"It's not just the mana inside me that's changed," I muttered, glancing at the mirror beside my bed.
The reflection staring back at me no longer belonged to the frail, paper-skinned boy that once coughed from merely walking too fast. My cheeks had regained a faint color, the shallow darkness under my eyes had lightened, and my once trembling hands now seemed steady.
I traced my reflection, noting the faint definition on my arms, the healthy tone of my skin, the stability in my stance. For an eleven-year-old child, I didn't look impressive—but compared to the fragile creature I once was, this was evolution.
"My body's been improving a lot too…" I murmured softly. "My breathing feels clearer, my chest no longer burns when I move, and my heart beats... steady."
He exhaled, placing his hand on his chest. The rhythmic pulse beneath his palm felt powerful—alive.
"All of this," I said, "thanks to that strange recovery card the system gifted me... and a month of consistent meals packed with those infernal health-tonics the chefs made."
I chuckled faintly. "Guess it's finally bearing fruit."
As I spoke, a familiar chime echoed again—sharp and metallic, reverberating in the air like a drop of water hitting crystal.
[Achievement Unlocked: "Good Quality, My Friend"]
[Because you have nurtured both body and mana to a balanced state, your foundation has reached the threshold of physical competence.]
[Reward Granted: Skill — Technique "Blue Sky Sword Art"]
A golden-blue card shimmered into existence before me, floating just above my open palm. The edges gleamed with faint celestial symbols—elegant, intricate strokes that seemed to hum with subtle energy.
[Card Name: Blue Sky Sword Art]
[Rarity: A]
[Proficiency: F-]
[Type: Technique / Permanent]
[Effect: A refined sword technique originating from the era of Azure Monarchs. Allows the wielder to flow like the wind and strike like the clear sky—calm, swift, and devastatingly precise.]
[Mana Cost: None]
[Condition: Requires a sword to activate. Mastery and proficiency increase with continued use.]
I stared at the card, my lips curling into a grin. "Blue Sky Sword Art… A-rank?"
My voice wavered between disbelief and excitement.
"For a technique that doesn't consume mana, this might be my greatest reward yet."
He held out his right hand, and the card dissolved into light, its essence sinking into his consciousness. Instantly, faint muscle memory began to stir—fragments of unfamiliar motion flashing through his mind like phantom afterimages: the pivot of a foot, the sweep of a blade, the control of breathing between strikes.
Images danced in his mind: skies splitting open, swords moving like falling rain, and silence following every slash.
"So this is an A-rank technique, huh?" I whispered, flexing my fingers. "The body moves before the thought... elegance before destruction."
He took a deep breath, feeling the faint tingling in his limbs. It wasn't true mastery—not yet—but the foundation had been engraved within his body.
And with that, the once-frail heir of the Arclayne family, now standing beneath the morning light filtering through his window, smiled faintly at his reflection.
"My mana flows. My body endures. And now," he said, voice calm but laced with excitement, "I finally have a sword art worthy of learning."
"Ahh, what did I do to deserve such happiness?" I said, spinning in place with both arms stretched out, almost like a madman basking in his own glory. The loose fabric of my training shirt fluttered as I twirled, and for a brief moment, I actually laughed.
It felt ridiculous, but after so many lifetimes of constant struggle, facing death, and waking up again in a fragile body, this—this small sense of progress—felt divine.
"Finally! My mana's stable, my body's recovering, and I've even got an A-rank sword art!"
I turned once more, grinning wide enough to make my cheeks hurt. "Adrian Arclayne, you absolute genius!"
Then, like the universe itself wanted to ruin my moment, the system's voice echoed inside my head.
[System Remark: I regret it.]
I froze mid-spin, one leg awkwardly lifted, balance faltering.
"…Excuse me?" I blinked, nearly tripping on the carpet. "What do you mean, you regret it?"
[You are far too excited for someone who nearly coughed blood last week.]
[Host's behavior does not align with 'dignified noble conduct.']
"Dignified noble conduct? I've been sick for eleven years! Let me celebrate a little!" I shouted, waving my arms dramatically at the invisible interface.
[This system did not sign up for this.]
I laughed again, this time leaning back on my chair and exhaling deeply. The weight of humor mixed with a strange sense of relief pressed on my chest.
"For something that's supposed to be my greatest support," I said, "you sure act like an overworked nanny."
[Correction: Babysitting host was not in the original contract.]
"Hah!" Adrian smirked. "Too bad, system. You're stuck with me."
The system didn't reply, only giving a faint electronic beep of resignation.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Adrian Arclayne genuinely smiled—not because of power or achievement, but because the endless silence of his past lives had finally been broken by a ridiculous argument with a sentient voice.
"I must admit, system," Adrian murmured, reclining across the silken sheets of his bed, his gaze fixed upon the ornate ceiling carved with delicate crests of his family lineage. The faint glimmer of morning light traced along the polished silver frame of the window, lending the chamber a tranquil, dreamlike hue.
"You seem... more human lately," he said, voice carrying a faint amusement. "It's peculiar, but I rather like that part of you."
For a few seconds, there was silence—only the soft rhythm of the morning breeze brushing against the curtains. Then, the familiar mechanical tone echoed in his mind, this time with an unmistakable edge of mischief.
[So, you're confessing your feelings to me now?]
Adrian blinked. "...I beg your pardon?"
[You said you liked me.]
He sat up immediately, expression caught somewhere between disbelief and exasperation. "That's not what I meant, you insufferably smug piece of code."
[Detected emotional turbulence. Possible indicators of affection—approximately 42.7%.]
Adrian's brow twitched. "Forty-two points what? Stop analyzing me like I'm part of a research thesis!"
[Then cease presenting data worth analyzing.]
He dragged his palm across his face, exhaling through his nose. "By all the stars above... of all the systems I could've awakened with, I ended up with one that flirts and lectures."
[Correction: I multitask efficiently.]
"Efficiently my—" Adrian cut himself off, groaning into his pillow. "I swear, one day I'll find the 'mute' function for you."
[A false threat. You've searched for it in your last three incarnations. No results found.]
Adrian froze. Then, slowly, he lifted his head, glaring into the air as if he could physically throttle the intangible voice mocking him. "You've kept that record?"
[Naturally. I archive all of your mistakes for reference.]
"Wonderful," he muttered dryly, collapsing backward. "My eternal companion is an omniscient bureaucrat."
For a moment, the system didn't respond. The silence lingered, stretching into the soft hum of the night. Then, without the usual sterile tone, the voice spoke again—quieter this time.
[Still... I prefer this version of you. You're less reckless. More... alive.]
Adrian's eyes drifted half open, the faintest smirk curling at the edge of his lips. "Careful, system. Keep saying things like that, and you'll sound sentimental."
[Impossible. I am incapable of sentimentality.]
"Mm," he murmured, closing his eyes as fatigue began to weigh on his mind. "If you say so."
A long pause followed—no further notifications, no sarcasm—just the steady rhythm of his breathing and the quiet pulse of his recovering heart.
[Rest well, Host.]
A few hours later, after Adrian had finally settled into a half-dreaming rest, the peace was shattered by a sharp knock against his door — not polite, not hesitant — the kind that carried arrogance even in its rhythm.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
From the other side, a familiar voice rang out, its tone dripping with mockery.
"Hey, stick," the voice sneered. "Come over to the back of the estate. You know what happens if you don't, right?"
The footsteps receded down the hallway, slow and deliberate — the sound of someone certain of his dominance.
For a long moment, Adrian said nothing. He just sat there, his fringe falling slightly over his eyes, his breathing steady. Then, as the echo of that voice faded entirely, a quiet chuckle slipped from his lips.
His gaze dropped to the floor — the calm expression he wore moments ago twisting into something else entirely. A faint smile began to stretch across his face, one that did not belong to a helpless, sickly noble boy. It was sharper, darker — almost predatory.
[Oh God, I thought it was Satan's incarnate for a second.]
Adrian brushed his hair back and smirked. "You're exaggerating. I'm just… delighted."
[Delighted? That's an interesting way to describe impending violence.]
"I'd call it poetic justice," Adrian replied, rising from his bed and stretching his still-recovering limbs. "After all, a punching bag just knocked on my door. The least I can do is welcome him properly."
[Correction: Host's bloodlust detected.]
"Don't flatter me, system," Adrian said, cracking his neck lightly as he stepped toward the window, the morning light painting a cold gleam over his half-smile. "It's not bloodlust. It's called motivation."
He reached for the coat draped on his chair and slipped it over his shoulders, every motion calm, measured — the kind of calm that only comes before something beautifully chaotic.
[Noted. Preparing diagnostic subroutine in case your 'motivation' breaks several bones.]
"Who knows," Adrian murmured, turning the door handle with an almost serene expression, "maybe it's time someone else felt fragile for a change."
And with that, he stepped out of his room — his quiet laughter fading into the long, dim corridor of the Arclayne estate.