After breakfast, I moved to the workspace I'd set up in the back room. A clean table, an organized shelf of pigments and inks, and six new blank canvases sat inside a silver case Pegasus had sent earlier that morning.
Each canvas gave off a faint pulse of magic. They weren't ordinary; they felt alive, waiting for something. I carefully unwrapped one and placed it on the table. From my deck box, I pulled out one of the most iconic spells ever made: Raigeki.
I placed it beside the canvas. Its power hummed like a dormant storm.
I took a deep breath, dipped my brush into red pigment, and began to paint.
Each line required focus. I wasn't just copying an image; I was channeling energy, aligning intention with form. Halfway through, I felt the current of magic begin to warp. My brush faltered. A misaligned stroke caused the spell's energy to spiral uncontrollably. The canvas blackened. The spell collapsed.
Failure.
But I didn't stop.
I grabbed a second canvas, steadied my breathing, and tried again, this time with less pressure and more instinct. I let the spirit of the card speak through me. When I completed the final mark, the canvas shimmered faintly, then pulsed. The energy within it felt aligned, whole.
I had created Raigeki.
But... something felt off.
It worked. The card was right. But it lacked a certain depth, a presence. It possessed the framework, yet it lacked the essence.
That's when I remembered something.
An alternate artwork.
Raigeki was surrounded by the coiling form of Slifer the Sky Dragon, and his divine presence was laced into the spell. This serves as a clue to its true origin.
Was Raigeki a shard of Slifer's judgment?
I reached into a locked drawer and pulled out a vial of special red pigment, which was infused with blood; I added some of my own blood along with some of my energy. Dangerous. Rare. But fitting.
I only had enough for one more attempt.
I laid out a third canvas and began again. This time, I painted not just from memory but from emotion. Awe. Fear. Reverence. As I slipped into a trance, my breath slowed. The world quieted.
Then—
BOOM.
A thunderous roar shattered the silence.
Wind burst through the windows. The lights flickered violently.
I turned to look out into the sky; clouds churned, forming a vortex directly above the house.
Through it, a colossal form descended.
Slifer.
His twin mouths opened wide, energy gathering between them.
With a roar that rattled the walls, a blinding beam of crimson lightning and golden divine fire surged downward. It struck the roof, lanced through the house, and hit the canvas squarely. The card exploded with light. My body lifted slightly off the floor, energy coursing through my veins.
Then silence.
The storm vanished.
The lights steadied.
On the floor lay a single card glowing softly.
I picked it up. My magic didn't just return it; it sharpened it. Refined. I was changed.
Slifer had tested me.
With a clear mind and a heart still humming from divine energy, I pulled out a fresh canvas. It was time to make something of my own. After sitting down for a minute and clearing my mind, I began painting the outline for the first and one of the most important cards in the Runick series: the field spell Runick Fountain. After an hour, I finished the first copy, and then it took 45 minutes to complete the second copy. I used all my canvases and had to wait until Monday to acquire more. I went to bed for the night.
1 month later
After a month of working on creating all the Runick cards, receiving assistance from Pegasus in their development, and demonstrating my progress on existing cards to him, he mentioned that I was nearing the skill level of some of his junior card makers. He also said that if I maintained my current progress and developed my own style of card creation, I could reach his level within the next ten years.
That wasn't the only thing I had been doing over the past month. I also got a few more duels in at the Duel Arenas and found the remaining cards I needed to complete my third deck, which included the Runick cards.
As I was getting ready for the day, I heard a car pull up in front of the house. Walking into the living room, I saw that my dad had finally come home.
"Man, it's wonderful to be home," he said, smiling as he approached me.
"Glad you're back, Dad," I replied, giving him a half-hug.
After we had breakfast and helped him unpack, I asked, "How was the joint training?"
"It went pretty well. We made solid progress with the new recruits, and I got to see some of my old squadmates from when I first joined the Navy," he said with a small smile.
"Oh, before I forget, one of my men asked me to give this card to you when I told him you were heading to Duel Academy," he said, handing me an envelope with a card inside.
Subsequently, we embarked on several home repair projects that he had meticulously planned prior to his deployment. We fixed a cabinet door that had been off its hinge for weeks, replaced two cracked tiles in the kitchen, and even cleaned out the garage, which had become more storage space than functional room. It was tiring but weirdly satisfying. There was something grounding about using your hands for something non-magical—just physical, straightforward work.
The next morning, we drove out to the forest. The air was crisp and carried the scent of pine and freshwater. We hiked along a trail that wound up through the hills, passing under tall trees and over rocky streams. Eventually, we reached a small clearing by a lake, the same spot we used to visit years ago.
We cast our fishing lines into the water and spent several hours engaged in conversation about a variety of topics. At times, we sat in comfortable silence, a reflection of our familiarity with one another. By the end of the day, we had filled a cooler with fresh fish and acquired sunburns on our faces. At times, we sat in silence, similar to how comfortable people interact with each other. By the end of the day, we had a cooler full of fresh fish and sunburns on our faces.
Back home, as the sun dipped below the trees, Dad began cleaning and descaling the fish on the back porch. The smell of herbs and lemon peel from the kitchen already hinted at dinner.
"Hey, Dad, do you mind if I go and invite Mr. Moto over for dinner?" I asked.
"Sure," he said with a smile, not looking up from his work. "He did help keep an eye on you while I was gone. I bet he'd enjoy some company."
"I'll be back in a few minutes," I said, grabbing my jacket and heading toward the game shop.
The streets were quiet at this hour. Golden-orange light bathed the sidewalks, and the air carried a lingering warmth from the day. It felt surreal how calm everything was.
When I reached the game shop, I found Mr. Moto sweeping the front step.
"Evening!" he called out cheerfully when he saw me.
"Hey, Gramps," I said. "We caught a lot of fish today, and my dad and I wondered if you'd like to join us for dinner."
His eyes lit up. "That sounds wonderful. I haven't had fresh-caught fish in ages," he said with a wide smile walking into the shop, he puts the broom away in a closet under the stairs befor walking into his kitchen, packing some ice cream in a small freezer bag and said in a up beat voice " lets go im brining dessert"
We walked back together, the stars just starting to appear overhead.
Getting back to the house dad had the fish already on the grill and was working on a side salad to go with the fish and gramps handed me the ice cream and i put it in the freezer and for the rest of the night after dinner, we all played a few games of duel monsters and other games before my dad walked mister moto back home while i clean the dishes and got ready for bed so i can get to the practical exam tomorrow.