Yandere Blackening Warning! His Possessiveness Is Igniting!

Katarin Vol's whisper, like a viper's tongue flicking past an ear, said, "Shadows, sometimes, possess their own will."

A shiver traced Ares's spine.

Not fear, but a dangerous resonance. Because when he looked at Tom—at those eyes, increasingly steeped in dark magic knowledge until they were unfathomably deep, at the gradually slipping control beneath that elegant facade—he had to admit, Katarin was right.

More dangerous still, in her gaze, which purely assessed power and treated him as an individual, Ares felt a flicker of... damn it, understanding.

This loosening, Tom sensed it almost instantly.

The air in Charms class was thick enough to choke on.

No sooner had Professor Flitwick assigned the advanced topic of "Superposition of Magic Resonance Fields" than Katarin raised her hand. As she stood, her deep blue Durmstrang uniform made her silver hair look like cold flame.

"Professor, I have a different approach," she said, her voice clear, carrying the crispness unique to the Nordics. "If we abandon the master-subordinate resonance mode and use bidirectional parallel resonance, we might break through the theoretical threshold of current magic power output."

She turned, conjuring complex runic trajectories in the air with her wand. Those trajectories—Merlin above—bore a seven-tenths resemblance to the concept Ares had unconsciously doodled on the edge of his diary last night.

Almost instinctively, Ares gave a slight nod.

Just that one action.

The quill in Tom's hand snapped with a "crack."

Ink splattered onto the parchment, like spilled blood.

"It seems Miss Vol's insights are quite to your liking?"

After class, at a turn in the empty corridor, Tom blocked Ares's path. His voice wasn't loud, but it was as cold as the deepest dungeon ice, each word laced with poison.

Ares paused. Here it comes.

"She merely proposed another possibility," he tried to keep his voice steady.

"Possibility?" Tom stepped forward, pressing Ares against the cold stone wall. His shadow completely enveloped him, and a storm Ares had never seen churned in those dark eyes—not just anger, but something deeper, darker, like a dragon whose scales had been touched, "A visiting exchange student from Durmstrang, casually tossing out 'another possibility' for the core problem we've been researching for three months?"

He raised a finger, not touching Ares, but hovering at the side of his neck, his magic suppressing the air until it crackled: "Ares, look at me."

Ares raised his mismatched eyes.

"Tell me," Tom's voice dropped lower, almost grinding between his teeth, "Who is your only accomplice? Who is worthy of sharing all your secrets, all your darkness, all your... future?"

He was afraid.

This realization struck Ares like lightning. Tom Riddle, the eternally calm, eternally in-control future Dark Lord, now harbored a sliver of panic deep within his eyes—fear of being replaced, fear of being abandoned, fear that this sole light would turn elsewhere.

Just then, a cheerful, out-of-place voice pinged in Ares's mind:

[Beep beep--! Detecting super high concentration of citric acid energy overload! (°□°;) Host, host! Target person's jealousy tank has exploded! Acidity rating: Hell Special Blend!]

Ares: "..." This damn System.

[Emergency Emotional Stabilization Mission Triggered! (??へ ?? ╮ )]

[Mission Name: Tame Your Crazy Little Wolfdog]

[Mission Requirements: Within one hour, prove to the target with actions—that you are his, from head to toe, from magic to soul, and anyone who looks at him will die!]

[Mission Reward: "Soul Resonance Cookies" x1 box (Effect: For three hours after consumption, mutual magic perception +30%, with a trace amount of telepathy). Failure Penalty: Target's dark deviation +10%, and may trigger a "captivity play" hidden plotline~ (￣▽￣*)]

Ares's mouth twitched. What the hell, captivity play.

But the System had revealed the truth: Tom was currently a powder keg ready to explode, and Ares was the fuse.

He couldn't retreat any further.

Ares suddenly moved. He didn't dodge Tom's oppressive aura; instead, he moved forward, his mismatched eyes locking directly onto the churning black irises.

"Tom," he began, his voice not loud, but like a hammer striking silence, "Listen carefully--"

He grabbed Tom's hand hovering at his neck. Instead of pushing it away, he forcefully, undeniably, pressed it onto his own left cheek. Letting Tom's cold fingertips directly touch the slightly warm Golden Blood Pact Markings.

"This," Ares said, enunciating each syllable like a brand, "connects to you. From the moment it appeared on me, it recognized only you."

He felt Tom's fingers tremble violently.

"Katarin Vol?" Ares pulled at the corner of his mouth, his smile devoid of warmth but carrying a cruel honesty, "She's at most a rather sharp knife. If useful, keep it; if it's in the way, break it." He leaned closer, his breath almost brushing Tom's lips, "But the one who can wield this knife and decide its direction has always been you, Tom Riddle."

[Acidity rapidly decreasing! Emotional storm calming down! (??????)?? Host, you did great! Keep the love confessions coming! Don't stop!]

Tom stared at him intently, the storm in his dark eyes slowly receding, replaced by a deeper, more viscous possessiveness. His thumb rubbed the markings beneath Ares's cheek, with a bit too much force, like confirming an ownership mark.

"...Remember what you said today, Ares," he said after a long pause, his voice still carrying lingering coldness, "My patience is limited. Especially for those who covet what is mine."

"I know," Ares released his hand, the markings glowing warmly under Tom's fingertips.

The crisis was temporarily averted. But a rift had appeared, like an undercurrent beneath the ice.

A few days later, when Professor Slughorn burst into the common room, waving that gilded invitation like a fat squirrel who had found a truffle, Ares knew bigger trouble had arrived.

"My dears! Wonderful news!" Slughorn's eyes sparkled, and he lowered his voice, "Nicolas Flamel—yes, the legend who created the Philosopher's Stone—his most valued disciple, Mr. Isidore Lefevre, will be visiting Hogwarts next week! I, your dear Head of House, have secured tickets to a private tea party!"

Tom was instantly ignited. Nicolas Flamel! The Philosopher's Stone! The secret to immortality! The longing in his eyes almost materialized, a hunger for ultimate knowledge and power.

However, Slughorn's next words sent Ares' heart plummeting:

"Mr. Lefevre has extraordinary attainments in 'Ancient Contract Magic and Abnormal Bloodline Inheritance.' He specifically mentioned that he is... very interested in Mr. Phoenix. He wants to meet this 'young man with such a unique magical disposition' in person."

The air suddenly froze.

The ecstasy on Tom's face solidified, slowly twisting into an extremely complex expression—on one hand, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to access the highest echelons of Alchemy; on the other, the immense risk that Ares' core secrets, concerning the Blood Pact and his transmigration, which absolutely could not be known by outsiders, were about to be exposed before another old monster.

The fangs of jealousy had barely been retracted when a more fatal crisis loomed.

Ares looked at the struggling flames in Tom's eyes and felt the pocket—where a box of "Soul Resonance Cookies" just issued by the System lay quietly.

The cookies might allow them to better understand the ripples of each other's thoughts.

But the disciple of the Alchemy master about to arrive, with eyes that could see through the essence of magic, would be looking for all the truths buried within Ares' soul.

What would Tom choose? Would he seize the chance to touch immortality, even if the cost might be exposing Ares? Or...

Ares lowered his gaze.

The storm was truly coming.