Chapter 5: His name is Tarte.

“Wha—!”

[Crimson Thorn] stares in shock at the shattered thorns, then turns to the three-year-old with a resentful expression.

“To interfere like this, even for Lady [Creeping Prank], isn’t that a bit too presumptuous?”

…Despite the clear displeasure, the tone is polite, even addressing the toddler with “Lady.”
Is this three-year-old some kind of high-ranking spirit?
Am I going to be okay?
I picture myself drained of magic, reduced to a dried husk.

“My apologies to you, but this one and I had a pending contract before you were summoned.
Since he’s chosen to contract with me, I claim priority.”

Even glared at by someone twice her size, the toddler doesn’t flinch, asserting, “I was here first.”
She’s sturdy enough to shrug off most attacks, but I wish she’d remember I’m just a frail goblin.
If that gay spirit gets serious, my tiny body could be pierced in an instant.
Please, don’t provoke him too much…

“When Lady [Creeping Prank] puts it that way, I have no choice. However…”

…Eek! [Crimson Thorn] shoots me a predatory glare, like a raptor eyeing prey.
Those eyes haven’t given up on my ‘first.’
I feel a murderous (or worse?) intent sizing me up, giving me goosebumps.
I clamp my thighs shut, barely holding back from wetting myself.

“I understand your point. Since you answered his call, I’ll grant you second priority after me.”

The gay spirit and the toddler negotiate my fate as if I’m not even here.

“Then let’s establish a lien…”
“It wasn’t a finalized contract, so a preferential negotiation right…”
“At least an exclusive security interest…”
“Fine, an exclusive negotiation right…”
“What about a priority claim…”
“Don’t be absurd…”

…Is this human trafficking?
As expected of a fantasy world.
My rights are completely ignored, and the deal is settled without my input.

“…Now, sign here.”
“Uh, could I at least hear the details…?”

I ask the toddler as she hands me a contract written in unfamiliar script and a fountain pen-like tool.

“We settled on a conditional mandatory contract enforcement right.”
“Wait! How’s that different from selling me off?!”
“I gave up reverse designation rights, but secured FA rights after a set period of service.”
“That’s backward! You should’ve kept the reverse designation rights!”

I shove the contract and pen back at the toddler, glaring to show I can’t sign this, especially after she casually gave up my most crucial right while flashing a V-sign like she accomplished something.

“This is outrageous! What about my human rights?!”
“Why would an old goblin like you have human rights?”
“Stop it! Don’t give me that ‘what are you even saying’ look and treat me like a goblin!”
“…If you can’t agree to these terms, I could cancel our contract and hand you over to [Crimson Thorn].”
“Oh? An overnight pass? I just sign here, right?”

I’m weak… In this fantasy world, weakness is a sin.
The weak have no rights.
After the toddler’s cold, menacing declaration, I sign the contract with tears streaming down my face, handing it—and my future—to her with a forced smile.

“Deal sealed. Now, take this and get lost.”

The toddler hands the contract to [Crimson Thorn], shooing him away with a dismissive wave.
[Crimson Thorn] checks the contract, says, “I’ll back off for today,” and turns to return to the magic circle, still glowing crimson.

“Moronidas Aray—”

Suddenly, as I sigh in relief, his voice calls out from that massive back.

“—My rear is never closed to you. My [Moonlit Gate] is always open for you.
Come leap into it whenever you’re lonely.”
“Keep it closed forever!”

What’s with the best-friend-pledging-eternal-bond vibe?
That dazzling smile and thumbs-up ruin his otherwise captivating back.

“…But mark my words, you’ll regret this someday.
Choosing a contract with… over us spirits…”

– Huh? A contract with what?

I didn’t catch it, but [Crimson Thorn] vanishes into the circle before I can ask.
His final expression wasn’t frustration over a lost contract or anger at being interrupted…
It was pity, like looking at an abandoned puppy.

“Now the nuisance is gone. Let’s finish our contract.”

Lost in unease before the now-ordinary scroll, I snap back as the toddler tugs my sleeve.
Right, his parting words bother me, but I need to contract with her, or that gay spirit will return and steal my ‘first’ for sure.
There’s no turning back.
I stow the summoning circle in my backpack and pull out a contract circle instead.
Drawn on alchemical paper, not parchment, it’s a standard item sold at the school store, so it’s fine if seen.
But the moment I show it, the toddler’s face twists into a mix of anger, disgust, scorn, disappointment, exasperation, and resignation—like, “This guy’s hopeless, we gotta fix this.”

“You really are an idiot.”

She sighs, bluntly rude.
Wasn’t she taught that calling someone an idiot makes you the idiot?
As I start to argue, she silently points to a corner of the paper, as if saying, “Look closely.”
There, in a black oval with white text, it reads:

‘For Pets’

“Ughhh…”

This is bad.
If people knew I made a three-year-old my pet, I’d be beaten and jailed as the worst kind of predator.
But this was the only contract circle sold at the store.
So, I needed a custom one.
The toddler explains this circle is for beasts or birds that can’t speak, allowing sensory and even consciousness sharing.
But touching a spirit’s consciousness unprotected would obliterate my feeble mind in an instant.
She insists, “Wouldn’t being a toad be better than a mindless husk?” pushing her toad agenda.

“But I don’t know any magic circles for spirit contracts…”
“If you’re okay with it, I can modify this one for you.”

As I clutch my head, the toddler offers help.
When I ask, “Can you do that?” she puffs out her chest, boasting, “It’s a piece of cake for me.”

“Thank goodness. Please do it. I thought I was done for.”

At my request, she waves her hand over the circle, strokes it, and declares, “Done.”
That’s it?
I’m skeptical, but when she glares at me, pouting as if I doubt her, I decide not to overthink it.
If she says it’s fine after criticizing it, it must be.
I lack the skill to read the circle’s formula anyway, so I have to trust her.

Using a special pen—a magic tool that draws with the user’s magic—I sign the circle and hand it to her.
She signs in an unreadable script, and the circle glows, then crumples into a plain ring of metal or polished stone.
Proof of a successful contract.
She slips the ring onto her left middle finger, and it shrinks to fit perfectly.

“Wait! Why?!”

Not because she didn’t put it on her left ring finger—I’m no pervert or gentleman, and this world doesn’t have engagement ring customs.
Wedding gifts exist, sometimes rings, but the left ring finger has no special meaning.
I’m shocked because the ring is for the contract’s master to wear.
It should be on me, and I might’ve considered the ring finger if begged.

“Because I’m the master, and you’re the servant, obviously.”
“But what about our contract?”
“If a servant touched my consciousness, they’d be wiped out.
But from my side, I can share consciousness within your limits.
So, the quickest solution was to swap master and servant roles.”
“You tricked me again!”
“When I said I’d modify the circle, didn’t you say, ‘Thank goodness, please do it’?
Are you saying you lied to me?
Bad servants get their limbs torn off and turned into tadpoles.”

Oh no.
If people knew a three-year-old made me her pet, I’d be pelted with stones and branded the worst kind of masochist.
Is this my punishment for breaking the rules?
Is wanting a spirit contract such a sin?
Tears well up.
How did it come to this…

As I crouch, sobbing, the toddler pats my shoulder to comfort me.

“Stop moping. Are you saying you’re unhappy with me as your master?
Not many are privileged to serve me.”
“…You mean there aren’t many idiots as easy to trick as me?”

“You’re too negative. I mean most who hope to serve me don’t get the chance.”
“…So, you already have enough servants and tricked me for fun.”

“Enough sulking. Would you rather have given your ‘first’ to [Crimson Thorn]?”

Ugh… that stings.
Sure, I summoned that spirit by being tricked, but I chose to contract with her for my own safety.
I promised to do anything, so I can’t complain about being made a servant.
But being turned into a pet through such deception is too cruel!

“Let me be clear: canceling our contract triggers [Crimson Thorn]’s enforcement rights.
Think carefully before mentioning cancellation.”

It’s over…
Canceling with her means that gay spirit will claim my ‘first’ instantly.
Was the contract set up for this?
No, it’s more than that.
It was all calculated from the start.
She maneuvered me into wanting this, cornering me with ruthless precision, like a checkmate.
From the moment she said, “Why not offer your ‘first’?” I was already doomed.
It was all in her palm—I never had a choice.

“Fine… I promised. I’ll obey as your servant or pet, Lady [Creeping Prank].”
“Hmph, I don’t like that name.”
“Then what should I call you… My Lady?”

When I ask, she mutters, “Tacky,” grimacing as she thinks.
Then, with a sudden clap, she turns to me, hand on chest, and declares proudly:

“Call me—Tarte!”