The crying in the room slowly died down.
The newborn stopped before the others did.
The nurse adjusted the blanket around him and checked the small monitor beside the bed.
"He's very calm," she said quietly.
His mother lay back against the pillow, exhausted but smiling. Her hands were shaking slightly as she reached out and touched his tiny fingers.
"He didn't cry much," she whispered.
Her husband stood beside her, still tense from everything that had just happened.
"That's normal?" he asked.
The nurse smiled. "Some babies are just quiet. You're lucky."
Lucky.
The baby stared at their faces.
Red eyes. Tight jaw. Shoulders slowly relaxing.
He couldn't understand the words fully yet. But tone was clear. Emotion was clear.
Relief. Love. Fear.
Humans were expressive creatures.
His mother turned her head toward her husband.
"So… are we decided?"
He hesitated for a moment.
"You're sure you don't want to think about it more?"
She shook her head gently. "No. I've always liked it."
"Lucien," she said softly.
The father repeated it. "Lucien."
They both looked down at him.
The baby blinked once.
Lucien.
The sound meant nothing by itself.
But the way they said it mattered.
Warmth in the voice.
Pride.
Hope.
He recognized the pattern.
This sound now represented him.
Identity assigned.
Lucien.
His father leaned closer to the bed and smiled. "Welcome to the world, Lucien."
His mother let out a soft laugh, brushing a finger across his forehead.
The baby did not cry.
He simply watched.
And then—
Something shifted.
Not in the room.
Inside.
A faint pressure formed behind his thoughts. Not painful. Just… present.
It felt like something waking up.
Words appeared in his mind.
Clear. Structured. Precise.
> Template System Online
Primary Template Available
Ope Ope no Mi – Spatial Authority
Synchronization: 0%
Authority Radius: Dormant
Activation Condition: Intent
Lucien did not react.
His body was small and weak, but his mind was steady.
The system was real.
The void had not been imagination.
He focused carefully on the words.
No flashing lights. No loud voice. Just information.
Efficient.
Good.
He tested a thought.
Nothing happened.
The interface remained stable.
He did not try to activate it.
Not yet.
This body was fragile. Newborn bones. Weak muscles.
Control required timing.
Timing required patience.
His mother adjusted the blanket again, unaware that something unnatural had just rooted itself in her child's mind.
The nurse stepped away, speaking softly about paperwork and discharge times.
Lucien stared up at the ceiling lights.
Bright. White. Artificial.
This world already had powerful beings. He had seen fragments before death.
Men in armor.
Gods with lightning.
Monsters that tore cities apart.
He would not rush into that world.
He would grow inside it.
Slowly.
Carefully.
The system text pulsed once, faintly.
> Awaiting Activation
Lucien let the thought pass.
He did not feel excitement.
He did not feel fear.
He felt control.
He had a name now.
He had a world.
And he had power waiting behind a single word.
He closed his eyes.
Around him, nurses moved. Machines beeped. His parents spoke softly about the future.
They were already planning what he might become.
They had no idea.
Lucien did not need to move yet.
The world would not notice him for years.
And that was perfect.
Because the most dangerous changes are the ones that begin quietly.