A Guide to Raising Snake Spirits - Chapter 28

After Shiraishi Haru left his office, Mizuki Nozomi let out a long, heavy sigh. A Sentinel’s intuition was even sharper than he’d estimated. Despite just finishing a pop quiz, Shiraishi still had the presence of mind to notice something was weighing on him.

Nozomi’s face was etched with the exhaustion of poor sleep. He propped his forehead in one hand, feeling the onset of a migraine brought on by the recent turn of events.

Lost in thought, the Guide absentmindedly fiddled with the star-shaped earring on his lobe, a subconscious nervous habit.

The source of his foul mood was, predictably, that conversation with his father. The old man spoke in riddles, acting all secretive and hiding half of everything he said.

In an act of silent petty revenge, Nozomi had started calling his father “the old man” in his head, even though, by the standards of Special Humans, his father was still in his prime.

“The photo is related to that Sentinel of yours.”

When he’d heard those words, a chill had shot down Nozomi’s spine, nearly causing him to slip off his folding chair. Faced with an answer so far beyond his expectations, he had briefly lost the ability to speak.

His father’s gaze at that moment had been hard to read, somewhere between regret and something else entirely.

“What kind of relationship? Be specific,” Nozomi had demanded. “Did he take it, or is it some other indirect connection?”

“Little Haru took that photo.”

His father had given the answer directly.

Nozomi felt it was a strange coincidence that his father used that nickname. Was “Little Haru” just an affectionate term for Shiraishi Haru, or was he referring to the Shiraishi Haru of their childhood?

“We once had a neighbor whose child was about two years older than you,” his father began, starting a story that ended far too abruptly. “And then, one day, they just moved away.”

Nozomi had been dissatisfied. “Is that it? Nothing more detailed?”

“If you want details, you have to promise me one thing,” his crafty father had replied.

…

Now that he’d had time to process, Nozomi thought back to that white egg and the high, youthful voice from his dream.

Even though that child’s voice didn’t share a single note with Shiraishi’s deep, adult baritone, it was a plausible explanation. Perhaps that was just how Shiraishi sounded back then.

Dreams didn’t have a recording function, otherwise, Nozomi would have recorded it for Shiraishi to hear for himself, though that wouldn’t work. The Sentinel’s memory hadn’t returned, so he wouldn’t recognize his own voice anyway.

Spirit bodies weren’t limited to oviparous species, but they were all born from eggs. The size of the egg corresponded to the eventual size of the spirit animal. Nozomi’s Black Mamba egg had been barely larger than a thumb, avian spirit eggs were similar to normal bird eggs, and non-oviparous species came from eggs roughly the size of their real-world newborns.

The larger the spirit body, the more difficult and time-consuming the hatching process.

The mystery of the photographer was solved, but it only spawned more questions. How did Shiraishi end up on a desolate planet? What was he like as a child?

What exactly did his father do for a living, and why didn’t Nozomi remember having such a playmate?

Nozomi knew he should tell Shiraishi what he’d discovered, but he hadn’t decided how to bring it up, or if he even should. When he opened his desk drawer and saw the gift the Sentinel had given him, he sighed deeply again.

Counselor: “So, you don’t remember your past at all?”

Facing the counselor’s somewhat pointed question, Shiraishi Haru replied directly, “That’s right. I don’t remember.”

His face remained a mask of calm. There was no flicker of confusion, shame, or helplessness.

“This question might be a bit uncomfortable for you,” the counselor said, meeting Shiraishi’s eyes with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but a lack of past memories can often lead to a sense of insecurity. This falls within my scope of evaluation.”

Shiraishi: “It’s fine. I don’t really mind.”

“There are three forms in the system. Open the evaluation app and you’ll see them. Fill those out first,” the counselor instructed.

The forms consisted mainly of questions asking about recent migraines, neck and shoulder tension, stomach discomfort, or if he was more easily angered than usual. Options ranged from “Very Accurate” to “Not Accurate.”

Shiraishi spent about twenty minutes completing the three forms on his terminal. He didn’t see the results, as the system sent them directly to the counselor in real-time.

Before clicking them open, the teacher gave Shiraishi a reassuring smile. “Don’t be nervous. I’ll look at these in conjunction with the questions I just asked. You’ll see the full results once the entire evaluation is over.”

She swiped through the screen, her eyes focused as she scanned every page of the report. This was the part that usually made people the most anxious, and a brief silence settled over the evaluation room.

She finished quickly, closed the screen, and looked at the Sentinel.

Counselor: “How do you feel about school life lately? Is there anything you’d like to share, perhaps something that made a deep impression on you?”

Shiraishi remained silent for a moment. He wasn’t in the habit of discussing his daily life with strangers. Moreover, no matter how nicely this test was packaged, it was essentially a procedure to determine if a Sentinel was a “compliant product.”

“The curriculum is diverse and quite interesting. My classmates are also good people,” Shiraishi replied with practiced, neutral caution.

The counselor was also evaluating the gray-haired Sentinel. He was tall and carried himself with a steady composure. Compared to most Sentinels, who tended to be more extroverted, his reserved nature was unusually pronounced.

“In what way are they ‘good’? Do you have any classmates or friends you’re particularly close with?”

“Our Class Rep is a very kind person, he helped me a lot at the beginning,” Shiraishi thought for a moment. “There are also two other Sentinels I work with on group projects that I get along with well.”

“Of the courses you’ve taken so far, which one is your favorite?”

The counselor’s tone was light, as if she were just chatting with a friend. She leaned forward slightly, maintaining eye contact. Her Ragdoll cat jumped down to the floor and trotted toward the Sentinel.

“…” Shiraishi’s mind flashed through the classes he’d attended and the instructors who taught them.

He lowered his eyes and said, “Flight Simulation.”

The counselor silently added a note under the ‘reserved’ label: No obvious preferences.

“Did anything interesting happen in flight class?” she followed up.

“The hands-on simulation was interesting and fairly challenging.” A tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched the corner of the gray-haired Sentinel’s mouth as a memory surfaced. “And… the instructor’s feedback.”

“I see,” the counselor nodded with a smile. “It sounds like you have a very positive opinion of this instructor?”

“You could say that,” Shiraishi replied.

The Green Anaconda, which had been lying still and uninterested in their conversation, suddenly propped its head up and looked over.

“What kind of person is this flight instructor?”

Shiraishi didn’t answer. Instead, he asked, “Do I have to answer every question?”

The counselor didn’t look offended. She said warmly, “Of course not. You have the right to remain silent.”

“Then I’d rather not discuss that topic further.”

The teacher added another line to her mental checklist: Strong sense of territoriality.

“Alright, let’s talk about something else then.”

***

When Shiraishi Haru emerged from the psychological evaluation room, a system notification prompted him to head to the next test.

The next phase was the Mental Evaluation, the part the Class Rep had mentioned would involve spirit bodies.

“Students with avian spirit bodies, please proceed to the Aviary. Large-scale spirit bodies, please head to the Great Hall. Aquatic spirit bodies, report to the Aquarium,” the system’s guide voice played on a loop.

The system had assigned the Green Anaconda to the Great Hall, so the Sentinel followed the navigation on his terminal.

“Hey!”

Someone called Shiraishi’s name. He looked up to see the Class Rep waving at him cheerfully.

“Looks like both our spirit bodies count as large animals. Was the psych test okay?” the Class Rep asked, throwing an arm around Shiraishi’s shoulder. “We’re testing mental levels first. I’m at station 19, what about you?”

“Station 20.”

“What a coincidence, that’s right next to me!”

As they chatted, their wrist terminals vibrated, signaling it was time to enter the evaluation rooms. The interior of the hall was divided into small cubicles with numbers on the doors.

Shiraishi pushed his door open. Without looking up, the person at the desk said, “Student ID.”

There was a familiar face in the station 20 cubicle who definitely shouldn’t have been there.

“Dr. Xudian, why are you here?” Shiraishi asked, surprised.

“Hmm?”

Xudian, the prominent figure in his white lab coat, finally lifted his head from the assembly-line work.

“Oh, it’s a familiar face,” Xudian chuckled. “How are things going with your little Guide? Was my last suggestion effective?”

Shiraishi didn’t respond.

Xudian answered Shiraishi’s initial question on his own. “The mental tests are always a joint effort between the Tower and the Special Human Hospital. I’m out here on field duty.”

Shiraishi gave Xudian a suspicious look before reciting his student ID.

“Take a seat. I’m going to place this on your head. You might feel a bit dizzy, just follow the voice prompts inside the helmet.”

Xudian was fiddling with a device that looked like a head massager. Shiraishi’s attention was drawn to it, the instrument felt strangely familiar.

Noticing the Sentinel’s gaze, Xudian helpfully explained, “The sensors near the temples will record your data and transmit it back to the data center.”

Shiraishi let Xudian place it on him. The sudden darkness and the weight of the helmet only confirmed his suspicion, he felt certain he had worn something like this many times before.

Shiraishi felt Xudian adjust the device a few times before stepping back to the table. Xudian leaned against the desk, watching the gray-haired Sentinel close his eyes. After a few minutes, a look of pain and struggle flickered across Shiraishi’s face. His fists clenched tight, and his breathing grew heavy.

…

Shortly after Shiraishi entered station 20, Xiang Heng entered station 19.

Xiang Heng followed the procedure, giving his ID, confirming his details, and sitting down. Everything was going smoothly.

As the doctor was placing the helmet on Xiang Heng’s head, a loud crash erupted from the left. A chair was sent flying, followed by the sound of a heavy impact against the wall and a man’s pained groan.

Then, the flimsy temporary wall of the cubicle collapsed as a massive, spotted brownish-green snake tail swept through.

Everything happened in less than a second.

Before Xiang Heng could even process what was happening, he instinctively grabbed the doctor in front of him by the waist and lunged forward, narrowly dodging the terrifying tail that would have crushed his head.

After hitting the floor, Xiang Heng didn’t stop to catch his breath. He grabbed the doctor again and rolled to the right, barely escaping the tail’s follow-up strike.

A brown bear let out a thunderous roar, positioning itself in front of its master.

“A Sentinel has gone berserk!! Call security, now!”

Support