Seven Sins System Chapter 655. Not Ready

Seven Sins System Chapter 655. Not Ready

My boots hit the wooden floor of my dorm room with a quiet thud.

Silence greeted me.

No voices. No footsteps. Not even a flicker of her presence.

No perfume. No warmth in the sheets. Not even the ghost of her divinity lingering in the air. I looked around—half-hoping I missed something. A folded note maybe?

But… nothing.

She wasn’t here.

Not even a trace.

I let out a long, quiet sigh and rolled my shoulders. They popped like old bone armor. My body was humming from the fight, from the rage. I should be tired after an all-night slaughter marathon, but somehow… I wasn’t. Not even a little.

I stood still for a moment. Then closed my eyes.

Focused.

There it was—subtle, embedded, nearly weightless.

The flea-shaped tentacle I had left on her. Nestled quietly on her, just under her collarbone.

I tuned in.

And felt her.

In her own dorm. Alone. Sitting. Thinking.

No movement. No muttering. Just silence.

She wasn’t asleep.

She was just… still.

I drew in a breath and released it slowly. “So you’re not ready yet,” I murmured to no one. “Fine. Be still.”

I didn’t go to her.

Didn’t force it. Didn’t knock.

Instead, I moved to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

I decided to skip my usual jogging and work out today.

Steam filled the air instantly—thick and hot and sharp with the scent of mortal soap. The mirror fogged up in seconds, my reflection dissolving into shadow and soft outlines.

I stripped off what remained of my coat, my shirt, the bloodstained pants. My skin was a mess. Dirt, ashes, some part still glowing faintly from the corrupted energy I'd absorbed. But nothing serious.

The water hit my back, hot and punishing. I let it.

Let it beat the sand and dried blood and battlefield stink out of me. Let it rinse down the drain like the night never happened.

I didn’t scrub hard.

Didn’t bother with hair care or exfoliating rituals or whatever mortals were pushing on social media this month.

I just stood there.

Let the heat boil away the silence.

Eventually, I moved. Got out. Toweled off. Dressed.

Just simple dark pants, a grey shirt, and a white coat—clean, pressed. The same kind the other academy medics wore. It made me look normal. Responsible.

Mortal.

I went to the kitchenette and made breakfast.

Two portions.

Same lame sandwiches.

No strange experiments. Just the usual, the kind she’d roll her eyes at and eat anyway. I wrapped hers, even though I wasn’t sure I’d see her today. Even though I had no idea if she’d accept it.

Some habits were harder to break than rage.

I left early.

Earlier than usual.

Walked through the crisp morning campus before the mortals swarmed it. The wind was cool. The light was soft. Too soft. It made everything feel… fake. Like the world didn’t remember what I’d done the night before. Like it didn’t know I’d nearly lost control.

I passed a couple students—heads down, sipping coffee, yawning—and none of them looked twice at me. That was good. I didn’t want eyes on me today.

I stopped at the library. Scanned the shelves. Borrowed a couple books—most of them I’d read already, but I took them anyway. Something about the routine felt grounding. Mortal things. Safe illusions.

Then I made my way to the infirmary.

Swiped my ID across the door panel, stepped in. The room was clean. Quiet. Smelled like antiseptic and lavender. The kind of place you were supposed to relax in.

I didn’t.

I walked the perimeter, extended my tentacles—thin, subtle, fast. They scanned the cabinets, drawers, shelves. Checked the medications. Supplies. Bandages. Potions. Restoratives.

Five minutes. Done.

Everything was stocked.

I sat at my desk.

Opened one of the borrowed books.

Pretended to read.

Didn’t work.

I turned the page five times without absorbing a single word.

Eventually, I gave up. Pulled out my phone.

Scrolled.

Social media. Newsfeeds. Mortal nonsense.

Fake gossip. Clickbait. Ads for vitamin water with “divine essence.”

It all felt hollow.

None of it touched me.

Until—

The door creaked open.

And I didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

Julia.

Her presence was unmistakable.

I looked up, slow.

She walked in like she owned the place—clipboard in one hand, jacket half-zipped, white blouse straining slightly against a chest that could start theological debates.

“Morning, handsome,” she said, voice like spiced honey and coffee. “You’re early.”

I gave her a half-smile. “Can’t sleep. Murdered a desert. Leveled up once.”

She raised a brow. “Productive.”

“Barely.”

Julia walked around the desk, hips swaying, and leaned against the table beside me—close, but not touching. “So what’s got the devil prince brooding at 6 a.m. like a kicked puppy?”

I didn’t answer.

Just stared at the sandwich I hadn’t touched.

She tilted her head. “Is this about the angel girl?”

My jaw flexed.

She chuckled under her breath. “It’s always about the angel girl.”

I looked up at her, slowly. “She’s not just an angel.”

Julia’s eyes softened—only slightly. “I know.”

She didn’t press. Just stood there. Radiating heat. Presence.

Temptation.

And for a second…

I wanted to give in.

Not because I needed her.

Not because I wanted her comfort.

But because I wanted noise.

A distraction.

A different kind of silence.

But I didn’t move.

And neither did she.

Finally, she said, “You’re thinking too loud again.”

“Can’t help it,” I muttered.

She reached out, plucked the book from my hands, flipped it shut, and set it aside. “Then stop pretending you’re reading and just talk to me.”

I stared at her.

And said nothing.

Because the truth was…

I didn’t what to talk about.

But Julia didn’t push. She just stood there, hands resting behind her on the edge of my desk. Her blouse strained against every movement like a curse of its own.

I tried not to look to her breast.

Failed.

And yeah, I wasn’t proud of what came out next. But it spilled anyway. Deadpan. Automatic. A swing at silence more than anything else.

“Wanna bang?”