It was like wearing drunk goggles—his infant brain simply couldn't hold, sort, or store all the new information flooding his senses. His vision twisted, his thoughts blurred, and the sheer weight of knowledge crushed down on his fragile consciousness. He barely lasted a few seconds before he shut it down, only to notice a thin trickle of blood running from his nose.
"I see. Shit. While my mind could probably handle it, I'm still an infant. That'll take some getting used to."
But what was a bit of harsh training if not progress?
Reactivating Magic Gaze felt easier the second time. The magic now knew its path, responding to his will more fluidly, slipping into place like a once-stiff gear now oiled and moving smoothly. Still, it wasn't instant, and the information overload remained—a relentless storm hammering his senses.
He pushed through it, lasting longer each time.
To reduce the strain, he forced himself to focus solely on his own body. Not on the corpses, which radiated a strange, eerie presence, something vague yet deeply unsettling. Not on the tiles or the dim lights, which pulsed with weak traces of magic like dying embers. And certainly not on the atmosphere—an overwhelming presence of raw, unseen energy, thick enough to choke on.
His body. That was all that mattered.
With Magic Gaze still active, he shut his eyes and returned to meditation, turning his awareness inward once more. The lump beneath his liver—the one responsible for filtering magic—looked different now. It wasn't just an organ. It was a vortex, pulling in the ambient magic trapped inside his tiny abdomen, spiraling in slow, mesmerizing motion.
And then, finally, he saw what he had hoped for.
Magic veins.
It took several tries, each attempt leaving him weaker, his nosebleeds worsening. But after an exhausting battle of willpower, he finally saw them—intricate, glowing pathways running through his body like an unseen nervous system. They pulsed faintly, their delicate networks threading deep into his limbs, coiling around muscle and bone like the roots of an ancient tree. He mapped them in his mind, tracing their routes, feeling their depth, their potential.
He was in ecstasy.
This energy, this connection—it was unlike anything he had ever experienced. The magic veins were part of him, woven into every inch of his fragile form. He wanted to see more, to explore deeper, to understand everything. The temptation was intoxicating.
But he forgot, once again… he was just an infant.
His small body betrayed him. Dizziness, drowsiness, exhaustion—all crashed over him like a tidal wave. His vision blurred, his limbs grew heavy, his tiny fingers twitched weakly before going limp. Before sleep claimed him, one final thought crossed his mind:
"It's like a muscle… probably burns energy and calories like one too…"
Nathan didn't know how much time had passed when he finally woke again. His body felt hollow—weak. Hunger gnawed at his insides, sharper than before, a deep, primal craving that turned his stomach into a pit of agony.
"I need to be more careful. This can't happen. If I pass out and someone finds me like this, I'm done for. This body is starving."
Even healthy infants needed constant care—warmth, food, protection. This body had been dead hours ago. He had no reserves, no safety net.
"Milk. I need milk. Nutrients. Anything."
His small eyes darted around the dim room. Still nothing but corpses and silence.
"No. This isn't it, Nathan. You're not dying here. You're free, goddammit."
His breath steadied. He had seen this world—really seen it. Even in the short time he had been here, he had glimpsed its potential. The magic, the mysteries, the power.
Yes, it was plagued with horrendous deeds, but that wasn't the world's fault. That was human nature.
"I already died once. Lost it all."
His mind flickered back to his past life—to the faceless parents, the faceless teammates, the faceless coworkers.
"Lost it all, huh? Lost what, exactly?"
His own laughter was dry, bitter.
"I can't even remember my parents. How good could my life have been?"
He had always wanted to live—not just survive, but live.
In his old life, in his old job, he hadn't done it for the sake of bettering the world or eradicating "evil" deeds. No. He had simply taken matters into his own hands to eliminate threats that endangered his life.
This time would be different. But not really.
He would still handle problems himself, still take action against anything too dangerous to ignore. But not for a nation. Not for a government. Not for anyone above him.
This time, he would do it for himself.
To live, to see what this world had to offer.
Not just to survive it.
Summoning more will and energy than his frail body had to give, he activated Magic Gaze once more—just to stare into the air.
Agony.
Information overload.
Exhaustion.
It all hit him at once. His vision swam, his head throbbed, his body screamed at him to stop, but he held on. He had to.
"Filter it, Nathan! Filter it!"
The atmosphere itself was alive. Vibrant. Constantly shifting, swirling with colors and sensations beyond human comprehension. It was too much. Too much to process at once. But he remembered.
He focused.
One aspect at a time. Piece by piece. Breaking it down, separating, isolating. Filtering.
And then—success.
Before the creeping darkness of unconsciousness could claim him again, he stopped.
And for the first time, he could see the atmosphere clearly.
He could filter out what he didn't need. Not perfectly—not yet—but enough.
Enough to look around without the crushing weight of overstimulation.
Enough to hold on longer without his body betraying him.
Enough to keep going.
Though the use of magic still drained his tiny, fragile body, he had taken another step forward.
And he would keep stepping forward.
No matter what.
He had planned for this. No matter what.
If he was going to survive, he needed to force his existence into someone's attention. He couldn't wait. He wouldn't wait—not another hour, not another day. If he did, he would die in this room, and no one would ever know he had existed.
If he encountered a scientist or researcher, he had to prove that he was a successful experiment—something too valuable to kill.
If it was a guard or law enforcement, and they saw him as an abomination to be eliminated, then he had to unleash everything. He had to make them hesitate. Make them believe he was too important to kill. Or die trying.
But what he hoped for, more than anything, was the third option.
A maid. A janitor. Someone lower in the hierarchy of this place. Someone who wasn't making decisions but simply cleaning up a mess. Someone he could inspire pity in.
None of these were ideal plans. But nothing about this situation was ideal. Risks weren't just risks anymore.
They were lifelines.
And then—
It happened.
Something he had known would come. Something he had hoped for.
And yet, feared all the same.
The door to his room slowly creaked open.
And Nathan was about to meet the first human of this world.