What was this?
To Finks, the expression on Wogan's face was nothing short of a direct provocation. A blatant insult. A challenge delivered right to their noses.
This was something neither he nor his imaginary aunt could tolerate.
Finks clenched his small, sandbag-sized fist. "Don't think that just because you ate our sticky cakes you can just… huh?"
He suddenly paused. His nose twitched once, then again. A familiar scent drifted from Wogan's body, faint but unmistakable.
That smell. That soft, warm fragrance of sticky rice.
It was the same scent from the sticky cakes they had snatched from another group of kids days ago. For someone who had rarely ever smelled anything sweet in his entire life, the scent had seared itself deep into his memory.
Finks could never forget it. And he had certainly never forgiven Wogan for stealing his share.
But he wasn't the only one who remembered the scent.
"You're right. It really is the smell of sticky cake."
Feitan, perched on the back seat of the broken motorcycle and gripping his oversized baseball bat, muttered softly. He, too, had been part of that robbery. Of course the fragrance was burned into his mind.
Feitan's nose twitched as well. His eyelids lowered, and a quiet, cold killing intent began to gather around him. It was faint, like the first glimmer of a blade rising in the dark.
"Sticky cake really does taste good."
Seeing their anger rise exactly as he intended, Wogan let a grin stretch across his face. It felt good to get under their skin. After being lectured by Morgan earlier, his mood had been sour. But now? Watching Finks and Feitan bristle like furious cats brightened his day instantly.
One of the fastest ways to feel better was dumping your bad mood onto somebody else.
"I made sure to enjoy it on your behalf too."
Boom.
That one sentence was all it took.
Finks and Feitan exploded with rage.
"You're dead today!"
Finks bellowed, his entire body igniting with rage. He charged forward with swinging fists, not caring why Wogan still smelled like sticky cake. At this point, reasoning was impossible. All he wanted was to pound Wogan into the dirt.
Feitan followed closely behind him, both hands gripping the baseball bat as he moved silently but swiftly.
"Come on then!"
Instead of retreating, Wogan's expression lit up. He looked invigorated, energized by the challenge.
"You think I'm scared of you two? I didn't even get a proper fight earlier. If one of you comes at me, I'll take one down. If two come, I'll beat you both!"
With that declaration, he charged toward them, muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap.
The three collided and the battle erupted instantly.
Thud.
Crash.
Smack.
Boom.
Metal clattered, gravel scattered, fists collided, and bodies slammed into heaps of junk. By the time Maggie finally arrived, panting lightly from running, the three idiots were already tangled together in a chaotic brawl, rolling through mud and garbage like feral animals.
Maggie paused at the edge of the fight, observing silently for a moment. Then, with a sigh, she bent down and picked up a broken stick from the ground. Without expression, she stepped into the fray's outskirts and, whenever she saw an opening, casually smacked Finks on the head.
She would have liked to hit Feitan too. But Feitan was too short and moved too fast. She genuinely couldn't catch his position long enough to land a hit.
While the chaos unfolded in the garbage pits of Meteor Street, a completely different energy pulsed quietly inside Morgan's empty home.
Time passed without anyone noticing.
Then a spark flared.
"It worked!"
Morgan, sitting cross-legged on the floor, opened his eyes. A sharp, bright gleam flashed across them. After hours of concentration and experimentation, he finally discovered a way to significantly reduce the Nen cost of his Inventor ability.
If things went well, he could even reduce the cost to nearly zero.
He exhaled in relief. "Guess I really am putting my cheat power to good use. Mixing it with Nen. Not bad."
What he had created was a new condition, a new contract born from the principle of restrictions and vows. He named it:
Standing on Giants' Shoulders.
It was a reference to an old saying: standing on the shoulders of giants allows you to see farther and achieve more, building on the wisdom and creations of those before you.
In practical terms, when Morgan received a request or commission to invent something, if he already had a matching concept or completed model in his mind, he could create it while spending significantly less aura. The more accurately the imagined invention aligned with the request, the less aura he spent.
In short, rather than relying entirely on his innate Inventor ability to generate ideas and craft a solution from nothing, Morgan could now depend on his own mental blueprints.
No middleman. No unnecessary processing.
If his internal design was perfect, then the cost might drop to almost nothing.
For example, Wogan's previous request for sticky cakes. If Morgan already had a mental blueprint for a sticky cake maker, he wouldn't need the Inventor ability to fill in the missing details. His aura cost would be negligible.
"So in the end, this forces me to rely more on my own accumulated knowledge" Morgan whispered to himself. "I can't depend too much on the ability alone."
He exhaled deeply, letting the lingering aura settle around him.
"This is a test of how much I truly understand invention."
Morgan's eyes reflected both excitement and determination. This new vow meant he would have to study more, think deeper, and expand the library of inventions he carried inside his mind.
But this challenge didn't frighten him.
If anything, it motivated him.
Because with this vow, he wasn't just an Inventor blessed with a cheat. He was now walking the path of becoming a creator who understood both the craft and the cost.
And once he fully mastered this new vow, his creativity would no longer be limited by excessive aura consumption.
He would truly be standing on giants' shoulders, ready to climb even higher.