Mirac stiffened, his hand still on the hilt of his sword, his heart pounding harder as Blake's amused tone echoed in his ears.

The gloom of Blake's house seemed to close in on him, thick and oppressive, the silence broken only by the click of the door shutting behind him.

His senses, honed by years of training, frantically tried to make sense of the situation.

"Blake, what the hell-" Mirac began, his voice a tense hiss, filtered through the scarred black mask, as he turned toward his companion.

But the words died in his throat when a sudden glow pierced the darkness.

An oil lantern flared to life with a faint sizzle, casting a warm, flickering light across the small ground-floor living room.

Mirac spun around, his hand ready to draw his sword, his body taut like a bowstring.

But he froze, his breath catching, when he saw Carmen—or rather, Ananya—standing beside the wooden table in the center of the room.

Her face, usually cold and impassive, was lit this time by a rare smile, faint but unmistakably genuine.

On the table, a rustic cake dominated the scene like a trophy, its white icing flecked with red berries that gleamed like rubies under the trembling light of a candelabra.

Fifteen candles burned atop it, their lively flames casting golden reflections, dancing across the faded gray plastered walls.

"What the…" Mirac murmured, his voice uncertain, his eyes struggling to make sense of the scene.

But before he could fully grasp the moment, Carmen dispelled any lingering doubt with a firm voice, saying:

"Happy birthday, Isaac."

Mirac stood petrified, his brain scrambling to process the scene.

His hand slowly slipped from the hilt of his sword, the cold metal parting from his skin like a weight lifted.

"Hah, you should've seen your face, Isaac!" Blake exclaimed, stepping forward with a swagger and clapping a hand on Mirac's shoulder. "I didn't think someone like you could actually forget their own birthday!"

Behind the scarred black mask, Mirac's face warmed with surprise and a touch of embarrassment.

"What…? My… birthday?!" he murmured, his voice muffled, as his green eyes darted from Carmen to Blake.

Suddenly, a thought struck him like a lightning strike:

'Today's my birthday?!'

His fifteenth, to be precise.

But only in that moment did he remember, realizing it had completely slipped his mind—a detail lost in the frenzy of the day.

That very morning, in fact, he had filled out documents for the Association, entering his fake personal details, including his supposed date of birth—a date that should have rung a bell in his mind.

And yet, nothing.

No memory, no signal.

'How's that possible? How did I forget and not realize it all day?!'

But as these thoughts crowded his mind, Mirac shook his head, almost as if to shake off the weight of such a trivial matter.

He didn't have time to waste berating himself or blaming his carelessness. 'Well, it doesn't matter…'

Beneath the mask, Mirac's face was a mosaic of emotions: surprise, amusement, and a hint of shame, all blending to make it hard to suppress a genuine smile.

"You two… planned all this?" he asked, his voice still tinged with disbelief, as his eyes scanned the living room, transformed in just a few hours into a haven of warmth and simplicity.

The living room was adorned with colorful paper garlands hanging from the ceiling, hand-cut with evident care, a sign that the red-haired woman had put in real effort.

The wooden table, surrounded by four high-backed chairs—one of which wobbled due to a shorter leg—held not only the cake but also wooden plates ready to be used and a basket brimming with fresh fruit.

The slightly ajar kitchen door revealed the cold hearth and pots hanging on hooks, while the warmth of the fireplace and the candles enveloped the entire ground floor of the house.

Blake laughed, his hands planted on his hips like an actor who had just delivered his best performance.

"Heh, it wasn't easy keeping it from you, especially considering how sharp you are with details," he said, shooting a conspiratorial glance at Carmen as he headed to the kitchen to wash his hands. "This morning, while you were still sleeping, Ananya told me it was your birthday and that she wanted to throw a little party for the occasion. Naturally, I offered to help, and we worked out the plan: my job was to keep you busy all afternoon, dragging you around Raerno, while she used the money from selling the Rogthars' organs for the cake and other preparations."

Mirac's eyes widened, surprise rippling across his face. "You used the organ money for this?" he asked, pointing at the cake. "Weren't we supposed to use it for the equipment we needed?"

The masked boy was clearly referring to the equipment needed for their journey to the Red Desert, and Carmen was fully aware of it.

Yet, the red-haired woman merely shrugged, her face returning to its usual composure.

"Yes, and not only that: we still need to pay off the debts we owe to Blake and the Association," she replied, her voice calm but laced with a hint of warmth, while a faint blush betrayed a touch of embarrassment. "But, you know… I thought a day like this deserved something special."

Blake burst out laughing, stepping closer to the table. "You did a great job, Ananya," he said, addressing her with a voice full of admiration he didn't bother to hide.

Mirac went to the kitchen to wash his hands, then returned to the living room table, observing the cake more closely and lingering on the small details that made it almost unique.

The white icing was slightly uneven, a sign of handmade decoration, and the red berries were arranged carefully along the edge, at almost regular intervals, as if Carmen had tried to give it a harmony all her own. At the center, a few slices of candied citrus stood out, releasing a faint sweet fragrance mixed with the warm aroma of toasted bread on the table.

Suddenly, the silence of the room was broken by a discordant, improvised melody when Blake, with an enthusiastic grin, launched into the birthday song first.

"Happy birthdaaay to YOOOOU!" he sang, his voice booming through the small living room as he clapped his hands to the rhythm.

Carmen, initially hesitant, eventually gave in, joining the song with a lower, more controlled tone.

Mirac, faced with the scene, said nothing but mentally shook his head.

'Blake, enough… You're killing my ears!' he thought, though his inner tone carried an affection he didn't want to show.

When the song ended, Blake clapped enthusiastically, while Carmen turned to the birthday boy:

"Make a wish," she said, her voice soft but firm, as the candle flames reflected in the lenses of her glasses.

Mirac didn't hesitate: he slightly lifted the black mask and closed his eyes for a moment, his heart lighter than it had been in days.

Then he blew out the candles in a single breath, while Blake resumed his loud clapping and Carmen, with a satisfied nod, began cutting the cake for everyone.

Mirac let out a soft laugh, the sound mingling with the crackle of the fireplace.

"Thank you," he murmured at last, his voice softer than he intended. "I didn't expect this. Really."

Blake didn't respond: instead, he gave him another pat on the shoulder, lighter this time, his smile shining as always.

Right after, the tall, lanky boy grabbed a jug of fruit juice and filled three wooden cups from the kitchen.

"To Isaac!" he toasted, raising his cup with a theatrical gesture. "May your next year be full of adventures, victories, and… why not, maybe you'll even find a beautiful girlfriend!"

'The last part you could've kept to yourself!' Mirac thought, holding back from commenting aloud.

All three laughed, their cups brushing with a faint clink, a sound that blended with the crackle of the fireplace and the glow of the candles.

The light danced on the walls, intertwining with the shadows of the chandelier and the fire.

As they bit into the cake, the sweet taste of the berries mingling with the candied citrus, Blake suddenly added:

"Oh, by the way," he began, grinning with a mouthful of cake, "I hope I didn't catch you too off guard, Ananya, when I brought up the idea of eating out…"

Carmen shook her head, a restrained smile curling her lips.

"No, it's fine," she replied, her tone calm but tinged with amusement. "It's just that… I didn't expect it…"

Mirac let out a soft laugh, recalling Blake's insistence that afternoon, when he had dragged him and Carmen to the inn with his overwhelming enthusiasm.

'He's only known me for a day… and yet, he put in so much effort for this little party…' the masked boy thought.

In that moment, he almost felt as if all his problems—the Rogthars, the chain of events that had led him to this point, and the secrets of Carmen and her organization—had vanished, leaving room for something simpler, more pleasant, and welcoming.

It was then that he recalled how, if it hadn't been for the events at the castle—the revelation of his Chaotic nature to the royal family, the imprisonment, the escape with Carmen—he would have been in a golden hall at that moment, surrounded by praises and bows, celebrating not only his fifteenth birthday but also his coronation as the rightful heir to the throne of Ardorya.

Trumpets would have blared, nobles would have toasted, and the weight of the crown would already be pressing on his shoulders.

But another thought, deeper, crept into his mind, digging into the recesses of a life that didn't belong to this world.

Before his reincarnation, before becoming Mirac, Prince of Ardorya, Vector's birthdays—after the loss of his parents—had been moments of silence, spent without a cake, without a smile, without anyone remembering him.

No candles, no toasts: just the weight of an insignificant existence.

Now, though, in that modest house, surrounded by two people who had taken the time and care to organize a surprise party for him, Mirac felt something new.

Or rather: something he had believed was lost forever, extinguished by the loneliness of his past life and by a fate that had destined him to rejection and isolation from his new family.

In front of the lit candles, with Blake's enthusiasm and Carmen's rare, precious smile, Mirac felt a sense of belonging that warmed his soul like a rediscovered flame.

And in that moment, with a clarity that almost took his breath away, the masked boy understood the truth of why he felt that way:

'All I've ever wanted was this: someone who cared about me... Someone who remembered something as trivial as my birthday... Someone capable of melting the cold of loneliness with the simple warmth of their presence...'

With a deep breath, Mirac closed his eyes and smiled.

He had already blown out the candles, but he hadn't needed to make a wish.

It was already there, in front of him, in that room full of life and shared emotions.

* * *

The celebration continued for another hour, with Blake, as usual, chatting away about whatever crossed his mind, while Carmen, more reserved, chimed in with sharp-witted comments that drew laughs from Mirac.

When the candles had burned down and the cake was reduced to a few crumbs, the three cleared the table, leaving the living room tidy.

Carmen offered to wash the dishes in the stone sink in the kitchen, the sound of water mingling with her cheerful humming.

Mirac, with precise movements, stored the decorations in a wicker basket beside the boot rack.

Blake, with no tasks to handle, decided to take a shower upstairs, leaving the bathroom free for Mirac, who still needed to wash up later.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Taking advantage of the tall, lanky boy's absence, Mirac approached Carmen, not so much to help with the dishes as to tell her about his afternoon.

Therefore, without lingering on superfluous details, such as the tour of the Square of Affairs or the explorations in the various districts of Raerno, Mirac went over the most significant moments of the day.

He began by recounting his visit to Raerno's Central Library, where he had discovered Floor -1, a Secret Archive accessible only to Association members of the seventh rank or higher via the rightmost elevator, activated by inserting the Association's Identity Document.

However, to bolster the credibility of his mysterious powers in the eyes of the red-haired woman, Mirac seized the opportunity to weave a lie as cunning as it was captivating into his story.

He declared that it was not chance that had led him to the right elevator, but a new and extraordinary manifestation of his powers: a "Fortuitous Vision."

With a firm and convincing tone—without betraying the slightest hesitation or crack in credibility—he claimed that, as he was preparing to meet Blake on the upper floor, the entity he was in Syntony with had transmitted a vivid image of the rightmost elevator, guiding him to the discovery of the Archive.

A phenomenon that had never occurred before.

Thus, he introduced the concept of "Fortuitous Visions," describing them as a distinct evolution of the simpler "Fortuitous Knowledges."

He explained that while the latter, as he had previously implied, merely granted him fragments of knowledge, Fortuitous Visions were far superior: they revealed vivid, precise, almost tangible images that concealed a greater meaning yet to be unveiled.

Of course, none of this was true, but it was a lie that Mirac had cleverly crafted during his afternoon walk with Blake to strengthen Carmen's trust in the alleged "Fortuitous Knowledges," introduce the new "Fortuitous Visions," and, at the same time, conceal the existence of his mathematical powers in anticipation of a possible future where the secrecy of his abilities might prove to be of vital importance.

"Well, as Blake already said, my plan was just to keep you away from the house to organize the party," Carmen explained, interrupting Mirac. "So, to be honest, I didn't really expect you'd actually have one of your Fortuitous Knowledge… Or rather, Fortuitous Visions… We got really lucky, don't you think?"

'Are you sure about that?!' Mirac thought, without commenting aloud, but he nodded, relaxing slightly. "Yeah, but not for the reason you think. If someone else, without the proper authorization, had been with me in the elevator and I'd accidentally led them to discover the Secret Archive, I would've violated the contract's article on privacy and nondisclosure of the Association's sensitive information. Luckily, that didn't happen. I don't know if Mrs Rose wasn't aware of it, completely forgot to mention it, or simply chose not to bring it up today in Blake's presence, but the important thing is that the existence of Floor -1 didn't leak. Right?"

Carmen didn't respond immediately.

Her eyes drifted to an invisible horizon, her face, with a pensive expression, betraying that she was lost in her own thoughts.

A few moments later, with a low, thoughtful voice, she finally replied: "Yes, you're right…"

Mirac savored the satisfaction of seeing Carmen's expression, as she seemed to buy his fabricated tale without asking too many questions.

'Perfect!' thought the masked boy, smirking to himself.

Then, he went on to explain that Floor -1 housed reports on past missions, dossiers on wanted individuals from the Association and the Intercontinental Council, descriptions of rare magical beasts, maps of peculiar locations, including some Dungeons, and much more.

Among that material, he mentioned finding potentially crucial information about the Red Desert and a tribe living in the Western Belt of Ahmar.

When he brought up the latter, however, he noticed a slight flinch in Carmen: an almost imperceptible movement, but enough to spark suspicion in him.

It was then that Mirac hypothesized that the red-haired woman already knew about them and that, therefore, the assumption he'd formed on Floor -1 was likely correct: the Ahmarians were indeed, in some way, connected to Carmen's secret organization!

He didn't know to what extent, nor could he be certain: perhaps she had simply reacted instinctively upon hearing the name of a tribe she believed was known only to her and the members of her organization, thus being surprised to suddenly discover that even an Explorer from the Association had studied it and written a report about it.

In any case, the boy didn't linger further to ponder or form new hypotheses, choosing instead to move on and complete the account of his day.

He then briefly described the visit to the Iron District, where Blake had taken him to the "Dragon's Jaws" workshop, run by Thomas, the son of the legendary blacksmith Derek, whom Blake had mentioned the previous evening, noting his mysterious disappearance months earlier.

He explained that, at Blake's insistence, he had decided to buy a sword, the very one now at his side: a sword forged from a precious alloy of Mana Metals, lightweight yet sturdy, perfect for his fighting style.

He didn't forget to mention that, as a gesture of gratitude for saving Blake from the Rogthars and to celebrate his promotion to the rank of Rectified Blade, Thomas had sold him the weapon, agreeing to accept a deferred payment when Mirac would be able to afford it, including a scabbard and a belt as a gift.

When the masked boy finished summarizing his day, Carmen looked up, placing the wet plate on a cloth next to the sink.

Her dark eyes, behind the rectangular lenses of her glasses, carefully examined the sword.

"A good deal, especially considering you'll only have to pay half of the original price," she commented, clearly referring to Blake's generous gesture.

After a brief pause, the red-haired woman added:

"Anyway, as for my day, I managed to sell all the Rogthars' organs. It took longer than expected, but in the end, it was worth it: in total, we earned 1300 Quorins. However, after spending 30 on ingredients for the cake and some decorations for the party, we're left with 1270 Quorins."

Mirac did a quick mental calculation, drawing on his knowledge of magical item prices.

"Not bad, but it's not enough," he commented, his tone flat but reflective. "The equipment for the Red Desert will cost us at least 1,500 Quorins. Then, factoring in the 200 Quorins we owe Blake for the entry fee, the 60 Quorins to Thomas's workshop for the sword, and the 400 Quorins to the Association for registration, that's another 660 Quorins we absolutely need to account for in the overall balance. So, we're short by about 890 Quorins."

Carmen looked at him for a second, astonished. "Wow, you're really good with numbers… Do you have a hidden talent for math?"

'Dammit!' Mirac tried not to flinch, but his tone of voice betrayed an inner quiver. "Oh, uhm… It's nothing special, really…"

Carmen stayed silent for a brief moment, staring at him without meeting his gaze. "If you say so…"

She placed the last clean plate on the cloth, then continued speaking:

"Anyway, you've grasped the crux of the matter: we're short on money. So, we only have two options: find a moment when we're alone, without Blake, and use your powers to secretly duplicate banknotes until we clear the debt and get the equipment we need, or join an Association mission tomorrow to earn what we're still missing. What do you choose?"

Mirac didn't hesitate:

"The second option," he said decisively, his tone firm as he met Carmen's gaze.

He didn't explain his reasons, but his thoughts were clear in his mind.

Using the "Multiplicative Touch" ability to create money seemed like an easy solution, but it was a dangerous and immoral path.

Multiplying money to achieve the desired wealth could destabilize Raerno's economic balance, devaluing what they owned and triggering local inflation.

Every new coin or banknote created artificially would make their wealth less meaningful, a vicious cycle Mirac wanted to avoid.

But there was more: in his previous life, even in the darkest moments, when hunger tormented him and he didn't have a single coin, Vector had never given in to the temptation to steal money.

It wasn't about fear or lack of opportunity: stealing money, for him, meant staining himself with an injustice that went beyond survival.

He could have taken what belonged to someone else, but doing so would have meant giving up the last spark of dignity that kept him standing in the hardest days.

And from that perspective, he saw no reason now, with such a power at his fingertips, to compromise his principles and undo everything he had always believed in.

Yet, despite the poverty, he had always managed to get what he needed to survive—food, clothes, small, low-value items—by making the most of the opportunities life offered him.

It was the same line he didn't intend to cross now.

Duplicating banknotes would mean cheating the entire world, but multiplying a useful object, something he already owned, wasn't deceit: it was just a way to face the challenges of an unjust life while staying true to the principles that had always guided him.

Thus, earning the money honestly, through the sweat and risk of a mission, wasn't just the right choice: it was also the one that reflected who he truly was.

Carmen stared at him for a few seconds, as if trying to decipher the reason behind his choice.

Their gazes locked, a silence heavy with unspoken questions.

Then, with a faint sigh, Carmen nodded.

"Alright," she said simply, accepting his choice without pressing for explanations. "Then tomorrow we'll go to the Association and look for a mission that won't keep us busy for too long, so we don't miss the Raid at the Rogthars' Dungeon."

Mirac nodded in turn, satisfied.

"Great. Then, adding the money we'll earn tomorrow to what we'll get from participating in the Raid, I'd say we'll have a nice sum. And if it's not enough for equipment for both of us, we'll buy a full set for just one of us. Later, when we're alone, I'll use my powers to duplicate each piece: that way, we'll have everything we need without spending double."

Carmen met his gaze and, with a slight nod of agreement, replied: "Sounds like a good plan."

"Good. Then it's settled," Mirac responded, turning toward the stairs. "I'm going to wash up now. It's been a long day."

But as he was walking away, he suddenly stopped at the edge of the kitchen door.

"Thanks anyway… for all this," he added, his voice lighter and shyer, gesturing vaguely toward the living room, where the colorful paper decorations still hung from the ceiling.

But Carmen didn't turn or respond.

She simply shrugged, moving on to washing the cutlery and glasses.

Without adding anything else, Mirac headed upstairs, the sound of his footsteps echoing across the wooden floor.

Arriving in the room he shared with Blake, he found the tall, lanky boy already there, his hair still wet and wrapped in a white towel.

Blake was wearing a loose, light-gray cotton tunic with long sleeves that slipped just past his wrists, and a pair of light-brown linen trousers tied at the waist with a rope belt.

His gangly figure seemed even more relaxed, carrying the air of someone who had just shed the weight of the day.

"Hey, Isaac!" Blake exclaimed, pulling the towel off his head and shaking his damp hair like a wet dog. "I set out a change of clothes for you: a tunic and some comfy trousers. You can use them as pajamas. Hope they fit."

Blake pointed to Mirac's mattress, and the latter noticed a neatly folded stack of clothes on his bed.

"Thanks," said the masked boy, smiling.

With that, Mirac approached the mattress, bending down to pick up the clothes: a light-gray linen tunic, a pair of dark gray cotton trousers, and underwear, folded with a precision that drew an ironic smile from him.

'So you can fold clothes properly when you want to…' Mirac thought, recalling Blake's chaotic wardrobe, where a pile of crumpled garments threatened to spill out every time it was opened.

As Mirac set his sword and sheath beside his mattress, however, Blake's voice caught him off guard:

"You know," he began, his tone suddenly more serious, "if I'd told Thomas it was your birthday today, he probably would have given you the sword for free, without asking for anything in return. But I didn't, because he would've noticed the discrepancy between today's date and the one listed on your Association Identity Document…"

Mirac froze instantly, the clothes still clutched in his hands. 'Huh?'

Slowly, he turned toward Blake, his heart picking up speed.

The tall, lanky boy lay down on his bed, hands behind his head, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "On that note, when I realized it, I started wondering how much and which information on your registration form was actually true… And thinking about it, I feel the need to clarify something: I know full well that your name probably isn't really Isaac, just like the other woman's name isn't really Ananya."

Mirac didn't move, like an insect vainly trying to escape the gaze of a predator already aware of its presence.

Blake paused, observing the boy's silent reaction for a few seconds.

After a moment, as if to let his words settle, Blake slowly shifted his gaze away from Mirac.

He looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes, his face taking on a reflective expression.

He seemed lost in his own thoughts, contemplating the afternoon they had shared, while a faint sigh betrayed the depth of the emotions he was trying to contain.

"Anyway, you can relax," Blake continued, his voice thoughtful, devoid of any malice. "I don't care who you really are, or about your past or your intentions. After all, everyone has their secrets, right?" He paused, a strange expression crossing his face, as if revisiting a distant memory.

Then he went on: "I get that it's not easy to open up, especially when the past weighs heavier than the present… I'm not expecting anything, really. You helped me and accepted me for who I am. You're obviously good people, and that's enough for me. I'm sure that when you're ready, you'll tell me the whole truth about yourselves and your real identities…"

Mirac remained silent, the weight of Blake's words settling over him.

There was no accusation in the boy's tone, only a disarming sincerity.

Beneath the mask, Mirac pressed his lips together, nodding slowly.

"We'll see…" he said, his voice low.

Without adding anything else, he headed toward the bathroom, his thoughts swirling.

Blake wasn't the carefree fool he sometimes seemed to be.

He had noticed the discrepancies, had sensed that "Isaac" and "Ananya" were false identities, yet he had chosen not to ask questions, not to press.

Mirac realized that Carmen had likely anticipated this when she decided to involve Blake in the surprise party plan.

Perhaps she had considered that the risk of him uncovering their false identities wasn't a real threat, confident that his kind nature would ultimately prevail.

And if Carmen didn't see it as a problem, then Mirac didn't need to worry either.

Entering the bathroom, Mirac closed the door behind him and removed his mask, placing it carefully on the edge of the sink.

His face, reflected in the cloudy mirror, showed the features of a fifteen-year-old boy, marked by fatigue but lit with a newfound determination.

He stripped off his sweaty clothes, letting them fall into a wicker basket, and stepped into the tub, the warm water easing the tension built up over the day.

As he relaxed, the water lapping against his skin, Mirac closed his eyes, letting his mind settle.

He felt his heartbeat slow, his shoulders loosen, as if each drop washed away the invisible remnants of the stress he had accumulated.

For the first time in days, he felt he could allow himself a moment of respite, a breath amidst the storm of events that had now radically changed his second life.

That evening, he sensed a strange lightness within himself, a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time.

'Heh! I'm 95 years old, and yet I could barely contain my joy at the surprise they pulled off. Come to think of it, it's definitely not the first time I've acted "differently" from my actual age. As a kid, for example, I behaved like a total brat! And I'm sure Carmen would be the first to confirm that…'

Mirac stifled a laugh, biting his lip slightly to keep it from escaping completely.

'Over time, though, I'd say I've grown and matured. And yet, right now, I feel like… I'm really just a fifteen-year-old kid… So, I wonder if reincarnating in this body did something more than just transfer my adult mind into a brand-new shell. Maybe growing up again, starting as a baby and living a second life, has slowly shaped my mentality, year by year, almost without me realizing it…'

* * *

Stepping out of the tub, Mirac dried himself with a rough linen cloth and put on the clothes Blake had prepared for him.

Returning to the room, he found Blake already laying on his mattress, his deep, rhythmic breathing signaling a heavy sleep.

No lights or sounds came from the ground floor, a sign that Carmen had finished tidying and cleaning downstairs and had retired to her room.

The house was enveloped in near-total silence, broken only by the faint crackle of the fireplace slowly dying out.

Mirac approached his mattress, catching the faint glint of his sword's sheath, illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the window.

He rubbed his hair with the towel, then lay down, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, lost in his thoughts.

'Well, I'd say it's time to unwrap my last gift...' he murmured to himself, a faint smile playing on his lips.

With that in mind, Mirac closed his eyes and focused, deliberately summoning the vision where his Syntony with Math projected him whenever it needed to communicate directly with him.

A few moments later, the world around Mirac faded, and his consciousness was swiftly enveloped by a deep sleep.

Without noticing the exact moment of transition, he found himself immersed in a boundless black sky, dotted with bright, pulsating stars.

As he had anticipated, the same message that had reached him the night of his escape from the royal family's underground prison floated before him, suspended in the star-strewn darkness.

The words, traced in threads of white smoke, danced lightly, never straying too far from their place:

[ Do you wish to access the Realm of Numbers? ]

While relaxing under the warm spray of the shower, Mirac had decided it was time to explore the mystery that had been awaiting him for so long.

As always, in that dreamlike dimension, Mirac could neither speak nor nod, but his response echoed clear and powerful in the recesses of his mind:

'Yes!'

At that response, the message dissolved into wisps of smoke, only to reform into new words, sharper and more solemn:

[ Searching for an inhabitant of the Realm of Numbers… ]

[ Warning! ]

[ Access to the Realm of Numbers is currently restricted to the "Positive Peak" ]

[ Searching for an inhabitant of the "Positive Peak"… ]

[ Inhabitant found! ]

[ Numerical Identity of the inhabitant: +204843 ]

[ Establishing sensory connection with inhabitant +204843… ]

[ Connection established! ]

[ Initiating sensory synchronization… ]

Suddenly, the message and the surrounding stars erupted in a blinding flash, a wave of light that overwhelmed Mirac, enveloping him completely.

'Shit!' he exclaimed inwardly, overcome.

In that istant, a final message stood out in the dazzling light, and Mirac, just barely, managed to read it:

[ Welcome to the Realm of Numbers, Son of Math… ]

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