Time passed quietly, yet steadily, as I grew older. Day by day, I could feel the subtle changes within me, the slow shift of my body and mind. Gradually turning into a mystical creature was nothing short of fascinating.
It wasn't painful, nor was it frightening. If anything, it felt like I was living through a long, strange experiment—one where I was both the subject and the observer. Sometimes I would just sit in silence, tracing every little shift in my body: the way my thoughts sharpened, the way my memory refused to let go of even the tiniest detail, the way every nerve seemed to hum with new vitality.
And I knew that one day, if I lived long enough, I would no longer resemble a human. I would become… something else. Perhaps even the kind of grotesque existence that could be compared to a can of writhing worms. The thought didn't bother me. Surprisingly, it even felt refreshing. After all, wasn't life about experiencing new things? Even if that "new" ended up being monstrous, it was still a path that only I could walk.
It was ironic. In my past life, I had been swallowed by despair, drowning in nihilism. I had believed that nothing had value, that everything was predetermined, that free will was nothing more than a comforting illusion. And those very beliefs had driven me to end my life.
Yet here I was again, with the same thoughts, the same worldview—only now, I felt no despair at all.
Why?
My only guess was that the Mastery Card hadn't simply erased the remnants of the Primordial One's will in the Beyonder potion. No—it had absorbed it, digested it, and turned it into fuel for my own will. That alien will had been broken down into nourishment, leaving me with something far more terrifying than before: a will that felt unshakable.
Even as I acknowledged the absurdity of life, even as I reminded myself that all my emotions, all my desires, and even this newfound drive were predetermined—like lines in a script written long before my birth—I didn't falter. I didn't despair. I didn't lose my momentum.
Instead, I embraced it.
Perhaps the strength of my will was no longer human at all. Perhaps it was something closer to the iron determination of a mystical being.
As the years trickled by, I noticed more and more changes.
My memory had become flawless. I could recall every detail of my past life, every memory of my current childhood, and even the fleeting impressions of dreams. Nothing slipped through the cracks.
My thoughts, too, flowed with an unnatural clarity. Ideas connected more smoothly, patterns revealed themselves without effort, and even my creativity felt magnified. The Mastery Card, I realized, wasn't just about controlling supernatural abilities—it was mastery of the self. Memory, thought, body, instincts… all of them had been sharpened.
But that also meant something else.
These weren't human abilities anymore. The things I now considered "normal" were, in truth, the "normal" abilities of a mystical creature walking the Fool's Pathway. Step by step, day by day, I was evolving into something beyond humanity.
And I found myself enjoying it.
Most of my early years were spent in two ways: secretly experimenting with my abilities, or spending time with my mother.
She was the only family I had. According to her, my father was dead. I didn't probe for details—though, if I were being honest, I had my suspicions.
Her name was Martha Spectre, and she owned a small but successful chain of restaurants. That meant we weren't lacking in money, which gave me a comfortable childhood. But comfort wasn't the word I'd use to describe life with her. No, living with Martha was… entertaining.
Not in the conventional sense. A "normal" person rarely held my interest, but she did.
She was beautiful, warm, and affectionate toward me, but there was always something just a little off about her. Her smile lingered too long. Her eyes sometimes gleamed with an edge that didn't match her words. And the way she doted on me—it was obsessive, almost suffocating at times.
To be blunt, she was a little insane. Perhaps even a psychopath.
And I found that I didn't mind.
In fact, I liked it.
One afternoon, when I was around four years old, I sat in the living room, stacking wooden blocks into the shape of a tower while covertly running tiny experiments with my spiritual perception.
"Adam, sweetie," Martha's sing-song voice called from the kitchen, "are you playing nicely?"
"Yes, Mom," I replied automatically, though my attention was divided. I was watching the faint shimmer of energy that sparked whenever I focused on the blocks.
A moment later, she emerged, wiping her hands on a towel. Her eyes softened the moment they landed on me. "You're so quiet these days. It's almost eerie how well-behaved you are."
I gave her a small smile. "Do you not like that?"
"Oh, I love it," she said immediately, walking over and crouching beside me. Her fingers brushed my hair with exaggerated tenderness. "You're perfect. My perfect boy."
I tilted my head. "Even if I grow up strange?"
Her smile widened—too wide. "Then I'll love you for being strange. Even if you grew up into a monster, I'd still love you."
The intensity in her voice made me pause.
It wasn't a mother's casual reassurance.
"I see," I muttered softly.
"Don't 'I see' me." She pinched my cheek lightly, her grin returning to something more playful. "You're mine, Adam. Don't you forget it."
I chuckled faintly, though the seriousness behind her words lingered in my mind. I had suspected before that she might have killed my father, and every little interaction like this only reinforced the possibility. But… did I care?
Not really.
If she had, then it only proved what I already knew: Martha Spectre loved me in a way that bordered on madness. And oddly enough, I appreciated that. There was something comforting about being the singular focus of someone's obsessive love.
The rest of my days followed a rhythm.
I practiced memory exercises not because I needed to, but because it amused me to push my flawless recall to its limits. I trained my body, observing how each movement grew more precise, how my coordination bordered on inhuman. And in secret, I experimented with my growing spiritual abilities—small tricks, subtle manipulations of perception, and the occasional reckless attempt at something beyond my current control.
Every success filled me with satisfaction. Every failure reminded me of the long road ahead.
But through it all, one truth became more and more certain:
I was not merely human anymore.
I was something else. Something steadily walking the path of the Fool, shaped by both the Beyonder potion and the Mastery Card. Not to mention the float float devil fruit and the life potion .
And as I lay in bed one night, listening to my mother hum a lullaby softly from the next room, I realized something that made me smirk to myself.
This second life is more interesting than I thought.