Allen Royce had quickly discovered that being a newborn was a full-time job in itself. The world was big, blurry, and far too bright, and his small body tired easily from even the tiniest movements. Yet, despite the physical limitations, life was… good.
No, life was incredible.
The cradle he lay in wasn't some ordinary crib — it was a custom-built masterpiece of craftsmanship. Hand-carved from rare white ash wood, polished to a soft glow, and draped with silk canopy curtains embroidered with threads so fine they shimmered faintly even in dim light. The bedding was layered: the outer blanket was a soft cream cashmere, beneath it a lining of breathable cotton that was smooth against his skin. He'd never felt so comfortable in his entire existence — and that included both lives combined.
The Royce estate itself was vast. From his limited line of sight, Allen could glimpse tall windows, chandeliers sparkling overhead, and walls lined with elegant paintings in ornate golden frames. The faint sound of a fountain's trickling water reached his ears whenever the nursery door opened. There was always the scent of fresh flowers drifting in from somewhere — lilies today, roses yesterday.
The people around him were just as refined. His parents had been in and out of the nursery several times a day, each time showering him with gentle words, kisses on the forehead, and the kind of affection that felt genuine, not just for show. His mother, Clarisse Royce, had a warm, lilting voice and always smelled faintly of jasmine. His father, Damian Royce, had a deep but calm tone, the kind that carried both strength and care.
And then there were the staff — maids, nannies, even a private pediatric nurse — all moving with a kind of practiced gentleness, as if the slightest sudden motion might disturb the baby of the Royce family. Every hand that touched him was careful, every smile aimed his way was warm.
It was in this cocoon of luxury that something unexpected happened.
The day was quiet. Afternoon sunlight poured through the tall nursery windows, casting a warm glow on the polished wooden floor. The maid who'd been tending to him stepped out to fetch fresh towels, leaving Allen lying peacefully beneath the canopy of his cradle. He was gazing at the lace above him, watching the sunlight catch on its patterns, when a sudden, crisp voice rang in his head.
[Initialization complete. Connection to Host established.]
Allen froze — as much as a swaddled infant could freeze.
"…Oh," he thought, his mind instantly snapping to alertness. "It's you."
[Correct. I am your System, assigned by order of the Heavenly Emperor.]
The voice was calm, formal, and yet not cold. It had a clarity to it, each word ringing in his mind as if spoken in a perfectly still room.
"So you really exist," Allen mused internally. "And you can talk to me already?"
[Communication is possible regardless of your physical age. External speech, however, will only be available once your body develops sufficiently.]
Allen gave a mental sigh. "So I can't talk back out loud?"
[Not yet. But thought-based communication will suffice for now.]
There was a faint background hum, almost like the low vibration of a tuning fork, and then the voice continued.
[First, I shall brief you on your identity in this life. You are Allen Royce, sole heir to the Royce Conglomerate — the wealthiest and most influential family in the world. Your parents, Damian and Julia Royce, possess extensive holdings across finance, luxury goods, media, and philanthropy. You are their only child and will inherit the full extent of their fortune and influence.]
Allen whistled internally. "Wow. So I really hit the jackpot."
[Indeed. This arrangement was made by the Heavenly Emperor as part of your reward. Your life conditions are set to 'absolute comfort.' No harm or significant misfortune will befall you without your explicit consent.]
Allen almost laughed in his head. "That's… absurd. In a good way, I mean."
[Additionally, my function is to fulfill any desire you express, provided it does not violate cosmic law. Resources, skills, knowledge, and even… unconventional requests can be granted.]
The pause before 'unconventional' made Allen perk up. "Unconventional?"
[The Heavenly Emperor's authority extends beyond mortal realms. Requests involving souls, ancient knowledge, or extraordinary circumstances are within acceptable bounds.]
Allen smirked mentally. "You make it sound like I could just ask for Beethoven to come back from the dead and give me music lessons."
[That would be possible. However, given your preference for the violin in your previous life, a more suitable candidate might be advisable.]
Allen blinked — or rather, his baby-self blinked without meaning to. "Wait… you know about that?"
[All known data about you has been retrieved from the Heavenly Emperor's memory and the Akashic Records. Your previous-life experiences, skills, preferences, and notable events have been fully archived.]
Allen stared up at the canopy lace, momentarily silent. "Alright, then. Let's get to it. What exactly do you need from me?"
[One directive: state your primary goal for this life. It will guide how I allocate resources and opportunities to you.]
That was a big question. Allen let his mind drift, thinking of the choices he could make. He could aim for power, for fame, for historical significance. He could build empires, influence governments, or reshape society. The possibilities were… dizzying.
But none of that appealed to him.
He thought back to his old life. The evenings spent in a small apartment, bow in hand, coaxing warm tones from his violin until the world outside ceased to exist. The rush of performing for small gatherings, not for fame or recognition, but for the pure joy of the music. And the quiet yearning he'd always had — to travel to places he'd only ever seen in books or online, to play under sunsets he'd never witnessed in person.
"…I want to live completely carefree," he decided finally. "No stress, no endless responsibilities. I want to travel the world when I'm older. And… I want to become truly great at the violin. Not just good. The best."
There was a brief pause, almost as if the System was weighing his request.
[Confirmed. Primary objective: live a life of complete leisure, pursue mastery of the violin, and explore the world extensively. Acknowledged.]
Then, with a faint tone of amusement that Allen could have sworn wasn't there before:
[Given the Heavenly Emperor's backing, this objective is considered… modest.]
Allen chuckled mentally. "Modest for him, maybe. For me? It's perfect."
[Understood. Preparations for fulfilling your request will begin immediately. This will include securing the finest possible violin instruction. One candidate is Niccolò Paganini, formerly mortal, currently residing in the Netherworld.]
Allen blinked again. "You mean the Paganini? The legendary violinist?"
[Correct. His summoning will require cooperation from the King of the Netherworld. However, given the Heavenly Emperor's authority, compliance is guaranteed.]
Allen laughed inwardly, a warm excitement stirring in him. "Okay… yeah. This is going to be fun."
[Very well. While you grow, I will handle negotiations and arrangements. Expect Paganini to begin teaching you as soon as your physical body can manage basic coordination.]
The image that flashed in his mind made him grin — not that anyone could see. He imagined himself in some future sunlit room, holding a violin crafted by a master luthier, guided by the greatest violinist who had ever lived. And when he wasn't practicing, he'd be somewhere halfway across the world, soaking in sights and sounds most people only dreamed of.
"…Thanks," he said silently.
[You are welcome, Host. My purpose is to ensure your life is exactly as you wish it to be.]
The nursery door creaked open, and the maid returned, carrying a stack of fresh towels. She glanced at him with a smile so warm it was almost blinding. "Young master, still awake?" she murmured gently, adjusting his blanket.
If only she knew.
Allen's tiny hand curled into a loose fist, the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at his lips.
This life… was going to be extraordinary.
~~~~~~
Quote of the day:
"Not all thrones are worth sitting on—some are just better cages."