The next morning, Ikarus woke up… wrong.
Not in a bad way. Just… different.
"Woh," he muttered in his head as his eyes blinked open. "I feel weird."
The room was the same: low ceiling, cracked plaster, faint light slipping in through the window. The warmth of sleeping kids nearby. Marta's quiet movements somewhere in the background.
But everything felt sharper.
The rustle of blankets. The creak of wood under shifting weight. The soft whoosh of someone's breath three beds away. Even the faint drafts of air brushing his skin felt like they were announcing themselves.
"A lot more sensitive," he thought. "System, hey. You awake?"
[Yo. Loud and clear.]
"I thought you slept when I did."
[Please. I multitask.]
Ikarus rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.
"Okay, then answer me this—why do I feel like every sound and touch is cranked up? Did something change, or did I break myself?"
[Possibility: you hit puberty.]
He stopped.
"…I'm four."
[Correct. Puberty joke was for humor. You're welcome.]
He sighed internally. "Terrible joke. Try again."
[New sensitivity likely linked to last night's internal perception training and mana-awareness attempts.]
[Your brain and nervous system are processing more input. Check your status.]
"All right," he thought. "Show me."
A familiar panel slid into his mind's eye.
[Status]
Name: Ikarus
Age: 4
Level: 2
Magic: 8
Stamina: 7
Strength: 6
Will: 82
[Swordsmanship Interface]
Rank: Novice (Solid Foundation)
XP: 480 / 800
Perception: 48
Form & Technique: 20
Footwork: 22
Blade Control: 17
Killing Intent: 0
Traits:
– Mental Swordsman (Medium)
– Stubborn Will (Enhanced)
– Early Pattern Reader
– Inner Sense (Low)
(You are starting to feel subtle internal changes—breath, rhythm, energy flow—more clearly.)
[Magic Interface]
Mana Capacity: Low (Awakening Stage)
Mana Density: Thin but Pure
Control: 5 / 100
Affinity:
– Ether (Internal/Structural) – High Potential (Dormant)
– External Elemental – Not Yet Assessed
Mana Pathways:
– Natural channels present but undeveloped.
– Internal mana awareness (molecule-level hum) – Initiated.
Notes:
– You are unconsciously feeling tiny internal shifts that others usually ignore, which explains your "sensitivity."
– With training, this will become refined mana sense instead of "everything feels too much."
Ikarus stared at the Magic Interface for a long few seconds.
"So my magic stat jumped," he muttered inwardly. "Control five. Ether affinity, high potential… and a trait called 'Inner Sense.'"
[Correct. Last night's attempt to feel internal patterns was partially successful. Your brain has decided to keep doing it.]
"Hence feeling like the world's on high volume."
[Side effect. It will normalize as your control increases.]
He exhaled slowly.
"Well, at least I didn't just 'hit puberty.'"
[You're welcome for ruling that out.]
He dragged himself out of bed and went to wash up.
The orphanage's washroom mirror was small and a little cloudy, but it did its job.
Ikarus splashed his face with cool water, patted it dry with a rough cloth, then lifted his eyes to his reflection.
For a long moment, he just looked.
Big, dark-blue eyes stared back at him. They seemed deeper today, clearer—like still water that might hide something at the bottom. His hair fell in soft, slightly wavy strands, not too long, not too short. His features were delicate but not fragile: straight nose, small mouth, fine jawline that would sharpen as he grew.
"I really am…" he thought, then stopped himself.
Handsome.
It felt stupid to say it, even in his own head. But the truth was there, undeniable.
No wonder the other kids called him doll, prince, target for kidnappers.
He blinked.
For just an instant, faint light seemed to flicker in his left eye—a subtle, sharp gleam like a line of insight cutting across his vision.
"What was that?" he whispered inside. "Did my eye just…?"
He leaned closer.
The mirror showed only his normal dark-blue gaze, tired but calm.
"Imagining things," he decided, pulling back. "Divine Eye's still locked. No reason it should twitch now."
[Resonance increasing,] the system noted. [But yes, still locked. Don't strain.]
"I wasn't planning to," he lied.
He dried his face and headed to breakfast.
Breakfast at the orphanage was many things, but never quiet.
Marta had set out bowls of porridge—thin but hot—and a small plate of leftover bread at the center of the table. The kids were already in place.
Lina was halfway through a dramatic retelling of last night's dream.
"…and then the dragon said, 'Lina, you are too powerful, I must flee!' and flew away," she said, waving her spoon like a wand.
Arun frowned. "Dragons don't run away."
"They do from me," Lina declared.
Mei hid a smile behind her bowl. Rian fed a crumb to his stuffed toy, as if the creature also needed breakfast.
Ikarus slid into his usual spot.
Lina immediately leaned over and inspected him. "You look weird," she announced.
"Good morning to you too," he said dryly in his head, even though all that came out of his mouth was a quiet, "Morning."
Miya placed a bowl in front of him. "Eat," she said. "Training with sticks doesn't mean you get to skip growing."
Marta sat down with a sigh. "And no mysterious four-hour sessions before breakfast today."
Lina gasped. "Four hours? I knew it. He was fighting invisible monsters."
Miya smirked. "He was fighting his own limits."
Lina poked Ikarus's cheek with the back of her spoon. "Whose side are you on, Sister Miya?"
"The side of not letting him collapse," Miya replied.
"Traitor."
Marta pinched the bridge of her nose. "If you two start fighting over him again, I'm making him sit with the chickens."
Lina puffed up, scandalized. "You can't put a prince with chickens!"
"He's not a prince," Marta said automatically.
Rian looked up, serious. "But he looks like one."
Mei nodded. "He really does."
Miya glanced at Ikarus, then at Marta. "Can't argue," she said casually. "Look at those eyes. He's going to make trouble when he's older."
Lina slammed her spoon down. "Exactly! That's why I have to protect him first. If some noble girl falls in love with his face and takes him away, what will we do?"
Marta choked on her porridge.
Miya laughed outright. "You're planning ten years ahead now?"
"Obviously," Lina said. "I'm responsible."
"For starting fights, yes," Miya said.
Ikarus quietly ate his porridge, trying and failing not to be amused.
Inside, he thought, First life: no one fought over me. Second life: banter for custody at breakfast. Upgrade achieved.
"By the way," Lina said suddenly, squinting at him. "Ikarus, why were you reading from the shelf yesterday?"
Marta paused.
So did Miya.
They all looked at him.
He blinked.
Yesterday, he'd climbed up on a stool and pulled down one of the thinner books. He couldn't read the script perfectly yet—not officially—but between his old life's literacy and his new life's listening, he'd been guessing more than the others suspected.
"I saw pictures," he said simply, in his small, calm voice.
Which was technically true. There had been a few crude diagrams.
Marta relaxed a little. "He's curious," she said, half to herself. "That's good. Just don't fall off the stool."
Miya's gaze lingered on him a second longer, thoughtful. She didn't push.
Ikarus kept eating.
Inside, he reviewed what he'd seen.
Basic magic primer. Simple explanations. Everyone else started by "gathering mana from outside," drawing in ambient energy through breath and will, then guiding it inward to form a core.
But I'm trying to go the other way, he thought. From the inside out. Feeling the mana that's already there. Like using ether in its pure form, instead of scooping loose mist.
Is it possible?
He remembered the Magic Interface. Ether affinity. Inner Sense. Molecule-level hum.
With my talent, and the systems I have… I don't have the luxury of thinking small. I'm a full-born talent in this life whether they see it or not. I have to bridge the gap of resources somehow.
He didn't know how many powerful families were out there. Noble houses, mage clans, dragon-blooded lines. Children raised with tutors, manuals, enchanted weapons.
All he had was an orphanage, a stick, and two god-level systems buried in his soul.
It would have to be enough.
He finished his porridge, exchanged a few more quips with Lina and a steady look with Miya, then slid off his stool.
"Don't go too far," Marta called after him.
He nodded.
He wasn't going far.
Just outside. To the yard. To the line between child's play and something else.
The stick waited where he'd left it.
He picked it up, felt the roughness of bark under his fingers, and settled into his stance.
The ground felt different now—firmer, clearer. Every grain of dirt under his feet had a weight his new sensitivity picked up. His senses buzzed at first, on the verge of overload, but he breathed through it.
"Okay," he thought. "Movement first. Then mana."
He walked through the three-line step again, this time letting his sharpened awareness drink in every micro-shift—how his weight moved from heel to ball, how his center balanced over each foot, how the stick's weight tugged at small muscles.
Inside, the system monitored quietly.
[Real and mental patterns aligning.]
[Footwork integration: Mental 100% → Physical 20%.]
[Beginner manual syncing.]
He finished another sequence and lowered the stick.
"All right," he murmured inside. "Now mana."
He closed his eyes.
Most people, according to the primer, pictured breathing in light. Gathering magic from the air, from the environment, pulling it toward a point in their core.
Ikarus did the opposite.
He let his awareness turn inward, sinking past skin and muscle and bone. Past lungs and heartbeat. Down to that subtle hum he'd glimpsed the night before—the quiet storm of movement that made up his existence.
He imagined not "more" energy coming in, but the shape of what was already there. The way each invisible piece nudged its neighbors. The rhythm of the smallest motions.
"Everyone else," he thought slowly, "is dragging mana in like buckets of water. I want to understand the spring itself."
His perception brushed against something.
A faint, cool thread. A sense of ordered space inside chaos.
Ether.
Not an element. Not fire, not water, not wind. Structure. The unseen framework that let things exist and hold shape.
He didn't grab at it. He just acknowledged it.
You're there. I see you.
[Good,] the system said quietly. [Don't try to force anything yet. Recognition first. Manipulation later.]
He nodded inwardly.
He didn't know how long he stood there, eyes closed, stick loose in his hands, feeling the double world of muscles straining and inner hum shifting.
Eventually, hunger nipped at him. His small body reminded him that talent didn't feed itself.
He went back in, ate lunch with the others, answered Lina's questions with half-truths, endured Miya's knowing looks, and listened to Marta threaten to cut his stick in half if he skipped rest again.
Then, when chores were done and the afternoon dipped toward evening, he went back outside.
Stance. Breath. Movement. Ether-sense.
Again.
That night, as everyone slept, a different thought nudged at him.
System.
[Listening.]
"I want to hunt."
Silence.
Then:
[You're four years old.]
"I'm aware."
[You're four years old and you want to go hunt."]
[If Marta finds out, you're dead. I don't mean metaphorically.]
He grimaced.
"I know," he admitted. "But…"
He looked around the dark room at the sleeping figures.
Marta, exhausted but still ready to wake at the slightest noise.
Miya, light sleeper, burdened with more than she said.
Lina, arm flung across his waist again, trusting.
Arun, Mei, Rian—breathing softly, unaware.
"I need to increase my battle sense," he said finally. "I've done years of mental training. My body's starting to follow. My mana sense is awakening. But I've never actually stood in front of something that wants to hurt me in this life."
In his last life, he'd only stood in front of people who pretended they didn't.
[You want to fight something that bites,] the system summarized.
"Yes."
[In the middle of the night.]
"Yes."
[Without telling anyone.]
He hesitated.
"…Yes."
The system sighed—not a sound, but the mental equivalent.
[All right, reckless host. If you insist on testing yourself, pick something appropriate.]
Images and information nudged into his awareness: a small grove not far from the orphanage, the usual minor beasts that roamed there at night, patterns of patrol and scent.
[Low-tier wild wolves,] the system said. [Four in this pack. Hungry, territorial, not too bright. But still capable of killing a child instantly.]
"Good," Ikarus thought. "Then there's a point."
[If you die, I will mock you in the afterlife.]
"If I die," he said, "you die too."
[Technical details.]
He gently extricated his hand from Lina's grip, eased himself off the mattress, and padded across the floor.
The boards creaked faintly. He paused each time, waiting to see if Marta or Miya stirred. They didn't.
Small legs. Bare feet. Quiet steps.
He slipped out the back, into the night.
The air was cool, carrying the smell of earth and distant trees. The world beyond the orphanage fence was a darker shape against the sky.
He picked up his stick on the way out. It wasn't a sword. But it was something in his hand, and right now, that mattered.
"Let's go," he told the system.
[Path displayed.]
A faint sense of direction pulled at his awareness, guiding him along narrow alleys and then out toward the scraggly woods behind the town.
Every rustle made his heart jump. Every shadow seemed sharper than it had that morning.
His new sensitivity worked double time now, catching every whisper of wind in leaves, every crack of twig under his own feet.
"It's fine," he told himself. "This is what you wanted. Real fear. Real stakes. Real… data."
The wolves found him first.
Four shapes slunk out of the underbrush, eyes glinting faintly in the moonlight. Their fur was patchy in places—wild beasts, not well-fed pets. They moved low, cautious, their noses twitching.
One growled, a low, uncertain sound. He was small. Alone. But not right. Something in his stance was wrong for prey.
Ikarus tightened his grip on the stick.
His heart hammered in his chest, but his mind… went quiet.
All the mental training, all the footwork lines, all the internal sensing clicked into place.
[Focus,] the system said. [Use what you practiced. They are fast but simple. Read their lines.]
The first wolf lunged.
Ikarus stepped to the side along an imaginary line he'd walked a thousand times in his head. The stick snapped out, guided more by instinct than thought, cracking against the side of the wolf's skull.
It yelped, stumbled, fell.
The second came from the other side. He pivoted, feet catching the ground just right, and drove the stick into its shoulder, turning its leap aside.
Pain flickered in his arms. His hands stung. His breath hitched.
But something inside him—Will 82, trauma, stubbornness, everything—refused to freeze.
[Opening, front-left,] the system murmured.
He moved into it.
Step. Swing. Adjust.
To anyone watching, it might have looked clumsy—just a child flailing with a branch.
But every movement avoided teeth. Every step found just enough space. Every strike landed where bone and muscle couldn't ignore it.
One wolf went down and didn't get up. Another limped back, snarling. A third circled, then fled when Ikarus didn't break.
The last one hesitated one heartbeat too long.
He met its eyes.
For a moment, something like killing intent stirred—not full-grown, but seeded. A promise of what could one day be.
Then he moved.
The stick cracked against its jaw. It yelped, stumbled, and ran, injured but alive.
Breathing hard, Ikarus stood in the clearing, heart racing, arms shaking, chest burning.
He looked at the fallen bodies, at the marks his stick had left on fur and flesh.
He hadn't done it cleanly. He'd taken hits—scratches, a bruise blooming on his side from a glancing impact. But he was standing.
"…I need stronger opponents," he thought quietly.
The words didn't come from arrogance. They came from the cold realization that even this, even this wild, stupid hunt, wouldn't be enough forever.
There were nobles with knights. Mages with spells. Monsters with names.
If he stopped here, they'd catch up and pass him before he ever reached their gates.
[Host.]
The system's voice felt different this time. Less mocking. More… impressed. Or horrified. Hard to tell.
"Ikarus," it said. "Yes, System?"
[You're a monster.]
He smiled faintly in the dark.
"Good," he replied. "We'll need one."