Panic is useless.
Fear is understandable.
Priority is survival.
Alright.
Level Three in a year and a half.
I'm a college graduate. I built ASI. I designed architectures more complex than these blocks. I'll reach Level Three without any trouble.
But…
What then?
What if it turns into advanced math after that?
What if this is a world where magic equals computation?
I don't want to invest my entire new life into this cursed mathematics. Why this, of all things? Why couldn't I have been reborn into a world with swords? Or at least with magic where you just scream spell names?
Is it even normal to teach babies math at six months?
Even if I have some "special bloodline"?
I looked at the blocks.
They lay there calmly.
Waiting…
Only now did I truly start thinking.
What kind of bloodline is this?
What does it give me?
And most importantly—why do they need me at all?
The questions kept multiplying. The answers, as usual, hadn't been delivered.
I tried to distract myself and return to dreams of magic. Real magic. Beautiful magic. The kind where you lift your hand and energy flares around you. Where spells sound epic, not like arithmetic homework.
I even managed to picture myself in a long cloak, glowing runes spiraling around me…
And then I lowered my gaze.
A new equation was already on the floor:
2 - 1 =
I blinked.
Wait.
I hadn't touched anything yet.
I looked around.
The crib was gone.
Gone completely.
In its place—just a mattress on the floor. A pillow. A blanket.
Is that… an upgrade!? Or is it simply more convenient for training?
I decided to lie down for now. Too much information in too short a time. The mattress was soft. Treacherously comfortable.
Alright.
If magic exists here, how is it actually used?
Through words?
Through calculations?
Through inner energy?
I thought. I thought for a long time.
Deep down I knew that lying here and theorizing was almost useless. But my brain clung to theories because acting still felt scary.
And then a thought flashed.
What if the bloodline isn't just the ability to understand language?
What if it gives something magical?
A special organ?
An energy channel?
An extra structure in the brain?
If so… how do I test it?
I closed my eyes and tried to "scan" myself. To feel something unusual. Energy streams. Power centers. Hidden mechanisms.
I focused.
One minute.
Two.
Five.
Nothing.
No flows. No sensations. Just breathing, a heartbeat, and the faint discomfort of being a baby lying there trying to locate a magical user interface inside himself.
I even tried to wiggle some imaginary "mana."
Zero.
I spent a decent amount of time on it. The result was absolute emptiness.
Either I have no magic.
Or it doesn't work the way I want.
I opened my eyes.
In front of me, the same thing still lay there:
2 - 1 =
I decided to act by the canon.
Like in those fantasy web novels my friends used to tell me about. If you get reborn, there's supposed to be a system.
I said in my head:
Status.
Silence.
I tried again.
Status.
Nothing.
No interface window. No numbers. No dramatic music. Not even a hint.
I felt a little embarrassed. Like I'd said something pompous out loud in an empty room and heard myself.
Alright.
Maybe I needed more conviction?
Open status.
System.
Menu.
Stats.
Show parameters.
Zero response.
After a while I stopped feeling embarrassed. It was logical: over the last few minutes I'd tried so many variants that the sense of awkwardness simply got tired of existing.
But I'm stubborn.
If there's no system—maybe there's pure magic?
And then I decided to test the sketchiest option.
Try to push mana outward.
I extended my hand. With the most serious baby face I could manage.
The problem was, I had no idea how to do it. No manual. No button. No prompt.
I just… wanted it.
And in that moment, I felt something.
A light, barely detectable sensation. Like mist. Like cold vapor rising from inside me.
I froze.
The haze around my hand grew denser.
In shock I almost—well, let's just say I almost disgraced myself.
And then two things hit me at once.
First: I hadn't gone to the bathroom even once.
Not once.
This whole time.
That's weird. Very weird. And why hadn't I thought about it earlier?!
Second: releasing mana felt as natural to me as thinking.
I didn't learn it. I didn't concentrate. I just did it—and it worked.
And the scariest part was: I could probably do it from the very beginning.
I just… hadn't thought to try.
Of course.
Who in childhood ever thinks about how exactly they think? In my old world, there weren't people who woke up like, "Hmm. At what point am I capable of generating thoughts?"
So my actions were absolutely justified.
Yes.
Completely logical.
I nodded to myself.
My interest instantly snapped to magic.
Not math.
Not the bloodline.
Not the threat of being turned into a potion.
Magic.
I focused on the misty mana hovering in front of my hand—and almost immediately noticed an unpleasant detail: in that short time, there was less of it.
It was… dissipating?
I exhaled in disappointment.
Of course. You can't just get magic and not run into limitations. That would be too convenient.
Alright. If the amount is limited, I need to figure out what I can actually do with it.
I tried the most obvious thing—move it with sheer will.
No gestures. No words. Just want it.
The mist trembled.
And… shifted.
A little.
A couple of centimeters.
I went still.
It worked.
Though I could only move the whole mass as one. I couldn't split it into parts or control separate fragments.
I tried again.
And again.
And again.
Dozens of attempts.
At first the shift was tiny. Almost imperceptible. But after a while I noticed the control improving slightly. The movement got more confident. More stable.
There was progress.
Slow.
Tortoise-slow.
But progress.
By my standards—too slow. By a baby's standards—probably absurdly fast.
Meanwhile the mist was growing thinner. There clearly wasn't enough volume left for proper experiments.
I decided to release more.
I reached my hand out again.
I wanted to release mana again…