Valentina had loved fluffy toys since she was a child.
Some memories never faded, no matter how many years passed or how much blood and fire washed over the world. She still remembered the soft brown bear that had accompanied her through the earliest years of her life. Her mother had picked it up casually at a supermarket, a free gift tossed in without a second thought.
To Valentina, it had been everything.
It was her comfort.
Her shield.
Her silent companion in the dark.
Even when her mother smoked endlessly, gambled away money, drank herself into stupors, and disappeared for nights at a time, Valentina wasn't afraid—as long as the bear was with her.
When she was five years old, her mother abandoned her.
The woman ran off with another man, leaving behind an empty apartment, unpaid bills, and a child clutching a worn-out plush toy. That night, Valentina hugged the little bear and cried until her throat ached. She cried herself to sleep, woke up crying again, and repeated the cycle until exhaustion dragged her under.
At five years old, she ate everything left in the house.
When there was nothing left, she did what she had to do to survive.
She snuck into an abandoned supermarket.
The place was a wreck—shelves overturned, glass shattered, and the air thick with rot. Anything valuable had been looted long ago. What remained were expired cans, torn packaging, and food gnawed by rats.
She was starving.
So she ate anyway.
She devoured whatever she could find, ignoring the smell, the taste, the fear gnawing at her chest.
That was where she met her first zombie.
It was only five meters away when it noticed her.
The thing lifted its head, caught her scent, and charged.
In that moment, Valentina didn't think of death. She thought of food.
This was her territory.
This was her survival.
She drove the knife she carried for self-defense straight into the creature's temple. Then, using every ounce of strength in her tiny body, she shoved an entire shelf forward.
She watched as it collapsed.
The shelf crushed the zombie's head.
Blood, flesh, and shattered bone sprayed across the floor.
Her bear—left behind in the chaos—was stained red.
She didn't take it with her.
She never went back for it.
---
The memory faded.
The texture beneath her fingers now was different, yet strangely familiar.
The Little Black Panther curled in Valentina's arms felt almost the same as that long-lost bear—soft, warm, and alive. She stroked it slowly, from head to tail, savoring the smooth, velvety fur beneath her palm.
For a moment, the panther resisted.
The instant it shifted, Valentina gently pressed it back down.
"Don't move."
The creature froze.
An unmistakably human expression of shame and indignation crossed its face. It wanted to leap out of her arms, to escape—but the tingling sensation spreading through its body, combined with her soft, cloud-like touch, robbed it of all strength.
It was… terrifyingly comfortable.
After holding out for three seconds, its paws curled inward without permission. The panther squeezed its eyes shut stubbornly.
He wasn't submitting.
He definitely wasn't being seduced.
This was medical treatment.
That was all.
---
"Uh… why is Boss's face getting redder and redder?" someone whispered.
The speaker leaned forward slightly, peering toward the back seat.
"Hm? Let me see!"
That single sentence drew attention like a spark in dry grass. Several people immediately crowded closer.
Before anyone could get a proper look, an icy gaze swept over them.
"Stay alert."
Marcus Holt's voice was cold and sharp.
The next second, before anyone could react, the car door opened swiftly. Marcus stepped inside—and pulled Valentina in with him, gripping her wrist firmly.
The door slammed shut.
Valentina stumbled forward slightly, but the Mental Guidance wasn't finished. She couldn't withdraw on her own even if she wanted to.
Besides, everyone here was from the North.
They wouldn't let anything happen to her.
She had heard countless rumors about the North during her travels. Stories about how different it was from the Imperial Capital. And Marcus Holt—its commander—was praised endlessly.
Loyal.
Fiercely responsible toward his team.
Kind to civilians.
That image was nothing like the version whispered about in the Imperial Capital.
Which one was real?
Valentina trusted her own eyes.
She lowered her gaze to the Little Black Panther in her arms. Her teachers had once explained that once a Guide entered a Sentinel's mental landscape and located the spirit body, all that was required was to begin Mental Guidance.
The problem was…
How exactly was she supposed to begin?
Surely she wasn't meant to massage it?
Seeing that the panther had stopped struggling entirely, Valentina spoke calmly, "You don't need to hold it anymore. It's not moving."
At once, all the black tentacles released their grip.
Marcus finally let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Those things had been wrapped tightly around his body, sending strange sensations across his skin—
Then his body stiffened.
The Little Black Panther's eyes flew open in shock.
A single tentacle had wriggled its way into its embrace.
[So warm!]
[So soft!]
[Softer than my own body!]
[Master, hurry—touch its belly!]
The thoughts flooded Valentina's mind directly.
"Belly…?"
Her mind lagged behind her body.
Before she could stop herself, her hand slipped beneath the panther's fur and pressed gently against its stomach.
Ah…
It felt… incredible.
The Little Black Panther went completely still.
"Hm? Why is its skin turning red?"
Valentina frowned, startled by the sudden change. She quickly pulled her hand away, worried something had gone wrong.
Marcus had barely relaxed before his heart jumped again.
The next moment, Valentina leaned forward.
Her forehead lightly touched his.
"No fever." Her voice was soft, thoughtful. "Is the mental trauma very severe?"
She placed a finger gently against the panther's forehead.
"It'll be better soon."
Warm spiritual power flowed outward.
The instant it entered his body, Marcus froze.
A-grade spiritual power.
Spiritual energy below A-grade could enter a Sentinel's mental landscape, but it could only ease shallow trauma through surface contact.
Only A-grade Guides or higher could reach the core of the spirit body—where deep, long-term trauma was buried.
Those Guides were supposed to be kept in the Empire's Green Tower.
Reserved for nobles.
For royalty.
How could—
Before Marcus could finish the thought, exhaustion crashed down on him like a wave.
He was exhausted.
He had just come out of a Contamination Zone. Upon hearing about a transport bus heading north, he'd moved immediately—knowing a dangerous gang operated along the highway.
To avoid civilian casualties, he'd injected a healing agent and rushed over without rest.
Now his body finally gave up.
"Sleep. It's okay."
He vaguely heard her voice beside him.
Then—
Her hand went back to his belly.
He wanted to resist.
He barely managed to turn once before going completely still.
---
Valentina opened her eyes slowly.
Marcus Holt was leaning back against the seat, eyes closed, his breathing steady.
A faint glimmer of interest crossed her gaze.
Little Black Panther…
So cute.
"We can head back to the base now," she said calmly.
"Ah—oh! O-okay! Got it!"
The people outside scrambled into action.
Seeing their commander asleep, shock filled their expressions.
Marcus Holt almost never slept outside the base.
Yet here he was.
Exchanging glances, they lowered their voices instinctively.
Boss was exhausted.
Boss needed rest.
---
Marcus Holt woke up at night.
He sat up abruptly.
At the same time, a massive black panther leaped out of the void.
Its fur gleamed like polished obsidian, reflecting light. Golden pupils burned with power. Its presence was cold, intimidating—nothing like the fragile spirit he remembered.
Base…?
His last memory stopped at the Mental Guidance.
His brows knitted tightly.
He had lowered his guard completely.
That Guide—
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