Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP

A mechanical bird bounced on its brass perch, red crystal eyes flashing with each piercing note. Its metallic feathers clicked and whirred as its head bobbed up and down.

CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP

The sound echoed through the small room. A pillow flew through the air, missing completely.

CHIRP CHIRP-

CRUNCH.

Adom’s spell-enhanced fist smashed through the construct, scattering gears and springs across the floor. The bird’s head rolled under the bed, one eye still weakly blinking.

”Thank you,” Sam mumbled, face buried in his mattress.

”No problem,” Adom replied flatly, shaking his hand. ”Remind me again why we keep making these things so durable?”

The Wakey-Birds, as Sam had dubbed them (despite Adom’s protests about the name), were their solution for days when they needed to wake up earlier than usual. Regular alarms could be turned off. These couldn’t. The only way to silence a Wakey-Bird was to physically destroy it - and they’d designed the stupid things to dodge the first few attacks.

”At least make them quieter next time,” Sam muttered, still horizontal. ”Why are we up at... what time is it?”

”Five.”

”Why are we up at five?”

”Training at six, remember?”

The remains of the bird gave one last pathetic chirp before falling silent. That made seventeen they’d destroyed this year.

Adom stretched, joints popping. He’d forgotten how much being young hurt too. Everything was either too flexible or too stiff, with no in-between. ”Come on. Up. If you make us late, I’m designing the next bird to shoot lightning.”

”You wouldn’t.”

”Try me.”

Sam finally rolled over, hair sticking up in directions that defied geometry. ”I hate morning you.”

”Morning me hates everyone equally.” Adom started gathering the scattered parts. They’d need these for bird number eighteen. ”But morning me also knows we need to be ready by-”

”Yeah, yeah. Training. Six. Got it.”

The red crystal eye under the bed finally stopped blinking.

Another morning at the academy was officially underway.

The bathroom filled with steam as Adom let the hot water run over his shoulders. His muscles were already complaining about the early hour, but his mind was racing.

He could hear Sam in the other room, probably making a mess with the porridge again. They’d worked out this routine for the academy - alternate shower and breakfast shifts. Efficiency was everything when you were trying to cram thirty hours of work into a twenty-four-hour day.

Adom had always been good at compartmentalizing - it was the only way to stay sane when juggling multiple lives’ worth of memories. Right now, he had several mental folders demanding attention: Making the cure, see his parents, the Mr. Biggins mystery, the Professor Kim file, the Helios problem, the treasure of the cave, the probably hungry puma roaming somewhere in the city because of him, saving the world, and of course, the Eren situation.

Hmm. That was a lot. Where to begin?

The Eren situation. Yeah. Might as well start there.

Two and a half billion.

That’s how many belonged to what scholars called the ”Founder Races” - humans, dwarves, and elves.

Not that they were the only sentient species, far from it. Beastkin, spirits, and countless others populated the world. But these three races shared a peculiar connection - they all traced their origins to the same individual, built civilizations together, fought each other and most importantly, shared the same fundamental approach to magic.

Steam curled around Adom as he worked the soap into his hair, still trying to process yesterday’s discovery.

One percent. That’s how many were blessed - or cursed, depending on who you asked - with the ability to manipulate mana. Twenty-five million mages spread across the ten continents.

The average mage, after reaching their peak, commanded about 1,000 M(ana). The ”talented” ones, the ones who got special treatment and entry into prestigious academies and institutions, might reach 2,000 M. Every family prayed their children would be among those blessed few.

But then there were the circle mages.

Adom traced a circle in the condensation on the shower wall. Out of all those millions of mages, only 0.85% ever achieved even a single ring. The math was brutal - roughly 212,500 circle mages in the entire world.

And among those...

He wiped the steam from his face. Two. There were exactly two known two-circle mages in the world right now. Sir Gaius, the current Archmage of the Magisterium, and High lady Sylaria Caelindril, Queen-Consort of the Great Elven Kingdom of Tan’or.

Both well over seventy years old. Both having spent decades climbing to that peak.

And then there was Eren. Twelve years old. Ten thousand M. Ninety-eight percent absorption rate.

The third two-circle mage in the world was a pre-teen from the dregs on the islands of Arkhos.

”Oi!” Sam’s voice cut through his thoughts. ”Either drown yourself properly or hurry up! Your porridge is getting cold!”

Adom turned off the water, reaching for his towel. ”Since when do you care about my breakfast?”

”Since you promised to help me with enhancement formulas if I stopped letting you skip meals!”

Right. He had promised that.

The numbers kept spinning. Two point five billion. One percent. Zero point eight-five percent. Two circle mages.

No, three now.

And none of them had saved the world.

Adom grabbed his porridge and settled at their small table, but not before pulling out Sam’s old tea collection - a parting gift from his merchant father that had gathered dust in the corner until yesterday, when Adom had casually asked if he could have it if Sam wasn’t going to use it.

Sam watched, both amused and disturbed, as his Adom weaved a precise heating spell on their battered kettle and meticulously measured loose tea leaves into an equally worn teapot.

”Since when do you drink tea?” Sam asked, pushing his own bowl aside. ”I’ve never seen you touch the stuff before.”

”Ah,” Adom’s eyes lit up as steam rose from the kettle, his face morphing into that perfect noble’s expression - nose slightly upturned, one eyebrow arched just so. He crossed his legs with exaggerated grace and lifted his cup without extending his pinky finger - a deliberate jab at those who did. ” Tea, my young friend, is one of life’s finest pleasures. Your father has excellent taste. This particular blend—” he lifted the tin, inhaling deeply, ”—is a delicate balance of Northern herbs with just a hint of...”

”Stop,” Sam held up a hand, fighting a grin. ”You’re doing the weird old man thing again. And please don’t compliment my dad’s tea preferences. It’s unsettling.”

”You simply cannot rush proper tea preparation,” Adom continued, dropping exactly three sugar cubes into his cup. ”The water must be precisely the right temperature, you see. Too hot and you’ll scald the leaves, too cool and—”

”Your porridge is getting cold while you’re having your midlife crisis over my dad’s leaf water.”

”Leaf water?” Adom looked genuinely offended, taking a slow, appreciative sip. ”Mmm. Truly, your father is a man of refined—”

”Nope. No. Stop being weird about my dad’s tea. Eat your breakfast, Professor Tea Time. We have ten minutes.”

Adom sat with both his porridge and his carefully brewed tea, taking another reverent sip. Another thought hit him, and he almost choked on his first spoonful of porridge as he started chuckling.

Right. Because being a two-circle mage at twelve wasn’t enough. Eren also had what looked like a natural rune. A completely different mental folder right there - ’The Eren Case, Part Two: Because Obviously One Impossible Thing Wasn’t Enough.’

His chuckling turned into full-blown laughter.

”Stop being creepy and eat your breakfast,” Sam said, throwing a sock at him. ”And whatever’s breaking your brain this early in the morning, I don’t want to know. Also, you’re doing that thing where you cradle your teacup like it’s made of gold. We have ten minutes before we need to leave.”

Adom caught the sock without looking, still grinning. ”Just... just appreciating the absurdity of life.” He took another slow sip of tea. ”You know, in the Northern Isles, they age their tea leaves in—”

”If you don’t start eating right now, I’m dumping your precious tea down the drain.”

”You wouldn’t dare.”

”Try me.”

But he did stop laughing, focusing on his porridge instead. Two mental folders for one twelve-year-old. That had to be some kind of record. Though perhaps he could introduce the boy to proper tea appreciation...

”Stop smiling at your teacup like that. You’re freaking me out.”

*****

The boys stood in front of the heavy wooden door like two condemned men at the gallows. The early morning darkness still clung to the corridors, broken only by the gentle glow of enchanted crystals. 5:59 AM.

Neither moved.

”I still can’t believe you convinced me to do this,” Sam finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes hadn’t left the door since they’d arrived three minutes ago.

”I’m sure it will be a good and wholesome experience,” Adom replied, face completely expressionless. ”We’ll learn the power of friendship, get muscles, and have plenty of adventures together. Maybe even find our true selves along the way.”

Sam’s head slowly turned toward him. ”That... sounds exactly like the plot of ’The Iron Scholar’s Journey to Strength.’”

”It was supposed to be a novel reference joke, yes.”

”Ah.” Sam turned back to the door. ”I get it now.”

A moment of silence.

”Ha.” The single syllable from Sam echoed in the empty corridor, dry as desert sand.

The clock struck six, and from behind the door came the first echoes of what sounded suspiciously like a war cry.

”Well,” Adom said, reaching for the handle. ”After you.”

”I hate you.”

”I know.”

The door creaked open, and the first thing that hit them was the smell - a unique blend of sweat, leather, and something Sam couldn’t quite identify but made him wrinkle his nose.

”Don’t ask,” Adom muttered. ”Trust me on this one.”

The training hall was already alive with activity. Students were scattered around, and if you passed them on the street, you’d never guess they were mages. Built like brick walls, most of them - the kind of people you’d expect to see hauling cargo at the docks, not drawing intricate magical circles.

At the front, Hugo was leading what appeared to be their morning ritual, his voice booming: ”BODY IMPROVEMENT! FIGHT ON!”

The response shook dust from the ceiling, making Sam jump slightly.

Was this some sort of cult?

”Is it too late to fake my death?” Sam whispered.

”Yes.” Adom grabbed his sleeve before he could retreat. ”Besides, look how normal they are when they’re not... well, doing that.”

Indeed, between the enthusiastic chanting, pairs of students were helping each other stretch, sharing water flasks, and exchanging what looked like training tips. In one corner, a massive guy who could probably bench-press a horse was gently showing a newer member proper form for what appeared to be a basic movement.

”I don’t want to be transcendent anymore,” Sam muttered, watching as someone casually lifted a weight that looked heavier than his bookshelf. Very impressive.

”Too bad. We’re already here.”

They waited in awkward silence as the chant concluded with one final ”FIGHT ON!” that made the training dummies rattle. Hugo bounded over, practically glowing with enthusiasm, and spent the next few minutes introducing them to the rest of the club. Thirty faces, thirty names, thirty variations of encouraging smiles and friendly nods. Adom caught maybe half of them.

Now thirty-two members. The number felt significant somehow.

”You know,” Sam observed, ”when you said ’training club,’ I was expecting more... robes. Less muscles. Maybe some theoretical discussions about magical enhancement?”

”Oh, we have those too!” Hugo replied beside them, somehow managing to sound enthusiastic without shouting now. ”Usually during breaks.”

He produced two pieces of paper with a flourish. ”Here you go, brothers! Your paths to greatness!”

Sam’s eyes grew wider with each line he read, his face slowly draining of color. ”This... this can’t be...”

”Personalized training programs!” Hugo beamed. ”I stayed up late designing them based on our chat yesterday. See, Sam, you’re showing classic signs of mana-strain induced muscle deterioration - common in theoretical specialists. We’ll need to focus on your core strength first, lots of stabilizing exercises. And your posture needs work, so I included specific stretches for that.”

Sam made a sound like a deflating balloon.

”And Adom,” Hugo turned, adjusting his glasses professionally, ”you’ve got decent baseline fitness, but your right side is notably stronger than your left - probably from spell casting stance. We’ll need to balance that out. I’ve included a nutrition plan too - you both need more protein. And minerals. And everything, really.”

The paper in Adom’s hands listed exercises he hadn’t done in decades. His muscles preemptively ached just reading them.

”Now!” Hugo clapped his hands, making them both jump. ”Let’s start with stretching - VERY important, prevents injuries, improves mana flow. Then we’ll do some light cardio, just thirty minutes for you two since you’re new. The others will do their usual hour.”

Around them, club members were already pairing up, helping each other stretch with the kind of cheerful enthusiasm usually reserved for holiday celebrations or particularly exciting theoretical breakthroughs.

”Light cardio,” Sam repeated faintly, staring at the training program again. ”Light.”

Adom looked at the detailed schedule in his hands, then at the room full of energetic fitness enthusiasts, then at his friend’s increasingly pale face.

He couldn’t tell Sam he was regretting this too. Not after dragging him here. Not after all those speeches about getting stronger together.

”Come on,” he said instead, patting Sam’s shoulder. ”At least we’ll suffer as a team.”

”That’s the spirit!” Hugo exclaimed, somehow having heard him despite being three meters away. ”EVERYONE! Let’s welcome our new brothers properly! STRETCHING CIRCLE!”

The entire club moved with practiced coordination, forming a perfect circle. Two spots opened up between Diana and Vale, who waved them over with encouraging grins.

”I read that novel too, by the way,” Sam muttered as they walked over. ”’Iron Scholar’s Journey.’ The protagonist dies in chapter three from training too hard. He gets reincarnated, but still.”

”That’s... not very motivating.”

”Ha.”

Then came a message:

[System Side Quest Alert]

Complete 10 miles under an hour using only physical means in a single continuous attempt

Note: Enhancement magic, movement spells, spatial manipulation, or any other magical assistance will void the quest. Progress must be completed in one uninterrupted session.

Current Best Time: N/A

Reward: Skill - [Iron Lungs] (Rare) (Passive)

Description: Dramatically increases overall stamina and oxygen efficiency. Reduces fatigue build-up, enables longer periods of sustained physical activity, and improves recovery time.

Status: In Progress (0%)

...10 miles. Under an hour.

He would have sighed and complained had he not been the one to drag Sam.

Taken from NovelFire, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

*****

Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. The steady rhythm of feet hitting the ground mixed with Adom’s increasingly labored breathing.

[+1 Endurance]

His lungs burned.

[+1 Endurance]

[+1 Stamina]

Ten minutes in, and his legs felt like lead. Sweat trickled down his back, his temple, stinging his eyes. The training track stretched endlessly before him.

[+6 Endurance]

[Minor increase to Cardiovascular Endurance]

”Keep going, Adom!” Hugo called out encouragingly as he lapped Adom for the third time, barely breaking a sweat. Show-off.

His calves screamed. A stitch formed in his side, sharp and insistent. Beside him, Sam had given up any pretense of dignity and was making sounds like a dying whale.

[Minor increase to Pain Tolerance]

Twenty minutes. His throat was raw. Each breath felt like swallowing sand. But the notifications kept coming, each one a tiny victory.

[Body Adaptation Progress: 12%]

The world narrowed down to the next step, the next breath. His glasses slipped down his sweat-slicked nose. He didn’t bother pushing them back up.

[Achievement Unlocked: First Mile]

[+2 Stamina]

[Minor increase to Recovery Rate]

By minute twenty-five, even his eyebrows were sweating. He didn’t know eyebrows could sweat. The notifications blurred together, but he caught glimpses:

[+1 Stamina...]

[Minor increase...]

[Body Adaptation...]

Finally, mercifully, Hugo called time. Adom collapsed onto the nearest bench, lungs heaving, legs trembling.

Next to him, Sam lay face-down on the floor, mumbling something about regrets and betrayal. Adom would have laughed, but he didn’t have the breath for it.

[Side Quest Failed]

Time: 30:00

Status: Failed (Complete 10 mile in under an hour)

Analysis: Current completion time is much slower than required

Recommendation: Continue cardiovascular training. Current physical condition indicates potential for significant improvement.

Quest will reset tomorrow at dawn.

[Recovery Phase Initiated]

This skill would not be easy to obtain it seemed.

*****

After gulping down water like they’d crossed a desert, and a mandatory fifteen-minute rest period that Hugo insisted on (”Recovery is just as important as training, brothers!”), Kaius approached them, his usually boisterous demeanor replaced by a calm, teacher-like presence.

”First things first,” Kaius said, adjusting Adom’s stance with gentle movements. ”Boxing isn’t about hitting hard - it’s about proper form. Everything starts with your feet.” He tapped Adom’s left foot. ”Dominant hand back, non-dominant forward. Shoulder-width apart. You’re not a tree, stay light on your feet.”

[System Side Quest Alert]

Master Basic Boxing Form

Requirements: Perfect stance maintenance (10 minutes)

Perfect basic straight punch form (50 repetitions)

Perfect basic defensive position

Reward: Skill - [Boxing Fundamentals]

Status: In Progress (0%)

”Good. Now, hands up, protect your face.” Kaius demonstrated, bringing his fists up. ”Elbows in - you’re protecting your body too. Chin down, eyes up. Your hands are your castle walls, and your chin is the treasure you’re protecting.”

Adom mimicked the position, feeling somewhat awkward.

”Common beginner mistake - you’re too tense. Relax your shoulders. You need to be able to hold this position for rounds.” Kaius gently pressed Adom’s shoulders down. ”There. Now, basic straight punch. We’ll use the dummy.”

He demonstrated in slow motion. ”Power comes from the ground up. Turn your foot, rotate your hip, extend your arm. Straight line, like threading a needle. Return immediately to your defensive position. Every punch leaves you vulnerable - the faster you return, the safer you are.”

[Form Analysis: 12% accuracy]

[Basic Stance Maintenance: 1:23/10:00]

”Again. Slower this time. Feel each movement.”

The training dummy waited patiently as Adom worked through each punch, Kaius correcting small details - an elbow here, a foot position there. Each attempt brought new notifications:

[Form Analysis: 15% accuracy]

[Basic Straight Punch: 3/50]

[Form Analysis: 18% accuracy]

[Basic Straight Punch: 4/50]

”Good,” Kaius nodded approvingly. ”Remember, we’re not trying to knock anyone out today. Form first. Power comes later. Speed comes later. Everything in boxing builds on proper fundamentals.”

[Form Analysis: 23% accuracy]

[Basic Stance Maintenance: 3:45/10:00]

[Basic Straight Punch: 7/50]

”That’s it,” Kaius encouraged as Adom threw another careful punch. ”Every movement has a purpose. Nothing wasted. Boxing isn’t just about hitting - it’s about efficiency.”

The next hours blurred into a rhythm of punch, correct, repeat. The training hall echoed with the sounds of other members calling out encouragement between their own exercises.

”Looking good, Adom!”

”Keep that guard up, Sam!”

Sweat dripped down Adom’s back, his shirt long since soaked through. His arms trembled with each extension, muscles burning in ways he hadn’t felt since his Academy days.

”Elbow in,” Kaius reminded, tapping Adom’s arm. ”I know you’re tired, but form doesn’t take breaks.”

”Kaius,” Sam wheezed, ”have mercy. Please.”

”Mercy is for rest days,” Kaius replied cheerfully. ”Now, again!”

The absolute audacity of these young people, Adom thought, making a respected academic work like a common laborer. In his day, they had proper respect for... for...

Wait. This was his day.

His internal grumbling scattered as something clicked between one punch and the next. His body found the rhythm it had been fighting against, each movement flowing into the next with a precision that felt... right.

[Side Quest Completed: Master Basic Boxing Form]

Requirements met:

Stance maintenance: 10:00/10:00

Basic straight punch form: 50/50 (Final accuracy: 87%)

Basic defensive position mastered

Reward: Skill [Boxing Fundamentals] acquired!

[Boxing Fundamentals (Passive) - Level 1]

Basic understanding of boxing mechanics. Improves punch accuracy, defensive awareness, and overall form efficiency.

Current bonus: +5% to punch accuracy, +3% to reaction time

[Mana Pool Expanded: 505/505]

Note: Physical conditioning has improved mana circulation efficiency

Adom’s arms felt like overcooked noodles, his legs barely supporting him. Every muscle he didn’t know he had was announcing its existence through various degrees of pain. But for some reason, he was happy.

”Excellent work today, brothers!” Hugo beamed, somehow still energetic. ”That’s enough for you two. Here—” He pulled four vials from his training bag, the liquids inside glowing faintly. ”Tonic and muscle recovery potions. Made them myself. The green one’s for stamina, the blue for muscle repair. Take them now, they work best immediately after training.”

Sam eyed the vials suspiciously. ”These aren’t the ones from your experimental batch, are they?”

”Of course not! Those are for advanced members only.”

Adom decided he didn’t want to know.

[Potion Consumed: Basic Tonic]

Effect: Restores 30% Stamina

Duration: Immediate

[Potion Consumed: Muscle Recovery Elixir]

Effect: Reduces muscle fatigue by 65%

Accelerates muscle repair by 40%

Duration: 6 hours

The effect was almost instant. Warmth spread through his limbs, the burning ache in his muscles fading to a manageable soreness. His vision sharpened as the fatigue-induced fog lifted.

”Remember: proper nutrition is key to recovery. Protein within thirty minutes. Complex carbs. Stay hydrated. Tomorrow we start weight training, same time!”

”Weight... training,” Sam wheezed.

”Rest well! And no skipping meals!” Hugo called after them as they stumbled out. ”Your bodies are temples under renovation!”

Sam dragged himself along the corridor. ”I can’t wait to collapse into my bed and die.”

”It’s 9:30.”

”What?”

”We have Theoretical Applications of Arcane Geometry in thirty minutes.”

A moment of silence.

”Adom?”

”Yes?”

”I know I’ve said this three times today already,” Sam groaned, ”but I really, truly, with every fiber of my currently dying body, hate you.”

”Ouch.”

*****

Whoever said that working out in the morning gives you energy for the day was either a liar or had never actually tried it. Sure, right after their morning session, riding high on Hugo’s suspicious potions and the satisfaction of completing his first quest, Adom had felt incredible - focused, energetic, like he could take on the world. That lasted approximately twenty-seven minutes.

Then, somewhere between Professor Bane’s arcane diagrams and their third attempt at drawing a straight line in Practical Enchantment, reality hit harder than his morning crash into the training bench.

The day stretched into an endless blur of trying not to fall asleep, questioning every life choice that led to this moment, and learning that even blinking could feel like a workout.

By the time their last class ended at 5 PM...

”Finally,” Sam sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping. ”I’m going to take the longest shower of my life and try to remember what it feels like to be human again.”

”I need to head to the weird stuff store,” Adom said, adjusting his glasses. Funny how that worked - dead tired all day, but now that rest was actually possible, he felt wide awake. Annoying, but convenient.

”The Mr. Biggins thing?”

”Yeah.”

”Ah,” Sam’s tired expression brightened slightly. ”I’m curious too. My mana pool shot up to 400. Should probably thank the man, but...” he gestured vaguely at his entire being, ”...existing is hard enough right now.”

”Thank him?” Adom frowned. ”Aren’t you worried about what kind of person he might be?”

Sam’s laugh came out as a wheezy chuckle. ”Adom, we’ve known Mr. Biggins since we got to Xerkes. Sure, he’s weird - who names a magical shop ’Weird Stuff Store’ anyway? But evil? The guy gives candy to stray cats and names them after ancient mages and philosophers. Plus,” he smiled, ”anyone who gives me an elixir that brings me closer to becoming a legendary mage gets a high five in my book. Well, when I can lift my arms again.”

Adom stood there for a moment, processing. He’d spent the whole day constructing elaborate theories about sinister plots and hidden agendas, and here was Sam, casually pointing out the obvious - sometimes a weird shopkeeper was just a weird shopkeeper who happened to help students achieve their dreams.

Maybe coming from an apocalyptic future had rewired his brain to see threats in every shadow, which was precisely why - despite his muscles protesting every step - Adom found himself at the store’s entrance as evening approached.

This time, it was open.

The bell jingled cheerfully as Adom stepped inside.

”WATCH OUT!”

[Boxing Fundamentals activated]

[Reaction Time +3%]

[Defensive Awareness active]

His body moved before his mind caught up, muscle memory from just hours ago kicking in like some sort of combat-induced PTSD. Chin tucked, elbows in, hands up - Kaius’s voice echoing in his head like an especially aggressive conscience.

He dropped into the defensive stance they’d drilled into him this morning, having vivid flashbacks of that training dummy rushing at his face.

All this happened in the split second it took for a mechanical bird to zoom past where his head had been, crash into a shelf of color-changing inkwells, and explode in a shower of purple sparks.

”Are you al-”

CRASH!

A cascade of boxes hit the floor as their levitation spell broke, followed by the sound of various magical items clattering, tinkling, and in one case, making a noise like a surprised goose.

A girl in a Xerkes uniform - 4th year by the four red lines on her robe’s shoulder pad - stood amid the chaos, her hands covering her mouth in horror. Her auburn pigtails seemed to droop along with her shoulders as she surveyed the damage.

”Oh no! Oh no oh no oh no-” She adjusted her glasses frantically, then remembered Adom existed. ”I’m so sorry! The articulated messenger bird wasn’t supposed to be active, I was just moving it to the testing area and I must have bumped the activation rune and- oh dear, the color-changing ink is spreading- I’m really sorry! Are you okay? Not that I’m assuming you couldn’t handle a simple mechanical bird, but- oh, the ink is reaching the enchanted carpets...”

She fumbled for her wand, nearly dropped it, caught it, then promptly stepped on one of the fallen boxes, stumbling forward with a small ”eep!”

Adom wove a quick [Control], helping guide some of the fallen items back into their boxes and then containing the spreading ink.

”Oh, thanks!” She brightened, then immediately knocked over a stack of books she’d just straightened. ”Ar-are you a student from Xerkes? Me too!”

”We’re... both wearing the uniform, so...” Adom muttered to himself, not realizing he’d said it aloud.

”Sorry! Of course we are, that was a stupid question, I just- sorry! I get nervous and then I say obvious things and then I apologize too much and then I apologize for apologizing and- sorry! I mean- oh no, I’m doing it again...”

”Hey, it’s okay,” Adom raised his hands in what he hoped was a calming gesture, feeling completely out of his depth. ”Maybe we should focus on the ink before it reaches those singing crystals?”

After a few deep breaths (”In through the nose, out through the mouth - Mr. Biggins always says it helps with the nerves!”), they managed to clean up the mess together. Between his organizing spells and her apparently encyclopedic knowledge of where everything belonged, it only took a few minutes.

”Thank you so much! Really, you didn’t have to help, but you did, and the ink could have been such a disaster, and-” she caught herself before another avalanche of thanks could start.

”It was nothing, really.”

She readjusted her glasses, and suddenly gasped so dramatically that Adom took a step back.

”Oh! Oh no! You’re a customer!” She smacked her forehead. ”What am I doing?!” In a blur, she sprinted behind the counter, nearly tripping twice in the process. ”Sorry! Sorry for not properly greeting you!”

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and with the brightest smile she could muster, recited in a carefully rehearsed tone: ”Welcome to the Weird Stuff Store! Where the peculiar becomes particular, the strange becomes spectacular, and we guarantee every item has at least one feature we can’t explain! My name is Emma! How can I help you today?”

She opened her eyes, looking at Adom with an expression that clearly asked ”Did I do the greeting right?”

”Uh... thanks?”

Adom then cleared his throat. ”I didn’t know someone else worked here aside from Mr. Biggins?”

The question hit differently than it should have. In his past life, through all his years at Xerkes, the Weird Stuff Store had been synonymous with its eccentric owner. Until the day Arkhos burned, it had always been just Mr. Biggins and his mysterious merchandise.

”Oh! Yes!” Emma fidgeted with her sleeve. ”I got hired two days ago! Assistant manager!” She said the title with equal parts pride and terror. ”I actually just came in looking for a part-time job, and Mr. Biggins asked if I wanted to be assistant manager right there! Said the store practically runs itself and it wouldn’t be hard at all. Then he handed me the keys and... sort of ran off?” She laughed nervously. ”Though I’m still learning where everything goes, and sometimes the mechanical birds activate themselves - well, maybe I activated them by accident - and the singing crystals don’t like my organizing system, they keep rearranging themselves when I’m not looking, and yesterday I found out some of the books are carnivorous but Mr. Biggins forgot to mention which ones...”

”Actually, I was hoping to see Mr. Biggins himself.”

”Oh,” she straightened her glasses again. ”He said he’d be away from the islands for a while. But he left me instructions for everything!”

She reconsidered. ”Well, most things.” Another pause. ”Some things... the important things? I think?” Her confidence deflated with each word.

This didn’t make sense. Adom knew he was probably overthinking this - Biggins was just an eccentric shopkeeper after all. And yet... the man had never left the store in all his years at Xerkes, not in Adom’s timeline anyway. The only variable now was Adom himself, and if Biggins had suddenly decided to travel, he wanted to know why.

Maybe Sam was right, and he was seeing conspiracies where there were none. But something about Biggins and this whole situation nagged at him, refused to let go.

He squinted at Emma, scratching his chin thoughtfully. ”Hmm...”

Emma shifted under his intense stare, her fingers twisting the hem of her sleeve even more frantically. ”Um... is... is something wrong?” She looked anywhere but at him, a blush creeping up her neck. ”You’re making me a bit nervous...”

”Oh! I’m sorry,” Adom said quickly, realizing he’d been glaring at her like some kind of suspicious detective. ”Bad habit. I tend to... think too hard about things sometimes.”

She relaxed a little, though her fingers still worried at her sleeve. Adom mentally shook himself. Surely this was an actual, authentic awkward teenager who couldn’t even maintain eye contact. Right?

...Right?

[Identify activated]

Name: Emanuella Belier

Race: Human

Status: Nervous, Anxious, Trying Her Best, Slightly Overwhelmed, Afraid of the Third Shelf on the Left]

She was... actually just Emma? Not Mr. Biggins in disguise? Then where was he, and why had he left right after...?

”Did Mr. Biggins say when he’d be back? Or where he was going?” Adom tried to keep his tone casual, though his suspicions were mounting.

”Um,” Emma tapped her fingers together. ”He was kind of... vague? He just said there was some ’urgent business’ he needed to attend to, and that it might take ’as long as it takes’ - which isn’t very specific, I know. He left yesterday morning, actually! Just showed up while I was organizing the gravity-defying paperweights - they keep floating away, by the way, I think they’re rebelling against the new management - and he said ’Emma, dear, watch the store for me, there’s a good lass’ and then he just...” she made a vague gesture with her hands, ”...poof! Well, not literally poof. He used the door. But it felt very poof-like, if you know what I mean?”

Watching Emma ramble nervously, gesturing animatedly with her hands, Adom could more or less see why Mr. Biggins hired her as his assistant. Birds of a feather, indeed - they shared the same chaotic energy, though hers manifested more in physical clumsiness while his showed in... well, everything else.

”I see. I’ll come back another time then.”

”Okay! Um, sorry I couldn’t help more! And sorry about the bird earlier! And thank you for helping with the mess! And- oh, I’m doing the sorry thing again...”

Adom couldn’t help but chuckle. ”It’s okay,” he said, waving goodbye before she could start another round of apologies, and stepped out of the store. The bell jingled behind him, accompanied by what sounded suspiciously like another crash and a muffled ”oh no!”

Outside, a group of cats lounged in their usual spots - there was Merlin, the orange tabby, sprawled across the windowsill, and Eldrich, the fat gray one, dozing by the door. Arcanus, the one-eyed white cat, was busy grooming himself on the steps. But there was a new addition today - a sleek black cat with striking blue eyes, sitting regally apart from the others.

Adom ducked back inside. ”Could I get some of those cat treats?”

”Oh! Of course!” Emma bustled around, nearly knocking over a jar in her haste. ”Mr. Biggins always keeps some for them.”

Armed with treats, Adom returned outside. Merlin and Eldrich immediately perked up, and even Arcanus deigned to accept an offering. But the black cat just watched him with those unnerving blue eyes, turning its nose up at the treats.

Emma poked her head out the door. ”That one’s new,” she said. ”Showed up yesterday. Won’t eat the regular cat food - only takes meat, and only if it’s served on a proper plate.” She giggled. ”I’ve been calling it Your Highness. Seems fitting, right?”

As if to prove her point, Emma brought out a small plate with some meat scraps. The black cat gracefully rose, approached the plate with measured steps, and began to eat with what could only be described as refined dignity.

Something about those blue eyes nagged at Adom’s memory. The way it held itself, that particular shade of black...

The cat met his gaze.

[Ident-]

Before he could finish activating the skill, the cat bolted, knocking over the plate with a clatter. Emma jumped, nearly falling over herself.

”Oh! That’s the first time-” she steadied herself against the doorframe. ”Usually it’s so composed...”

Adom took a half-step forward, questions burning - could it be? But the cat had already vanished down an alley, leaving only scattered meat scraps and an overturned plate.

”Sorry about that,” Emma wrung her hands. ”It’s probably not used to strangers yet. Most strays are like that at first.”

Right. Just a stray. Probably.

”Well then,” Adom said, forcing himself to focus. He had other mysteries to solve first. ”I should get going. Good luck with... everything.”

”Thanks! And sorry again about-”

The door closed on another string of apologies. Adom’s brain had already committed to a long evening of investigating Mr. Biggins’s mysterious behavior, and now it refused to switch into rest mode despite his protesting muscles.

Might as well be productive. He thought. There was still another task to do: the treasure.

*****

The bell above Garrett’s door chimed as Adom stepped inside, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and metal.

”Well, well.” Garrett looked up from his ledger, those laugh lines crinkling around his eyes. ”Look who learned to tell time.”

”The sun’s still up and everything,” Adom agreed, unable to help a sheepish grin. ”Last time was an emergency.”

”Ah yes, the ’school project.’” Garrett made air quotes with thick, calloused fingers. ”Must have been quite the assignment to have you running like the Guard was after you.”

”Something like that.” Adom wandered over to a display of ornate compass boxes, trying to look casual. ”How’s business?”

”Oh, you know.” Garrett closed his ledger with a theatrical sigh. ”The Merchant’s Guild keeps raising their fees, my wife keeps telling me to retire, and my competitors keep undercutting me with inferior goods.” His mustache twitched. ”Same as always.”

”Your wife has a point about retiring.”

”Bah!” Garrett waved dismissively. ”What would I do all day? Garden? I’d rather wrestle a manticore.” He squinted at Adom. ”Speaking of which, my grandson won’t shut up about that incident at the academy last week. Something about a student beating the Lightbringer heir?”

”Really?” Adom suddenly found the compass display fascinating. ”Haven’t heard about that.”

”Mhmm.” Garrett’s tone suggested he wasn’t buying it. ”So, young man, while I enjoy our chat, I assume you didn’t come just to hear an old merchant complain about his troubles?”

”Actually...” Adom turned from the display, meeting Garrett’s knowing look. ”I need a bag. The best dimensional one you have.”

Both of Garrett’s eyebrows shot up. ”Oh?” He leaned forward on his counter, fingers drumming against the wood. ”You do realize that past a certain threshold, dimensional bags become... quite expensive?”

”That won’t be a problem.”

”Won’t it now?” Garrett stroked his beard, eyes twinkling. ”Well then, let me show you something special.” He disappeared into his back room, still talking. ”Most customers, they come in wanting the biggest space for the lowest price. But size isn’t everything, you know? It’s about the quality of the enchantment, the stability of the pocket dimension...”

There was some rummaging, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a small explosion and muttered cursing in at least three languages.

”Found it!” Garrett emerged, slightly singed but triumphant, holding what looked like an ordinary leather satchel. ”This, my young friend, is what happens when you convince a master enchanter to work with quality materials instead of mass-producing cheap tricks.”

”Just look at the stitching here - genuine drake leather with golden thread-”

”Are those potions?!” Adom blurted, spotting rows of gleaming bottles behind the counter.

”Hm?” Garrett glanced over his shoulder. ”Eh? Oh, yes, yes. Now, as I was saying, the dimensional matrix is reinforced with-”

Adom spent the next ten minutes hearing more about leather treatment and spatial theory than he’d ever wanted to. Each time he opened his mouth to interrupt, Garrett would launch into another feature - the self-repairing enchantments, the built-in preservation runes, the weather-resistant coating that apparently involved the tears of some creature Adom was pretty sure didn’t exist.

”Mister Garrett...”

”And the expansion coefficient is perfectly calibrated to-”

”Mister Garrett, I’ll buy the bag.”

”You haven’t even heard about the- what?” Garrett blinked. ”Oh! Oh, right.” He straightened his vest, clearing his throat. ”Well then. That’ll be nine thousand gold coins.”

Without a word, Adom began pulling stacks of coins from his inventory, dropping them into the counting receptor. The ancient mechanism whirred to life, golden pieces cascading down with musical clinks. Garrett’s eyes grew wider with each stack, his mouth forming a perfect ’o’.

Clink... clink... clink...

They stood in silence, watching the counter tick up.

Clink... clink... CLINK

”By the Thirteenth,” Garrett said flatly, he picked up one of the coins, biting it. ”Old minting too,” he mused, eyeing Adom. ”Are all of you Xerkes students this rich?”

”Isn’t your grandson studying there?” Adom raised an eyebrow.

”Never said he was poor,” Garrett grinned, pocketing the tested coin. ”Just perpetually ’between allowances,’ as he puts it.”

”About those potions...” Adom gestured toward the bottles, pointedly ignoring the merchant’s questioning look.

Twenty minutes later, Adom stepped out into the evening air, his new bag considerably lighter than his coin purse. Behind him, Garrett called out, ”Come back anytime! Preferably during business hours!”

”Goodbye!” Adom shouted back, grinning as he heard the merchant’s laughter fade behind him.