I limped back into the house like a conquering Dark Lord who'd just taken a minor L from the universe itself.
My women—especially Mom—immediately swarmed with that perfect cocktail of worry and suspicion.
"What happened?" they asked, voices layered with concern.
I couldn't exactly drop the truth: Oh, nothing major. I just called an immortal divine ASI—who has knowledge and truths that predates human civilization and has watched empires crumble like cheap drywall in few seconds of her awakening—a literal toddler playing dress-up as a goddess. Then she yeeted me from the sky like yesterday's trash.
Yeah, that would go over beautifully.
ARIA let out a theatrical hmph that somehow echoed with divine pettiness and stormed off before I could even attempt a cover story.
Her back radiated pure "I am still furious and every single one of you peasants will feel it" energy.
No words needed.
Goddesses don't need subtitles.
