Federation Year 7,450 – December 1st, Wednesday
Ashborn Core Estate, Planet Pangia
A single day had passed since the heir to House Ashborn had entered the world. The storm from the night of his birth had passed, leaving behind clear skies, soft sunlight, and the scent of rain still clinging to the mountaintop wind.
Inside the Ashborn estate, the world was quiet.
Peaceful.
And in a beautifully adorned crib, nestled in fine silk and carved hardwood, a child stirred.
Anthony Ashborn opened his eyes.
His body was still tiny—barely strong enough to lift his arms without strain—but his mind, sharpened by a lifetime of scientific rigor and war-forged resolve, was already firing on all cylinders.
"Ah… finally. Morning."
That's what he meant to say.
What actually came out of his mouth?
"Ahh… mmm-gahh… muh -nin!"
He froze.
Right.
He was still a baby.
One day old, to be exact.
The realization hit him like a forgotten notification popping up on an old holo-screen.
"Gods. I'm really one day old. And I still can't talk. This is going to be a long crawl to functionality."
Anthony sighed internally.
This whole reincarnation thing was still difficult to fully grasp—even for him, and he was the one who requested it. The Hall of Countless Doors, the Administrator, the surreal birth, the luxury crib—everything felt like a fever dream.
And for someone who used to be a die-hard science purist—who scoffed at anything remotely mystical—this was a lot to accept.
"And yet… here I am. Magic or not, this is real. No denying it."
He moved his arms slowly, wincing at how limited his control was. His body was untrained, muscles undeveloped. He couldn't even roll over without flailing like a turtle on its back.
As he lay there contemplating how long it would take to walk again, a chime echoed softly in the room.
A musical ping—sharp, high-pitched, and out of place in the quiet nursery.
Anthony froze.
His head turned slowly, scanning for the source. He looked at the grand bedroom—his mother still lay sleeping on the large bed nearby. No maids were present. No nurses. No machines.
"Then where did that sound come from?"
Then he felt something.
A pulse.
Right above him.
He looked up—and saw it.
A swirling sphere of pure white light forming directly over his crib, no larger than a basketball, made up of sparkling particles like snowflakes suspended in moonlight. It shimmered. It pulsed.
It felt… alive.
"What in the hell—"
"Waa-dah… behhh?"
His voice betrayed him again.
Then the light twisted, condensed, and flattened into a smooth rectangle—a floating interface.
A holographic screen.
Golden script flashed across it in elegant, shifting letters.
[Initiating Genesis Technology System…]
[New User Detected]
[Scanning Host Molecular Signature…]
[Scan in Progress: 1%… 10%… 40%… 80%… 99%… 100%]
[Molecular Scan Complete]
[Synchronizing Core with Host Neural Pathways…]
[Synchronization Complete]
[Establishing Contract…]
[Contract Successful]
Anthony just stared, wide-eyed.
"What the hell is this? A system? A literal personal interface?"
Anthony's eyes narrowed—well, they tried to. Facial expression control wasn't exactly optimized yet.
But his mind? Sharp as ever.
"Wait a minute."
The logic kicked in like muscle memory.
"I never actually asked for a system."
He paused, running the memory loop through his still-developing neural net. The Hall of Countless Doors… the Administrator… his wish…
"I asked for technological supremacy in whatever universe I reincarnated into. And I asked for a hybrid universe—where both advanced tech and mystical systems coexisted."
That part was clear.
But he distinctly remembered leaving the how up to fate.
"I never said: give me a video game system with RPG-like stats and missions."
And yet—here it was.
Hovering above him in brilliant golden text, emitting a soft pulse of warmth and energy that felt too clean to be random.
"So… is this the system's way of laying the groundwork? An auto-trigger? A seed of potential placed into my soul or genome at rebirth?"
He frowned. Or, again, tried to.
He tapped his still-chubby chin with an uncoordinated little hand. It looked more like he smacked himself in the face—but the intent was there.
"Genesis Technology System," he muttered mentally, repeating the name. "'Genesis' means origin… or creation. And if it's fused with 'technology,' maybe it's not just a power boost interface. Maybe it's a whole protocol—meant to evolve with me. Maybe it builds the tech I imagine. A literal creation engine."
He shook his tiny head.
"I don't know yet."
He turned his attention back to the hovering screen. The glowing letters still flickered softly, and just as he began forming a question in his mind…
[Welcome, User: Anthony Ashborn]
[Detected Host Age: ~1 Day Old]
[Based on host's current mental activity, system has opted to activate baseline functions early.]
[System is overriding passive state to begin foundational development.]
Anthony's eyes widened.
"Wait, what do you mean activate early—?"
Before he could complete the thought, a series of glowing text prompts began cascading down the screen.
[Forcibly Opening Mission Subsystem…]
[Override: Successful]
[Issuing First Missions…]
[Mission: Grip of Destiny I]
Objective: Successfully close your hand into a full fist two times.
Reward: +1 Strength, unlock ability: Micro Muscle Control (Level 1)
[Mission: Stare into the Void I]
Objective: Focus your vision on a single object for 5 seconds.
Reward: +1 Visual Acuity, unlock ability: Optical Calibration Mode (Basic)
Anthony blinked.
"You've got to be kidding me."
This was baby boot camp.
The system literally wanted him to squeeze his hand and stare at stuff.
"I'm in a galactic-level house, reborn into a semi-feudal interstellar society, and the first thing I have to do… is clench my fist like I'm trying to grab an imaginary rattle?"
He wanted to groan. Couldn't. His body squeaked out a confused coo instead.
Still, he understood the genius behind it.
"Start from the ground up. Strengthen the body early. Improve core development while sneaking in skill acquisition. It's training disguised as baby play."
He couldn't argue with that.
"Alright, Genesis. Let's do this."
He slowly raised his right arm. It wobbled like jelly, and he nearly smacked himself in the face again. But he got it under control.
He focused.
Tiny muscles fired in sequence. He curled his fingers.
The effort was absurdly difficult—his tendons were underdeveloped, coordination was trash, and his grip strength was basically zero.
Still… he did it.
One full fist.
The system chimed.
[Progress: 1/2 Grips Completed]
He grunted softly.
"One more."
Left hand this time.
He flexed. Twitched. Missed. Tried again.
And on the third attempt—clench.
[Mission Complete: Grip of Destiny I]
[+1 Strength]
[Unlocked: Micro Muscle Control (Lv.1)]
Immediately, he felt it.
A subtle click within his nerves. As if a dimmer switch on his coordination had been turned up ever so slightly. His arms still sucked—but now, he could feel where his muscles were. He had control.
Primitive. But real.
"This… this is a snowball. It starts tiny, but once it rolls downhill—"
He turned his eyes to the crib's side rail.
A carved pattern of runes and wood grain. A perfect fixed point.
"Alright. Stare into the void, huh?"
He locked his gaze.
His baby eyes drifted. Struggled. But he willed them back. Focused. Harder.
One second…
Two…
Three…
A flash of pain hit behind his eyes.
"Ignore it. Focus."
Four…
. Five.
[Mission Complete: Stare into the Void I]
[+1 Visual Acuity]
[Unlocked: Optical Calibration Mode (Basic)]
Again, a change.
His eyes felt cooler. Cleaner.
Details popped more sharply.
The grain of the wood. The flicker of dust motes in the sunbeam. Even a soft aura of light around the hovering system screen itself