Chapter 36: The Guests’ Insights

The guests sipped their drinks, each sharing their thoughts on my story.

Catsy explained her absence, saying her dimension’s restoration was nearly complete.
The rat evil god had targeted her weakened state but, finding her recovered faster than expected, likely shifted its focus to my café.

“I knew it was skulking after me, nya. But it was so pathetic, I ignored it,” Catsy said, tapping a butterfly pattern floating above her teacup with her claw, adding she could’ve crushed it anytime but found its numbers too annoying.

“Even one minion escaping can multiply and revive an evil god, making it a hassle,” Thunderbird interjected. “Did you truly eliminate all the rats?”

I turned to Bernell. “I passed out, so I don’t know the details. Did you get them all?”
He nodded calmly. “I sealed every rat-hole.”

“Oh, excellent work! For a new demigod, your crisis handling is impressive. I’m relieved!” Thunderbird exclaimed.

“You sealed them all? Could you see the holes?”
The void teeming with rat-holes was visible only to me, thanks to the jewel berry smoothie’s Insight boost. I’d guided Bernell to the leader’s hole because he couldn’t see them.

“They appeared suddenly,” he said. “After a strange power stirred in me. I didn’t see the holes like you, but I felt their energy and struck every source, collapsing them.”

“The protective power of your artifact made it possible,” I realized.
I vowed to invest Causality in him generously from now on.

“Speaking of, Catsy, since your dimension’s nearly restored, will you stop entrusting the Nekomata to us?”
Caring for them was tedious but brought substantial Causality.

Originally, Catsy left them here to protect them while fixing her dimension. Now, that need was gone.
My question carried reluctant disappointment.

“We’re still short on adult cats,” Aewol panted, approaching after playing hard.
Seeing her struggle, peeking over the bar, I offered the cloud milk ice cream I’d prepared for the kids.

Maybe impressing the Nekomata would convince Catsy to keep bringing them, swayed by their pleas.
Though their parent-child dynamic was vague, Catsy’s consistent visits with them after ice cream suggested affection.

“Hey! Why’re you eating alone, nya?!”
“Cheater!”
Aewol’s spoon triggered the other two’s radar, who’d been tumbling in the ball pit.

They bounded over, bouncing balls everywhere. I carried a tray to Catsy’s table.
“No adult cats can handle their energy, nya,” Catsy said.

The Nekomata, tamed by ice cream, followed my instructions perfectly, sitting on the sofa, each clutching a spoon, staring hungrily at the tray.
“Then the Nekomata will keep coming. I’ll take good care of them.”

As I set down the bowls, they dove in, spoons clashing. The glass bowls screeched but never broke, so I wasn’t worried.

“Impressive, Eun. You handle the kittens well,” Thunderbird noted.
“They’re tough to manage at that age. I get why you entrust them here,” Young Blue Sage added, ironically, given he looked their age.

“Will I need to worry about more evil gods? If they attack randomly, the losses… I might not open the café for days.”
I refilled Thunderbird’s empty cup.

“That won’t do! But as I said, this place isn’t prominent enough to attract frequent attacks unless something unusual happens,” Thunderbird replied.
So, as long as the cats didn’t drag more rats here, I could relax.

“I agree, but I can’t say be complacent. With a fragile lady here, constant vigilance is needed,” Young Blue Sage said, eyeing the exhausted pig-bird.

I soaked a cloth in warm water to clean its tear-stained eyes.
“Bbi bbi.”
“I know, you hate it. Just bear it. You cried so much, you’ve got tear tracks.”

As I gently wiped, I felt Young Blue Sage’s intense gaze.
“You were bedridden from aftereffects. Are you okay now?” His warm, worried voice touched me.

Wishstone was the only deity genuinely concerned for me.
Catsy, the cause of this mess, sat nonchalantly. If she’d dealt with the rat god earlier, this invasion might’ve been delayed. I couldn’t help but resent her slightly.

“I’m fine. Just stiff from sleeping too much. Oh, about my body nearly vanishing…”
Sleeping over a week from reckless Latte Art use made sense, but why I turned transparent didn’t.

“It’s due to your presence,” Thunderbird explained, sipping fresh tea.
“Your Latte Art resembles a deity’s authority. Your heightened presence allows you to exert special influence.”

“Me, a mere human, using ‘authority’?”
I thought of Latte Art as a skill, not authority, better suited to Bernell.

“As I said, this space exists and grows because of you, like deities managing dimensions. Dimension or deity—which came first? The dimension,” Thunderbird said.
“I agree,” Wishstone quietly chimed in.

“Dimensions enable deities to exist. Without worship, we can’t persist, as faith fuels Causality.”
“Hmm…” Catsy’s long hum from the table hinted at displeasure.

“If an independent dimension exists with someone managing it, you’re not so different from us. That’s why I call your ability an authority,” Thunderbird continued.
“I’m humbled to be compared to deities. I’ll take it theoretically,” I said.

“Anyway, the cooldown on your authority reflects your immature presence. Without time to stabilize after use, you risk collapse.”
Stabilization time…

“Authority isn’t called that for nothing. It can defy natural laws. For a mortal to gain strength, they train long and hard, right?”
“Yes.”

“But a deity’s authority can make a mortal strong instantly, bypassing time and effort. That disrupts the dimension’s natural balance.”
“If the balance breaks too much, the dimension collapses. Deities must prevent that,” Young Blue Sage added, his empty cup prompting a refill with warm cloud milk.

Thunderbird’s explanation, though complex, was simple: authority was like a cheat code. Overuse disrupts the game’s ecosystem.
“Causality offsets the imbalance, but deities, being Causality itself, can absorb the backlash with their existence, as their actions shape the dimension’s flow.”

“But even top-tier deities don’t abuse authority. Higher ranks wield greater power freely, but the karma is heavier. Some deities, overusing authority, sealed themselves, sleeping for centuries,” Young Blue Sage said.

“I’ve heard that. A deity used authority to stop a disaster, then slept for centuries. Their absence led their dimension’s people to believe they’d vanished, and new generations barely believed in them,” Wishstone added.

“So I couldn’t handle the backlash, and slept to stabilize instead of vanishing,” I nodded, understanding.
“If you nearly vanished, how much did you overuse? That’s like the dimension treating you as a virus to eliminate,” Young Blue Sage said sharply.

“A virus?”
“Imbalance is unacceptable. Still, calling you a virus is harsh, haha,” Thunderbird softened.

The idea of being a liability chilled me.
“I’ll be careful. Vanishing is bad, but becoming an evil god from losing control is worse,” Thunderbird warned.

“Evil gods… can form that way?”
“They’re born from negativity.”

“I’ll really watch it. I didn’t realize how reckless I was until now.”
A shiver ran down my neck.

Bernell and the pig-bird, both attached to me, likely overheard. Their concern might restrict my Latte Art use.
“If you eat it all, what about us, nya?!”
“You ate the most!”
“That’s not a cat, it’s a pig, nya!”

The Nekomata’s bickering broke the heavy mood.
The pig-bird, reacting to “pig,” looked around curiously.