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

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Saturday, October 1st, 2253 - 11:54 am

Bean & Burrow Cafe, Central

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Jeremiah studied the gold-leafed menu perched on the edge of their marble-topped table, but his attention drifted almost immediately. The Bean & Burrow was the sort of place he'd only seen in holos — a blend of high-gloss Central fashion and whimsical animal cafe charm. Overhead, lanterns shaped like folded origami foxes cast soft shadows over pale wood and velvet booths. Scents of caramelized pastry and dark roast drifted in the air, mingling with the faint, clean note of ozone that always seemed to hang over Central.

It was late morning, and the place thrummed with gentle, curated energy — the hush of voices, the rustle of magazines, the occasional bell-chime from the door. But what really set it apart were the animals: rabbits curled on velvet cushions, a sleepy raccoon sprawled in a window alcove, and everywhere the light-footed flicker of kittens darting from table to table.

A young waitress padded over, her steps near-silent on the polished floor. She wore crisp white gloves and tall, gray-furred ears perched above her cap, the latter twitching as she offered a bright, professional smile. "Welcome to the Burrow! May I get you started with drinks?" Her accent was clipped and local, all practiced hospitality.

Sam grinned up at her, flicking a strand of blue-dyed hair behind one ear. "Flat white, oat milk, two sugars. Oh, and a croissant. The kind with the berry glaze, if you have it."

The waitress beamed and turned to Jeremiah, her tablet poised.

He blinked, a little caught off guard by the pageantry. "Uh… just coffee. Black. And…" His eyes slid over the chalkboard. "Whatever's hot and not likely to bite."

The waitress's laugh was light, and the ears atop her head twitched in amusement. "No promises on the last part, sir." She scribbled on her pad, then with a little bow, drifted off between tables.

Jeremiah had just relaxed into the deep cushion when something small and warm landed squarely in his lap. A tiny kitten — all silver stripes and too-big paws — blinked up at him, let out a demanding mewl, and promptly began to knead his thigh with determined little claws.

Jeremiah shot Sam a flat look, arching one brow in mock reproach. "An animal cafe? Really? You drag me all the way to Central just to put me back on the clock?"

Sam snorted, stifling a laugh behind her hand. "It's research, obviously. Thought you might pick up a few ideas." She lounged deeper into the velvet booth, boots kicked up and ankles crossed, as if she'd claimed this corner of the city for herself. "Besides, this place is one of the shops the shelter partnered with, back before all the… mess."

A gentle hush settled between them, filled with the soft clatter of cups and the lazy hum of conversation from the other tables. Sunlight spilled through tall windows, painting shifting patterns on the marble floor, and the air was perfumed with coffee, pastries, and something faintly floral.

"Sam…" Jeremiah broke the silence at last, voice quiet but sincere. "I'm sorry. The shelter wasn't your responsibility. I shouldn't have disappeared like I did. But… thank you. For looking after everyone. Paul, the animals, all of them. The way Paul tells it, if it wasn't for you, they would've had to shut down long ago."

A faint blush colored Sam's cheeks, and she looked away, fiddling with the edge of her napkin. "It's fine. Really. I know how much that place meant to Sarah — and to you. I couldn't just stand by and do nothing." She gave a little shrug, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Besides… I always liked helping out there."

Jeremiah rolled his eyes as she tried to dismiss it like it was nothing, but he couldn't hide the smile tugging at his lips. Absentmindedly, he scratched behind the kitten's ears; the little creature responded by purring even louder, a warm, buzzing weight curled contentedly in his lap.

Their drinks arrived on a mirrored tray, the waitress balancing it with casual ease. The croissant was glossy with berry syrup, and Jeremiah's mug was etched with a little badger in a suit. Sam made a delighted noise and snapped a quick picture with her phone.

For a while, they let the comfortable silence settle. Jeremiah sipped his coffee, watching the sunlight flicker on the glass, the kitten's weight a gentle, grounding pressure. The sounds of the city outside faded behind soft jazz and the subtle, ever-present hum of magic — so different from the Menagerie's homey clatter.

Eventually, Sam set her cup aside and leaned forward, her expression growing serious. "Jer… I've been thinking about all of this. The System, the shop — what Sarah left behind for you." She hesitated, searching his face with a gaze that didn't flinch or shy away. "You know I'm not as close to it as you. But I can't shake the feeling that whatever she built… It's more than just a gift for you. After what you told me at the shop, I'm even more sure."

Jeremiah went still, the shift so subtle it would be invisible to anyone but Sam. His fingers tightened around the mug, knuckles paling, and he stared into the coffee as if searching for answers in its swirling reflection. The kitten in his lap stretched luxuriously and curled tighter, perfectly content as the tension in its human mount simmered just beneath the surface.

Sam's voice softened, careful but insistent. "All week, I've been turning it over in my head. Trying to remember how Sarah acted those last few months. She was distracted, sure — but it was more than that. She was driven. Obsessed, maybe. Whatever she was working on… it was big, Jeremiah. Bigger than anything I've ever seen her tackle. And it's starting to feel like it all led to this."

She glanced toward the window, letting her gaze drift out to the steady stream of pedestrians and the sunlight glinting off shopfront glass. Her voice dropped lower, threading between the distant sounds of the city. "Have you ever wondered if—if the System and… her death are connected?"

Jeremiah's eyes flicked nervously around the cafe. He took in the polished brass fixtures, the laughing clusters of patrons, the too-attentive waitstaff, and the record player crooning quietly near the bar. Central was gorgeous, all polished wood and old-world charm, but if there was one thing it lacked, it was privacy.

He leaned in, dropping his voice to a near-whisper. "Sam, is this really the place? Central's about as famous for privacy as Sally is for subtlety."

Sam's grin was sudden and sharp. She leaned forward, flicking open the front of her jacket just enough to reveal a slender brooch at her lapel — a delicate nest of golden circuitry pulsing with faint blue light. "Relax. I'm one of maybe a hundred A+ Grade Gifted on the planet. When you hit that level, privacy's not a luxury — it's survival. This little thing? Conceals identity, jams audio, messes with any cameras or scrying. Covers anyone with me, too. I could probably smuggle a dragon in here and no one would notice."

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Jeremiah let out a long, uneven breath, the sound almost swallowed by the gentle thrum of the cafe. "You're not wrong," he admitted, tracing the rim of his mug with a restless finger. "I've… had suspicions. I think I'd have to be blind not to, after everything this week. There are things —" He hesitated, jaw tightening as he searched for words that wouldn't betray too much. "There are things I can't explain yet. Things I can't tell you. Not just because I don't trust you, but because… I'm not sure it's safe to know."

He felt the weight of Mero's warning pressing at the back of his mind, sharp as broken glass. Sarah built the System for a reason, to fight something bigger than either of them. Stagnation.

Then there were those stories Mr. Roger had told him. About Curtain Fall, and karmic magics. It was too neat, all these pieces converging. Too pointed. But he didn't have the whole picture. Not yet.

Sam's gaze sharpened, but Jeremiah kept his eyes on the coffee, his voice going brittle. "Look, Sam, I know you want answers. I do too. But this isn't like hacking some city grid or breaking into a vault. I'm just —" His voice caught, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "You're an A+ Gifted. You can snap your fingers and erase half a city's worth of cameras. I'm just… me. I get by. I'm not even sure I should be in the middle of all this, let alone trying to untangle whatever Sarah left behind."

The kitten in his lap shifted, kneading a little harder, as if echoing his tension. He drew a shaky breath, forcing himself to look up and meet Sam's eyes. "I know there's something more going on. I know I'm probably a piece on someone's board. But right now, all I can do is look after the Menagerie. Make sure Billy, Sissy, and the others are safe. If I start digging for answers I'm not ready for —" He shook his head. "I could make things worse. For everyone."

Sam's expression softened, just a little, but she didn't look away. "Jeremiah…"

He shook his head again, quieter this time. "I need to focus on what I can do, Sam. The rest will have to wait."

A hush lingered between them, soft as the velvet lining of the booth. At last, Sam broke the silence.

"You've changed, Jeremiah."

The words landed heavier than she seemed to intend. Jeremiah's shoulders stiffened, but before he could respond, Sam hurried to add, "I mean that in a good way!"

He arched an eyebrow at her, skepticism flickering in his eyes. Sam, suddenly shy, peered into the swirling depths of her coffee.

"You've always been the responsible one," she said, her voice quieter, edged with memory. "Sarah was brilliant, but, let's be honest. She could be a bit airheaded at times."

Jeremiah's laugh startled the kitten in his lap. "That's an understatement. Did I ever tell you about the time half her lab nearly caved in because she couldn't stick with a project for more than an afternoon?"

Sam grinned, lifting her gaze to meet his. "You did. And every time, it gets a little funnier."

Their laughter trailed off, replaced by a gentler energy — something warmer, more thoughtful.

"Like I said," Sam continued, her tone earnest, "you've always been dependable. The kind of person who fixes things before anyone has to ask." She hesitated, searching for the right words. "But you know, you're more like Sarah than you realize. When you see something that needs doing, you just… charge right at it. Doesn't matter if you should, or even if you can. You just go."

A flush crept up Jeremiah's neck. He opened his mouth, ready to object, but the protest caught in his throat. How could he deny it? Hadn't he cornered Mero for answers the moment things got weird? Rushed headlong into his infiltration plan without so much as warning Ulrick? He stared at his hands, wondering if a single week was really enough to change a person so much.

Not for the first time, he wondered just how much the System was changing him — and whether it was truly for the better.

"But now," Sam said, breaking into his thoughts, "it's like I can still see that same old you, but you're… different. Tempered, maybe. Like you're thinking less about the things you have to do, and more about the people you're doing them for." She hesitated, a wistful note coloring her voice. "It's… good to see, Jerry."

The quiet that followed felt heavier than before, full of unsaid things.

Suddenly, Sam stood, her chair scraping softly against the tile. She kept her gaze fixed on her mug. "Jerry, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought this up. I know you and Mero asked me to let it rest. It's just…" Her hand tightened around her cup until her knuckles went white, and she gave a small shake of her head.

Jeremiah's chest ached at the sight. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that he wasn't the only one carrying the weight of Sarah's memory. Wasn't the only one she'd left behind.

"Sam…" he started gently, but Sam just shook her head, hair falling forward to hide her face.

"No, really, it's fine." Her voice was thin, strained. "This was supposed to be a fun trip. A way to celebrate your first week at the Menagerie. Instead, I—" She let out a breath, nearly a laugh, but it broke halfway.

"You don't ruin anything, Sam. Come on, sit back down —" Jeremiah reached across the table, but she was already moving, grabbing her drink and tossing back the last of it in a single swallow. With a swipe of her hand, she cleared the digital tab, the glowing display blinking out with a soft chime.

"I should go, Jeremiah," she managed, words tumbling out faster now. "It really was fun. Message me, okay?"

Before he could answer, she was moving away from the table, the chair barely settling before she hurried for the door. "Sam—!" he called, but by the time he set the kitten gently on the floor and rose to follow, she was already through the door and swallowed by the midday crowd.

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Jeremiah left the Bean & Burrow with a leaden ache in his chest, the midday bustle of Central blurring past him as he made his way back toward Market Street. The city seemed more distant than ever, all glass and gold edges, too bright, too clean — a world apart from the homey clutter of the Menagerie. He kept replaying Sam's words in his head, hearing the hurt beneath her bravado, and the quiet hope she'd tried to offer him.

You've changed, she'd said. He wasn't sure if she meant it as comfort or warning, but the truth was, he had changed. The old Jeremiah would have turned inward, buried himself in routine and grief. He would have let the world drift past, content to survive rather than move forward. But this week had forced him to step beyond comfort. The System hadn't just handed him power or answers; it had handed him responsibility, and a web of choices too tangled to ignore.

He paused on the corner opposite the Menagerie, watching sunlight gleam on the painted sign. Sam's suspicion about Sarah's death and the System echoed through him, unsettling and true. He wanted answers. He always had. But every time he edged close — questioned Mero, picked at System menus, stared at old pictures of Sarah in her cluttered lab — he hit a wall. Not just the wall of Mero's warnings, though those were genuine enough.

Jeremiah kicked at a loose pebble, watching it skitter along the sidewalk. Yet the urge to chase the truth was like an itch beneath his skin, maddening and constant. He didn't want to believe there was a connection, but every clue, every warning, pointed to a bigger picture that he could no longer afford to ignore. And he had to admit to himself that maybe some small part of him was scared.

Scared of what those answers might tell him.

Scared that he wouldn't be strong enough to face them.

But… did he have to stay that way?

That question stuck with him as he passed through quieter streets, the bustle of Market Street fading behind him. He'd been treating the System as a keepsake, a piece of Sarah to cradle and protect. He'd focused on the Menagerie, on building a haven for the animals and people Sarah had loved. That was noble, maybe even necessary, but it wasn't enough.

As he crossed the street and reached for his keys, Jeremiah realized, with a sudden clarity, that he was tired of living only for the past. Yes, the System was Sarah's legacy, but it was also a tool. His tool now. If he wanted to honor her, if he wanted to protect Sam, the animals, the people who had come to rely on the Menagerie, he had to do more than just keep the doors open. He had to become strong enough to chase the truth himself.

The bell chimed as he stepped inside. Warm sunlight and the familiar scents of the shop washed over him. Jeremiah stood for a long moment, letting the door swing shut behind him, and squared his shoulders.

No, he didn't have all the answers. Maybe he wasn't ready yet.

But he would be.

Jeremiah set his jaw, resolve threading through his chest like steel. He would grow the Mystical Menagerie. For Sam, for Sarah, for himself, and for the strange, magical little world she'd entrusted to his care.