The first thing I noticed when I woke up—wasn't the sunlight.

It was Bobo.

Perched right on my chest, staring down at me with wide, curious eyes.

I blinked. He blinked back.

“…Bobo.”

Chirp.

Then, before I could react—he pounced.

“Oof—”

I sat up, nearly toppling over as Bobo scrambled up to my shoulder, clinging like he belonged there.

I exhaled. This was my life now.

I stretched, and that’s when I felt it—a rush of energy surging through me.

I stilled.

It wasn’t just normal morning refreshment. It was deeper. My mind felt… clearer. Sharper. Like everything was in perfect focus.

I glanced inward—toward my grimoire.

It was full.

Again.

I had let it cultivate overnight, and now the sheer amount of energy pulsing within it made my whole body hum.

I clenched my fist. I felt amazing.

But before I could dwell on it—Bobo tugged my ear.

I turned my head.

He gestured toward the door.

I sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m up.”

Wherever I went, Bobo followed.

Shower? Bobo was there. Perched on the sink, watching me like a tiny judgmental king.

Breakfast? Bobo was there. Sitting beside my plate, waiting for scraps.

Training? Bobo was there. Mimicking my movements like he was ready to start his own cultivation.

By the time we sat down at the table, Lina had already noticed.

“Mommy,” she whispered loudly, “Bobo turned into Akul’s shadow.”

Mother chuckled, watching as Bobo carefully copied the way I held my spoon. “It seems they’ve bonded quite well.”

Father just smirked. “That’s a good thing.”

I grinned—but then my expression shifted.

I had been meaning to test something.

A skill.

Neural Acceleration.

I took a slow breath, then focused.

A pulse of energy left me, weaving itself into Bobo.

His eyes gleamed just a little bit brighter.

Alright. Let’s try this.

I pointed at myself. “Akul.”

Bobo stared.

I pointed again. “Akul.”

Then, I pointed at him. “Bobo.”

A small pause.

I repeated the motion.

“Akul. Bobo.”

Something clicked.

Bobo’s ears twitched, his eyes flicking between my hand and my face.

Then—

His tiny hand patted my chest.

“…Aou."

I froze.

Lina gasped. “HE SAID YOUR NAME!”

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“He mimicked my name,” I corrected. But inside, I was stunned.

That was fast.

I wasn’t sure if he actually understood or was just copying me.

So I tried again.

I pointed at myself. “Akul.”

Then at him. “Bobo.”

His little paw patted his own chest.

“…BoOo.”

Silence.

Then—

Mother’s spoon clattered against her plate. “Did he just—”

Father let out a slow whistle. “Well. That’s something.”

Lina, meanwhile, was losing her mind.

“HE KNOWS HIS NAME! HE KNOWS HIS NAME! HE’S A GENIUS!”

I exhaled. “Calm down, Lina—”

“GENIUUUUS!”

Bobo, clearly encouraged, puffed out his tiny chest.

I couldn’t help but grin.

This was working.

And I wasn’t done yet.

The rest of the morning, I expanded the experiment.

First—commands.

“Up.”

Bobo jumped onto the table.

“Down.”

He hopped back down.

Father arched an eyebrow. “He’s catching on quickly.”

I smirked. “We’re just getting started.”

Next, I had him fetch things.

“Bobo—bring me that cloth.”

He hesitated—but then moved. Grabbed the cloth. Brought it back.

Every success made the little monkey more excited. He loved the challenge.

But Father?

Father watched.

And then, just as I was about to continue—

He spoke.

“Akul,” he said, leaning forward. “Do you know what makes creatures like Bobo even smarter?”

I blinked. “…What?”

Father’s eyes glinted.

“Puzzles.”

It started simple.

A small treat hidden under a cup.

Bobo had to lift the cup to get it.

Easy. He figured it out instantly.

Then, a harder one—three cups. The treat under only one.

Still too easy.

Then, the real challenge.

Father set up a small bottle of water—and inside it, at the bottom, was a floating piece of fruit.

Bobo couldn’t reach it.

He tried. Scratched at the glass. Stuck his hand inside—but the fruit was too low.

He turned to me, confused.

I nudged him back.

“No hints,” I murmured. “Figure it out.”

Bobo frowned.

Then—he stared at the bottle.

A long pause.

Then, slowly—he grabbed a small stone.

I held my breath.

He dropped it inside.

The water level rose.

My eyes widened.

Again—he grabbed another small object. Dropped it in.

The fruit floated higher.

He did it again. And again.

Until finally—

He reached in.

And pulled out the fruit.

Silence.

Lina screamed.

“HE’S A SUPERVILLAIN!”

I burst out laughing.

Mother clapped. “Incredible.”

Even Father looked impressed.

“Well,” he said, shaking his head. “He really is something.”

Bobo, pleased with himself, chomped down on his prize.

And me?

I just sat there, grinning.

This wasn’t just luck.

It wasn’t coincidence.

It was proof.

Neural Acceleration worked.

And with time?

Bobo wouldn’t just be strong.

He’d be brilliant.

As my responsibility called, I was awakened, but that didn't mean I didn't have to work—to help my father and mother take care of the other monkeys inside the enclosure.

The enclosures were alive with noise—the usual chatter, the rustling of movement, the occasional squabble between juveniles testing their place in the hierarchy.

I had done this a hundred times before. Feeding time was routine.

But today?

Today felt off.

"Akul," Mother called, stacking another basket of food. "The enclosures can get territorial, especially when food is involved. Leave Bobo at home."

I frowned.

Bobo clung to my shoulder, his tiny hands gripping my tunic.

"Will he be okay alone?"

"He'll be fine," she reassured. "But bringing him here? That could be dangerous. Monkeys don’t like outsiders in their territory."

I hesitated.

Then, kneeling down, I looked Bobo in the eye.

"Stay," I said firmly.

Bobo tilted his head.

I activated Neural Acceleration.

A pulse of energy linked us.

"Stay. Here."

Bobo’s expression flickered—then he gave a small chirp of acknowledgment.

I smiled. "Good boy."

And with that—I left.

The feeding went as planned—at first.

The monkeys gathered, their eyes sharp with hunger but controlled by routine. I tossed food, distributed fruits, and observed their behavior like I always did.

Then—

A scream.

Not a normal one.

A raw, panicked, feral shriek.

The air shifted.

The monkeys around me froze.

And then—chaos.

A wave of juveniles suddenly launched themselves out of the enclosure, their bodies a blur of fur and fury.

I barely had time to react before they were gone.

"What the—?!"

I ran.

I wasn’t the only one.

The handlers turned, voices raised in confusion—someone shouted something, but I didn’t stop to listen.

Because in the middle of the commotion—

I saw him.

Bobo.

And he was losing.

The juvenile monkeys weren’t just attacking him.

They were overwhelming him.

Bobo was tiny. Barely the size of my palm just days ago. He had grown, sure—but compared to the older juveniles?

He was nothing.

And they knew it.

They piled on him.

Teeth flashed. Claws ripped.

A blur of fur and bodies slammed into him, knocking him down—one after another, after another.

Bobo screeched, thrashing, desperate to escape.

But they didn’t let him.

One monkey bit his tail, yanking him back just as he tried to flee.

Another sank its teeth into his shoulder.

A third grabbed his leg—swung him into the dirt.

Then they pounced again.

One after another.

Pummeling.

Clawing.

Tearing.

Bobo struggled—gods, he fought.

I was running with all my might but still i felt so patheticly slow

I try harder.

But it wasn’t enough.

There were too many.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t fighting to win.

He wasn’t fighting to flee.

He was fighting to reach me.

His small, battered body lurched forward, paws dragging through the dirt, his golden fur stained red.

He didn’t cry for help.

He didn’t beg for mercy.

He just kept moving.

His eyes—wild, desperate—locked onto mine.

And in that moment—

Something inside me shattered.

The world blurred.

The screams faded.

All I could see was him.

Crawling.

Bleeding.

Reaching.

And failing.

A juvenile monkey latched onto his back, shoving him down.

Another bit his ear, jerking his head back—hard.

Bobo screeched, his tiny limbs flailing, his body twisting, writhing, desperate to break free—

But they didn’t let him.

They were laughing.

Not real laughter, not human laughter—but it felt like it.

The way they pushed him back, over and over, snarling, snapping, taunting—

saw fear in his eyes.

Real, gut-wrenching, bone-deep fear.

I saw pain.

I saw desperation.

Like he was nothing.

Like he didn’t matter.

Like he wasn’t mine.

A sharp, ringing silence stretched through my skull.

For a single, fragile moment—

Everything stopped.

Then—

I snapped.

Something inside me snapped.

My heartbeat roared in my ears.

My vision blurred at the edges.

I felt the grimoire at my side hum to life, reacting to my fury.

And as the screams grew louder—

I screamed, too...