He decides to stop being clever.
From the outside, the change is immediate—and unimpressive.
No more whispered syllables.No more careful intent shaping.
No more staring at runes like they personally insulted him.
He sits cross-legged in the alley with a clean slate and draws the reinforcement rune exactly as it appears in the introductory manuals. Standard proportions. Approved stroke order. Textbook-perfect.
Activate.
The rune glows.
Weakly.Predictably.
'Congratulations,' he thinks flatly. 'You've rediscovered mediocrity.'
Still, he doesn't stop.
Again.
Same glow. Same duration.
Again.
Same.
Again.
From the third-person view, the boy looks bored out of his mind, repeating an exercise meant for beginners. Anyone passing by would assume he's either behind or hopelessly stuck.
Kairo times each activation in his head. Counts heartbeats. Measures the drain by feel.
'This is the baseline,' he realizes. 'This is what everyone builds on.'
And that's exactly why it matters.
By late morning, he has a neat column of observations written beside him.
Activation success rate: high Mana cost: moderate Stability: acceptable Variance: minimal
Nothing is wrong with it.
Which is precisely the problem.
'This system is optimized for safety,' he thinks. 'Not depth.'
He draws the rune one more time, standard form, and then—carefully—draws the same rune beside it.
Same slate. Same charcoal. Same environment.
This time, before activating, he whispers:
"Sa."
No added intent. No conceptual overlay. Just the syllable.
The difference is subtle enough that most wouldn't notice it at all.
But Kairo does.
The glow on the right rune lasts longer.
The mana flow feels smoother.
The decay is cleaner—less waste.
He stares at the two runes side by side.
'So why hasn't anyone noticed this?'
The question lingers.
Then answers itself.Because noticing requires comparison.
Comparison requires curiosity.Curiosity requires time.
Most mages don't have that luxury. Apprentices are pushed forward. Journeymen are busy surviving. Masters are invested in systems that already work.
No one is incentivized to question the foundation.
From the outside, a craftsman pauses briefly, watching the boy stare at two faintly glowing rocks like they hold the secrets of the universe. He shakes his head and moves on.
Kids and their imagination.
Kairo doesn't notice.
He's busy feeling something click.
The headache returns—not sharp, not punishing. Just a dull reminder pressing against his thoughts.
'Accumulated mental load,' he notes. 'Not from usage.'
He leans back against the wall, eyes half-closed.
'So even analysis has a cost.'
That's new.
And dangerous.
He opens his eyes again and does something that feels almost wrong.
He draws the rune incorrectly.
Wrong stroke order. Uneven pressure. Sloppy corners.
Activate.
It still works.Barely, but it works.
He tries again—worse this time.
Still works.
From the third-person view, the rune flickers weakly, unstable but functional. Mana compensates, smoothing out mistakes like a forgiving tutor correcting a child's handwriting.
Kairo grimaces.'Magic is… lenient.'
That explains more than he likes.
The system is designed to help casters succeed, even when they're imprecise. It fills gaps. Softens errors. Encourages consistency over exploration.
A feature.
And a trap.
'So most people never realize how much the system is correcting for them,' he thinks.
The headache pulses faintly, as if agreeing.
He spends the afternoon deliberately oscillating between extremes.
Perfect rune → sloppy rune
No syllable → whispered syllable
Blank intent → focused intent
He doesn't push depth. He pushes contrast.
The pattern becomes undeniable.
The more intentional the casting, the less the system compensates.
The less intentional, the more it smooths.
'Magic hides its depth behind convenience,' he thinks.
The phrase feels important.
He writes it down.
By evening, exhaustion sets in—not physical, not mana-based. His thoughts feel thick, like moving through syrup.
He cleans his tools slowly, deliberately, resisting the urge to test just one more thing.
From the outside, discipline looks boring.
From the inside, it feels like survival.
He sits at the low table in the workshop and rewrites his notes yet again, this time reorganizing them by principle rather than chronology.
Baseline.
Deviation.
Response.
As he writes, something becomes painfully clear.
'This isn't just about Sanskrit,' he realizes.
That's the dangerous part.
The syllables aren't special because they're ancient or exotic.
They're special because they force precision.
They demand clarity of thought.
And most people never train that.
He leans back, staring at the ceiling.
'So the real difference isn't power,' he thinks. 'It's tolerance.'
Tolerance for ambiguity.Tolerance for failure.Tolerance for mental strain.
The headache flares briefly, then fades.
'Yeah,' he adds wryly. 'That tracks.'
A familiar flicker appears at the edge of his vision—calmer now, more stable than before.
The interface resolves fully this time.
[Genesis System — Bias Analysis]
[Standardized casting detected]
[Structural inefficiency: accepted norm]
[Observation:]
[Deviation requires intent resistance]
Kairo squints."…Intent resistance?"
The words feel heavy. Loaded.
'So the system pushes back when you stop coasting,' he thinks.
Makes sense.
A system optimized for mass use would have to.The interface fades without elaboration.
Kairo exhales.
'Of course you'd drop a term like that and leave.'
He lies back on the floor, arms folded behind his head.
From the outside, he looks exhausted.
From the inside, something settles.
Not excitement.Not triumph.Understanding.
'If I keep going like this,' he thinks, 'I won't fit anywhere.'
The thought doesn't scare him.It clarifies things.
As sleep pulls him under, one last realization drifts through his mind.
'This world doesn't reward innovation.'
Pause.
'It tolerates it… until it doesn't.'
His lips curve into a faint, tired smile.'Good thing I was never great at fitting in.'