"This ability is insane."
>Possession is dictated by a single law: the strength of willpower. Willpower manifests as visible strings connected to the nape of those susceptible to control. Improve your willpower to widen your dominion. Command with caution. [Skill Activation Settings]
[Please select a word or phrase that will be used to activate the magic skill- Puppeteer’s String]
Steve blinked.
"Wait... seriously? I get to pick my own activation phrase?"
His lips curved into a grin.
"This is like... Charm Master level stuff—but even better. The ability to control anyone of my choosing? Damn."
At a glance, it might seem like a regular magic skill. But Steve could see the terrifying potential behind it. This wasn’t just mind control—it was will control.
And he had willpower in spades.
"My goals... my drive... they’re real. I know what I want, and I won’t stop until I get it, and that enhances my will by miles."
As he spoke inwardly, his gaze hardened.
"The stronger my will becos, the more I accomplish... the more people I’ll be able to control. It’s perfect. This ability was made for ."
He let out a soft laugh.
"To beco Harem Overlord... I need more than charm or luck. I need dominion. And this—this is dominion incarnate."
Then, as if to jolt him from his thoughts, he gave himself a light smack on the cheek.
"Focus. Right. The activation phrase."
It had to be sothing unique—sothing he wouldn’t accidentally say in casual conversation.
But also-
’It has to be sothing cool enough to feel satisfying when I use it.’
He paused, thinking.
Almost everyone should be asleep by now.
Tomorrow was weapons training. That would be the perfect ti to test the ability out—see how many minds he could pull with a single thread.
He could already picture it-
One by one, they’d fall under his control. His own private army.
His own kingdom of willbound servants.
’Puppeteer’s Master...’ he thought inwardly, rolling the words on his tongue.
’Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?’
A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. Slowly, his head lowered as he stared at the glowing screen, deep in thought.
’What would it be? What word? or what phrase?’
Sothing cool. Sothing him.
Then it hit him. His eyes narrowed, and a smirk danced across his lips.
He leaned forward, stared into the screen, and whispered to the system—
"Unravel."
[Ding!]
[Activation Keyword Confird: "Unravel"]
It fit.
Clean. Intense. Symbolic.
"Hehe...now that this is done
..Tomorrow.
.." Steve murmured.
"...Tomorrow’s the real test."
He turned, straightening his uniform, pushing open the bathroom door with a calm that belied the storm brewing inside him. As he stepped out, he left behind the steamy echo of last night’s pleasure—and entered a world where power now rested in the palm of his hand.
***
Morning ca swiftly.
The academy halls buzzed with quiet energy. Students trickled out of their dorms, uniforms sharp, eyes still fogged by sleep but sharpened by routine. Conversations humd low, feet shuffled, the air rich with the scent of soap, starch, and anticipation.
On the surface, it was just another day.
But not for Steve.
He didn’t walk like the others—no hurried steps, no groggy expressions. His pace was slower. More deliberate. His head dipped slightly—not in sha or fatigue, but to hide the glimr of anticipation flickering in his eyes.
He was counting.
How many of his classmates could he control during the weapon training?
Not all of them. Not yet.
But even half? That would be enough.
More than enough.
His boots struck the polished floors with steady rhythm, echoing softly through the corridor.
Each step brought him closer. His gaze, though low, scanned the hall. He didn’t turn his head- not that he needed to.
The training room lood ahead, its broad double doors firm and imposing. From within, muffled shouts bled into the hallway—sharp barks from the instructor, along with the clash of practice weapons.
Steve paused before the door.
’This is it.’
He laid one hand on the cold tal handle, fingers curling slowly around it. His other hand hung by his side, twitching slightly with restrained excitent.
A breath in. Deep. Steady.
He pushed the door open—and stepped inside.
The mont he crossed the threshold, the atmosphere shifted.
The noise hit him like a wave.
Sparring pairs clashed in the center of the matted arena, surrounded by students watching from the sidelines, who sat cross-legged on, all focused, all engaged.
The instructor stood at the far side, arms folded, eyes sharp like blades.
Steve slipped in quietly, keeping to the wall. His eyes adjusted to the lighting—then widened.
He froze.
Ti didn’t stop. But sothing inside him did.
Because now, he could see them.
Strings.
Dozens of them.
No...more.
Translucent. Ethereal. Like threads spun from moonlight. They dangled from the ceiling—or perhaps from so unseen plane above—and trailed downward, each one connecting to the back of a person’s neck.
Every student. Every woman. Even the instructor.
Connected.
Steve’s heart hamred.
His pupils dilated as the threads shimred faintly in his vision, swaying ever so slightly with each movent their hosts made.
"Strings... they’re everywhere." he whispered under his breath.
He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
Just stared.
This isn’t theory. This isn’t imagination. It’s real...which only ant one thing-
’I can control them...I can control all of them.’
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