Chapter 10

The morning began as always – with a brisk awakening, accompanied by a series of wild strikes at the air. I could say it was a morning kata or warm-up, but honestly, it looked more like random bursts of hyperactivity. Apparently, my body, having imbibed energy, decided to put on another morning power demonstration. In any case, I felt great, as if Light itself had injected me with a dose of heavenly caffeine straight into my veins.

Of course, starting the morning with a fuss is bad form, so I headed to the kitchen and, with the face of a sage, decided to brew myself a cup of tea. Or rather, a half-liter mug. Because I'm an archangel, damn it, and I have the right to half a liter of tea in the morning. The herbal aroma, the rich taste… mmm, divine. I wonder what kind of herb is in it? It's just too delicious. I Googled it. Turns out – it's the most ordinary tea, available in unlimited quantities in every local supermarket.

Well, I'll be… Seriously? These angels are so spoiled that even their tea is on par with elite earthly varieties. Heavenly bastards. Although, wait... I'm an angel myself now. Well, time to accept the new reality with all its bonuses. A smirk appeared on my face, reflecting centuries of ambition and youthful mischief: "Now I can drink this divine tea as much as I want... for all eternity! Muahahahaha!" – yes, that's exactly how it sounded in my head.

With a mug full of sacred herbal ambrosia, I went to my "study." And, of course, no miracle happened: the books and papers left in a mess hadn't magically disappeared. No house-elf came to clean up the traces of the previous office owner's creative chaos. Well, screw them. I'll have to show some willpower and pick up a metaphorical broom.

After thirty minutes of unequal battle with the mess, the study acquired a look worthy of a scholar-archangel. Bookshelves up to the ceiling, a carved ivory-colored desk with golden inlays, an armchair you could sink into for a sweet slumber. The color scheme – white and gold, as befits a self-respecting celestial being. The result was more than decent. By the way, cleaning really does help to put thoughts in order – a purely psychological fact. Order in the external brings order in the internal, or something like that.

I decided to pop into the Exorcist chat for a couple of minutes. Impressions? Wonderful. Phila, one of the Exorcists, had posted a picture of a kitten – the cutest creature with snow-white fur, black circles under its eyes, and a cute little tail with a dark tip. She wrote that her cats had recently produced this miracle, and she was ready to give it to a good home.

Judging by the comments, such "giveaways" were regular for her – almost annual. And, as it turned out, everyone had already taken her kittens home. Envy gnawed at me from within. I look at the photo and think: "Yeah, with an ally like that, I could seduce anyone... um, I mean, warm the home with sincere love and fluffy warmth!" Of course, that's exactly what I meant.

Laughing at the situation, I sent Lute a message: "Good morning, my sweet lieutenant, how are you?" – and, while waiting for a reply, I finally decided to tackle that book about turning angels into Exorcists. Serious work, I thought... until I read the first page.

This strange language… Cold sweat broke out on my forehead. What else in my head had changed while I wasn't paying attention? I remember going to bed after another dreary day, and waking up – in a strange house, in a strange body, in another reality. What happened in between? Who transmigrated me? God? Darkness?

I downed my tea in one gulp, leaned back in my chair, trying to pull myself together. No, such thoughts lead into an abyss of paranoia. And it's easy to drown in that abyss. I need to calm down, distract myself, not dig myself in deeper.

I went downstairs, brewed new tea – repeating this ritual always helps – and returned to reading. The book turned out to be simpler than I expected. The terms were primitive, the description of the process – step-by-step and banally logical. In essence, I was ready to perform the ritual right now, if I had a test subject and a little experience. The theory – couldn't be simpler. So why did Lute say it was complicated? Maybe she wanted to scare me, or was the previous Adam such an idiot? Though no, he wrote this book, so that's not an option… Strange.

I read until noon, getting so engrossed in the process that I didn't notice how time flew by. And then, finally, a notification appeared: Lute had replied.

I wonder what she was doing all this time? Why did she take so long to write? What could have delayed her? I'm not a paranoid, of course, but there's still reason to be wary.

In any case, it was time for training. She was already waiting at the training ground. But I, as a true slacker and comfort enthusiast, decided not to fly, but simply to open a portal. Enough of these tiring flights for me; I'm a portal man now! And let all of Hell tremble, and all of Heaven applaud: I will acquire power that my father, the previous Adam, never dreamed of.

POV Lute

This morning started somehow… differently.

I usually wake up sharply at 7:30 AM. Not because someone forces me – just a habit, honed to automatism. Get up, a quick workout, a run in the park, then breakfast: an omelet with toast and a cup of strong coffee. By nine, I'm already alert, ready for new missions, thoughts, and endless reports. But today...

Today I only opened my eyes at 9:30 AM. Two hours difference, and my entire internal schedule immediately went haywire. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to make myself get up.

Why?

Because last night, I barely slept. And all because of him. Because of the new Adam.

He was... different. It was obvious immediately, at first glance. He had become softer. Quieter. As if the hatred inside him, which used to blaze fiercely, had now turned into a warm, barely noticeable light of love that embraces, not burns.

He hardly teased me. And when we walked after the café – he simply held my hand. Calmly, confidently, gently. And his hand, warm and strong, still felt as if it were on my palm. I literally remembered every step in the park, every silly phrase, every word he used to fill the silence so I wouldn't feel awkward.

I couldn't sleep because my heart was thrumming like a cursed generator – too loudly. And thoughts swirled in my head like annoying flies: why had he changed? What happened to him? And most importantly – why wasn't he saying anything?

I got in the shower, let the cold water wash away the remnants of the night's diversions, but even that didn't fully help. My head was still buzzing with a name – Adam. And the question, repeated a hundred times – "what's wrong with him?"

He doesn't remember… That much has become clear. And, it seems, he doesn't just not remember – he's afraid. Afraid to tell, afraid to admit, afraid to ask for help. I felt it almost immediately. He seems to shut down when the conversation turns to this. Distracts, jokes, changes the subject – like a child who doesn't want to show his parents he broke a vase.

So I decided – if he doesn't want the Seraphim's help, if he's afraid, then I'll be there to help, and I won't say a word to anyone. Sometimes silence is the best way to prove whose side you're on.

While the coffee brewed, I sat on the terrace. The sun's rays gently warmed my shoulders, the air was fresh, and lazy clouds drifted across the horizon. A heavenly idyll. But inside, everything was buzzing. I thought about Adam. About how he used to be. How he had become now. About how he looks at me when he thinks I don't see.

Before, he was… different. For all of us – the Exorcists – he was almost a legend. An older brother, sometimes a strict father, and sometimes… that one person you could go to in tears, and he would just hug you, no questions asked. He was respected. He was loved. And his quirks – like crude swearing at inappropriate moments or his habit of doing everything haphazardly – were perceived as part of his image. His charisma, strength, and dedication to the cause of Light outweighed everything.

He could be callous. He could be cruel. But he was always fair.

He protected us. And that's precisely why we forgave him all those little things.

I took a sip of coffee. Bitter, strong, delicious. As befits a morning full of doubts.

And then my mask beeped. A notification. A message from Adam.

"Good morning, my sweet lieutenant, how are you?"

I froze. Well, there it is. This is no longer just a thrumming in my chest – this is a full-blown chiming of all Heaven's bells.

My cheeks reddened on their own. Damn it, Lute, what's wrong with you? You've fought demons and sinners – and one message flusters you?

But still – it's this message. This phrase. This… him. New. Strange. Unfamiliar. But somehow, incredibly dear.

I pressed the mask to my chest, allowed myself a couple of minutes just to smile. Then – a deep breath. Onwards. There's still much to do.

And my heart was still pounding. Too loudly. Too vividly. Too real.

POV "Adam" (MC)

Lute was really tearing it up today.

Heh-heh, get it? Lute… tearing it up?

…

Yeah, I hate myself for that joke too.

But that's not the point. The point is, during training, she put me through actual hell in Heaven. Ironic, isn't it?

We fought with spears. And even though I was on a completely different level in all aspects – physically, energetically, even reaction speed – by deliberately limiting myself, I could barely hold my defense. Just waving the spear and parrying her lightning-fast strikes.

Counterattack? What are you talking about? I was in "infant against a steamroller" mode.

Lute, of course, noticed. At one point, she even muttered that I hadn't been particularly friendly with spears before either. Like, the blessed sword was my everything. And so, after a couple dozen beatings, I was finally given another weapon.

A blade of angelic steel. A katana.

A katana, Carl!

I didn't even realize it at first. Just glanced – a thin, curved blade, uncharacteristic for the local designs. Lute said it was a gift from one of the blacksmiths and that I myself had requested it about a hundred years ago.

Well… I got carried away.

Literally.

Three strikes.

Three.

And Lute's spear, with a sort of surprised whimper, flies out of her hands, and the blade of my katana is already touching her neck.

We both froze. Me – with an expression of "what the hell just happened?", she – with wide-open eyes and a bead of sweat trickling down her temple.

"Did… you just… improvise that?" she asked hoarsely.

"Seems so…"

"You couldn't do that before."

"I know."

And right then, rage began to seethe within me.

Where did I get these skills?

Yes, in my past world, I practiced kendo. Two years, to be precise. There was also wushu, karate, boxing, swimming, tourism, ballroom dancing (No laughing!), soccer, rock climbing…

I was that schoolkid who jumped between all the sections, clubs, and studios. I was pretty good, but not fanatically so. Just searching for myself, so I was proficient with a katana...

But, damn it, not on THIS level!

I was a decent swordsman, I don't deny it. Sports club, kendo, bamboo swords, bows, forms – all by the book.

But that was a SPORTS CLUB, not some pseudo-Chinese bullshit from an anime where you swing a sword – and the air splits, a slash of energy flies out, and bam – a tree is cut in half, a stone shatters, steel sparks.

No, seriously, after that, I literally cut a training dummy made of angelic metal in half with a sword strike. It's not supposed to be destroyed. It shouldn't even bend. But it – whack, and in half, and it wasn't the sword; we checked.

This was already some master-level stuff, as if I'd spent ten years in the mountains under the tutelage of some old alcoholic Japanese geezer who fed me rice and beat me with a stick for every mistake, you get the picture.

Control, technique, movement – it all came naturally. And then, after sparring a bit, I learned to use these skills consciously.

What the hell is happening?

With this question, I delved into experiments with Light. And how I delved…

It sucked me in.

If yesterday I was shooting one little beam, and Lute was lazily dodging with a "are you serious?" look, then today I decided:

"What if not one beam? But, say… a dozen? And each with a unique trajectory?"

The result?

Ten seconds later, Lute was already dodging like a frenzied cat, and then – she got caught. I trapped her, bombarding her from all sides, and a beam gently tapped her on the thigh.

Victory.

And again – this isn't that Adam's style.

And for me, it was even somehow... natural.

This is frightening.

Why was my fighting style so different from Adam's?

What did they do to me? And who?

Was it God? Or someone else? Adam was strong, so why were these skills shoved into me?

After training, we went to the same café.

I, like yesterday, tried to pay. The owner – a gray-haired, good-natured man with the eyes of an old soldier – looked at me, then at Lute…

Smiled. Understandingly.

Like: aha, aha, you two have a romance going on, I see everything, lips sealed.

And suddenly – a table on the roof. Tablecloth. Candles. Flowers.

Classic.

Lute pretended not to notice anything, but the tips of her ears turned the color of ripe cherries. And that, by the way, is quite difficult – with her Exorcist nature.

We chatted. Simply, like humans. She told me about local customs; I tried to find out about "my" old life.

And then…

We came to my place.

And we spent the night together.

No, there will be no details.

Yes, you disgusting perverts, I see you and I'm reading your minds.

If you're interested in what adult men and women do at night in the same bed – you need to go to a site with a pink icon and a paid subscription.

But here we have a story. And relationships. And soul.

So there I lay.

Cuddling a beautiful girl, snuffling softly beside me, her soft hair spread across the pillow, and her warm breath tickling my chest.

Silence filled the room, only the quiet hum of the night city and the barely perceptible scent of jasmine, which she apparently uses as perfume. Or is it from her shampoo? Doesn't matter. The main thing – it's cozy.

And for the first time in all this, I felt calm.

As if none of it mattered.

As if I were home.

Closed my eyes.

Smiled.

And fell asleep.