Chapter 285: God Complex (III)

One month later…

Time inside the Dream World moved strangely, yet Gray had kept careful count.

Thirty-two days had passed since he first stepped through the Kamidere door.

Thirty-two days of sitting in the endless white void, speaking with a goddess who still believed herself above all things.

On the surface, it looked as though almost nothing had changed.

Isis still lounged upon her pristine throne with the same effortless poise, silver-white hair cascading like starlight, golden eyes carrying that same indifferent superiority.

She still spoke with the casual arrogance of someone who had never once needed to question her own perfection.

She still called him “mortal” more often than “Gray.” And she still reminded him, every few conversations, that she was divine and he was not.

Yet beneath that unchanging mask, the distance between them had quietly, almost imperceptibly, shrunk.

In the first week, Gray had kept his strategy simple and patient.

He never asked for anything or pushed towards it.

He simply showed up every “morning”, though there was no true morning here), and sat at the same respectful distance from the throne.

He asked gentle, harmless questions about the nature of eternity, about the color of the light she created, about the smallest details of her perfect realm.

He listened without interrupting.

When she grew bored and fell silent, he simply sat with her in comfortable quiet, never fidgeting, never growing restless.

By the second week, Isis had begun to speak more freely. She still mocked his mortal perspective, but the mockery carried less bite.

She told him, in passing, about the countless realms she had watched rise and fall. She described, with faint disdain, the way lesser gods begged for her favor.

Gray responded not with awe, but with a hint of curiosity:

“That must feel very lonely, watching everything end while you remain.”

Each time he said something like that, Isis would scoff… but she would also answer.

In the third week, Gray started creating small things within the white space, things only possible because this was still his Dream World.

He manifested a simple easel and canvas one day, then began painting her.

Not as a goddess on a throne, but as Isis simply sitting, silver hair loose, golden eyes soft with thought.

She had laughed at first and called it “a mortal’s feeble attempt at capturing divinity”. Yet she never stopped him.

She even adjusted her posture slightly when he asked her to hold it.

He read to her, too.

He manifested old books from his own memories, poetry, philosophy, stories of mortal love and loss, and read passages aloud.

Isis pretended not to care, but she never told him to stop.

Sometimes she would interrupt with cutting remarks about how naive mortals were. Other times, she simply listened in silence, her golden eyes half-lidded.

By the fourth week, the physical distance had closed without either of them acknowledging it out loud.

Gray no longer sat far away on the white floor.

He now sat on a low, simple cushion he had manifested right beside the throne, close enough that he could have reached out and touched the hem of her robe if he dared.

Isis never objected.

She simply allowed it, as though it had always been this way.

And now, on the thirty-second day, Gray sat even closer, cross-legged on the floor directly in front of her throne, the easel positioned between them.

Rustle…

His brush moved with slow, careful strokes across the canvas as he put the final touches on the painting.

The portrait was beautiful.

It captured Isis not as an untouchable goddess, but as an elegant woman.

The silver hair flowed naturally. The golden eyes held a quiet depth that no one else had ever been allowed to see.

Isis watched him work in silence, chin resting on her hand, legs elegantly crossed.

The throne no longer felt like an unreachable pedestal. It simply felt like a chair… and she simply felt like Isis.

Gray dipped his brush one last time, adding a final delicate highlight to the curve of her cheek on the canvas.

He studied the painting for a long moment, then looked up at the real Isis sitting just an arm’s length away.

“There,” he said softly, turning the easel so she could see the finished work.

“It’s done.”

Isis’s golden eyes flicked down to the portrait.

For several seconds, she said nothing.

Her expression remained perfectly composed, but the faint softening at the corners of her mouth and the way her fingers tightened slightly on the arm of the throne betrayed her.

She finally spoke, voice quiet yet still carrying that divine lilt.

“…You continue to waste your time on such pointless things, mortal.”

But she did not look away from the painting.

Gray smiled gently, setting the brush down.

“I genuinely don’t see it as a waste,” he replied.

“I see someone worth painting.”

Isis’s gaze lifted from the canvas to his face.

The golden light in her eyes flickered, not with irritation this time, but with something far more complicated.

She opened her mouth, perhaps to deliver another cutting remark about how a goddess could never belong to a mere mortal…

…yet the words never came.

Instead, she simply looked at him, at the man who had sat beside her for thirty-two days without once demanding anything, without once flinching from her arrogance, without once trying to force her to change.

At that moment, Gray leaned back a little, studying the finished painting one last time before turning his gaze to Isis.

“By the way… how much time has passed outside?” he asked calmly, as if the question were nothing more than curiosity.

Isis’s golden eyes gleamed with sudden amusement.

The corners of her lips slowly curled upward into a taunting, almost playful smile, the first truly genuine expression of mischief he had seen on her divine face.

“Do you regret it now?” she asked, letting out a soft laugh that echoed lightly through the white void.

“Outside… thirty-three weeks have already passed! Your friends must be missing you terribly.”

Gray nodded slightly, his expression remaining calm and honest.

“They probably miss me… and I miss them too,” he admitted quietly.

Isis’s smile sharpened, clearly enjoying the moment.

“Hah, then why don’t you stop this useless—”

She suddenly bit her lower lip, as if she had been about to say something harsher but caught herself mid-sentence.

In that brief moment of hesitation, Gray looked straight into her golden eyes and spoke with quiet sincerity.

“But I don’t regret it.”

Isis’s taunting smile faltered for a fraction of a second.

Gray continued, changing his tone to a warm yet honest tone… only the simple truth.

“I’ve enjoyed being here with you, Isis. These past thirty-three weeks inside this space… they haven’t felt like wasted time to me. Sitting here, talking with you, painting you, listening to you speak about eternity and order… it’s been peaceful. Interesting. Sometimes even comforting.”

He gave a small, gentle smile.

“You’re incredibly beautiful when you’re thinking deeply. Did you know that? Not just the kind of beauty a goddess is supposed to have, but the quiet kind. The kind that appears when you let yourself simply exist without needing to judge everything around you.”

Gray’s tone remained soft, never pushy.

“Even when you mock me or call me mortal, I don’t mind. Because every time we talk, I feel like I’m seeing a little more of the real you. Not the Sovereign who rules over everything… but Isis. The one who sits on that throne day after day, carrying the weight of perfection alone.”

He looked at her without blinking, his dull black eyes sincere.

“So no… I don’t regret staying here. If anything, I’m grateful you’ve allowed me to remain by your side for this long. Time outside may have passed, but the time I’ve spent here with you has been meaningful to me.”

A heavy silence settled between them.

Isis stared at him, her golden eyes wide with a mixture of surprise, disbelief, and something far deeper that she clearly didn’t want to name.

Her lips parted slightly, but no cutting remark came out this time.

For once, the proud goddess seemed momentarily lost for words.

…And seeing that expression, Gray kept his expression calm and gentle on the outside, but inside, he let out a long, quiet sigh of relief.

’Finally…’

A small, genuine wave of satisfaction washed through him.

’The first layer has cracked.’

It was tiny, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but he had felt it clearly the moment Isis bit her lip and failed to finish her mocking sentence.

She had almost scolded him for “wasting time,” only to stop herself mid-sentence, as if realizing that calling their time together “useless” no longer felt completely right.

That hesitation was everything.

…She truly didn’t want him gone, nor did she feel that his company was truly useless.

’…But eight months, huh? Considering the time ratio from outside to my dream world… those eight months translate to three months.’

’…The student exchange program already ended… and the semester as well, which means that I’ll probably need to repeat the first year.’

’I’ll see when I get out of here. If the Headmistress allows me to get still advanced to the 2nd year, I’ll stay, if now… I’ll simply quit the academy…’

His thoughts paused slighly.

’Or I’ll simply join this one instead. After all… Aurora is the kind of person who would really want me in this academy, while Gloria… probably wouldn’t want anyone to skip a year.’

’No use thinking about that now…’

His gaze turned to Isis.

’I need to focus on her now.’

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