By the time I hit my fourth birthday, I had become a silent shadow within the Varma manor. To my parents, I was the "perfect child"—quiet, observant, and oddly fond of sitting in meditative silence. To the servants, I was a little "creepy," the kind of toddler who stared at you with eyes that seemed to read your bank account balance and your deepest regrets.
But in reality, I was a man on a mission. My goal: the East Wing Library.
My father had upgraded the security. Not with guards, but with a simple latch that was now five feet off the ground, far beyond the reach of a four-year-old's jump. He thought he was being clever. He didn't account for the fact that his son was a former engineering student who understood the principles of the lever and the pulley.
It took me three weeks to smuggle enough silk thread from my mother's sewing room and a heavy metal paperweight from my father's office. I spent my nights tied to a makeshift harness of my own design, practicing my "climb."
Finally, on a moonless night, I made my move.
I navigated the corridors with the practiced ease of a ghost. The magical sconces were dimmed to a low amber glow. I reached the library doors, threw my weighted thread over the high latch, and pulled.
Click.
The door groaned. I slipped inside, closing it behind me with a silent prayer to whatever god had dumped me here.
The library was even more magnificent than I remembered. The air was thick with the scent of "Old World"—dust, leather, and the faint, ozone-like smell of active mana. I didn't waste time. I didn't have the luxury of browsing.
I headed straight for the section I had memorized a year ago: Fundamentals of Mana Manipulation.
I dragged a heavy leather stool to the shelf, climbed up, and pulled out a thick, indigo-bound tome. My hands trembled slightly. This was it. The moment I found out if I was a protagonist or just another casualty in the making.
I opened the book.
> Mana is not a fuel; it is an extension of the soul. To breathe is to live; to Mana-Breathe is to transcend.
>
I began to read. And that was when the first "glitch" happened.
I expected to struggle with the archaic terminology or the complex diagrams of the human circulatory system overlaid with mana circuits. Instead, the information didn't just enter my brain—it etched itself there.
I read a page in five seconds. I understood the concept of "Mana Veins" instantly. I turned the page. The diagram of the "First Circle Core" felt as familiar as a map of my old neighborhood.
Wait, I thought, pausing. My memory... it's not just perfect. It's accelerated.
I experimented. I closed the book and tried to recall page forty-two. I could see the ink. I could see the slight coffee stain in the corner. I could read the text in my mind as if the book were still open.
Super Memory. It was the first gift of this world.
I spent three hours devouring the book. By the time the violet moon began to set, I had reached the final chapter: The Basic Circulatory Breath.
It was the foundation of all magic in this world. You didn't just "cast" spells; you drew mana from the atmosphere, filtered it through your lungs, and stored it in a "Core" located near the heart.
I sat cross-legged on the library floor, imitating the diagram.
Inhale for four counts. Hold for two. Visualize the gold motes in the air. Draw them into the chest. Exhale for six.
I closed my eyes.
For the first few minutes, nothing happened. Just the sound of my own rhythmic breathing and the ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner.
Then, a tingle.
It started at the tip of my nose—a faint, static-like sensation. I focused on it. I imagined my lungs as a vacuum, pulling in the ambient energy of the room.
Suddenly, it broke through.
It felt like inhaling cold menthol and liquid fire at the same time. I felt a surge of energy rush down my windpipe, branching out into my shoulders, down my spine, and settling in a warm, pulsing knot behind my sternum.
I'm doing it, I thought, a thrill of pure adrenaline spiking through me. I'm actually—
[DING!]
The sound was so sharp, so digital, that I nearly fell over. It was the sound of a notification. The sound of a world-breaking anomaly.
In front of my eyes, a translucent blue screen flickered into existence.
> SYSTEM INITIALIZING...
> Current Status: Dormant (Unlocks at Age 15)
> Passive Ability Detected: Effort-Based XP Gain.
> Action: Reading / Mana Breathing Practice.
> Rate: +1 XP per second.
> Total XP: 14... 15... 16...
>
I stared at the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"A system?" I whispered, my voice sounding tiny in the vast library. "I have a system?"
It wasn't a full UI. Most of it was greyed out, locked behind a temporal wall. But the XP counter was moving. Every second I sat there, focused on the mana flowing through my body, the number ticked up.
I looked at the book again. I read a sentence.
[+1 XP]
I took a mana-breath.
[+1 XP]
The implications hit me like a physical blow.
In The Era of Chaos, the protagonist, Stark, had to fight for every scrap of power. He had to raid dungeons, kill monsters, and survive near-death experiences to level up.
I just had to... exist with intent?
If I practiced for an hour, that was 3,600 XP. If I practiced for a year...
I did the math in my head instantly. 31.5 million XP.
I looked at my tiny, five-year-old hands. This was the "backward village." I was a "no-name extra." But I had eleven years before the system fully unlocked. Eleven years to grind XP while the rest of the world thought I was just a quiet kid playing in the dirt.
I leaned back against the bookshelf, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across my face.
"Okay," I whispered to the empty library. "I can work with this."
I didn't leave the library until the sun started to peak over the horizon. I had read three more books, practiced the breathing for another hour, and accumulated over 10,000 XP.
As I sneaked back to my room, avoiding the early-rising maid, I realized something else. My body didn't feel tired. The mana breathing had refreshed me. I felt stronger, sharper, more alive.
I reached my room, climbed into bed, and pulled the covers up just as the door creaked open.
It was my mother, coming to wake me up.
"Good morning, my little sunshine," she said, kissing my forehead. "Did you sleep well?"
I looked up at her, my dark eyes shining with a secret that would eventually change the fate of the continent.
"Yes, Mother," I said, my voice sweet and innocent. "I had the best dream."