Chapter 4

Tobin shrugged, casual but with an edge. "Just saying what's on everybody's mind, man. You've been here three years, and nobody knows shit about you.

Now stuff's breaking—hoes, spoons, whatever—and people are freaking out. Marta's all jumpy, saying she saw you snap that hoe like it was nothing."

Leon stood up, brushing off his cloak, stepping close enough that Tobin had to crane his neck. "So you're the big shot now, huh? Coming to call me out?"

Tobin laughed, short and loud. "Big shot? Nah, dude, I just don't like living next to some weirdo who wrecks shit. Everyone's talking about it—'Oh, Leon's cursed,' 'Oh, he's bad news.' You gonna pretend that's nothing?"

Leon's stomach twisted, that damn tingle—the Nullifying Grasp—itching in his hands. He shoved it down, keeping cool. "People talk crap all the time. Doesn't mean it's true. Why don't you go bug someone else, Tobin?"

"Whatever, man. Just don't be surprised when they start locking their doors around you."

He turned and walked off, kicking dirt like he'd won something, leaving Leon standing there, pissed off and antsy.

He grabbed his cloak and headed out, the night air hitting him hard. He couldn't stay cooped up in that shack, not with his head spinning.

The forest was close, dark and quiet, so he went there, boots stomping through the grass. He found a big, beat-up oak and figured it'd do.

He shook out his hands, feeling that tingle again, stronger now. He had to figure this Grasp thing out—stop it from screwing him over.

He slapped his palm against the tree, pushing at the feeling, trying to make it happen. Nothing at first, just his own breathing, then—bam—a loud crack, and a chunk of bark flew off, hitting the ground.

"Whoa, shit!" he yelped, jumping back, heart racing. He stared at the mess, the tree all torn up where he'd touched it. The tingle died down, and his hands felt cold. It wasn't a fluke—he'd done it on purpose this time.

He went at it again, both hands now, pressing harder. The tingle shot up his arms, and the tree shook, cracking louder, splitting deeper.

He pulled back, panting, head pounding like he'd run a mile. "Okay, too much," he muttered, rubbing his temples. A noise—something snapping—made him spin around, hand on his knife, but it was just a dumb deer, bolting off into the bushes.

He relaxed, feeling dumb for getting so jumpy.

Heading back, he kept thinking. This power was real, and he could use it, maybe turn it into something useful. But he needed to practice, get it under control before anyone else saw.

By the time he reached the village, the moon was high, bathing everything in a cold, silver glow. He slowed as he neared his shack, the familiar outline of Buena Village stretching out around him—huts, fields, the well.

Movement caught his eye, and he froze. Lilia. She was there, by the Greyrat's well, a bucket dangling from one hand. Her auburn hair was loose, just a little, strands catching the moonlight. She didn't look so rigid tonight, not like the stone-faced maid who'd brushed him off that morning.

Their eyes met across the distance, and for once, she didn't turn away fast.

He took a step forward, instinct pulling him, but she broke the stare, ducking back toward the Greyrat house, the door clicking shut behind her.

He stood there, rooted, the night pressing in. It wasn't nothing, that look. He exhaled, slow and sharp, and headed for his shack. Sleep wouldn't come easy tonight, not with his blood humming like this.

Inside, he tossed his cloak over the peg and sank onto the straw pallet, staring at the cracked wooden ceiling.

He flexed his hands, the tingle gone now, just a faint memory in his palms. If this was Mushoku Tensei, if he was really stuck in this story, then what? Was he a side character? A nobody meant to fade into the background while Rudeus Greyrat took the spotlight? 

A knock jolted him upright. He swung his legs off the pallet, heart kicking up again, and crossed to the door. He opened it, expecting Marta with more questions or Tobin with more bullshit. But it wasn't either of them.

Lilia stood there, her basket gone, her hands clasped tight in front of her. Her face was pale in the moonlight, her lips parted like she'd been about to speak but forgot the words. "Leon," she said finally, her voice low, unsteady. "We need to talk."

He leaned against the doorframe, trying to play it cool even as his pulse raced. "About what? That night? Or something else?"

Her eyes flicked up to his, sharp and unguarded, and he saw it again—that flicker. "Can i come inside?."

Leon stepped aside, gesturing her in with a tilt of his head. "Yeah, sure. Come on."

Lilia hesitated for a heartbeat, then crossed the threshold, her steps soft against the creaky floorboards. The shack wasn't much—bare walls, a rickety table, the straw pallet—but she didn't seem to notice, her focus locked inward. She stopped near the center of the room, hands twisting together, her shoulders tight like she was bracing for something.

He shut the door behind her, the latch clicking into place, and turned to her. "So," he said, keeping his tone light, "what's this about? You've been dodging me like I'm carrying plague."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she looked down at her hands, fingers fidgeting. "I… I owe you an explanation," she said, her voice quieter now, almost fragile. "For why I've been—distant."

He crossed his arms, leaning back against the door. "I figured it was something. You don't strike me as the type to ghost someone for no reason."

She flinched at that, just a little, and then took a shaky breath. "It's not… it's not that I don't—" She stopped, cheeks flushing faintly, and shook her head as if to reset.

"Leon, you're… you're handsome. More than you realize, I think. Strong, too, in ways that matter. Any noblewoman would see that. They'd choose you in a heartbeat, give you a life I can't even dream of touching."

He blinked, caught off guard, and straightened slightly. "Wait, what?"

Her eyes flicked up to his, then away again, shy but resolute. "I'm just a maid. I scrub floors, carry water. You—you could have so much more. A good future. A real one. Why would you waste that on someone like me? I've been avoiding you because… because I think you deserve better."

Leon didn't know what to say. His pulse was still hammering, but now it was for a different reason. He took a step closer, narrowing the gap between them, and she didn't back away.

"Lilia," he said, voice low, "you don't get to decide what I deserve. That's not how this works."

She swallowed, her gaze darting to his face and holding there, uncertain. "But it's true. I'd only hold you back. You could—"

"Stop." He cut her off, sharper than he meant to, and softened it with a half-smile. "You think I care about some noblewoman's title or a 'good future' I didn't ask for? I'm not here chasing that. I'm here—right now—because of you. That look by the well? That wasn't nothing. And this?" He gestured between them. "This isn't nothing either."

Leon's half-smile lingered as he took another step closer, the space between them shrinking until the air felt charged, heavy with unspoken things. Lilia's breath hitched, her eyes wide and locked on his, but she didn't pull away. He could see the flush creeping up her neck, the way her hands stilled at her sides, like she didn't know what to do with them.

His voice dropped, rougher now, as he reached out, his fingers brushing the curve of her waist before sliding up, deliberate and slow. "You've been running from this, haven't you?" His hands found her bust, cupping her through the thin fabric of her dress, squeezing gently at first, then firmer, feeling the soft give beneath his palms. She gasped, a sharp little sound that sent a jolt straight through him.

"Leon—" Her voice trembled, but it wasn't a protest. Her head tilted back slightly, lips parting as he kneaded her, his thumbs brushing over the peaks he could feel hardening under his touch.

"Shh," he murmured, stepping in until their bodies were nearly pressed together, his mouth hovering close to her ear. "You've been curious, haven't you? Wondering what it'd feel like… me touching you like this." His hands squeezed again, possessive now, and she let out a shaky whimper, her fingers clutching at his shirt like she needed something to hold onto.

"I—I didn't know—" she stammered, her voice breaking as he rolled his thumbs over her again, teasing, drawing another soft sound from her throat. "I didn't know it'd feel…"

"Feel good?" he finished for her, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, voice low and thick with want. "You've been holding out on me, Lilia. Keeping all this to yourself." One hand slid down her side, gripping her hip to pull her flush against him, letting her feel the heat of him, the hard line of his body. "You don't have to anymore."

Her breath came faster now, her chest rising and falling under his hands, and she looked up at him, eyes dark and hazy. "Leon, I… I've never—"

"I know," he cut in, his mouth curling into a smirk as he leaned down, lips grazing her jaw. "That's why I'm gonna take my time with you. Show you everything you've been missing." His hand on her bust squeezed again, slow and deliberate, while the other slid around to the small of her back, pressing her tighter against him. "You want that, don't you? Me all over you, making you feel things you didn't even know you could?"

She nodded, a small, desperate motion, her voice barely a whisper. "Yes… please."

That was all he needed. With a low growl, he backed her toward the straw pallet, hands still roaming, teasing, until her knees hit the edge and she sank down onto it. He followed, looming over her, one knee braced between her thighs as he leaned in close.

"Good girl," he breathed, his fingers trailing up her neck to tilt her chin up. "Now let me make you feel good, just like you've been dreaming about."

///\\\