I sat up again, slower this ti. My muscles felt like warm rubber bands—sore, but functional. The silk sheets slid off my body, revealing the ridiculous sleepwear soone must've changed into: a robe that probably cost more than my entire rent back ho.
I slid off the bed. Took a step. Wobbled. Balanced. Okay. Walking was still in the skillset.
A glint in the far corner of the room caught my eye.
A full-length mirror.
I walked over—and paused.
That… wasn't my face.
The reflection looking back at was both unfamiliar and absurdly flawless. My hair—his hair—was pale blond, almost white under the soft lighting, the kind of tone people paid way too much money for at a salon. My eyes were a startling gold. Skin smooth, pale, and without so much as a blemish. Tall, lean fra. Almost model-like, except there was sothing colder in the posture. Sharper.
This didn't scream "average Japanese high schooler." He scread Imported bloodline.
Leon's mories offered a partial explanation. His mother was foreign, European.
That's why I looked like this. Amber eyes. Blond hair. The kind of foreign features that turned heads in Tokyo.
I turned away from the mirror, trying not to think too hard about the identity crisis quietly waiting to ambush . Instead, I focused on the itch. Not physical, but ntal. Like a tickle in the back of my skull, just behind the thoughts. A sense of wrongness.
No… not wrongness.
Potential.
There was sothing else inside . Sothing quiet. Dormant. But awake now.
I sat on the bed again, closed my eyes, and let myself drift.
And then—
I saw it.
A door. Floating in the darkness of my mind, surrounded by stars.
No key. No knob. Just a glowing outline, pulsing softly like it was alive. My breath caught. So part of knew this wasn't normal. Knew I was about to step into sothing that couldn't be undone.
I reached for it anyway.
And the mont my fingers touched that glowing edge—
The door opened.
And I was no longer in my body.
I was inside sothing.
A workshop.
Massive. Beautiful. Impossible.
It stretched out infinitely in every direction, filled with strange tools and floating workbenches that humd like tuning forks. Racks of materials shimred in mid-air—steel, wood, glass, stone, and others I couldn't even na. Overhead, luminous blueprints flickered like constellations. Diagrams. Schematics. Ideas.
And in the center of it all—
A worktable.
I approached it slowly, reverently. As my fingers brushed its surface, a warm current buzzed up my arm. Sothing inside clicked.
This place… was mine.
Not just the table—the whole thing.
The Celestial Workshop.
A thought surfaced in my mind, crisp and purposeful:
"Create sothing simple."
"Like what?" I muttered aloud.
No voice answered.
But my hands moved anyway. Guided by instinct—or maybe knowledge that hadn't been there before.
I imagined a sword.
Nothing enchanted. No lightning runes or demonic seals. Just a clean, functional blade. A solid, dependable weapon that could hold its own. A real sword.
The mont I pictured it clearly, the materials appeared. Steel. Leather. A forge that radiated heatless fire. Tools I couldn't na but sohow knew how to use.
I got to work.
Ti moved differently here. I didn't rush. Didn't second-guess. Every action felt natural. Every piece fell into place. I folded tal, hamred edges, shaped a grip, etched a simple pattern along the fuller. No fancy insignias. Just purpose. Functionality. Clean lines.
When it was finished, the sword hovered in the air above the table—sleek, sharp, balanced. Beautiful, in a brutalist way.
My breath hitched.
I didn't know how I knew that, but I knew. This wasn't imagination. It was real. Real as the blood in my veins or the silk under my hands.
Then I felt sothing stir inside —a pull, a current, like pressure behind my ribs rising and waiting to be released.
Another instinctual thought bubbled to the surface:
Manifest.
I opened my eyes.
Back in the bedroom.
Still breathing.
Still .
Except… the sword was in my hand.
Cold steel. Perfect balance. It glead under the chandelier light like it belonged there. Like it had always belonged there.
I stared at it.
I laughed.
Just once.
"I actually made this."
This was a ga changer!
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