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

Lewis sat cross-legged on the floor of the Mystical Menagerie's cafe, sunlight spilling in golden slats across the tile. Around him, the puppies tumbled in a delighted frenzy — Tosh barking as Tish darted beneath a cafe chair, launching themselves at squeaky toys with all the heedless energy of youth. Lewis grinned, rubbing Milo's ears as the old hound rumbled contentedly beside him. It was Sunday, the only truly quiet day the Menagerie had, and with the store officially closed, he'd been content to let the animals rule the space for a while.

It was peaceful, if a little odd. Lewis had carried Jeremiah to the staff lounge after he'd collapsed on the behest of Mero. He still wasn't sure what strange arrangement Jeremiah had with the little blue-winged fairy, but Bastion had warned him not to pry too deeply into things. The older man had always been wary of anything Wyrd-related — for reasons he never fully explained — but Lewis knew enough to heed his warnings. Lewis himself had gotten used to oddities since taking this job, but today he was just glad to help out, even if he didn't really know why.

He tossed a rubber bone and laughed as the puppies immediately gave chase, skidding across the sunlit floorboards. He could almost pretend the world outside didn't exist. Until a sharp, deliberate knock broke the illusion.

Lewis stiffened, twisting around to look at the front door. Through the painted glass, he saw a figure standing just outside, framed by the late-afternoon sun — a man with a cocky, lopsided smile and a shock of wild, brown hair. The grin was familiar enough to send a jolt through Lewis's chest. Jonny. Even from this distance, he recognized the man's easy swagger and the cluster of shapes looming behind him.

Lewis's gut tightened. He pushed himself to his feet and crossed to the door, the puppies swirling at his ankles. He raised a hand, waving the group off through the glass. "Sorry!" he called, pitching his voice to carry, "Shop's closed today! You'll have to come back tomorrow."

Jonny's smile never wavered. He leaned closer, cupping his hands around his mouth. His voice, slightly muffled, oozed through the door. "C'mon, Lewis, don't be like that! Just let us in for a minute, yeah? We're old friends, right?"

Lewis shook his head, anxiety prickling beneath his skin. He tried to sound firm, though he was painfully aware of the glass and the lock between them. "Not today, Jonny. Seriously — the owner's not here, and we're not open."

The conversation was muffled, both sides raising their voices to be heard. After a moment, with the puppies barking at his feet and Jonny still insisting, Lewis hesitated. He thought about Jeremiah, about the responsibility he'd been trusted with, and the nervous way Mero had asked him to watch the shop for just a few hours. But Jonny's group didn't look like they'd be leaving soon, and Lewis knew from experience that refusing them outright could escalate things fast.

He unlocked the door and cracked it open, just enough to better hear Jonny's protests. "I told you, Jonny, we're not—"

Jonny seized the opportunity, shouldering the door wide with a practiced, casual shove. Markus moved in behind him, blocking the exit, while Mouse and Niko slipped through in their wake, spreading out across the shop with the easy confidence of men who'd done this sort of thing before.

"See?" Jonny said, flashing a winning grin as he sauntered inside, hands spread wide. "Much better. No need to be so unfriendly, Lew."

Lewis scrambled after them, trying to plant himself in Jonny's path, but the gang leader was already moving, eyes roaming over the shelves and cafe displays. "Look at you, Lewis," Jonny drawled, the words loud enough for the others to hear. "Workin' a fancy shop like this — thought you'd always be a squatter, but here you are." He nudged a display stand with one foot, sending a trio of cat toys rolling. "Nice place. Bet you don't even miss the old days."

Niko immediately made a beeline for the pastry counter, pressing his nose to the glass. "Hey, you got any of those berry croissants left?" he called, and before Lewis could protest, he'd opened the case and started stuffing his mouth.

Markus stood sentry at the door, arms folded, blocking any escape with his sheer size. Mouse drifted along the back shelves, running his fingers along the jars and bottles with a look that made Lewis uneasy.

Lewis trailed Jonny anxiously, repeating, "Shop's closed, Jonny. Seriously, you guys can't be here. If you want to come by tomorrow—"

Jonny ignored him, moving with slow, predatory ease through the displays. His gaze swept over the neat rows of collars and toys, then landed on the glass case near the counter. He whistled, low and appreciative. "Now what's this?" he murmured, squinting at the display of magical talismans within. He leaned in, nose almost touching the glass, eyes narrowed at the etched runes and curling script.

But when Jonny's eyes found the Ten-tacles talisman, the casual amusement in his face vanished. The mock-friendliness dropped away, replaced by something colder, harder — a sharp calculation that made Lewis's heart stutter.

Jonny's voice dropped, dangerously quiet. "These magic items of yours… what are they, Lew? Especially this one." He tapped the glass above the Ten-tacles talisman, each word cutting.

Lewis hesitated, feeling suddenly exposed. "They're called Beast Talismans," he answered, voice unsteady. "They're… a shop specialty. Each one grants a minor magic effect — temporary, nothing dangerous. That's all."

Jonny's eyes never left Lewis'. "Show me. Open the case."

Lewis shook his head, forcing more firmness into his voice than he felt. "I can't. The case is locked, and even if I could, the shop's closed. If you want a closer look, you'll have to wait until tomorrow. Only the owner can unlock it."

A muscle twitched in Jonny's jaw. "Don't jerk me around, Lewis. I said I want to see it. Now."

Lewis took a step back, pulse hammering. "Sorry, Jonny. I can't."

The silence stretched, brittle as glass. Then Jonny exploded, voice cracking across the shop. "You think you can just tell me no now? You forget who you're talking to? I'm not some nobody off the street, Lewis. You don't get to tell me to wait!"

His anger echoed off the shelves, drowning out even the puppies' barks. Lewis stood his ground, trembling but unyielding, as Jonny's glare promised trouble still to come.

——————————————————

Jeremiah shoved open the staff lounge door with more force than he intended, nearly losing his balance as the sudden sunlight stabbed his eyes. The courtyard beyond was flooded with late-afternoon gold, shadows pooled under the ash tree, dappling the flagstones. He staggered, pulse thrumming, limbs lagging a half-beat behind the frantic orders of his mind. His new instincts roiled beneath his skin — awareness stretching into every muscle and nerve, demanding, urgent, as if his whole body were a team of uncertain horses, still arguing over who held the reins.

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By the time he crossed the courtyard and reached the back entrance to the shop, the worst of the dizziness had faded. His stride steadied, nerves settling into a wary, humming alertness. Each breath came easier, and the act of walking — heel, toe, shift, balance — became less an act of conscious effort, more a pattern, rippling outward through his newly awakened body. He could almost feel the lines of tension running through his frame, could sense the delicate dance of nerves catching and releasing, syncing one by one.

He pressed his palm against the doorframe, lingering for a single heartbeat, breath catching in his throat before he stepped inside.

The scene beyond hit him like a sudden slap of winter air: Lewis stood behind the front counter, back squared, but jaw tight, a nervous sheen of sweat glistening along his brow. Before him, blocking the shop's entrance and fanning out across the tile, stood four young men — street-tough, sharp at the edges, eyes hard and restless with a hunger for trouble. Their postures reeked of practiced nonchalance, but Jeremiah saw the tension in their frames, coiled and ready, like wire drawn too tight.

He recognized them instantly. At the front stood Jonny, all cocky bravado and razor-thin smirk, his narrow face set with the swagger of someone who wasn't used to hearing "no." Boots planted wide, shoulders squared, chin jutting in open challenge, Jonny's presence was a dare all on its own.

Clustered behind him, the rest fell into place like shadows.

Lewis's voice was low, brittle with strain. "Look, I told you already — the shop isn't open today. I can't just—"

"Yeah, yeah, you 'can't just.'" Jonny rolled his eyes and banged his palm on the counter, making the jars of catnip treats rattle. "That's what you said ten minutes ago. You hear that, boys? Poor Lewis here's got all these shiny things in glass and won't even let a customer look at 'em. What kind of shop is this?"

Jonny chuckled and shook his head. "The little squatter gets a job with the fancy Central boss and suddenly he's too good for us? Can ya believe that?"

Markus shook his head too, clicking his tongue as he did so. "Disappointing, ain't boss? Maybe he needs a reminder of who he's talkin' to?"

The men crowded closer, and Lewis took a step backward.

A flash of heat crawled up Jeremiah's spine. He stepped forward, trying to project the kind of calm authority his nerves had yet to master. "Afternoon, gentlemen," he said, voice level, though it came out a hair softer than intended. "Is there a problem?"

Jonny's head snapped around, eyes flicking over Jeremiah with a glint of something between contempt and calculation. For a moment, he didn't speak, as if measuring what he saw: the crisp vest, the tired eyes, the badge of ownership written in every line of Jeremiah's posture. Then he sneered, barking a sharp, ugly laugh. "Well, look at this! Bossman's finally up from his nap. Maybe you can explain to your employee how customer service works — unless you all just sit around in the back and let the animals run the place?"

Lewis stiffened, jaw tight, but he didn't look away. "I told you, Jonny, the cases are locked. Only the owner can—"

"Oh, he told me," Jonny drawled, his voice pitched just loud enough to cut through the room. "He told me plenty." He jabbed a finger at the display case, tapping the glass with exaggerated impatience. "I wanted a closer look at one of those… talismans, they're called?" His gaze settled on Jeremiah, brow drawn in concentration, as if sifting through memories that stubbornly refused to fall into place. "Don't know if I buy all that talk about what it can do. But funny enough… there's been a thief around here pulling some pretty similar tricks. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Bossman?"

Jeremiah's pulse skipped, but the calming weight of the Regalia pressed the panic down, smoothing his features to cool composure. Did Jonny suspect him? In retrospect, Jeremiah should have suspected something like this would happen, but he had been so excited about the prospects of the talismans, he hadn't properly considered it. The only question was, could he turn this to his favor?

"I can assure you," Jeremiah replied, keeping his tone light but steady, "the Beast Talismans are exactly what we say they are — even if it stretches belief." He gestured toward the door, his posture relaxed but firm. "However, as my groundskeeper mentioned, the shop is closed for the day. If you'd like to come back tomorrow, I'd be glad to demonstrate them myself."

He let his voice drop, hand resting on the display case, a subtle shift, but it carried a promise. "Of course, if you're set on it, I can give you a… personal demonstration now."

A nervous hush fell over the group. Markus and Niko both edged a step back, wary of the steel threaded through Jeremiah's words. Mouse's hands stilled, his bravado faltering beneath the cold glint in Jeremiah's gaze.

Jonny just smirked, folding his arms, his stance unyielding. "What's this? Threatening your customers now?" His voice echoed off the shelves, a mocking edge creeping in. "Pretty sure folks around here wouldn't like that story much."

But when his eyes met Jeremiah's, the smirk faded. Jonny's brow furrowed, head cocking slightly as suspicion bloomed in his gaze. "Wait… do I know you from somewhere? You look — familiar. Real familiar."

Jeremiah forced a friendly, bland smile, the Regalia banishing the tremor from his fingers. "I meet a lot of people in this business, Jonny. Market Street's not such a big place. I think I'd remember if we'd ever crossed paths before."

Quickly, he steered the conversation away from dangerous ground. He turned to Lewis, letting his voice drop into something gentler. "Thank you for handling things, Lewis. How about you head back, and leave the rest of this to me?"

Lewis flushed, looking down at his hands. "Sorry, boss. I tried. When I opened up the door they just pushed right past me."

Jeremiah shook his head. "No worries. I have things handled here."

Lewis nodded, and with one last look at Jonny and his men, headed for the storage room door.

When Lewis was gone, Jeremiah nodded, then turned back to the group, anger prickling beneath his skin. He faced Jonny squarely, voice firmer now. "This is my final warning. The shop's closed, and that's not going to change just because someone throws a tantrum."

Jonny's jaw clenched, pride bruised. He let the moment stretch, eyes searching Jeremiah's for a crack or a sign of weakness. "What's the matter?" he said finally, sneering. "Scared your magic cards aren't as special as you claim? Maybe you're hiding something else. Wouldn't be the first time a 'business owner' in the Crossroads ran a side hustle."

Behind him, Mouse snickered, egging him on, and Hank cracked his knuckles in anticipation.

Jeremiah held Jonny's gaze, feeling a strange, cool steadiness settle through him — the product, perhaps, of new nerves, new instincts weaving silent counsel through his blood. He was aware of every inch of his body: the flex of muscles, the measured beat of his heart, even the subtle tension in his jaw. The old, familiar surge of anxiety was there, but now it felt different — less a drowning tide, more a challenge to be met.

"I'm not hiding anything," Jeremiah said, each word deliberate, calm. "But I won't have my staff or my customers threatened in my own shop. You and your friends will leave — now. If you want to come back tomorrow, you'll be welcome. But today, we're done."

Jonny's lips curled in a sneer, but after a moment's tense standoff, he lifted his hands in a show of mocking surrender. "All right, all right, Bossman. No need to get your tail in a twist." He stepped back, hands spread wide, the movement exaggerated for his friends' benefit. "Come on, boys. Guess we'll just take our business somewhere it's actually wanted." The others followed, not quite meeting Jeremiah's eyes as they shuffled toward the door.

But just as Jonny reached the threshold, he paused. Something in his posture shifted — his body coiling, his gaze narrowing in sudden, sharp focus. "Although…" he drawled, his voice turning sly, "since you're so eager to show off what you have to offer, maybe I oughta to return the favor."

Before anyone could react, Jonny blurred. A heartbeat he was at the door, the next, a flicker, a gust of displaced air, and he was beside the display case, leg raised like a descending axe, ready back to smash it open.

But Jeremiah moved without thought. The world seemed to slow, the hum of his nerves surging into crisp, electric clarity. His body flowed, instinct and intention merging as one, faster than fear, faster than memory. He slid between Jonny and the case, hand snapping out to catch the other's ankle mid-swing.

For a stunned instant, both men froze — Jonny's eyes wide, disbelief warring with outrage. "What the—?" he gasped, twisting, but Jeremiah's grip held iron-steady, every muscle aligned in perfect, preternatural synchrony.

Even the other thugs stared, dumbstruck. Mouse's mouth hung open. Markus took a half-step back, jaw slack.

Jeremiah's own heart thundered, but beneath it, a new, breathtaking steadiness. He didn't have to think — the new skills, the Regalia, every thread of his being worked in concert, reacting before conscious thought could catch up.

He released Jonny's leg, voice calm but cutting. "I told you. The shop's closed. Try anything like that again, and you'll regret it."

For the first time, Jonny hesitated, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.