"Oh, look at those cheeks! He is precious today!"
"My turn, my turn! Lord Neo, look over here! Look at the shiny rattle!"
Neo let out a long, mentally exhausted sigh that physically manifested as a tiny, adorable huff of breath. He was currently trapped in the center of the Draven estate's sunroom, surrounded by a giggling barricade of maids in crisp black-and-white uniforms.
It had been nearly five years since he had been reborn into the chaotic, death-flag-ridden world of Shattered Crown. In just a few short days, he would officially be turning five.
And yet, his greatest daily adversary wasn't an assassin, a monster, or the anime's overpowered protagonist. It was his own unbearable cuteness.
He didn't know if it was a side effect of his parents' good genetics or just the universe mocking him, but he was undeniably adorable. He had his mother's pristine white hair, his father's sharp but soft features, and those striking, deep blue eyes. Because of this, he had zero free time.
If his father, the terrifying Demon of the Battlefield, was home from his border patrols, Cassian would immediately shed his blood-stained armor, scoop Neo up like a fragile treasure, and refuse to put him down for hours. If Cassian was working, Sylvia had him on her lap. And if both of them were locked in the office managing the massive Dukedom? He was thrown to the wolves—the maids, who practically fought gladiatorial matches to decide whose turn it was to play with the young master.
It was a nightmare for his secret training arc.
Neo had spent the last five years living a double life. By day, he played the role of the perfect, giggling, oblivious toddler. But by night, when the estate finally fell silent, he sacrificed his precious sleep. He would lay in his bed, slip into his Inner Sanctum, and painstakingly absorb the ambient mana of the world, speck by tiny speck.
No one suspected a thing. Well... almost no one.
Sylvia, befitting her status as one of the Empire's most powerful mages, eventually noticed the strange, dense accumulation of mana that always seemed to hover around her son's room. But thankfully, parental bias was a hell of a drug. Instead of suspecting her infant was practicing advanced, forbidden breathing techniques, she completely misunderstood the situation.
"Cassian, it's incredible," he remembered her whispering excitedly one morning when he was two. "He's passively drawing mana toward him just by breathing! His innate affinity with the world... he's a once-in-a-millennium genius!"
Neo had mentally sweat buckets that day, but he quickly realized he could use her misunderstanding to his advantage. Whenever Sylvia was around, Neo would deploy his ultimate weapon: wide, sparkling puppy-dog eyes. He would point at a candle or a book, babble excitedly, and Sylvia would melt.
She would snap her fingers, and a brilliant sphere of Light Magic would illuminate the room. She would wave her hand, and Healing Magic would wash over a scraped knee, wrapping his skin in a minty green glow.
The most amazing experience, however, was the Wind Magic. A gentle, localized tornado would form under his feet, lifting him a few feet off the carpet while Sylvia supervised with a proud smile. Seeing real, practical magic being cast filled Neo with breathtaking amazement. It wasn't just colors on a screen anymore. It was real. He could feel the temperature of the light, the pressure of the wind, the soothing hum of the healing aura. He absorbed every visual detail, locking the mechanics of spellcasting deep into his brain.
But right now, the magic lessons were on hold. The Draven estate was essentially a warzone of event planning.
His fifth birthday was a massive deal. The family was throwing a grandiose ball, and invitations had been sent to every noble house in the Velkrath Empire. Cassian Draven was the apex predator of the military; offending him was a complicated form of suicide. Therefore, everyone who was anyone was coming. Even the Royal Family had practically tripped over themselves to RSVP.
The sheer busyness of the staff presented Neo with the rarest, most valuable commodity in his life: being entirely alone.
It was early afternoon. Sunlight poured through the massive windows of his expansive bedroom. Neo sat cross-legged on the center of his ridiculously soft bed, casually wiping a stray chocolate cookie crumb from his cheek. Sylvia had just fed him his afternoon snack before kissing his forehead and rushing off to yell at some terrified florists in the grand hall.
The click of the heavy oak doors shutting behind her was music to his ears.
'Finally,' Neo thought, his playful toddler expression vanishing, replaced by a sharp, mature focus. 'It's time.'
Over the last five years, he had steadily built up his internal reservoir. He could physically feel it now—a dense, swirling mass of warm energy resting right above his Dantian. But it was unformed. It was raw. To actually use magic, he needed to compress that energy. He needed to forge the Core.
He closed his eyes.
Inhale... Exhale...
He slipped into his Inner Sanctum with the practiced ease of breathing. The physical sounds of the bustling mansion faded, replaced by the profound silence of his mental void.
But it wasn't a dark void anymore.
When he had first visited this place, it had taken immense effort to summon a dozen tiny specks of mana. Now, it looked like a galaxy. Thousands upon thousands of brilliant, glowing white specks drifted lazily around his consciousness. They didn't need to be coaxed with a low-pressure vacuum anymore. Over the years, the world's mana had grown entirely comfortable with his signature.
As soon as he manifested in the space, the lights swarmed him happily, sinking into his center, adding to the massive storm of energy waiting to be ignited.
Neo began the final compression. He focused his will, imagining the swirling storm tightening, shrinking, condensing into a single, unbreakable point.
One hour passed in the real world. Sweat began to bead on his forehead.
Inside the sanctum, the pressure was immense. And then, he felt it.
The Bottleneck.
It manifested in his mindscape as a colossal, imposing Wall. Right in the center was a solitary, heavy iron Door. Neo's consciousness stood before it. He knew, with absolute certainty, that if he turned that handle and stepped through, the raw mana would crystallize. He would officially cross the boundary from Non-Awakener to Awakener, shattering the Empire's eight-year-old average record by a full three years.
He reached his mental hand toward the handle.
Neo froze.
A sudden, jarring hesitation seized his chest. It wasn't fear or doubt. It was a physical, unseen force wrapping around his consciousness, pulling him back.
It felt cold. And impossibly, agonizingly lonely.
Neo frowned in the darkness. 'What is this?' he thought, analyzing the sensation. It didn't feel malicious, but it felt ancient. Was it the lingering resentment of the original 'Neo' whose fate he had hijacked? Was it some hidden bloodline curse of the Draven family the anime never elaborated on?
The pulling sensation grew stronger, like a desperate child tugging on a sleeve, begging him not to open the door. Begging him to stay in the dark.
For a brief, fleeting moment, Neo felt a profound sadness wash over him.
But then, he remembered the horrific, blood-soaked ending of his family in the original plot. He remembered Cassian dying on a battlefield, and Sylvia being executed in the capital.
'I don't have time for mysterious, edgy side quests,' Neo declared fiercely, his mental voice echoing in the void. 'I have a family to protect.'
He violently shook off the pulling force. He lunged forward, grabbed the cold iron handle, and twisted it with all his might.
He kicked the door open.
A blinding light erupted from the doorway, instantly swallowing the lonely, pulling force back into the deepest recesses of his soul. Neo stepped through the threshold.
The raw, swirling storm of mana in his Dantian suddenly collapsed inward.
And then, it ignited.
The explosion was deafening. It didn't sound like fire or gunpowder; it sounded like the fabric of the air ripping apart. A shockwave of pure, unadulterated, sapphire-blue mana violently erupted from the center of the master bedroom.
The blast was so physically forceful that the entire western wing of the Draven mansion shuddered, as if a minor earthquake had just rolled through the foundation.
Three floors down, in the Duke's private office, the heavy crystal inkwell on the mahogany desk vibrated so hard it shattered, spilling black ink everywhere.
Cassian, who had been aggressively negotiating the estate's taxation forms, snapped his pen completely in half. His head jerked up, his silver eyes wide with raw, primal shock.
Across the desk, Sylvia dropped her ledgers. All the blood drained from her beautiful face, leaving her pale as a ghost. Because she wasn't just feeling the physical shake of the mansion. As an Archmage, her senses were screaming.
A monstrous, suffocating pillar of mana had just detonated exactly three floors above them.
"The bedroom..." Sylvia choked out, her voice a whisper of absolute terror.
Cassian didn't say a word. The Demon of the Battlefield didn't pause to think. He simply moved.
He kicked his heavy oak office doors completely off their iron hinges, tearing through the hallway like a deranged beast. Sylvia was right behind him, her hands already glowing with deadly, volatile offensive spells, ready to incinerate whatever assassin had dared to attack her home.
"OUT OF THE WAY!" Cassian roared, his voice shaking the chandeliers.
Terrified maids dropped their laundry baskets. Butlers carrying silverware threw themselves against the walls to avoid being trampled by the frantic blur of the Duke and Duchess sprinting up the grand staircase. Panic gripped Cassian's heart like a cold fist squeezing his lungs.
'Neo. Neo is in there. Please, gods, let him be safe.'
They reached the third floor. The hallway was filled with a thick, swirling blue mist of residual mana. The heavy double doors of the master bedroom had been completely blown off, lying splintered in the hallway.
Cassian and Sylvia burst into the room, ready to wage war.
And then, they stopped dead in their tracks.
The offensive magic fizzled out of Sylvia's hands. Cassian's jaw went completely slack. The sheer terror fueling their mad dash evaporated, instantly replaced by a paralyzing wave of disbelief.
The bedroom was a disaster zone. The luxurious silk curtains were shredded. The expensive bookshelves had been thrown backward.
But the most glaring issue was the western wall.
It was gone.
A jagged, perfectly circular hole—easily ten feet wide—had been blown clean through the thick stone masonry of the mansion. The afternoon breeze casually whistled through the newly renovated 'open concept' window, bringing a few stray leaves inside.
And right in the dead center of the room, sitting on the remarkably untouched king-sized bed, was the source of the devastation.
Neo.
He was curled up in the center of the pillows, fast asleep, softly sucking his thumb. He looked completely unharmed. But that wasn't what had Cassian and Sylvia frozen in shock.
Surrounding their sleeping five-year-old was a dense, visible aura of pure, crystalline blue mana. It pulsed rhythmically, matching the slow, peaceful rise and fall of his chest. The air around him felt crisp, pure, and terrifyingly powerful.
Sylvia let out a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh. She brought her trembling hands to her mouth, tears of amazement welling in her eyes.
"Cassian..." she whispered, her voice trembling. "He... he didn't just passively absorb it."
Cassian stared at the massive hole in his mansion, and then at his thumb-sucking, drooling son. Slowly, a massive, booming laugh tore its way out of the warlord's chest. It echoed through the ruined room, filled with a ferocious, unrestrained pride.
"Four years old," Cassian laughed, shaking his head in awe. "He's not even five yet, and he's formed a Mana Core dense enough to blow a hole in a reinforced fortress wall."
Sylvia didn't care about the wall. She didn't care about the draft. She rushed forward, climbing onto the bed and scooping the sleeping boy into her arms, clutching him tightly to her chest.
Neo shifted in his sleep, his little nose scrunching up as he snuggled deeper into his mother's warm embrace. The radiant, pulsing spark of mana around him slowly receded, hiding itself deep within his newly forged core, leaving behind the innocent, adorable face of a child.
Cassian walked over, his heavy boots crunching on plaster, and wrapped his massive arms around both of them, burying his face in Sylvia's shoulder while looking down at his son.
The terror was gone. In its place was an overwhelming, fiercely burning pride.
The young master of the Draven family had officially awakened. And he had done it with a bang.