The night air was heavy with the faint scent of rain. A thin drizzle tapped gently against the dormitory windows, blurring the glow of street lamps outside.
Inside a cramped, dimly lit room, a young man sat hunched over a battered desk. His lamp flickered occasionally, threatening to burn out, yet he continued writing in a neat, deliberate script across the pages of a thick notebook.
To anyone else, it would look like scribbles, meaningless formulas and half-broken symbols. But in truth, every line was precise. Every mark, a carefully designed cipher only he could read.
He was a student like any other on this campus: poor, unremarkable, invisible. He had no wealthy parents to fund his education, no powerful relatives to open doors, no prestigious connections waiting for him after graduation. Professors barely remembered his name. His classmates often forgot he existed.
And that suited him just fine.
Mediocrity was his disguise. His shield. His weapon.
Because he had long since learned the truth of the world: talent without power is slavery. A poor genius is nothing but fuel for the machine, consumed and discarded when nothing remains.
He remembered it well—the stories of brilliant students lured into research projects, drained of their discoveries, and left penniless while corporations claimed the glory. He remembered the news reports of bright inventors who "died in accidents" just after refusing to sell their ideas.
No, he would never be one of them.
So he wore the mask of indifference. He answered just enough in class to pass. He never volunteered, never boasted, never let his mind show. His true brilliance he poured only into the notebooks he kept hidden, filled with inventions, theories, and plans so advanced the world wasn't ready to comprehend them.
But tonight… something changed.
The voice came without warning, cold and mechanical, echoing directly in his skull.
[Celestial Inventory has been granted.]
His pen stilled.
For a long moment, he didn't move, didn't breathe. Then slowly, he leaned back in his chair. His dark eyes reflected the faint light of the lamp as a razor-thin smile touched his lips.
"…So. It begins."
There was no shock, no disbelief. Only acceptance. The kind a man shows when a long-calculated probability finally manifests.
He set the pen down, closed his notebook, and whispered calmly:
"Open Inventory."
The air shimmered.
Space itself seemed to fold, and before him opened a vast black expanse. Endless rows stretched into eternity, shelves upon shelves of items glowing faintly, each inscribed with names both familiar and impossible.
He read them one by one, cold eyes scanning.
Excalibur. The Death Note. Infinity Gauntlet. Millennium Puzzle. Trident of Poseidon. The Tesseract. Book of Thoth. Totsuka Blade. Lightsaber.
Anything. Everything. Every artifact, weapon, and tool from every world, every universe, every myth.
An ordinary man would have fallen to his knees, trembling with awe.
He simply adjusted his glasses. His mind raced, already cataloging, already analyzing. Unlimited power meant nothing without control. And the true genius never plays his strongest piece first.
He extended his hand into the void. Dozens of weapons shimmered, calling out like sirens, promising godhood. He ignored them all and closed his hand around something small, plain, and simple.
A dagger.
Steel. Balanced. Sharp enough to cut flesh, but nothing extraordinary.
He examined it carefully, feeling the weight, testing the balance. His lips curved again in that faint, predatory smile.
"Yes," he murmured. "This will do."
Not the Gauntlet. Not Excalibur. A simple dagger was more valuable now than a hundred divine relics. Because with it, he could test quietly. Efficiently. Silently.
The true genius doesn't reveal the queen. The true genius wins with pawns.
A knock came at his door, jarring him from his thoughts. Loud, impatient, accompanied by a sneer.
"Oi, loser," a voice called from the hallway. "You didn't pay for Wi-Fi again, did you? Open the door before we break it down."
It was one of the dorm bullies. A lazy thug with rich parents, too cowardly to pick on anyone who mattered. He and his friends often targeted the poor students, shaking them down for food money or Wi-Fi bills.
Normally, he would have ignored them. Kept the mask on, avoided attention. But tonight, the rules had changed.
The dagger gleamed under the lamp as he rose from his chair. His movements were calm, deliberate.
No fear. No hesitation. Only calculation.
He turned the lock and opened the door.
Three students stood outside. Their leader grinned, stepping forward arrogantly. "Finally. You're such a pain, you know that? Hand over the cash, or maybe we—"
The words ended in a wet gasp.
The dagger slid cleanly into his side, angled perfectly between ribs to puncture the lung. Quick. Silent. Fatal if untreated.
The bully's eyes went wide, disbelief twisting into pain.
The two followers froze, mouths opening in shock.
He moved before they could react. The dagger slashed outward, cutting deep across the throat of the second. A spray of crimson hit the wall.
The third tried to run. He grabbed him by the collar, slammed him into the wall, and drove the dagger into his chest. Once. Twice. Precise strikes to the heart.
The hall was silent. Only the sound of gurgling breath and dripping blood remained.
He exhaled slowly, expression cold, detached. No anger. No thrill. Only the steady calm of a man solving a problem with the correct tool.
The bodies twitched, then stilled.
"Efficient," he murmured, wiping the blade clean on a fallen shirt.
With a thought, he opened the Celestial Inventory again. The void shimmered. The corpses vanished one by one, consumed into nothingness. Not even blood remained on the floor.
The hall was clean, silent, as if nothing had happened.
He shut the door behind him, set the dagger back into the void, and returned to his desk.
His notebook still lay open. He picked up the pen, flipped to a fresh page, and began writing again.
Test 1: Summoning successful.Test 2: Physical objects stable, no degradation.Test 3: Blood disposal via Inventory — perfect erasure.
He wrote each line neatly, without emotion.
Outside, students laughed and chattered, oblivious. The world carried on.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes half-lidded, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Yes. This is the power I've been waiting for.
The genius the world ignored now had the keys to infinite dominion.
And he would not waste them on spectacle.He would build slowly, silently, with precision.
When he finally revealed himself, it would not be as a student.It would be as the Emperor of All Realities.
He closed the notebook, extinguished the lamp, and lay down on his bed.
Sleep came easily, dreamless, his mind already calculating the next test.
The dagger had been the first key. Tomorrow, he would take another step.
And the world would never know… until it was far too late.