The Incubus System Chapter 1410. Not Mine

The Incubus System Chapter 1410. Not Mine

He scratched the back of his head. “But the real Erebus is dead. Thousands of years ago.”

“Maybe they think he’s still alive.”

“Or reborn. Or reincarnated. Or split soul.”

“Larry, they just don’t know he is dead,” I explained.

We stood there for a moment, both of us staring at the door like it was about to open and swallow us whole.

“You need to explain to her that you’re not Erebus,” I said finally.

He blinked at me. “Why me?”

“Because it’s your identity.”

He frowned. “Why not you?”

I gave him a look.

“The same question applies to you.”

He squinted at me.

“It’s your identity not mine,” I repeated. “You’re the one she might mislabel. C’mon, the class is starting again. Just explain to her a bit.”

He exhaled dramatically.

“I’ll try.”

Most of the class was already seated again. The atmosphere was lighter this time. Students chatting. Someone laughing about something unrelated to celestial politics.

Normal.

I slid into my usual seat.

Larry followed.

But halfway to his chair, he stopped.

I noticed it immediately.

The shift in his posture.

The deep inhale.

Oh no.

He turned.

And walked straight to her.

Face to face.

I felt my soul leave my body.

He stood in front of Professor Lysathiel like he was presenting a thesis defense.

“Professor,” he began.

Too loud.

Too formal.

She looked at him calmly.

“Yes?”

He drew himself up like he was about to declare war.

“I am not Erebus! I am Larry Grandroar!”

The entire classroom froze.

He didn’t say it casually.

He announced it.

Like a report.

Like a military briefing.

I physically cringed.

I slid down in my seat and covered half my face with my bag.

Oh God… Why?

Second-hand embarrassment is a physical pain.

“You can ask Ethan,” Larry continued, pointing directly at me.

I froze.

He pointed at me.

At me!

I covered my entire face now.

What did I do in my past life to deserve this?

A guy sitting beside me leaned over slightly. “I’m shocked you’re still friends with him.”

I whispered back without lifting my head, “Yeah. I’m shocked too.”

The classroom was silent enough that you could hear someone breathe.

Lysathiel didn’t react dramatically.

She didn’t flinch.

She didn’t question his sanity.

She just looked at him for a long moment.

Then nodded slightly.

“I will remember that,” she said calmly. “Please sit down.”

That’s it.

That’s all she gave him.

Larry nodded stiffly and walked back to his seat.

He sat down like nothing happened.

Like he didn’t just publicly announce a denial of ancient demonic identity in a business class.

I slowly lowered my bag from my face.

“You’re insane,” I whispered.

“You told me to explain,” he muttered.

“Not like that.”

“How else do you explain it?”

“Casually. Subtly. Like a normal human.”

He blinked. “I was clear.”

“That’s the problem.”

He crossed his arms. “Well, now she knows.”

Does she though?

Or does she now think you’re hiding something?

I glanced toward the front.

Lysathiel was writing on the board again.

But I noticed the micro-pause.

The slight tilt of her head.

She processed it.

Filed it.

Stored it.

She didn’t dismiss it.

That’s what unsettled me.

The class slowly resumed motion.

Pens scratched against paper.

Whispers returned.

I forced myself to sit upright.

The chair creaked a little under the shift, and for a second that tiny sound felt louder than it should have. The classroom had already settled back into its rhythm. Slides changing. Professor Lysathiel’s voice steady and clear, like she hadn’t just witnessed Larry announce ancient identity disclaimers like it was a national broadcast.

And yeah.

Class started again.

Like nothing happened.

Which somehow made it worse.

The first fifteen minutes passed in that weird hyper-awareness mode where I was half listening to her talk about strategic capital allocation and half replaying the earlier conversation in my head.

As if my life didn’t already have enough factions.

The class dragged on.

Two hours.

It ended around two in the afternoon.

Which meant my stomach was officially staging a rebellion.

I had skipped lunch.

Because apparently talking to celestial royalty does that to you.

My stomach growled quietly and I pressed a hand against it for a second.

“Calm down,” I muttered under my breath.

But yeah.

I was hungry.

Hungry enough that my brain was oscillating between geopolitical strategy and noodles.

The absurdity of it almost made me laugh.

Despite everything, I did what I was supposed to do.

I studied.

I took notes.

I wrote down bullet points about leadership frameworks and operational scaling like a completely normal human student.

And the part that irritated me the most?

She was good.

Like… actually good.

Her lecture followed the textbook exactly. No improvising. No celestial metaphors. No divine undertones. Just structured analysis, real-world case studies, practical examples.

Her learning curve was frightening.

Even for me.

And that’s saying something.

She absorbed this curriculum like she’d been teaching it for years.

Which meant either she pre-studied ridiculously fast…

Or angels don’t just live long.

They process information at insane speed.

I caught myself staring at her once while she explained a financial restructuring model.

Not because she was beautiful.

Okay, she was beautiful.

But that wasn’t it.

It was the precision.

The way she controlled tone.

The way she navigated student responses.

There was no wasted motion.

No hesitation.

It was like watching someone play a perfectly rehearsed instrument.

And then…

“Ethan.”

My pen paused mid-sentence.

Of course.

“Yes?” I replied evenly.

She leaned slightly against the desk at the front.

“In a corporate scenario where two divisions compete for limited expansion capital, what determines which division survives?”

The class turned.

I felt their attention shift like a spotlight.

I exhaled slowly.

“Strategic value alignment,” I said. “Whichever division aligns more closely with long-term vision and stability metrics. Short-term profitability alone isn’t enough.”

She nodded once.

“And if both divisions present equal potential?”

“Then leadership bias decides.”

A subtle flicker in her eyes.

“Bias?”

“Yes.”

I kept my tone neutral.

“Leaders are never truly neutral. Their personal values, fears, and political alliances influence outcomes.”