I leveled a steady gaze at her, “This is personal to you.” My voice carried the certainty of a fact, not the doubt of a question.

Her reply was curt. “You are mistaken.”

“You were mistaken.” My words came out sharper than I intended, my implication clear: it wasn’t me who had misjudged things—it was her. She gave no reply, but I could feel her aura shift, filling the room with an oppressive weight.

And then, almost like a slow, ominous symphony, constructs began to phase in through the walls. They were faceless, featureless golems clad in maid outfits, their limbs streamlined into deadly, gleaming spikes. They looked almost human, yet nothing about them was natural. These were constructs of a Maker, infused with Atropos’s aura, programmed for her command and precision.

The golems moved with a metallic elegance, a chilling reflection of Atropos herself.

I sighed, feeling the realization settle in my chest. As much as I’d tried to keep pace, to inch toward strength with each encounter, the gulf between us was glaringly clear. Atropos wasn’t just strong—she was on a completely different level. For the entire duration of these exams, I’d scraped by as a hanger-on. I’d felt myself growing, yes, but right now, in the face of her raw power, I felt how far I still had to go.

Confronting someone like her… that would take time and strength for someone my level.

Fortunately for me, I had a hidden advantage. Special Abilities—known more formally as Passions—were not simply powers; they were the embodiment of one's innermost zeal, an expression of the very things a person had loved, nurtured, and honed. This knowledge, buried in history, was all but forgotten by most hunters. But I knew it. I was the Author, and with that title came a deeper understanding.

Atropos’s Passion lay in doll-making, a craft she had refined to such an extreme that she had transformed nearly all of her body into doll-like components, rendering herself almost a living, breathing automaton. Her constructs were not mere creations—they were extensions of her soul, each doll animated by her aura and her unique fervor.

[Passion] was a lost knowledge to this world.

They were fueled by desires, hopes, and dreams. IN a way, aura techniques existed because of them.

My Passion, though? It was rooted in stories and happy endings. Even in my old life, I’d been captivated by narratives, enthralled by the connections between characters and their journeys. That same devotion had shaped my own Special Ability. I had a knack for weaving threads, for pulling the strings and binding connections. And here, in the presence of Atropos’s dolls, my own power was waiting.

I reached out and touched the doll nearest me. Atropos had summoned them as a threat, but she hadn’t acted upon it yet, and that gave me the opening I needed. My aura slipped easily into the construct, wrapping around it with my Soul Mark, taking hold. My ability’s Puppetry attribute flared as I seized control, and in seconds, the doll was mine.

As my aura’s corona unfurled, delicate strands spread across the room, infecting each doll one by one. Recognizing the threat, Atropos withdrew her constructs, the metallic figures phasing out along with her aura. All but one, the one I’d marked, and it stayed rooted at my side, under my command.

“Return her to me,” she demanded, her voice tight.

“My ability counters yours,” I replied flatly, my tone a mirror to her own emotionless delivery. “And no, this doll is mine.”

“GIVE IT BACK!” Atropos’s voice cracked, fury staining her usually flawless, controlled demeanor.

I held her gaze, noting the break in her facade. This was real, raw anger—the first genuine emotion I’d ever seen from her. I knew all too well from her character profile just how obsessively she clung to her dolls. Losing even one was an insult she couldn’t tolerate. But returning her doll? That wasn’t in the cards. This was my deterrent; if she wanted to come at me with hostility, I’d respond in kind.

I let a slow, mocking grin slip onto my face. “What are you, a child?” I taunted. “This isn’t some toy that a neighborhood kid took from you. It’s my prize—something I won fair and square, hunter to hunter. If you want it back, you’re going to have to take it the hunter’s way.”

Atropos stared at me, fury still simmering in her eyes. Her hands clenched, but she held herself back, a war waging beneath her surface. Slowly, she took a long, steadying breath, forcing her expression back to its usual blankness.

“Fine,” she said at last, the cold edge back in her voice. “You won.”

Atropos turned her back to me, a metallic door materializing in front of her. It wasn’t her own creation but rather a perk from the tower’s infrastructure—a quick escape hatch, courtesy of her administrative privileges. But she wasn’t getting away that easily.

With a flicker of intent, I commanded the doll to intercept her escape. Moving with uncanny agility, it leaped to the ceiling, crawling across like a spider before dropping down in a swift, soundless motion, blocking her path in an instant. Towering a head taller than Atropos, the doll cast an imposing figure, and it moved with the kind of ruthless precision I knew would make even her hesitate.

She barely blinked. “Do you really think something I crafted with my own hands could stop me?” She raised her right arm. With a smooth morph, her hand transformed into a blaster barrel with energy crackling at its core. It buzzed as it started building energy to fire.

But I was one step ahead.

Before she could squeeze off a shot, shimmering chains forged from aura erupted from the doll, wrapping around her like serpents. I’d preloaded it with Soul Chain, a little trap I’d laid in anticipation of exactly this move.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Atropos turned to me with a scowl on her face.

I mentally tightened my grip on the chains, bringing the interrogation to bear as Atropos stood, her arms bound by the aura I’d woven around her creation.

"You’re not going anywhere until you give me answers," I demanded. This wasn’t just curiosity driving me; the sheer attention Atropos had put on stopping me was raising red flags. If anyone was going to pull strings around me, it would be on my terms. Her sudden opposition to my Hunting Dogs application was suspicious—and dangerous.

Why had she gone to such lengths to warn me off? Only a few people even knew about my intent to join: Stefan, my wife, Selena, the chairman, and maybe a few in-between. Atropos had no direct connection to those circles, yet here she was, somehow aware of my plans. Which one of them had let it slip? And why?

The thought settled uneasily. Someone with clout wanted me uninvolved with the Hunting Dogs, and Atropos was the visible hand at work. Whether her motivation was personal or something darker, I needed to know if I was being blindsided.

"Who’s pulling the strings, Atropos?” I pressed, my voice calm but firm. "Why are you really here? And why do you care whether or not I join?"

Atropos’s eyes narrowed, her voice finally slipping from its usual flat monotone into something softer, though still restrained. “You’re right,” she admitted, “it is personal.”

With that, the pieces began to fall into place. If this really was personal, then Atropos had no one supporting her in this crusade but herself. Her single-minded determination had no directive from above, no orders from the chairman, and no hidden agenda from someone higher up in the Association. This wasn’t about loyalty to an unseen command—it was about her own will and reasons.

I thought briefly of the chairman, whose easygoing nature clashed with the calculated atmosphere of these exams. If he’d wanted to keep me out, he had the authority to shut me down with just a stamp on my application, never bothering with personal visits or obscure threats. No, it couldn’t be him orchestrating Atropos’s interference; he had no need to move pieces across the board in such a convoluted manner.

So, the only logical conclusion? This truly was Atropos’s personal vendetta, an obsession she’d buried under that cool, emotionless exterior. She had her own reasons, her own fears or motives, but whatever they were, she’d taken it upon herself to act.

Paranoia started creeping in.

Was she being manipulated? Coerced, even?

"From whom did you learn of my application to the Hunting Dogs?" I asked, eyeing her carefully, waiting for a slip-up.

Atropos’s gaze remained steady. "I read it directly from the system," she replied. "It was one of my responsibilities."

Hmmm… So she was indeed among the few with direct access to that kind of information, which aligned with what she’d claimed about her duties. But then again, if this was some grand ploy to keep me out, who else was pulling the strings?

Or… and the thought hit me suddenly, so absurd that I almost dismissed it… was it possible that she’d fallen in love for me? That her objections weren’t about me being weak or unfit, but some twisted way of keeping me safe? It sounded ridiculous, but love at first sight wasn’t unheard of, right? At least, I’d read enough stories with plots as outlandish as this one.

I glanced back at her, watching her controlled, impassive expression for any flicker, any hint of emotion that might betray something deeper. But she remained stoic, her face as unreadable as ever.

Hmmm… maybe it was a misunderstanding…

A whirlwind of confusion and disbelief gripped me. I already had a wife—I wasn’t looking for anyone else. I didn’t want this constant parade of unexpected infatuations. If Atropos started showing yandere tendencies, it would be disastrous. But rejecting her felt like treading into even murkier waters. I hadn’t asked to be handsome, hadn’t signed up for any of this extra drama.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to let her down as gently as I could. “I’m sorry… It’s not you. It’s me…”

She blinked, her usual stoic face giving way to confusion. “What?”

Right. Emotional matters might be a bit outside her usual field. “It just wouldn’t work between us,” I said, hoping this would make things clear. “You are 97% doll and I am 100% flesh.”

Her brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

I sighed. “I already have a wife.”

Atropos’s expression went from confusion to outright shock, her face paling as the Soul Chain shattered in response to her surge of aura.

“You asshole, I’m your sister!” she hissed, and I froze.

I… have a sister? I couldn’t remember ever having one. But as Atropos’s fury continued to surge around me, the reality of the situation grew undeniably complicated.

This whole thing was turning out more ridiculous by the second. Atropos’s anger wasn’t just a flash in the pan—it was fueled by something she was claiming was genuine, and the absurdity of it was impossible to ignore.

“I might look different now, because of the augmentations… but it’s me, Reina! I am your big sister, you doofus! Don’t you remember the time you said you’d marry me when we grew up?” she shot back, with a huff of exasperation that felt far too familiar.

“Okay, this is too much,” I muttered, massaging my temples. “You’re gaslighting me. I don’t remember any ‘big sister’ like you. And besides, why are you suddenly talking so emotionally, breaking character like this? Aren’t you supposed to be cold and emotionless?”

“Hey! Even dolls can have feelings!” she fired back, and for a split second, I could almost swear she was genuinely offended. “And for the record, I turned off my emotional inhibitors because you’re such a pain to deal with!”

“Yeah, sure, if you’re really my sister, then why are you acting so… flirty? What about that time after the sixth exam, and just now with the ear thing?” I shot back, folding my arms. “Big sister, my ass! You’re trying to gaslight me. If you’re going to make a case, show me proof!”

The look on her face was uncharacteristically vulnerable, and that caught me off guard. She seemed hurt, and not just by my accusation. It dawned on me then—those emotional inhibitors she mentioned… I’d written them in as a coping mechanism. A crutch to help her cope with some vague “pain in her soul” I’d written, a hint at a backstory I hadn’t fleshed out. But if she really had turned off those inhibitors… was she telling the truth?

I was left with one burning question: why did she think I was her brother?

The whole scene was going off the rails.

“Ugh… I’m really your sister,” Atropos insisted, her voice exasperated. “I even have two moles right under my breast—”

“Don’t you dare undress!” I practically yelled, horrified. “I have a wife, damn it!”

“Just a little peek would be enough to confirm I’m your sister…” she continued, undeterred. “You should remember! You used to make fun of my mole when we bathed together as kids! You’d say it looked like a third and fourth mole! Here, here… look—”

“Ah! AH! No, stop! Don’t you dare undress! I don’t remember that! I don’t remember any of it!” I was practically waving my hands in a panic, feeling my sanity slip by the second.

Atropos froze, a hint of genuine pain in her eyes. “You don’t… remember me?”

“No! I don’t remember ever having a sister named Atropos or Reina or… anything!” I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts and keep myself from shouting. “I grew up as a single child. Alone. My grandparents raised me, and I don’t have a sister.”

She stared at me, her mouth opening and closing, as though trying to process something that didn’t fit. “No way… amnesia?” she murmured, like she was solving some kind of riddle.

This whole thing was absurd beyond belief. I clenched my fists, trying to get my head around it. But then, a thought crept up in the back of my mind, a realization that started to piece things together in the worst possible way.

What if I hadn’t just popped into this world? What if there was already a different Reynard here? A version of me that had lived a life before I ever arrived, with connections and memories I didn’t share? A life that had left a family, a sister—even Atropos, who was standing right here claiming I was the brother she remembered.

Oh shit… it was an old connection.