The 5x gravity field was a familiar, brutal embrace. After the magicule pressure of Veldora's cave, this pure, physical force was almost comforting in its simplicity. It strained his muscles, compressed his bones, and made every breath a conscious effort. Astra lay in his crib, the groaning metal a symphony of progress only he could hear. This was his secret world, his personal crucible hidden beneath a facade of weakness.
His days fell into a new, more complex rhythm, a dance of shadows and calculated revelations.
The Ghost: He maintained his carefully constructed persona. When warriors or technicians passed by, his Power Level reading remained a suppressed 20. He was quiet, observant, almost frail. But when a problem arose—a sputtering engine on a landing ship, a flickering force field in the training hall, a misaligned targeting computer—the Ghost would whisper. A single, telepathic sentence, pinpointing the issue with unnerving accuracy. "The flux capacitor is overheating. Bypass the secondary relay." "The energy shield's frequency is destabilizing. Recalibrate to 4.7 gigahertz."
His reputation grew, but it was a specialized one. He was not seen as a future warrior, but as a curious anomaly, a living diagnostic tool. This granted him a strange, passive immunity. He was beneath the notice of the elite, yet too valuable for the low-class warriors to bully. They began leaving "offerings" by his crib—not out of affection, but a superstitious sense of transaction. Broken bits of technology, damaged scanner pads, even a discarded energy blade with a fractured crystal. Gifts for the Ghost who fixed their gear.
The Machine: At night, under the cloak of the rest cycle and the hum of his gravity field, Astra worked. His crib was no longer a sleeping place; it was a workshop and a training ground. The broken tech left for him became his raw materials. He used [Stellar Forge] not just to repair, but to experiment.
He disassembled a broken scouter with his mind, analyzing its circuitry with [Stellar Forge]. He understood its function—to read power levels and transmit data. Could he improve it? He focused, pouring mana into the Forge. He didn't just fix the broken screen; he refined the energy sensor, increasing its range and accuracy. He miniaturized components, making it more efficient. The result was a scouter that was slightly better than the standard issue, a prototype he hid away. He wasn't just a user of technology; he was becoming a creator.
But his main project remained the gravity regulator. Five times gravity was a good start, but it was not enough. Not nearly. He needed to push his body further, faster. The Zenkai boosts from his nightly workouts in the heavy gravity were steady, but they were incremental. His Power Level climbed from 89 to 105 over two weeks, a fantastic growth by normal standards, but a crawl when measured against the apocalypse hurtling towards them.
He needed to upgrade the regulator. He needed more mass, more complex materials, a better power source. The discarded junk left by the warriors was not enough.
It was time for the Ghost to make a specific request.
A mid-class warrior named Darga, whose personal fighter Astra had saved from a catastrophic engine failure, was making his weekly offering—a cracked chestplate. As Darga turned to leave, Astra's voice, a thin thread of thought, stopped him.
"The regulator is insufficient."
Darga paused, looking back at the infant. "What regulator?"
"The gravity. For training. I need… materials. A Type-3 power cell. Duranium alloy. A focusing crystal from a broken beam cannon."
Darga stared, his brow furrowed. The request was bizarre. Why would a baby, a weak one at that, need high-grade engineering materials? But the Ghost had never steered him wrong. The unspoken agreement was clear: you provide for the Ghost, the Ghost provides for you.
"Tch. Fine," Darga grunted. "We have scrap heaps full of that junk. I'll bring it."
The next day, Darga dropped a small, heavy sack by the crib. Inside was everything Astra had asked for, and more. It was a treasure trove.
That night, Astra began his greatest forging yet. He placed his hands on the gravity regulator and the new materials, activating [Stellar Forge] at its fullest capacity. His consciousness expanded, enveloping the device and the raw materials. He saw the molecular structure of the Duranium, the energy matrix of the power cell, the light-bending properties of the focusing crystal.
He began the painstaking process of deconstruction and reconstruction. He dissolved the old, inferior components of the regulator, using the Duranium to weave a new, more resilient chassis. He integrated the Type-3 power cell, creating a stable, high-output energy core. He used the focusing crystal to refine the gravity field, making it not just stronger, but more uniform, more intense.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, his mana pool draining at an alarming rate. The process was infinitely more complex than simple repair. This was true creation, pushing the [Stellar Forge] to its current limits.
Hours later, as his mana reserves dipped into the single digits, the process completed. The device was unrecognizable. It was smaller, sleeker, its surface etched with faint, glowing lines that pulsed with contained power. He triggered it.
The effect was instantaneous and violent.
WHUMP.
The sound was a physical blow. The metal of his crib shrieked, buckling under the phenomenal pressure. Astra was driven flat, his vision spotting. Every cell in his body screamed in protest. It felt like the magicule pressure of Veldora's cave, but condensed, focused, and purely physical.
[Ambient Gravity: 25x Standard.]
He had done it. He had created a gravity chamber the size of a crib. A 25x gravity field. It was a training tool that would make even Prince Vegeta's elite trainers take notice.
Gasping, he managed to deactivate it. The release of pressure was so sudden he felt like he might float away. He lay there, panting, a profound exhaustion washing over him. But beneath the exhaustion was a fierce, burning triumph.
He had taken the first step to creating his own path to power, independent of the System's missions. He was no longer just a passenger on a doomed planet. He was an architect, building his own ladder out of the abyss, one forged piece of technology at a time. The Ghost in the Nursery had just built himself an engine of godhood.