He opened his eyes to a world both familiar and strange, his body tiny, fragile, and completely unlike the adult form he had just inhabited. The sun poured through a small window, painting the room in warm, golden light, and the scent of earth and grass drifted faintly through the air. Despite his newborn body, his mind was fully aware. Every memory of Earth, every lesson learned from a life fully lived, and every observation of the Black Clover world lingered with perfect clarity.
The world around him seemed enormous, overwhelming. Even the simplest movements were a challenge. His tiny fingers trembled as he reached for the light filtering through the window, and his legs flailed uncontrollably, barely able to support him. But he did not panic. He had survived death once, faced a god-like being, and made choices that would shape an entire world. Patience, he reminded himself. Growth required time.
He could feel it immediately—the pulse of mana in the air. Faint, almost imperceptible, but real. Every living thing exuded it, from the fluttering birds outside to the grass beneath his tiny hands. And even without a grimoire, he could sense it and manipulate it, however weakly. A faint shimmer of purple light flickered around his fingers, responding to his will. Not much, just enough to move a small leaf or make a wisp of energy hover. But it was enough.
He practiced relentlessly, day after day, testing the boundaries of his Elf-like mana. Tiny flashes of Star Magic sparked when he concentrated—points of light that hung in the air for a second before vanishing. Celestial arcs curved around his fingers, and for brief moments, he could form small spheres of energy that hovered just above his hands. Even as a baby, he recognized the importance of control. Power without precision was useless.
The system Rob had gifted him whispered faintly in the back of his mind, subtle prompts rather than commands: Focus on the mana. Sense the flow. Small movements teach control. Each attempt, each success, was logged in a part of his consciousness that felt like a notebook, invisible but persistent. Slowly, he began to understand the rhythm of magic, the ebb and flow that governed all mages in this world.
At first, he focused on the basics—stabilizing the faint pulses of energy he could already sense. Tiny bursts of Star Magic became easier to control. He could hold a small light in his palm for longer periods, spin it in miniature orbits, and even project a fragile shield that lasted a few seconds before dissipating. These small victories, though imperceptible to anyone else, filled him with the thrill of mastery.
Movement, coordination, and observation became his training tools. Crawling across the floor, he experimented with subtle bursts of mana to adjust his balance, to push off walls slightly, to make small objects roll. Even a single pebble could teach him control, trajectory, and force. Each minor success strengthened his connection to the mana, laying the foundation for more complex techniques later.
He also trained his mind alongside his body. Remembering the battles he had studied in Black Clover, he imagined the ways Star Magic could be used defensively, offensively, and strategically. Even in infancy, he practiced visualizing attacks, defenses, and combinations in his head, rehearsing movements he could not yet physically perform.
Though his grimoire had not yet been obtained, its promise lingered at the edges of his consciousness. The purple four-leaf clover glimmered faintly in his mind's eye, a beacon of the abilities and knowledge that would one day be his. He could almost feel the synergy between it and his innate Star Magic, the amplification that would transform fragile, infantile bursts into controlled, devastating spells.
Time stretched strangely. Days blended into weeks. Each nap, each feeding, each small movement became part of his regimen. Even a moment of play could be transformed into subtle training—tapping fingers in rhythm with mana flow, watching shadows shift as he manipulated the air around them, feeling the invisible currents of energy beneath the floorboards.
He could sense early instincts developing. The ability to pull small lights closer, to repel them, to form crude shapes. Tiny sparks of Celestia Barrage and Nebula Veil manifested as fleeting, impermanent flashes. They were not powerful, not refined, but they were his first steps. The thrill of creation and control coursed through him with each success.
Above all, patience guided him. Unlike his previous life, where moments had slipped through his fingers, this time he had eternity. His adult mind, combined with the infant body, allowed him to think long-term, to plan decades of growth, and to accept slow, deliberate progression as part of mastery.
Even in solitude, the whispers of the system reminded him that every small step mattered. Stabilize your mana. Extend your reach. Sense the stars within you. He obeyed instinctively, shaping, stretching, and refining, little by little, until he could hold a single orb of light steadily for several seconds.
It was not much to the world, but it was everything to him. His journey had begun. A child in body, a master in mind, and a prodigy in the making, he trained tirelessly, preparing for the day he could finally claim the grimoire and awaken the full potential of his Star Magic. Every flicker of light, every pulse of mana, every small success was a step toward the greatness he had already seen in his past life and planned to surpass in this one.