Time stretched like molten gold, each day blending into the next, yet filled with countless tiny victories. Though his body was that of a baby, his mind carried all the knowledge of a lifetime. Every flicker of movement, every fluttering of his tiny hands, was guided by a mind that remembered Earth, remembered Rob, remembered the Black Clover world he would one day step fully into.
He had discovered that even without a grimoire, he could manipulate the faint pulses of mana surrounding him. At first, they had been simple sparks, hovering like fireflies above his fingers. But as weeks passed, he learned to move them, shape them, and combine them. Two small orbs merged into one, spinning slowly, wobbling slightly as they obeyed the commands of a mind far beyond his infant body.
The system whispered faintly, invisible yet persistent: Combine energy. Experiment with shape and trajectory. Observe the effect. He obeyed instinctively, feeling the first hints of Reversal Red—a pulse that reversed its direction at his command—and Hololow Purple, a fragile, shimmering orb that bent light around it, making it nearly invisible. Small successes, but each a step toward mastery.
Movement became part of training. Crawling, rolling, and even flailing his tiny arms and legs, he infused bursts of Star Magic into his muscles. Tiny orbs followed his motions, orbiting around his limbs, spinning in perfect—or imperfect—sync. Each flail taught him coordination, each tumble tested precision. Even when exhausted, the mind that remembered adulthood meticulously noted patterns, mistakes, and adjustments for the next attempt.
He began experimenting with multiple orbs at once. Three would hover around him, independent but connected, forming rudimentary patterns. Four or five orbs danced in arcs, orbiting each other, colliding harmlessly but obeying his thoughts. These exercises were logged silently by the system: Multi-object control achieved. Potential for Celestia Barrage unlocked.
He noticed subtle environmental interactions. A leaf falling from a nearby tree would drift differently as his orbs passed near it. Sunlight glinted through the orbs, refracting into faint colors he could manipulate intentionally. Even the tiniest movements of air altered trajectories. These observations became lessons: All magic interacts with ambient mana. Use the environment.
His first defensive trial came instinctively. A small wisp of energy, unstable and flickering, formed a thin shield as a shadow fell near him—a test of reaction. The orb held for a mere second, but it was the beginning of understanding: defense was as much about timing and precision as power.
Curiosity drove experimentation with combining colors and types of energy. Purple orbs spun with red and blue, forming faint prisms that lasted a few seconds. They flickered unpredictably, but he felt the beginnings of multi-element synergy, the embryonic forms of abilities he would later refine into signature attacks.
The system nudged him gently: Small successes build confidence. Attempt controlled bursts. Observe patterns. Increase complexity gradually. He obeyed, never pushing too far, never exhausting his infantile body. Every success, every failed attempt, every flicker of light was a lesson.
Even his senses became tools. He learned to "feel" ambient mana currents, subtle waves caused by the wind or living creatures nearby. By aligning his orbs with these currents, he could maintain their stability longer, extend their lifespan, and even subtly adjust their paths mid-flight. Each experiment revealed new nuances of his Star Magic and Elf-like mana.
One night, as the moonlight streamed in, he achieved a small but significant milestone. Four orbs hovered around him, spinning independently, yet forming arcs and patterns he intended. They collided, merged, split, and moved in perfect synchrony for several seconds. A feeling of exhilaration surged through him—control, stability, precision. The system noted quietly: Multi-orb control mastered. Basic formation patterns ready for advanced training.
He began envisioning the future in detail. Even in infancy, he imagined the attacks he would one day wield: Celestia Barrage raining multiple orbs in arcs, Nebula Veil forming shields of light, Ecliptic Null reversing trajectories instantly. Each vision guided his training, even when his body could not yet perform the full motion.
Though the world saw him as a helpless baby, his mind mapped strategies, rehearsed sequences, and explored combinations far beyond the comprehension of any ordinary infant. Every flicker of Star Magic was both practice and promise: a declaration that this child would one day rise above heroes, legends, and even destiny itself.
The days were long, the nights filled with quiet reflection and experimentation. Tiny victories accumulated into mastery, small orbs became controlled, trajectories refined, defensive measures practiced, and early offensive techniques visualized and rehearsed. Each pulse of magic, each flicker of light, each subtle reaction from the environment was a building block toward power.
And so, day after day, week after week, he trained. A baby in body, but an adult in mind, with Elf-like mana, Star Magic, and the system whispering guidance, he steadily moved closer to the day he could finally obtain the purple four-leaf clover grimoire. A day when all the experiments, all the small victories, all the lessons from infancy would coalesce into the true potential Rob had granted him.
He would rise. Slowly, carefully, deliberately. And the world would know his name as a star beyond stars.