Void Lord: My Revenge Is My Harem

Chapter 241 : Opening Shop and Increasing Harem Members XVIII

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John and Fizz reached the Heart Magic Academy the way tired people always reach safe places: fast, quiet, and with the reflex to look over their shoulders even when the gates are friendly.

The academy’s outer ward accepted their tokens without fuss. The air inside felt cleaner than the capital streets, like someone had rinsed the wind and hung it up to dry. Students drifted across the courtyards in neat streams.

A few glanced at John.

Fewer glanced at Fizz. Everyone glanced twice when they realized the orange fur ball had the confident posture of someone who had once lectured them about elemental magic and then called their concentration; ’a shy frog hiding in a bucket.’

Fizz floated at John’s shoulder, chest puffed as if his fur contained an entire orchestra.

"I am recognized," he whispered. "It is hard being famous."

"It is hard being quiet next to you," John whispered back.

Fizz took that as praise and preened.

They went straight for the headmaster’s tower.

The secretary outside the office had the same face every academy secretary is issued at birth: polite, tired, and capable of killing a rumor with one eyebrow.

"Headmaster Snake is not available," she said before John even opened his mouth. "He is in a meeting."

John paused. "Do you know when he’ll return?"

The secretary’s gaze slid to the ledger, then back to John. "If I knew, I would still not tell you. It’s a meeting. Meetings are where time goes to die."

Fizz leaned in, stage whispering loudly, "I respect this woman. She has the soul of a gate."

The secretary’s eyebrow twitched once, like it wanted to laugh but had a strict schedule. "Go to the library," she said. "Or go to bed. Preferably both."

John nodded, thanked her, and turned away.

Fizz drifted beside him. "So. We wait."

"We sleep," John corrected. "Ray is in the room. If he wakes up and thinks we abandoned him, he’ll start another drama war."

Fizz looked offended. "You say that as if drama wars are not the heartbeat of youth."

They walked back through the dorm corridors. The East House hallways were dim and orderly, as if someone had taught the stones good manners. Their door opened to the familiar sight of Ray Flame sprawled on Bed A like a man who had made enemies with sobriety and decided sleep was safer.

Ray’s hair was a mess. In Fizz’s eyes, his face still bore the faint memory of the ink prank, no matter how hard he scrubbed. He hugged his pillow as if it owed him money.

Fizz hovered over him and whispered, "Mushroom cheeks lives."

John kicked off his boots quietly.

Fizz drifted lower and added, "He is a proud noble. Sleeping like a kicked puppy."

John pointed at the bed and mouthed, Stop.

Fizz mouthed back, Never.

John surrendered to exhaustion, which was the only force stronger than Fizz’s personality. He lay down, shut his eyes, and let the academy’s quiet swallow him.

The night passed with no alarms, no stampedes, no sudden punishments. It felt suspiciously peaceful.

Which meant morning would probably bite.

Morning did not bite. Morning simply arrived with bells and schedules and the smell of chalk. John woke early, washed, dressed, and left before Ray could wake and start complaining about the injustice of blankets.

Fizz floated beside him, stretching like a cat that had discovered new laws of confidence. "We go see Snake," he said. "We ask for support. We receive support. We become unstoppable."

John gave him a look. "We ask. We do not demand."

Fizz pressed a paw to his chest. "I would never demand it. I would simply... strongly request."

They reached the headmaster’s office. The secretary was there again, still undefeated.

She glanced up. "He is back."

John exhaled. "Thank you."

Fizz leaned in and whispered, "See. The gate woman respects us."

The secretary’s mouth did not smile, but her eyes did. "Go," she said. "Before he leaves again and you start crying on my floor."

Fizz gasped. "We would never cry."

John did not promise anything.

They were admitted.

Headmaster Snake’s office smelled like old paper, ink, and something faintly smoky. Not hearth smoke. Pipe smoke. The room was dim even in daylight. Half of it seemed to live in shadow the way some men live in secrets.

Snake sat behind his desk, white beard flowing down his chest like a waterfall that had decided to become wise. His pipe was in one hand. His other hand held a pen that looked like it had signed things that changed lives.

He looked up, and his eyes sharpened.

Snake’s gaze flicked once over John’s posture, the subtle pressure in the air around him, the way the room seemed to tilt the slightest fraction as if John’s presence had its own gravity.

"Congratulations for the shop," Snake added, voice calm.

John bowed slightly. "Thank you, Headmaster."

Fizz bowed too, much deeper than necessary, and then straightened with a flourish. "Congratulate me as well," Fizz said. "I worked very hard by existing nearby."

Snake’s eyes flicked to Fizz with a look that carried both fondness and warning. "You always work hard at being loud."

Fizz beamed. "It is my sacred duty."

Snake leaned back. "You wanted something."

John nodded. "Yes. A favor."

Snake’s pipe smoke curled upward, slow as a thoughtful serpent. "Speak."

John chose his words carefully, like stepping across a floor that might have traps under the pretty tiles. "I created a magical tool. A small one. I want you to be my support. I want to sell a limited set through an auction. Only 100. Without revealing my identity. Only my business name. Fizz Holdings."

Snake’s eyes narrowed slightly. "An auction."

"Yes," John said. "A public one. But my name stays hidden. Only the product and the seller name appear."

Fizz leaned forward, whispering loudly, "It is for marketing. Also money. Also glory. Mostly glory."

John did not correct him because Snake already knew who he was dealing with.

Snake set the pipe down. "Show me."