he'd come across something he could punch instead of run from, all his pent-up frustration had just... erupted.

That wasn't like him. It had been a reckless choice. Jeremiah wasn't a fighter. He wasn't a street-savvy kid like Mani, who was used to these situations. He had been a privileged young master who, until only last year, dined with not a silver spoon, but a golden one.

That he had survived this long in the Outskirts was thanks to luck, keeping his head down, and the kindness of strangers. If Samantha hadn't pointed him toward the Tell Tales Apartments, he knew he'd have been just another nameless body in some alleyway by now.

So why was he out here, throwing punches at street thugs? Why was he blindly following the System and Mero, chasing some vague threat?

His thoughts spiraled, tightening like a noose around his mind until a massive hand settled gently on his shoulder. Jeremiah flinched, his body tensing. He stiffly turned his head upward, meeting Ulrick's steady gaze.

"Are you alright, lad?" the giant man asked.

Ulrick's icy glare from earlier had softened, his hard expression easing now that the thugs had been dealt with.

"I… yeah… I mean… I think?" Jeremiah's voice came out flat, his eyes distant, unfocused.

Ulrick didn't seem convinced. He nodded toward Jeremiah's cheek. "Ya sure, boy?"

Jeremiah reached up instinctively, fingertips brushing his skin. A warm wetness met his touch. When he pulled his hand away, crimson smeared his fingers. Only then did he feel the slow trickle of blood running down his neck, soaking into his collar.

He had been cut. He had known that, in some distant part of his mind, but the pain had been nothing more than a sharp sting lost beneath the flood of adrenaline. Now, as he stared at the red staining his fingertips, his stomach twisted, and his vision swam.

"I…" His voice faltered.

Ulrick exhaled through his nose, a knowing nod following. He thumbed toward the bakery. "Why don't ya head inside, lad? I'll be in soon, once I finish dealin' with this lot." His expression hardened again as he glanced back at the unconscious thugs.

Jeremiah barely processed the words. He looked at the thugs, then at the bakery.

"Yeah… I think I'll do that. Thanks," he mumbled, his feet already moving.

It felt like wading through fog as he crossed the street, his body on autopilot. The distant ringing in his ears muffled the sounds of the city. He stopped in front of the bakery's entrance, staring blankly at the fogged-up glass before pushing through.

Dinnnnng!

The chime of the bell made him flinch, cutting through the haze in his head. He looked up, expecting an automated sensor like most modern storefronts, but instead, he found an old-fashioned bell hanging above the doorframe.

It was odd — unlike any metal he had seen before. It was as though three different metals had been melded together, not smoothly alloyed, but fused in a way that reminded him of marble cake.

The first was dark, nearly black, its surface flecked with rust — iron, he realized.

The second was silvery, with a rough texture he couldn't place.

Lastly, the third was a bright yellow metal, darkened in places, like aged gold.

Before he could ponder it further, a voice spoke behind him.

"Huh… a bit old-fashioned, but I guess it does the trick."

Jeremiah whirled around.

The bakery itself was nothing remarkable — familiar, in a way. Its open floor plan housed several long tables, each stacked with freshly baked goods, from rustic loaves of bread to golden, flaky pastries. The back was separated by a wide counter and a glass display case showcasing meticulously decorated cakes.

Yet unlike most bakeries, which favored pastel colors and bright, cheerful decor, Ulrick had chosen deep, earthy tones — rich wood, muted greens, and natural textures that gave the space a quiet warmth.

But Jeremiah barely registered any of it. His attention snapped to the small figure perched on the edge of a display table, a half-eaten pastry in hand.

"YOU!" Jeremiah jabbed a finger at Mero, his voice sharp.

Mero raised his pastry in greeting, chewing leisurely as Jeremiah stormed forward, eyes blazing.

When he reached the table, he stabbed a finger at Mero's chest. It was like poking a brick wall, though Jeremiah barely noticed through his fury.

"What the hell was that, Mero?!" He nearly shouted but forced his voice down at the last moment. "What were you thinking?! You nearly got me killed, man!" He jabbed again.

Mero frowned, glanced down at Jeremiah's finger, then casually brushed it aside.

"Ya were nevah in any real danger, Jerry." He licked a stray crumb from his thumb. "I ain't no fool. Even if yer big baker buddy hadn't stepped in, those street punks — Gifted or not — had no shot at puttin' ya down. Not in the state they were. Yer a System User now. That counts for somethin', even before yer temperin'."

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Jeremiah's expression darkened. "What are you talking about…?" the words caught in his throat. Mero's words churned in his head, stirring memories of the fight — the eerie calm, the way time had stretched, how movements he hadn't practiced in years had come so naturally. "What did you do to me? What did the System do to me?!" he asked.

Mero grinned. "Ah, so ya noticed, huh? Good on ya. No reason to hold yer hand, then. It ain't nuthin' the System did to ya, kid, just polished up what was already there. Go on, open yer System HUD. Ya gonna see a new—"

"Hold my hand? HOLD MY HAND?!" Jeremiah exploded. "When have you ever been anything but cryptic and evasive?! You say you're not a fool, but do you think I am? Do you think I don't see the half-answers you've been spoon-feeding me?!"

Mero's frown deepened. His voice dropped. "Listen here, Jerry. Like I said before, there's a process to this. An order to things."

Jeremiah clenched his fists. "Screw your 'process!'" His voice cracked with frustration. "I almost died, Mero! And now you're—"

"Ya wanna know somethin'?" Mero's voice went cold, his usual smirk gone.

Jeremiah froze.

"Sarah always said ya was sharp," Mero murmured. "She couldn't stop braggin' 'bout her little brother to anyone who'd listen." His gaze hardened as he pointed at Jeremiah. "But right now? All I'm seein' is a grown man fightin' the people tryin' to help him. You are an adult, right? Act like it."

The silence between them stretched, thick with tension, brittle as glass.

Jeremiah stared at him, his breath uneven.

Mero stared back, unwavering.

Jeremiah's fists clenched at his sides, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. His pulse hammered in his ears, drowning out everything but the raw, seething frustration bubbling beneath his skin.

Mero sighed, dragging a hand down his face before setting his half-eaten pastry aside. "Look, Jerry… I'm sorry. I really am. That was uncalled for." His voice had lost its earlier edge and softened with something closer to regret.

Jeremiah flinched at the words, his gaze snapping to Mero's face, wary — like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Mero held his gaze, voice steady. "I spoke outta line, and I'll own that. Yer frustrated, and ya got every reason to be. So am I. Nobody expected this mess — least of all me. In a perfect world, Sarah would be here to help with the things I can't explain." He exhaled sharply through his nose. "But… well, 'the Maker laughs at the plans of mortals' and all that."

The mention of Sarah's name sent a ripple through Jeremiah. His jaw tightened, his fingers twitching at his sides.

Mero didn't let the pause fester. He stood, brushing crumbs from his pants, and Jeremiah tracked the movement with narrowed eyes. The fairy chose to ignore the redness in them, the single wet trail cutting through the dried blood on his cheek.

"To make matters worse, life's been takin' swings at you left and right," Mero continued. "You lost your sister. The city's turned its back on you. And then there's the mess with yer schoolin'."

Jeremiah's fists clenched harder, knuckles going bone-white. His whole body coiled like a wire pulled too tight, muscles rigid with unspent rage.

Mero saw it all, but didn't back down. He took a step closer, his voice quieter now and softer — not patronizing, but understanding. "Ya got every right to be angry. No one's askin' ya not to be."

Jeremiah sucked in a breath, but the words stayed locked behind his teeth.

"I ain't even askin' ya to like me," Mero added, a wry smile ghosting across his lips. "Hell, I'd be surprised if you don't hate me later, given what's still ahead."

Jeremiah's shoulders jerked slightly at that, his glare sharp — but not as certain.

"But, Jeremiah," Mero pressed, more earnestly now, "what I need from ya is to trust that what we're tryin' to do is for yer own good in the long run. For everybody." A pause. Mero stared up at Jeremiah with unblinking eyes.

Finally, Jeremiah responded, his voice hoarse. "Why should I trust you?"

Mero shrugged. "You shouldn't. Not now. What I want you to do is trust Sarah. Trust what she was working for, Jeremiah. Trust what she gave her life for."

The words hit differently. Maybe it was the weight in Mero's voice. Maybe it was exhaustion creeping in now that the adrenaline had burned away. Or maybe it was the memory of Sarah's stupid, lopsided grin whenever she rambled about her latest project. Whatever it was, Jeremiah felt something in him crack, just a little. His shoulders sagged, his legs wobbled.

He slumped against a chair, then pulled it out and sat down. He ran his hands down his face, fingers no longer trembling with barely contained fury. For a long moment, he just sat there, breathing.

When he finally lifted his head, he took a slow, steadying breath and met Mero's gaze.

"I don't know if I can trust you," he admitted, voice raw. "Or the System. But I know I can trust Sarah."

Mero gave a slow, approving nod. "Fair enough."

"However," Jeremiah said sharply before Mero could speak again, "things need to change."

Mero exhaled, tilting his head. "Alright, kid. Lay it on me. What do you want?"

"What I want, is for you to be straight with me, Mero. No more riddles, no half-truths, no leading me around because it's easier for you. And no throwing me into fights just to prove a damn point."

He took another breath, as if trying to anchor himself. His gaze locked onto Mero's, searching for anything — a flicker of hesitation, a shadow of deceit — but found nothing. A part of him still screamed to walk away, to reject this madness. But another, quieter part urged him forward.

"What I want…" His words cut clean through the tension as he extended a hand. "…is an equal say in what happens from here on. I won't be anyone's puppet. Not anymore."

Mero's gaze flicked down to Jeremiah's outstretched hand, his expression darkening as his eyes lifted once more. When he spoke, his voice carried an edge — something deeper, something old. The air thickened, pressing in like unseen hands tightening around Jeremiah's lungs.

"Be careful with yer words, kid. Especially around the fae. Some things, once asked for, can't be given back."

A chill slithered down Jeremiah's spine, and sweat traced a cold path down his temple.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, the pressure lifted. Mero's smirk returned, light and easy, as if the momentary shift had been nothing more than a passing cloud.

"Lucky for you," he said, voice slipping back into that casual, almost lazy drawl, "I'm me."

Running a hand through his hair, the fairy guide sighed. "Look, I get what yer asking for, and I won't pretend ya don't deserve answers. But ya also gotta understand. There are things I can't tell ya. Not yet. Not 'cause I'm messin' with ya, not 'cause I don't want to, but because knowing too soon could be worse than not knowin' at all. The System's feeding you crumbs like it is for a reason."

He tilted his head, studying Jeremiah, then rubbed his chin, thoughtful. "That said… I might have a way to give ya what you want and keep us both in one piece. But it'll take time. Gotta pull some strings, call in a few favors."

Mero's gaze locked onto his. "I know ya don't trust me yet… but can I ask for time instead?"

It wasn't the answer Jeremiah wanted. He wasn't stupid — he knew a deflection when he heard one. Mero's words boiled down to little more than your concerns have been noted, and management will be notified.

But what truly held him back from rejecting it outright was the specific word the fairy had been careful to emphasize without making it seem as if he had.

What Sarah gave her life for… How much do you really know, Mero? Jeremiah thought to himself.

Jeremiah exhaled slowly, as if clearing the storm in his mind. It wasn't gone, but for now, it had quieted.

"Fine," he said at last. "I'll give you that. For Sarah's sake. But no games, Mero. If I think for one second you're stringing me along, I walk. Damn you, damn the System, damn whoever else might care."

Mero's smirk softened, and he nodded. "Fair enough."

Then, in the next breath, his entire demeanor shifted. He clapped his hands together, his tone bright and annoyingly smug. "Now, with that mess outta the way, let's get back to the fun stuff!"

Jeremiah folded his arms. He wouldn't call it over. There was still the matter of Mero's little stunt with the street thugs — and plenty of other questions besides. But for now, he needed time. Time to think, to cool down. Mero has asked for time. So Jeremiah would give him time.

He could wait.

"You were saying something about the System HUD?" he asked instead.

"Right!" Mero's eyes lit up. "You wanted to know what happened with cliché youth gang #241, huh? Go ahead and open up your System HUD. You should see something new."

Jeremiah raised a brow but complied, summoning the interface with a thought.

Sure enough, a new icon had appeared in the otherwise sparse tray — a black silhouette flexing against a brick wall. His silhouette. He knew it was, the way one recognizes their own shadow without question. More System weirdness.

He shot Mero a suspicious glance, but the fairy merely waved him on, practically vibrating with anticipation.

Jeremiah sighed, slouching slightly before giving in. With a shake of his head, he selected the icon.

A new window materialized before him.