Sixty months of existence in a world that wasn't my own.
If you've never had to relearn how to use a spoon while retaining the intellect of a twenty-something-year-old man who died in a Black Friday stampede, I don't recommend it. It's a humbling experience. But time, much like the queue for a discounted 4K TV, moves forward whether you like it or not.
I stood before the full-length mirror in my lavish quarters, analyzing the reflection that stared back. The boy in the glass was… striking. That was the polite word for it. "Weird as hell" was the accurate one.
I was tall for a five-year-old, with the lean, tensile frame of a predator in the making—a biological perk of the Dragon blood hidden deep within my genetic code. My eyes were a deep, unsettling violet, glowing faintly in the dim morning light. But it was the hair that really cemented my status as a "protagonist." It was a chaotic, defying-physics blend of three distinct colors: a base of dirty blond, streaked with vivid, mossy green and tips dipped in a deep, blood-red.
"Genetic mutation," the doctors had called it.
"A blessing of the elements," my adoptive mother, Lady Elara Sterling, had cooed.
"Main Character Syndrome," I called it privately.
I adjusted the collar of my silk sleeping shirt. My adoptive family, House Sterling, was a respectable, middle-class noble family within Xyrus City. They weren't the Glayders or the Greysrunders, but they had wealth, influence in the merchant guilds, and enough mana lineage to not be scrubbed from high society.
They had "found" me a year ago, wandering the outskirts of the Beast Glades like a feral cat. I had been four then, surviving on instinct and the sheer durability of my hybrid body. When they realized a four-year-old homeless kid had an awakened Mana Core, they didn't call the guards. They called the adoption agency.
I didn't mind. A roof over my head and consistent meals were better than roasting lizards over a campfire. But I wasn't naive. They didn't adopt Adam the boy. They adopted Adam the Solid Red Core Prodigy.
"Status," I whispered.
The familiar transparent blue screen, visible only to me, flickered into existence.
[Yoriichi Tsugikuni Assimilation: 15%]
[Status: STAGNATED. Insight Required.]
I frowned, swiping the notification away. Fifteen percent. I had been stuck there for three months. I had the physical movements down. I could perform the Sun Breathing forms—well, the first three—but something was missing. The system called it "Insight." I called it annoying.
A sharp knock on my mahogany door snapped me out of my thoughts.
"Young Master Adam?" the maid's voice came through, muffled but polite. "Director Goodsky has arrived for your morning session."
My eyes narrowed slightly. Cynthia Goodsky. The Director of Xyrus Academy. The fact that my parents had managed to secure her as a private tutor for a five-year-old spoke volumes about how much money they were throwing at my education—and how terrified they were of my potential running wild.
"I'm awake," I called back, my voice steady. "Tell her I'll be down in five minutes."
I grabbed my training gear. It was time to play the role of the genius child.
The private training hall of the Sterling estate was a wide, open-air pavilion paved with white stone, overlooking the floating edge of Xyrus City. Below us, through the gaps in the clouds, the Beast Glades stretched out like a green ocean.
Cynthia Goodsky stood near the railing, her posture relaxed, her eyes closed as she listened to the wind. She looked exactly as she had in the comic—kind, mysterious, and radiating an aura of hidden power.
"Good morning, Director," I said, bowing slightly as I approached.
She turned, her eyes crinkling in a warm smile. "Adam. Punctual as always. A rare trait in children your age. Most are usually trying to hide from their tutors."
"Most children don't find mana theory fascinating," I lied smoothly. I found mana theory incredibly dry compared to the instant gratification of video games, but I had a role to play.
"Indeed." She walked toward the center of the pavilion. "Your father tells me you've stabilized your core at the Solid Red stage. May I see?"
I nodded and closed my eyes. I reached into my sternum, visualizing the core. Being a Djinn-Dragon hybrid meant my mana channels were practically highways compared to a human's dirt roads. I pushed the mana out, letting it coat my skin.
A dense, red aura flared around me. It wasn't the flickering, candle-like aura of a novice. It was heavy, thick, and roared with a quiet intensity.
Cynthia's eyebrows rose. "Remarkable. The density… it rivals a dark orange stage mage, yet the color is undeniably red. Your capacity is immense, Adam."
"It feels… heavy," I admitted, dropping the aura. "Like I'm carrying a backpack full of water."
"That is because you are trying to hold the ocean in a cup," Goodsky said, tapping her chin. "We discussed your affinities last week. You show aptitude for all four primary elements, which is unheard of, but you've chosen to focus. Show me the Wind."
I took a deep breath. Wind was tricky. It wasn't about force; it was about flow. I extended my hand, visualizing the air pressure dropping, the molecules vibrating.
Snap.
A sphere of vacuum collapsed in the center of the room, followed immediately by a sharp, high-pitched screech of sound that shattered a glass vase on a nearby table.
Sound magic. A deviant of Wind.
Cynthia clapped her hands delightedly. "Excellent control of the frequency! You didn't just push the air; you manipulated the vibration. Sound magic is a rare and dangerous tool, Adam. It bypasses physical defenses."
"It's loud, though," I muttered, rubbing my ear.
"Magic is often loud," she chuckled. "Now, let's try the opposite spectrum. Earth and Fire. Show me the Magma deviation."
I hesitated. This was harder. My hybrid physiology loved mana, but mixing conflicting elements required focus. I stomped my foot, channeling mana into the ground (Earth) while simultaneously igniting the mana within my veins (Fire).
The stone pavement hissed. Veins of molten orange light cracked through the white rock, bubbling up like a miniature volcano. The heat was instantaneous and stifling.
"Stop!" Cynthia commanded gently.
I cut the flow immediately. The molten rock cooled into ugly grey slag.
"Your power is… volatile," Cynthia observed, her gaze sharpening. "Adam, you are five years old. To wield Deviant magic of two separate branches—Sound and Magma—is not just genius. It is historically significant."
She walked closer, kneeling so she was eye-level with me. Her expression lost its playful edge.
"You must be careful," she whispered. "Xyrus is a city of politics. A talent like yours attracts attention. Not all of it benevolent. There are families who would see you as a threat, and others who would see you as a tool."
I met her gaze. I knew who she was. I knew she was a spy for Alacrya, torn between her duty and her love for this continent. If anyone knew about being a tool, it was her.
"I'm not a tool, Director," I said, letting a bit of my old self bleed through. "And I'm not afraid of threats. I just want to be strong."
Cynthia studied me for a long moment, searching for something in my purple eyes. Eventually, she sighed and stood up.
"Strength is a noble goal, provided you survive long enough to use it. That is enough practical application for today. Let us discuss the theoretical application of mana rotation to ease the strain on your young channels."
As she began to lecture, I listened with one ear. My mind was elsewhere. Specifically, on the other energy source swirling in my gut, the one Cynthia couldn't sense. The one that felt like cold, oily sludge compared to the bright warmth of mana.
Cursed Energy.
By the time the sun hit its zenith, my brain felt like mush.
After magic training came the "Noble Education." Two hours of mathematics (which I could do in my sleep), history (which I knew was partially fabricated by the Asuras), and monster biology.
The biology tutor, a nervous man named Professor Hanes, was currently pointing at a diagram of a Mana Beast.
"And this," Hanes stammered, tapping a sketch of a horned wolf, "is the weak point of the Obsidian Wolf. Behind the left shoulder blade."
"It's the neck," I interrupted, leaning back in my chair.
Hanes blinked. "I beg your pardon, Young Master?"
"The scales behind the shoulder are reinforced to protect the heart," I said, tapping the table. "But the Obsidian Wolf has a gap in its spinal plating right at the base of the skull to allow for head movement. If you sever the connection there, the mana flow to its body stops instantly. One hit. Clean kill."
I realized I'd said too much when Hanes looked at me with a mixture of awe and mild horror.
"I… read it in a book," I added quickly.
"Right. Of course. A book," Hanes wiped sweat from his brow.
I sighed internally. Being a child genius was exhausting. I just wanted to get to the afternoon session.
The afternoon sun was blazing when I stepped into the training yard again. This time, the white stone was replaced by packed dirt, and the smell of ozone was replaced by the scent of sweat and leather.
Waiting for me was Captain Thorne. He was a massive man, a retired adventurer with a B-class record and a face that looked like it had been chewed on by a rockslide. He was the Sterling family's head of security and my sword instructor.
"You're late, runt," Thorne grunted, tossing a wooden practice sword at me.
I caught it out of the air, the weight familiar and comforting. "I was learning how to kill wolves, Captain."
"Books don't teach you how to kill," Thorne spat, assuming a stance. "Pain teaches you how to kill. Stance!"
I dropped into a low crouch, my breathing shifting. This was where the Yoriichi template shined—or at least, where it was supposed to.
Total Concentration Breathing.
I inhaled through my nose, filling my lungs to absolute capacity, forcing the oxygen into every cell of my body. My heart rate slowed. My senses sharpened. The world seemed to slow down by a fraction.
Thorne lunged. He was fast for a normal human, using wind augmentation to speed up his strike. To a normal five-year-old, he would be a blur.
To me, he was moving underwater.
I stepped to the side, a minimal movement, letting the wooden blade whistle past my ear.
Sun Breathing, First Form: Waltz.
I didn't call out the name—that was for anime, not real life—but I visualized the motion. A singular, powerful slash. My wooden sword trailed a faint, almost invisible ribbon of heat as I struck Thorne's wrist.
Thwack.
"Damn it!" Thorne hissed, dropping his sword and shaking his hand. "You little devil. You're getting faster."
I didn't celebrate. I stared at the wooden sword in my hand. It was wrong. The strike connected, but it felt… empty.
"Again," I said.
Thorne picked up his weapon. "Don't get cocky."
We went for an hour. Clash after clash. I was dancing around him, using the superior agility of the Dragon body and the breathing technique to outmaneuver a grown man. I landed hits on his ribs, his legs, his shoulders.
But the assimilation percentage in my mind didn't budge.
[15%… 15%… 15%]
"Argh!" I shouted in frustration, swinging a clumsy, angry strike that Thorne easily parried. He swept my legs, and I hit the dirt hard, dust filling my mouth.
"You're losing focus," Thorne said, standing over me. "You have the technique, Adam. You move like a master swordsman who's been shrunk down. But you fight like… you fight like you're trying to solve a math problem."
I spat out some dirt and glared up at him. "What does that mean?"
"It means you're too calculated," Thorne grunted, offering a hand to pull me up. "You're trying to perform the 'perfect' move every time. Real fighting is messy. It's desperate. You lack… intent."
I took his hand. Intent.
Yoriichi Tsugikuni wasn't a fighter because he wanted to be cool. He was a man who saw the world differently. He saw the connection between all living things, the frailty of life. He fought with a solemnity, a sadness, and a burning desire to protect.
I was fighting to level up. I was treating this world like a game. That was the block. I was trying to emulate the motion of the Sun God, but not the spirit.
"I'll keep that in mind," I muttered, dusting off my pants.
"You do that," Thorne said, wiping his brow. "You're done for the day. Go clean up. Your parents are hosting dinner."
Dinner was a grand affair for just three people. The dining hall was lit by mana-crystal chandeliers, casting a soft glow over the silverware.
Lord Marcus Sterling sat at the head of the table. He was a kind-faced man with greying temples, a merchant who had bought his way into nobility. Lady Elara sat to his right, a woman who cared more about social standing than breathing.
I sat to his left, cutting a piece of steak with surgical precision.
"We received a letter from the Helstea family today," Lord Marcus said, breaking the silence. "Vincent Helstea mentioned his daughter, Lilia, is showing signs of awakening soon. He suggested a playdate."
I paused. Lilia Helstea. The girl who ends up living with Arthur.
"I have a busy schedule, Father," I said politely. "Between Director Goodsky and Captain Thorne, I barely have time to sleep."
"Nonsense," Lady Elara waved her hand dismissively. "Connections are just as important as mana, Adam. The Helsteas are close with the Royal Family. Besides, you need friends your own age. You act like an old man."
I am an old man, I thought. A very tired old man who died over a TV.
"I will consider it," I said, which was noble-speak for 'not happening.'
"Also," Marcus leaned in, his voice lowering. "There have been rumors. The Greysrunders have been asking about you. They heard about a boy with mixed hair and a Red Core. We need to be careful, Adam. If they knew you were… found…"
"They won't find out," I said, my voice hardening. "Because I will be strong enough that it won't matter."
Marcus smiled nervously. "That's… good spirit, son. But let us handle the politics. You just focus on growing up."
They loved me, in their own way. But I could always feel the underlying tension. I was their golden ticket, their lottery win. If I turned out to be a bust, or if I brought danger to their doorstep, that love would be tested.
I finished my meal quickly, excused myself, and headed for my sanctuary.
My room was large, but I locked the heavy oak door and placed a simple sound-dampening artifact—a small rune-stone Goodsky had given me—on the floor.
The silence of the room deepened. Now, I was truly alone.
I sat cross-legged on the plush rug in the center of the room. I closed my eyes, but this time, I didn't reach for the white light of mana. I reached deeper, into the pit of my stomach, into the memories of the cold void, the pain of the screwdriver, the anger of the life lost.
Negative emotion.
A dark, viscous energy bubbled up. It felt oily and heavy, sliding through a completely different set of pathways than my mana channels.
[Fushiguro Megumi Template: 5%]
[Cursed Energy: Unlocked]
[Cursed Technique: Ten Shadows (Dormant)]
I opened my eyes. The room seemed darker. The shadows in the corners seemed to stretch and writhe, responding to my presence.
I brought my hands together. Not in a prayer, but in a specific hand sign.
"Dogs," I whispered.
I pushed the cursed energy into my shadow. The shadow rippled like water. Two shapes began to form—the snout of a wolf, the perk of ears.
My heart hammered. Divine Dogs. The most basic, yet essential, shikigami of the Ten Shadows.
But I hesitated.
In Jujutsu Kaisen, Megumi's greatest weakness early on was his lack of imagination and his reliance on the shikigami to do the heavy lifting. He was a summoner who forgot he could also punch people in the face.
If I summoned them now, at 5% mastery, they would be weak. If they were destroyed… the Ten Shadows were permanent. A destroyed shikigami never came back (though its power would transfer).
"Not yet," I whispered, releasing the hand sign. The shapes in the shadow dissolved back into darkness.
I wasn't ready to risk them. I needed to understand the medium first. I needed to understand the shadow itself.
I extended my hand, coating it in Cursed Energy. I dipped my fingers into my own shadow on the floor. It didn't feel like the ground. It felt like cold water. My fingers sank in, disappearing up to the knuckles.
"Inventory storage," I mused. "That's utility."
I spent the next two hours practicing fluid manipulation—moving Cursed Energy from my gut to my limbs, reinforcing my body not with mana, but with CE. It was harder to control than mana. Mana wanted to be used; it was natural. Cursed Energy was volatile; it wanted to explode.
Sweat poured down my face. My dragon lineage fought against the foreign energy, my core aching slightly.
"Adapt," I gritted out. "I'm a hybrid. I can handle both."
I forced the energies to coexist. Mana in the core, CE in the gut. White and Black. Yin and Yang.
When I finally collapsed back onto the rug, panting, the moon was high in the sky.
I crawled into bed, my body aching in a way that felt good. It felt like progress.
I pulled up the mental calendar I kept in the corner of my interface.
[Time until Tower Challenge: 4 Years]
I had set the deadline for myself. Age nine. That was when Arthur started his adventurer arc properly. That was when things started getting real. I needed to enter the Tower by then. I needed the power boost.
The Coordinator had given me a head start, but the world of TBATE was unforgiving. There were gods, asuras, and ancient mages. A 15% Yoriichi and a 5% Megumi wouldn't cut it against a Scythe or an Asura.
I needed to break the stagnation.
"I need real combat," I whispered to the ceiling. "Not sparring with Thorne. Not shooting fireballs at targets."
I looked at my hand, clenching it into a fist.
"I need to hunt."
The Beast Glades were right below the city. Dangerous? Yes. Suicidal for a five-year-old? Absolutely.
But Adam, the guy who died for a TV, played it safe. Adam Sterling, the Dragon-Djinn, couldn't afford to.
I closed my eyes, the image of the burning sun and the howling shadow dancing in my mind.
"Four years," I murmured, drifting into sleep. "Just watch me."