Chapter 370: The Pompous Cheshire Cat

"I command you to open your belly," Cheshire Cat declared, crouched in front of the refrigerator. Its voice rose in an incessant murmur, a language incomprehensible to anyone else.

"You lazy thing, open your belly now!" The cat's sensitive nose could already pick up the faint aroma of a half-open can of cat food stored within. But unlike the ever-singing gramophone, the refrigerator stubbornly remained silent, impervious to the feline's demands. Yet, Cheshire Cat did not grow angry. Even its master had to wrestle with the fridge to pry open its cold, unyielding doors.

"If you don't open up, I'll do the same thing to you that I do to others," the cat issued a final warning.

As a cat, Cheshire knew well the hardships of this household.

Recently, its master had been spending his nights making loud noises with the mistress as they "created little human kittens," noises that invariably made the other mistress angry. She seemed to be in her own "mating season," wanting a "kitten" of her own to dote on. Cheshire could empathize—it remembered how, back when it had "intact equipment," female cats would come calling the moment it left a drop of urine outside. Those kittens were a dead giveaway—especially since no other cat in the area had green-striped fur like it.

But now, no matter how much it marked the outdoors, no female cats came.

As a cat, Cheshire felt it deeply understood its master's struggles.

The cat sighed dramatically, feigning maturity. It had once been a carefree spirit in Avalon until a magical spell lured it out. Before it knew what was happening, it had signed a contract and was now eternally tied to its master. Life wasn't bad—it found this noisy, crowded world full of tasty treats rather enjoyable. It even had its own servant—a blindfolded one who somehow managed to see and always ensured it was fed.

Except for that pesky fiery bird. No matter how hard Cheshire pounced, it could never catch its tail feathers.

The noises its master and mistress made often disrupted its nightly "hunts." Still, the cat held its tongue. Whether it succeeded in hunting or not, its master always procured cans of cat food from the refrigerator—a task that seemed Herculean to Cheshire. The fridge, shy and stubborn, was the ultimate obstacle.

"I command you to open your belly," Cheshire whispered, trying a gentler approach.

Night belonged to the cat. It prowled the shadows, chasing invisible prey lurking in cups and bowls. It leapt between the sofa and pillows, catching sparkling air spirits and swallowing them whole. Under moonlight, it recited the fairy songs of Avalon, though it only remembered the opening lines and the pollen that once danced on its nose as the fairy lord sang.

Daylight was a time for basking in warmth, dozing in its master's lap amidst the soothing sound of rustling parchment and gentle strokes. It feasted greedily, often forgetting if it had already eaten, then loudly demanded seconds. It sprawled atop any warm surface, savoring the heat as every cat rightfully should.

Why not? Cats were the world's rightful rulers.

It remembered magic—that electric current coursing through its fur, making every strand stand on end. Magic belonged to its master, but Cheshire believed it could wield it against the fridge.

"Magic!" the cat declared. "I'll cast a spell if you don't open up. You'll see!"

The fridge remained unfazed, humming lightly as its compressor ran.

"Afraid, aren't you?" Cheshire exclaimed triumphantly. "Then open up and let me eat my can and cake! I'll even share a little if you promise not to tell!"

After a long silence and with no success from threats or bribes, Cheshire decided to try a different approach.

"If you wanted cat food, you could've just asked Dana to get it for you," Solomon said, pinching the scruff of the fat cat's neck. He stared directly into its wide, innocent eyes, which radiated feigned guilt. "Not tear apart the fridge like this."

Cheshire meowed pitifully, conveying its feelings through their magical bond. But Solomon wasn't about to be swayed. After educating Lara Croft on morality and survival, Solomon returned home to find the cat wreaking havoc in the refrigerator. Far from being impressed by its ability to open the fridge, he was annoyed.

This wasn't an ordinary cat but a magical beast far too clever for its own good.

The over-15-pound feline had pulled nearly everything out of the fridge, gorged itself on half a cake, and even rolled around in it—evident from the whipped cream smeared on its face and the sugar crystal stuck to one ear. Before Solomon's return, Cheshire had clearly been having the time of its life.

Thankfully, as a magical creature, it wouldn't suffer the fate of an ordinary cat that consumed such a ridiculous amount of sweets.

"What, Dana's out, and Bayonetta took her shopping?" Solomon muttered, realizing he was the only one home. According to Cheshire, Athena had called earlier (the cat had answered with a chorus of meows that Athena apparently understood), prompting Bayonetta and Jeanne to dress up, grab the maid, and head out. Cheshire claimed it had stayed behind to keep the shy fridge company.

"Next time, don't dress up theft as some noble sacrifice, you dumb cat," Solomon said, deciding not to punish it further. He knew any efforts to enforce discipline would be futile. This gluttonous feline would only find new ways to raid the kitchen. Calling on invisible servants, Solomon ordered them to clean the mess and restock the fridge. He tossed the cat into the sink for a quick bath.

"No drinking bathwater," Solomon warned as the cat sat miserably in the soapy water. "And no licking yourself while you're in there."

"Mrow…"

With the chaos managed, Solomon finally checked the messages waiting for him. Randolph's issue had been resolved. Whether due to the time zone differences or his recent travels, Solomon couldn't tell how long ago it had happened. Still, he was pleased that his runestones had proven useful. Coulson had even sent him a photo of some frozen individuals clutching pieces of the Berserker Staff.

Coulson suggested future collaborations and mentioned forging a new identity for Randolph. To make a point, Solomon shared Randolph's current location, leveraging the contract's tracking function.

"See?" he messaged Coulson. "I never leave loose ends."

Another message came from the AI, urging Solomon to complete its alchemical body and visit its executor.

Ignored.

Oh, and Athena, Bayonetta, and Jeanne had gone to the spa. Until dinner, Solomon had the house to himself.

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