The Golem's fists came down like twin meteors. I could smell the hot grease and scorched ozone. My life didn't flash before my eyes; I just saw a series of error messages and a very vivid image of my own head being turned into a sidewalk chalk drawing.
"System, do something!" I screamed, shielding my face with my arms.
> **[System Message]**
> *Alert: User is about to be 'Hard-Deleted'.*
> *Activating Emergency Protocol: [The Debt Collector's Patch].*
> *Notice: I'm fronting you 2,000 EXP for an instant cooldown reset. Interest rate: 50% daily. Don't die, or I'll never collect.*
"Wait, a loan?!" I yelled, but my brain suddenly felt like it was being jump-started with a car battery. The red "Cooldown" text in my vision shattered into a thousand sparks.
**[Skill Status: REFRESHED (DEBT ACTIVE)]**
The metal blurred inches from my nose. The sheer wind from the punch nearly took my skin off. I rolled between the machine's massive iron legs, my heart trying to beat its way out of my ribs.
"Is this how you treat guests?" I wheezed, scrambling to my feet. "I haven't even tipped yet, and you're already trying to smash the customer!"
**[Iron Guardian v1.2: Target survived. Increasing force by 200%.]**
The machine hissed, steam venting from its neck as it spun around. It was faster than a three-ton hunk of metal had any right to be. It loomed over me, blocking out the light of the chandelier.
"Interpretation!" I yelled, pointing a trembling finger at the iron monster. "That's not a 'Crushing Fist'. That's just an 'Aggressive Fluffing of Pillows' from an over-enthusiastic butler!"
**[Skill Activated: Interpretation (Rank F - Overclocked)]**
**[Target: Iron Guardian's Combat Protocol]**
**[New Meaning: 'Aggressive Five-Star Hospitality']**
The change was terrifyingly smooth. The violent red glow in the Golem's eyes flickered, turned a soft, warm amber, and then a calming sky blue. The sound of grinding gears shifted into the pleasant hum of a high-end air conditioner.
The Golem's fist didn't stop, but it didn't smash.
Instead of crushing my ribcage, the massive iron hand scooped me up with the gentleness of a giant crane. It caught me mid-air, its metal fingers feeling oddly... soft. The 'Interpretation' had forced the machine to move with such precision that it was like being held by a cloud made of armor.
"Guest... detected..." the Golem rumbled. Its voice sounded like a posh, metallic butler. "Welcome... to... the... Golden... Suite. You... look... exhausted. Initiating... Nap... Protocol."
"Wait, I'm fine, I just—"
The Golem ignored me. It marched across the marble floor, its heavy steps muffled by the new 'Meaning' I'd forced into its code. It reached the master bedroom and, with a movement that was 10% hospitality and 90% kidnapping, it tossed me onto the silk sheets.
"Sleep... Guest... Viktor..."
Before I could move, the ten-foot-tall killing machine began to 'fluff' the pillows. Each 'fluff' hit the mattress with enough force to shake the room, but the pillows themselves felt like marshmallows. Then, it pulled a heavy, velvet duvet over my chin, tucking me in so tightly I literally couldn't move my arms.
"Hey! I'm a grown man! Un-tuck me!"
> **[System Message]**
> *Log Analytics: The Golem is currently calculating the optimum sleep temperature.*
> *Comment: Just go with it. Also, you owe me 3,000 EXP now. Sleep fast, interest starts at midnight.*
The Golem sat on the edge of the bed—which groaned under the weight—and began to hum. It was a lullaby, but since it was a war machine, it sounded like a blender full of nickels.
*"Sleep... little... meat-sack... do... not... glitch... or... the... debt... will... make... you... itch..."*
The absurdity was too much. Between the silk sheets and the metallic humming, my Neolithic-era exhaustion finally caught up with me. I was halfway to dreamland when the Golem reached down.
It grabbed my right foot with a three-fingered pincer.
"Initiating... Relaxing... Foot... Massage..."
*Crank. Whirr. Squeeze.*
It felt like my toes were being rearranged by a hydraulic press, but according to the 'Interpretation', it was 'Relaxing'. I was lying there, pinned under a duvet, being serenaded by a war machine while it tried to tenderize my feet, when a sharp, rhythmic tapping echoed through the mansion.
*Knock. Knock. Knock.*
The front doors, which I had definitely locked, swung open.
"Viktor Volkov? I know you're in here. We need to discuss your blatant disregard for—"
The voice cut off. Standing in the bedroom doorway was the Student Council President. She was the definition of 'High-Rank Terror'—silver hair, violet eyes, and a uniform that didn't have a single wrinkle. She looked like she could kill a dragon with a stern look.
She stared at the bed.
She looked at me, tucked in like a toddler. She looked at the ten-foot-tall 'Iron Butcher' currently humming a static-filled song while gently rotating my ankle.
I looked back at her, my face flushed. "It's... it's not what it looks like?"
The President's eye twitched. She reached for the hilt of the thin, glowing rapier at her hip.
"The Golem," she whispered, her voice trembling with confusion. "Why is the Academy's most lethal defense unit... giving you a pedicure?"
> **[System Message]**
> *Warning: Interaction with 'Main Heroine' detected.*
> *Status: She thinks you've brainwashed her favorite toy.*
> *Advice: Don't tell her about the loan. She looks like she charges higher interest than I do.*