While we waited for Gustavo to return from the depths of his workshop, I subtly pulled up my status window. In this world, the screen wasn't a unique cheat; it was a universal standard of measurement, a cold ledger of one's worth that everyone possessed.
Name: Amon Von Crown
Age: 8
Race: Human
Titles: [Red King's Jester]
Magium Refinement: S
Magium Capacity: S
Skills:
[No Longer Human] (Special, SS-Rank)
[Mark of the Sword] (Permanent Passive, S-Rank)
[Mark of Death] (Permanent Passive, S-Rank)
I looked at the glowing text from the corner of my eye, a flicker of irritation crossing my mind. It was "OP Main Character Slop" personified.
The dual S-ranks in Refinement and Capacity were particularly disgusting. To the uninitiated, Refinement seemed like a secondary stat, but in practice, it was everything. High refinement meant my spells and skills were terrifyingly efficient and potent. I could cast an S-rank spell with the magium cost of a water droplet. Combined with my Capacity, I was essentially a walking, perpetual-motion engine of destruction.
If I wanted to, I could spam S-Rank spells to my heart's content. There were higher tiers—SS and SSS—but I had already resolved not to rely on them as much as possible.
Because if I am this overpowered, what is the point?
A story is built on the foundation of struggle. A hero is defined by the obstacles they barely overcome, the blood they spill, and the growth they earn through suffering. When the outcome is a foregone conclusion, the meaning evaporates. You can try to write a story where the focus shifts to the side characters or the world-building, but it's a tightrope walk that most authors fail. It becomes hollow.
Masha challenged me to become a top-tier Streaming Star. But what audience wants to watch a god walk through a field of ants? Viewers crave the underdog, the comeback, the visceral reality of a person being pushed to their limits and evolving.
With stats like these, I'm not a hero. I'm a cheat code. And cheat codes are fun for five minutes before you get bored and uninstall.
<< "The most optimal path to becoming a successful Streaming Star is authenticity. People-pleasing is a transient strategy that leads to temporary gains. For long-term gains, being yourself is the only sustainable metric." >>
The familiar, cold voice resonated in my mind. I froze, my body stiffening slightly from the realisation. I had been so focused on "narrative weight" and "viewer expectations" that I'd forgotten the most basic rule of entertainment.
<< "The User is overthinking the variable. Those who have etched their names into the pages of history did so through the force of their own personality, not by tailoring their existence to the whims of the masses. Legacy is forged through hard work and an unyielding sense of self." >>
I exhaled slowly, the tension in my shoulders bleeding away. Once again, I had been trapped in a narrow, cynical perspective. I had promised to be a realist, yet I was still trying to "script" my life as if it were a fictional play rather than my actual reality.
<< "Change is a slow, iterative process. It will take time for your subconscious to align with rational action." >>
My perception of the skill shifted in that moment. When I first unlocked it, I had viewed [Mad Mind] as a ruthless, cold logicist—a parasitic force designed to turn me into a machine. But I was wrong. Its words were cold, yes, but they were the coldness of a stabilising anchor. It was there to keep me from breaking myself.
"Is something bothering you, Amon?" Costoria asked. She tilted her head, her expression a mask of pure, crystalline curiosity that seemed almost too perfect to be natural.
"Just overthinking," I answered, forcing a small, self-deprecating smile to my lips. "I was getting a bit nervous about the wand, actually. I kept wondering if I'd actually feel a connection to it, or if it would just be an expensive, fancy stick of wood."
"You'll like it," Costoria murmured. Her smile widened into something warmer, though her eyes remained sharp and calculating. She reached out, her fingers grazing my hair before her hand settled gently against my cheek. Her skin was cool, and her touch lingered—a second, then two—stretching far beyond the boundaries of a platonic gesture.
The flirtation was subtle, but in the heavy silence of the shop, it felt like a thunderclap.
"Sorry, Costoria," I thought, a sense of grim reality settling over me like a shroud. "I can't play this game. Not yet."
Regardless of the age of this body, my mind was eighteen. In the eyes of the world, it may seem perfectly normal for an eight-year-old boy to respond to a nine-year-old girl's flirting. But my moral compass knows better. I am not catching those pedophilia allegations.
"Ah, I see," I said, my voice remaining level and devoid of the heat she was likely looking for.
I reached up and grasped her wrist. I didn't flinch or jerk away; instead, I moved her hand from my face with a slow, firm politeness. It was a deliberate rejection, executed with a level of calm that left no room for misunderstanding.
Costoria's demeanour didn't crumble under the rejection. If anything, her gaze sharpened, a subtle, dark intensity flickering in her eyes that suggested my boundary wasn't a stop sign—it was a challenge.
<< "Costoria Leone's obsession has deepened and darkened following the User's rejection. She has formulated a new objective: to surpass the User in power until she can claim you as her own." >>
Internally, I felt a piece of my soul wither. I had hoped the Skill would offer a more optimistic calculation, but deep down, I had already reached the same conclusion. I truly hated being right.
"Leone."
Sophia stepped forward, the sound of her boots on the hardwood floor echoing like a death knell. Her tone was glacial, her eyes dancing with a toxic cocktail of cold fury and raw, unfiltered jealousy. "I would suggest you maintain a respectful distance from my brother. Now."
The atmosphere in the shop shifted from "heavy" to "suffocating." Sophia was radiating the aura of an overprotective, obsessive older sister.
"Oh, god..." I groaned internally, watching the two girls stare each other down. "The situation just went from mildly inconvenient to completely disastrous. Great. Just great."
. . .
Arnold and Alexia watched the silent, high-stakes standoff between Costoria and Sophia with starkly different expressions. Arnold looked fundamentally exhausted, the weight of a thousand diplomatic headaches pressing into the bridge of his nose. Alexia, conversely, looked thoroughly entertained, as if she were watching a premier theatre performance.
"You know, this reminds me quite a bit of our academy days," Alexia chuckled, her voice melodious and light, cutting through the frosty atmosphere.
"At least you were playing then," Arnold replied, his voice raspy with weariness. "But our daughters? They aren't playing around. That's raw killing intent."
"That is true," Alexia conceded, her amused expression sharpening. Her voice dropped an octave, carrying a sudden, crystalline weight that caught Arnold completely off guard. "But tell me, Arnold... who said I was playing back then?"
Arnold stiffened, his eyes searching hers for a hint of a jest that wasn't there.
"I was always serious about dating you. I was serious about marrying you," she continued, her tone regaining its playful lilt while her eyes remained unyielding. "Even now, when I flirt with you... I'm not exactly joking."
"You... you do realise that I am a married man," Arnold stammered, his usual ducal composure crumbling into sheer bewilderment.
"Polygamy is a legal reality, Arnold. What is your point?" Alexia's expression didn't waver. She spoke with the casual confidence of someone stating the weather. "Duchess Harley maintains a household of three husbands. Grand Duke Graham Von Crown famously had seven wives. The law of the Empire is quite flexible for those with the power to uphold it."
In the Riversong Empire's matriarchal societal norms, it was common for noblewomen of status to collect husbands like fine art. While men having multiple wives was rarer, the precedent was carved into the very history of the Empire.
"You realise you sound completely insane, right?" Arnold's eyes widened, his face pale.
"Is it really such a tragedy to be a little crazy?" A small, sharp grin tugged at the corners of Alexia's mouth. "Besides, Arnold, let's be technical. You're married to your biological sister. In the eyes of the law, regarding traditional lineage and outside unions, you're practically a bachelor.
"Lady Leone, Lord Crown... I would appreciate it if you kept your eccentricities outside my door," Gustavo's gravelly voice cut through the air. He had returned as silently as he had left, placing three intricately carved wooden boxes onto the counter. Each box was etched with silver filigree that seemed to pulse with a faint, rhythmic light.
The sudden intrusion shattered the heavy atmosphere. Alexia and Arnold immediately snapped back into their masks of noble composure, while Amon—acting as the only rational child among his peers—managed to physically shift between Sophia and Costoria, using a calming hand to keep them from lunging at each other's throats.
"The wands I have laid before you are among the finest and rarest implements I have ever forged," Gustavo explained. He ran a calloused hand over the lids of the boxes, his touch uncharacteristically gentle, as if he were stroking the cheek of a sleeping child.
"In this shop, the mage does not simply buy a tool. The wand chooses its wielder. It seeks a resonance, a soul that matches its own frequency. The more you utilise your wand and nourish it with your intent, the deeper the bond becomes. Only through that bond will a wand reveal its true potential."
Gustavo looked at the three children, his cloudy eyes suddenly sharp and expectant. "All three of you... Come forward. Manifest your magium in the palm of your hands. Let the wands choose their owners."
"I'll go first," Amon said, stepping toward the counter.
He extended his hand, his mind racing. "It is strange for Costoria to repeat this process, but the logic behind doing so is sound," He thought, forming a ball of magium on his palm. "A wand had to match a caster's specific magium frequency. While any tool could channel energy, an unmatched wand felt dull—a mismatched instrument that dampened spell output and resisted the user's intent."
Amon manifested his magium, and the central box erupted into a violent tremor. Under the heavy silence of the room, the lid snapped open. A wand hissed through the air, finding its home in Amon's palm.
He caught it, his breath hitching. It was a white rapier in miniature, elegant and lethal. A silver-white moon, speckled with crimson, rested over the ricasso. A jagged red line bled from the pommel to the guard—a visual stain of otherworldly corruption.
"Ah, the Young Lord has been chosen by the most chaotic one," Gustavo noted, a sharp smile cutting across his face.
"It's beautiful..." Amon whispered, unable to tear his gaze away.
Arnold frowned. "What exactly do you mean by 'chaotic', Gustavo?"
"It is literal," the wandmaker explained. "This tool has rejected hundreds. Even those it chose returned it within a month, broken by its temperament. It is only natural, I suppose—it was forged from a universe's core and the heart of the Peerless Sovereign."
"The core of a universe?" Amon's composure nearly shattered.
<< Affirmative. >> The cold, metallic voice rang in his mind.
"What kind of technology allows for this?" Amon maintained a mask of calm, though his mind was reeling.
<< A world is composed of infinite dimensions. Within a dimension, there are infinite multiverses; within a multiverse, an infinite number of universes. A Divine World transcends everything below the Limbo, rendering the Lower Domain effectively fictional. As the Limbo separates the Higher and Lower Domains, a Divine World views the Lower Domain as mere fiction. >>
"Why the cosmology lecture?" Amon's shock gave way to a sharp internal cringe. "This isn't a powerscaling debate."
<< It is to provide scale, User. The residents of this world are 'absurd' compared to your previous reality. You should not be surprised by the forging of cosmic cores. >>
"The Peerless Sovereign... ah, it brings back memories," Alexia murmured, her gaze drifting toward the ceiling as if peering through time. "It snuffed out three Apostle Worlds just for the sport of it. A tedious ruckus. We were actually dispatched to neutralise it back during our academy days."
Arnold let out a weary sigh, the weight of the past settling on his shoulders. "Emilia was furious. She did the heavy lifting to finish the beast off, only for you to swoop in and claim the heart as a trophy."
"I purchased it," Gustavo corrected with a low, rumbling chuckle. "It surfaced at one of Lady Leone's auctions years later. I was searching for a centrepiece to anchor the magium frequency while forging that beauty in the Young Lord's hand. The moment the heart hit the pedestal, I knew the search was over."
. . .
The trip to the wand shop had been more than a simple shopping trip. Between the acquisition of his new tool and the heavy weight of the stories that were shared by the adults, Amon left with more than he had anticipated.
Costoria's wand was a marvel of precision. A golden-grey finish coated the length, centred by an intricate, functional hourglass embedded in the housing. The sand within flowed with impossible accuracy, tracking the hours with a rhythmic pulse that mirrored her own calculated nature.
Sophia's wand offered a stark, chilling contrast. It was bone-white and looked as if it had been carved from a glacier's heart. A jagged, frozen fissure spiralled around the wood—a scar of frost corruption that felt less like a design and more like a captured scream. While Costoria's wand spoke of order, Sophia's looked brutal, an elegant weapon forged in a blizzard.
"Amon's wand is incredible," Sophia remarked, her eyes fixed on the miniature rapier in his hand. "It really does suit him."
"I think its appearance mirrors him perfectly," Costoria chimed in, sliding an arm around Amon's shoulder with practised ease. "Sharp, elegant, and deadly." She shot him a playful, sidelong glance.
"Leone, you're overstepping again." A vein pulsed at Sophia's temple, her admiration for the wand instantly replaced by a thin, frigid glare.
Behind the trio, Arnold and Alexia followed at a slower pace.
"I was right at the party," Alexia noted, her voice laced with amusement. "Your son is just like you, quite popular with the girls—like you were during our academy days, and even now."
Arnold offered no reply. He walked in a heavy silence, his thoughts drifting back to the conversation in the shop before Gustavo had interrupted them.
"I wasn't joking back there, Arnold," Alexia added, her tone sharpening into something dangerously playful.
"You realise I won't accept your proposal, right?" Arnold replied, his voice flat. "I am loyal to my wife. I don't double-time."
"Well, it isn't technically double-timing if she gives us her blessing," Alexia teased, the ends of her words trailing off in a singsong lilt.
"Seriously?" Arnold stopped, eyeing her with genuine disbelief. "Have you no decency? At least respect your late husband's memory."
"He was never my husband." Alexia's voice sliced through the air. The playfulness remained in her eyes, but a cold, jagged edge had surfaced underneath. "Our marriage was a contract, nothing more. We both loved other people. The only reason I bore his child was for the lineage; he was a Thoumeax, and our families demanded a stronger bloodline. You, of all people, know how these 'deals' work."
Arnold looked away, a heavy sigh escaping him as he chose silence over an argument.
He knew the tragedy of Terrence Thoumeax. The man had been tethered to Alexia Leone by their parents' ambitions, despite both of them being promised elsewhere in their hearts. When Alexia had discovered Terrence's secret lover, she hadn't been jealous; she had been an ally, conspiring to help him find a way back to the woman he truly loved.
They had only conceived to satisfy the relentless pressure of their houses. Alexia had planned to hand Terrence his freedom and a divorce the moment the child was born, but fate was cruel. Terrence had died just a month before Costoria's first breath, leaving Alexia's grand plan for his happiness to wither on the vine.