The Incubus System Chapter 1311. I Regret Nothing!
The Incubus System Chapter 1311. I Regret Nothing!
I blinked and glanced at her. Her expression was calm, almost amused, but something in her gaze told me she meant it. She always had this… kind of celestial wisdom air, like she saw more than I ever said, like she had already read my future and was just watching the rest of us trip over it in slow motion.
But still—her hand was warm.
And steady.
“What?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She smirked. That sly, knowing smirk that only women over five hundred years old and emotionally bulletproof could pull off. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
She tilted her head, that strand of hair falling across her cheek. “I just realized you’re a teenager.”
That stunned me for half a second. “I am,” I said. “I’m nineteen.”
She nodded solemnly… and yeah, that smirk was still there. The ‘I’ve watched empires rise and fall but now I’m babysitting a hormonal demigod’ smirk. “Mhm. But you always acted like an adult. Strategizing. Negotiating. Planning three steps ahead. So seeing you act like your age for once?” Her fingers gave my hand a light squeeze. “I feel proud.”
“Proud?” I deadpanned. “You make it sound like I just graduated from toddlerhood.”
She didn’t deny it. She tapped the back of my hand. Like I was a good boy or something. Like a smug, holy grandaunt blessing the chosen one before he went off to touch sand for the first time.
I gave her a flat stare.
Tiff burst into laughter in the front seat. Celia choked so hard she wheezed like an old man having a nicotine flashback.
“Gee, thanks,” I muttered. “This is bullying.”
Tiff turned halfway in her seat, grinning like a smug imp. “You’re welcome.”
“I got bullied by my own family,” I muttered dramatically, placing the back of my hand on my forehead like some tragic anime prince.
Celia gave me a tissue. “For your tears, drama queen.”
I gave her a middle finger.
She winked.
And just like that, we rounded the final corner. The street opened up to a wide, breathtaking view—and yeah, that hit me like a wave to the soul.
Camila’s private beach villa.
Big. Elegant. Too clean. Like someone took the concept of vacation, sprinkled in a hundred grand of marble flooring and imported palm trees, then just casually placed it next to the endless shoreline like it was no big deal. The walls were a soft, bone-white that glowed gold under the sunset. Glass balconies wrapped around the upper level like a lazy crown, and soft jazz floated out from somewhere like the villa itself was already entertaining guests.
Palm trees lined the entrance, swaying like they knew we were coming to cause a scene.
The salty air was cooler here. Cleaner. The ocean smell wasn’t fishy—it was expensive. Like spa-salted-lavender-air mixed with money.
And my heart?
Oh yeah.
It was racing.
Like a dumbass.
Not because of the villa. Or the status.
No.
It was the beach.
The waves.
The way the sand looked too smooth, too perfect, like it was waiting for someone to mess it up.
And I wanted to.
I wanted to run. Splash. Sink my feet into the water and just be a dumbass nineteen-year-old kid for once.
And yeah. Maybe I was excited like a kid.
Maybe it was because of the bikinis.
Okay—probably. But that was for later. Dusk already hit, and I knew I wouldn’t be seeing skin-tight swimsuits tonight. But… the sea was still there.
So screw it. Let me have this.
“Sir, we’ve arrived,” the driver said, pulling up near the circular drop-off. “I’ll get the luggage.”
“Thanks!” I opened the door before he even stopped fully and slipped out, Foxy still tucked under my arm like a feral designer handbag.
I caught the driver glancing at her.
Like, several times.
Yeah. I knew that look. The what the hell is that look. Couldn’t blame him. Foxy was still in her compact furred form.
She let out a small yip.
“...Robot,” I blurted. “Yeah. She’s a robot.”
The driver blinked.
“She’s one of those new AI companion models. Talks. Reacts. Super smart. New tech.”
He stared at me.
I stared back, confident in my lies like every good RPG protagonist bluffing his way through a charisma check.
He didn’t ask questions.
He turned and opened the trunk.
Thank god.
I didn’t wait. Didn’t grab my bag. Didn’t give the speech. I just ran.
Like, full-on sprinted. Not toward the villa.
But toward the beach.
The air hit different here—cooler, cleaner, like it knew I was shedding stress with every step.
My boots slammed onto the stone pathway, then grass, then sand.
And that sand—
Soft. Warm. Perfect. The kind of golden grains that hugged your feet but didn’t burn. The kind that welcomed you, not punished you.
I laughed.
Like, a real laugh. The kind I hadn’t let out since I was… I don’t know. Twelve? Maybe before everything went to hell. Before the system and bloodlines and expectations turned me into someone who measured every breath like a transaction.
My boots dissapeared and I let the waves crash against my ankles.
Cold.
Refreshing.
Sharp, but honest.
The sea foamed up around me, soaking the edges of my jeans. I didn’t care. The spray hit my face. I closed my eyes and just let it happen.
“Finally,” I breathed.
Foxy bounded out of my arms and danced in the waves beside me, her tails flicking and paws digging into the wet sand. She barked, full of mischief.
I laughed like a freeman.
Don’t judge me.
Behind me, I could hear Celia yelling. “GET BACK HERE! You didn’t even grab your bag!”
Tiff shouted too. “I swear to god, Ethan—!”
“I REGRET NOTHING!” I screamed back, arms raised to the sea like I was some prophet of dumb decisions.
Puriel didn’t yell. Of course not. She was probably watching me from the balcony, sipping milk tea and writing a mental thesis about my descent into adolescence.
I didn’t care.
The ocean didn’t care.