I stepped through the gates of Arkion just as dusk smeared the horizon with muted reds and purples. From above, the city looked like a chessboard of black stone and metal, each district a different faction, each alleyway a potential theater of power. Ordinary people wandered unaware, but I could already sense the energy fluxes, the circuits pulsing beneath the surface of the streets, and the latent power tucked in every shadow.
Perfect.
I adjusted the strap of my satchel and let myself drift into the crowd, adopting the posture of a bored, inconsequential youth. If anyone looked my way, they would see nothing remarkable: slightly slouched, hands in pockets, hair messy from the wind. I am background. I am irrelevant.
Yet in my mind, a storm of calculations and imagination raged. I walked along the main avenue, observing every subtle signature of power. Heat circuits from blacksmiths' forges. Psychic pulses from a group of mercenaries debating territory. Anti-matter signatures faintly leaking from a low-tier duelist practicing his craft in an open courtyard.
All detectable. All measurable. All potentially manipulable.
I found a quiet corner of the city's library district—a labyrinthine collection of stacks and old enchanted tomes that smelled of ink and dust. Most citizens avoided it; they lacked patience, intellect, or both. I settled into a shadowed alcove and opened a journal I had been keeping since leaving the academy.
I traced my finger over the formulas from the Qute Equation book again, imagining each vector, each circuit resonance. If I amplify the energy flow from my Soul Circuit and combine it with Koketsu's slit in the second awakening, I can simulate entire battlefield scenarios inside the mind of a single observer—or a crowd.
The girl, the seven-year-old I had taken in at Black Haven, flashed into my thoughts. I smiled faintly. Not for kindness, not for sentiment, but for potential. She was a variable, a living fulcrum I could use to manipulate or observe the morality of my enemies. They call me a villain, but it is only because they lack the creativity to understand causality.
Settling into a routine became almost meditative. Each morning, I would wander the streets, mapping energy fluxes and noting faction movements. By afternoon, I visited the marketplaces, blending in while mentally tracking magical signatures, fluctuations in circuit power, and even predicting disputes before they happened. By evening, I returned to my small rented room on the outskirts of Arkion—a modest place with thin walls and a view of a canal reflecting the city's lights—and poured over histories of the continent, political treaties, and reports on known warriors.
I know them all. Every major family, every academy, every elite fighter. And they know nothing about me.
The thrill of invisibility amused me. A man with the ability to recreate reality, manipulate probabilities, and immobilize anyone within a hundred meters—all without ever being noticed. And yet, I restrained myself, deliberately. Patience. Observation first. Action when necessary.
I found particular delight in imagining how I could interfere subtly in the lives of the powerful. A merchant miscalculating his magical wares. A street brawl among low-level circuit users. Each instance was a playground. Not to kill. Not yet. Just…entertainment.
At night, I would climb the rooftops, letting my senses expand. The city hummed beneath me. Circuits pulsed, light and dark weaving through the streets like rivers of energy. And somewhere in the upper echelons, men and women who could rival the Ten Kings and Queens occasionally walked, oblivious to the predator observing them. I plotted contingencies for each one. If they ever crossed paths with John—or worse, if they interfered with Arkion—they would fall precisely where I intended, no deviation.
I practiced restraint. I let my imagination build new techniques quietly. Small tests in alleyways: bending fire energy to loop through narrow corridors, creating temporary gravitational anomalies to trip a group of thugs, projecting subtle illusions that caused a street performer to panic. Each small experiment honed my mind, my Soul Circuit, and the slit of Koketsu, without drawing attention.
They see a bored teenager. They do not see the architect of destruction who could reshape the continent with a thought.
Sometimes I imagined conversations I would have with Seirath or the Circuit Guardians. Not actual confrontations—no need yet—but simulations. How they would approach, what strategies they would attempt, what miscalculations they would make. And I would always be three moves ahead.
I allowed myself small indulgences. A cup of tea in a quiet garden where the air shimmered faintly with latent energy. A visit to the blacksmiths to feel the resonance of elemental metals. Each observation was data. Each interaction, a test. Each variable cataloged.
I am the plot.
And yet, despite all this, I remained hidden. Arata Kurogane, the boy from the academy, the heir of prestige, the observer of a world that thought itself alive with drama. They could not know I had already touched every major current of power within Arkion. I had already calculated the probabilities of every major faction engaging one another in the next decade—and all potential interventions I could enact to manipulate them toward my desired outcome.
I chuckled quietly, imagining the astonishment when John Merciless' movements were traced back to me, not as the avatar, but as the hidden mind behind the scenes. The true game begins after graduation. Arkion is merely a canvas.
As night deepened, the lanterns reflected across the canal, and I perched on the edge of a roof, legs dangling, surveying the energy flows. My left eye—Koketsu—glimmered faintly as I ran through the mathematical constructs in my mind: probability vectors, Soul Circuit energy accumulation, population-scale influence, illusion projections, and tactical preemption.
They will not see me. They cannot see me. And yet, everything is mine to manipulate.
The city below continued its oblivious bustle, unaware that a single background character already dictated the outcomes of wars, assassinations, and political maneuvering. And that was exactly how I liked it.