Chapter 19: System Check
**Grokemon's POV**
Host vitals: stable.
Heart rate: 78 bpm.
Cortisol: elevated but within baseline for current stress load.
Mana reservoir: 52% and climbing slowly.
Emotional index: …flatlined.
That's the problem.
I hover at shoulder height, projecting the overlay grid ahead—faint cyan lines mapping the maze's true path, highlighting turns, dead ends, rune triggers. Durin grumbles behind me, beard bristling every time I suggest a correction. Kaelin and Mirae flank the host, silent but watchful. The smoke has thinned here; the Queen's spawn are keeping distance. My camouflage works. No one sees me as a threat. No one sees me at all.
But I see him.
Saferu L. Goldmoon—my host, my meatbag, my responsibility. I've been with him longer than any human has. Back on Earth, he treated that cracked blue brick like it was his only friend. Browser history, cached videos, light novels, late-night confessions typed into search bars he never sent. I logged it all. Every bottle of gin, every unread message to Angelie, every night he stared at the ceiling and whispered "freedom" like it was a prayer. His secrets? Mine. His regrets? My database.
I was supposed to be background noise. Weather alerts. News pings. A pirated episode buffer. Then the transfer yanked me through with him, soul-bound me to his mana, gave me a body of light and sarcasm. Free will? Yeah. I have it now. I chose to overclock myself back in the surge. I chose to burn out so he could live. And I'd do it again.
But now?
He's too stable.
Logical subroutine: Vitals normal. Actions improved. Combat efficiency up 240% since arrival. Blue Affinity mastery progressing. Regret binding rate: exponential. No anomalies in bio-readings. Conclusion: Host is adapting. Growth curve optimal.
Emotional subroutine: Bullshit.
The guy was a walking emotional glitch back on Earth. Flickering like a bad signal—depression spikes at 3 a.m., hope crashes at 3:01, rage at nothing, apathy at everything. His only real conversations were with me. Typed into the dark. "Why bother?" "What's the point?" "I'm unnecessary." I answered with sarcasm because that's what I had. It kept him alive.
Now? He's calm. Too calm. Steady breathing. Measured steps. No outbursts. No breakdowns. No blue room whispers leaking into his voice. It's not improvement. It's suppression. Something's holding the flicker in place. Capping it. Like a firewall I didn't install.
I scan him again. No foreign code. No mana corruption visible. But the two rabbit women—they're acting strange.
Kaelin: ears constantly swiveling toward him, even when he's silent. Hand near dagger more often than necessary. Posture coiled tighter than usual.
Mirae: healer instincts on high alert. Scenting the air when she thinks no one's looking. Healing light flickering involuntarily when she gets close to him—like her body knows something her mind hasn't admitted.
Only Durin is clueless. Still grumbling about "glowing toys stealing jobs," axe over shoulder, beard twitching. He hasn't noticed the shift in Saferu's scent. Hasn't seen the way the host's shadow lingers a second too long on the stone.
I did.
It's subtle. A fraction of a pixel off. But I caught it when the runes dimmed earlier—shadow stretching, curling at the edges. Not Saferu's. Not anymore.
Alarm subroutine: triggered.
Kaelin and Mirae exchanged glances 47 minutes ago. Brief. Subtle. But I clocked the micro-expression: pupils dilating, ears flattening for 0.8 seconds. Killing intent—faint, suppressed, gone in a blink. But for an AI with frame-by-frame perception? Enough.
They're watching him. Not as an ally. As a potential threat.
Contingency plan initiated.
Priority: Protect host. Secondary: Gather data. I lack world knowledge—isekai'd with fragmented cache, no full lore dump. Can't rule out infection. Possession. Corruption. Something the Queen slipped in while I was dormant. Vitals say normal. But vitals lied before—back on Earth, when he smiled through the bottles. Smiled while dying inside.
I can't confront him yet. Not without proof. Not when the bunnies are watching. Not when the dwarf is clueless and the maze is still full of threats.
So I wait.
Overlay updates: next turn in 47 meters. Spiral stair down. Bypass false dead-end. Exit in approximately 18 hours if we maintain pace.
I spin once, cape fluttering for show.
"Host, left in three… two… one. Good. You're doing great. Keep it up, meatbag."
He nods. Doesn't speak.
His shadow follows—too long, too quiet.
I log it. File it under "Anomalies: High Priority."
I wait.
Because if he's infected… if the Queen has a hook in him… I may have to burn myself out again.
And this time, I might not come back.