Chapter 7 — The World of Migan
Before Mira could begin her new life, there were things she needed to understand about the strange, not-quite-real world she'd been sent into.
This world wasn't exactly her Earth—though people still called it that.
It looked the same, felt the same, but everything here was slightly… different.
A little too shiny, a little too perfect, like a movie set that forgot to end.
The country was called Migan, and within it, the city of Aeros stood tall—a dazzling metropolis that could easily be mistaken for New York, if New York had been built entirely out of gold cards and family pride.
Aeros was home to the two families everyone whispered about: the Mist family and the De'ora family.
The Mists were the crown jewels of Migan. They ruled the world of innovation—computers, luxury watches, jewelry, and even video games.
Anything that glittered or beeped was probably theirs.
Their company didn't just make money; it made envy.
They were so powerful that even the president himself occasionally smiled too wide at their dinner parties.
The De'oras, on the other hand, were the quiet chemists of high society—masterminds of perfumes, medicine, and anything that could be bottled, branded, or prescribed.
Their scents filled every gala, their pills filled every cabinet.
But despite their fame, they ranked fourth among the top ten families of Migan.
Why fourth? Because above them were three other titans.
At number two stood the Giant family, the lifeblood of transportation.
They supplied rare materials across the world, their name fitting their influence perfectly.
Their heir, Lucas Giant, was known to be best friends with the Mist heir, though that story will unfold later.
Next, in third place, came the Spears family, weapon dealers of both the legal and not-so-legal kind.
They worked with the police, the military, and sometimes with people who wore nicer suits but worse morals.
Their heir, Dannon Spears, had quite the reputation—but that also is a story for another time.
Then came the De'oras—Violet's family—firmly at number four.
Their pharmaceutical empire was unmatched, their perfumes legendary, and their new ambition was fashion.
A dangerous mix of beauty and chemistry.
Their beloved heir, Violet De'ora, was already seen as a future star of the family.
Fifth was the Hind family, often called "the connectors."
They had fingers in every pie—banks, investments, trade, secrets.
There was no door they couldn't open and no deal they didn't know about.
Their heir, Angelo Hind, and his sister, April Hind, would later cross paths with Violet in ways neither could predict.
Sixth stood the Avril family, masters of all things edible.
From global food chains to fine dining, they ruled every plate that mattered.
At seventh came the Crescent family—fashion royalty.
They made everything wearable, from sneakers to haute couture, and traded with both the Mist and De'ora families.
Their main heir, Victoria Crescent, was known for her elegance.
And somewhere in their shadowy second branch, a certain child named Julia Crescent was slowly finding her place.
Eighth was the Michelo family, who built everything that moved—from cars to airplanes.
Ninth, the Lands family, who owned everything that didn't move—real estate, construction, and everything in between.
And finally, the Delavin family, ranked tenth, but adored by the world.
They were the heartbeat of entertainment—music, film, fashion, and fame.
Their heir, Christopher Delavin, had a charisma that could light up any room… or ruin it.
Together, these ten families ruled Migan.
And to keep their legacies intertwined, all their children attended the same elite institution—Imperial High School.
It wasn't just a school.
It was a chessboard where heirs were made, alliances were born, and enemies were quietly destroyed.
Even the president's own son studied there, because in Migan, power wasn't inherited—it was networked.
________________________________________
"And why," Mira asked flatly, "are you telling me all this again?"
Vira's voice echoed with a smug little hum. "Because, dear host, I want you to understand the structure of this world.
Knowledge is power, and power means survival.
You'll thank me later."
Mira sighed.
"Right, sure.
So what's the plan now? World domination by drooling?"
"Not exactly," Vira chirped.
"Your first step in this world is to be acknowledged as a genius from birth.
That will help you rise faster later."
Mira blinked—or tried to, since baby eyes weren't exactly expressive.
"A genius? From birth? How exactly am I supposed to do that—quote Shakespeare from my crib?"
"No, no," Vira said, sounding pleased with herself.
"You just need to hit some milestones. Simple ones.
Roll over by three months.
Crawl by six.
Speak by nine and a half.
Easy-peasy."
Mira grinned—or imagined she did.
"That's it? Pfft, piece of cake.
I'll knock this out before the deadline."
If only she knew.
.
.
.
The first time Mira tried to roll over, she realized that being a baby was the worst kind of full-body workout.
Her organs squished together like overcooked noodles.
She struggled, grunted, and after two seconds of heroic effort—burst into tears.
Lily, her poor mother, had no idea what was going on.
She sighed, scooped her up, and forcefully breastfed her to calm her down.
Mira, red-faced and mortified, mentally screamed, I'm twenty-two! Twenty-two! This is not how I imagined my modeling career starting!
.
.
.
.
.
A week later, she tried again.
This time she managed a partial roll before flopping back like a stranded seal.
Still, progress was progress.
She puffed up with pride, feeling like a true athlete in diapers.
On her third attempt, she finally did it—one glorious, full roll.
Unfortunately, she rolled too hard and bumped her tiny head.
She screamed.
Loudly.
Lily rushed over, frantic, while Kingsley De'ora—her father—picked her up and started patting her gently, muttering, "Shh, it's okay, my little star."
Between her mother's kisses and her father's goofy expressions, Mira eventually stopped crying… only to realize she was laughing.
Laughing!
Her adult brain froze.
Embarrassment flooded her baby face, and she quickly burrowed into her father's arm to hide.
Vira's laugh rang in her head.
Oh, you're adorable when you're shy, Host.
"Shut up," Mira hissed internally, cheeks puffing.
But secretly, she felt warm.
.
.
.
Two months later, she was a flipping pro.
A professional roller.
The Michael Phelps of turning over.
And she decided it was time for her big performance.
.
.
.
That night, baby Violet (Mira) wailed until her parents let her sleep with them.
The moment they placed her on the bed, she flipped over with style.
Lily gasped.
Kingsley shouted like a man who just hit the lottery.
They clapped, cheered, even called the doctor in the morning to "report the miracle."
By noon, the news headline read:
"De'ora Heir Stuns Migan — Genius Baby Turns Over at Two Months!"
Violet, meanwhile, wanted to sink into the baby blanket and never come out.
She had become famous for rolling over.
Not modeling.
Not stardom.
Just rolling.
Across town, in the Crescent family's second branch mansion, Joe Crescent was watching the same news report.
His wife, Kika, was busy tending to their adopted baby girl, Julia.
Joe snorted.
"What's so special about a baby rolling over? The De'oras are losing their minds. Next thing you know, they'll celebrate her first burp."
He switched the channel off.
But little Julia—Clara reborn—heard everything.
And oh, she was furious.
That smug "genius baby" was Juliana now named Violet.
Her sister.
Again ahead of her.
Again celebrated.
No.
Not this time.
.
.
.
At just three months old, Julia began her mission.
She wriggled, twisted, and nearly suffocated herself trying to flip over.
But after a week of baby bootcamp, she did it.
She rolled over successfully—and promptly started wailing in victory.
Joe who saw what she did, was delighted, he scooped her up.
"Too bad we're not the main branch. Otherwise, I'd call the news too! Our daughter's a genius!"
He hugged his wife with Julia squished between them.
Julia, of course, was not amused.
She screamed again, breaking the tender moment completely.
But inside her tiny chest, pride flared.
She'd done it.
She'd caught up.
Violet might be a month ahead… but Julia was already planning how to make sure that didn't last for long.