Trafalgar sat motionless on the floor, legs crossed, hands resting gently over his chest. The room was silent—completely, almost unnaturally still. Not even the wind whispered through the stone walls. It was as if the world was holding its breath with him.
He drew in a slow, steady inhale.
And felt it.
Mana.
It entered with the air, flowing through his nostrils like invisible smoke, coiling gently down his throat. But unlike air, it didn't simply fade—it lingered. Spread. Merged with him.
At first, it tickled—like a breeze brushing the skin from the inside out.
Then it deepened.
Trafalgar could feel it sinking into his muscles, wrapping around the fibers like silk threads winding into his flesh. It seeped through the soft tissue of his arms, curled through the nerves in his spine, and glided along his bones like a river following an ancient path.
And then—he felt it in his veins.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
Mana surged into his bloodstream like warm liquid light, flowing with each beat of his heart. It didn't burn. It didn't push. It belonged. As if it had always been there, just waiting for permission to move.
'I never imagined this…' he thought, eyes still closed, lips parted in quiet awe. 'It's like the world is alive.'
He focused that feeling inward, directing the gentle current toward his chest—his core, the place where everything would begin.
He knew this moment was fragile. The mana had to gather, coil, and fold inward in perfect balance. If he lost focus even once, it would all unravel.
But he wasn't afraid.
He was finally walking a path he had only ever watched from the shadows. A path that, for the first time, was open.
And he was ready to take it.
As mana curled deeper into his body, Trafalgar remained still—utterly focused.
Each breath he took pulled the energy closer, more willingly now, as if the ambient mana recognized his will. It moved with increasing clarity, flowing like soft threads of heat through his bones and blood, converging toward the center of his chest.
But his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried to silence them, wandered.
Backwards.
To the days when none of this was possible.
He saw himself at eleven, barefoot in the courtyard, swinging a wooden sword long after the others had gone to dinner. His palms were split and bleeding, his grip loose and shaky. He had kept going anyway.
Then again at thirteen, running uphill in the storm, his legs burning with lactic acid, his lungs screaming. No one had told him to. No one had watched. He had done it because it was the only thing he could do.
At fifteen, he'd collapsed during a family sparring match. He remembered the sound of laughter, boots walking away on wet stone… and the silence that followed. The silence of knowing you were less than nothing.
'All those years… all that pain… for nothing,' he thought, but not with bitterness. With quiet, measured reflection. 'Back then, I couldn't even feel mana. I trained in a body that was broken from the start. And still, I never stopped.'
His lips twitched slightly.
'I didn't survive to be strong. I trained because I refused to disappear.'
The memories didn't weigh him down.
They lifted him.
Because now, with each breath, the mana entered more easily. The air around him shimmered faintly, almost imperceptibly, like heat rising from summer stone. His body, once deaf to the world's energy, was listening. Accepting.
Preparing.
He shifted slightly, adjusting his posture as the flow of mana grew denser, spiraling tighter with each passing second.
Two hours.
Something was changing.
Trafalgar could feel it—deep within.
The mana had stopped simply moving through him. It had started to gather.
Like water drawn into a whirlpool, the ambient energy he'd been inhaling was now spinning slowly at the center of his chest. It wasn't visible, but he could feel the spiral: dense, compact, and fragile.
It pulsed with each beat of his heart.
He focused all of himself on it—on keeping the rhythm, on maintaining the form, on not letting it slip.
It was like trying to hold a puddle together with trembling hands.
Too loose, and it would scatter.
Too tight, and it would collapse.
Sweat beaded on his brow, then slid down his temple. His breathing grew heavier, shallower. Not from panic—but from sheer, grinding effort.
His legs ached from sitting too long, his back screamed for release, but he didn't dare move.
His hands stayed pressed against his chest, as if anchoring the energy physically would help. Every muscle in his body was tense, trembling—not from fear, but from the strain of balancing something invisible and wild inside a container still forming.
'Hold it steady… hold it together…'
A single slip, a single stray thought, and the spiral would break apart.
His vision flickered.
He gritted his teeth and leaned forward slightly, sweat dripping off his nose and onto the floor.
The mana pressed harder now, swirling like a newborn star—beautiful, dangerous, alive.
It was working.
It was really happening.
But only if he didn't falter.
'Just a little longer…'
The spiral wavered.
A subtle tremor ran through it—barely a shift, but Trafalgar felt it instantly. Like a glass of water just before it spills, the energy pulsed unevenly.
Then it slipped.
The delicate thread of mana unraveled, strands breaking apart like mist in the wind.
His breath caught.
"No—!" he gasped aloud, but it was too late. The swirl collapsed, and the mana, once so close to becoming something real, scattered uselessly into the air.
Silence.
Trafalgar sat frozen, chest rising and falling in ragged waves. Sweat clung to his skin, and his body trembled—not from exhaustion, but from something worse.
Frustration.
It wasn't rage. It wasn't fear.
It was helplessness.
He gritted his teeth, gripping his knees tightly, fingers curled into fists. Every part of him was tense, every muscle ready to scream. He had done everything right—his breathing, his control, his focus—and still, it slipped away.
Like trying to catch smoke with bare hands.
His shoulders slumped slightly as a harsh breath escaped him. The pressure on his chest was gone—but so was the mana. The silence around him felt heavier now, like the room itself was watching. Waiting.
Waiting to see if he'd give up.
He closed his eyes and forced his breathing to steady. Slowly, methodically. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Again.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Again and again.
And then, beneath the shaking, beneath the silence, something sparked—not magic, but resolve.
A whisper, quiet and certain, barely more than a breath.
"Not this time."
He sat there for several long seconds, hands resting gently on his knees, eyes closed. The burn in his lungs faded. The shaking in his limbs softened. The silence remained—but this time, it wasn't heavy.
It was calm.
His heart slowed to a steady rhythm, beating not with panic, but with intent. He didn't chase the mana now. He invited it.
And it returned.
The first tendrils of energy reappeared like morning fog curling across a still lake. Slower this time, quieter, but clearer—more willing to listen. He inhaled again, deeper now, and the mana responded. It entered him not as a storm, but as a tide.
It flowed through his arms and spine, down his back, up into his chest—not with force, but with purpose.
Trafalgar remained perfectly still.
He wasn't trying to control it anymore. He was guiding it.
Like breath.
Like heartbeat.
The energy moved inward, folding again into that same spiral at the center of his chest—but this time, it didn't waver. It rotated slowly, steadily, forming a soft pulse of warmth deep within him.
He could feel it—gathering, tightening, condensing with every breath.
The air in the room shifted.
The mana thickened around his skin, brushing like a breeze charged with static. A faint shimmer of light outlined his body—soft and flickering, as if the world itself were holding its breath once more.
'I'm doing it…' he thought, still motionless. 'I'm really doing it…'
It had taken two hours of silence and years of pain, but for the first time, the mana wasn't slipping away.
The spiral deep within his chest tightened.
Trafalgar's breathing slowed to a near-stillness as the mana began to compress—not violently, but with quiet certainty, like gravity pulling all things inward. He could feel the energy folding into itself, layer by layer, like silk coiling around a star.
It wasn't just spinning anymore.
His fingers curled slightly, his jaw clenched in anticipation. Every breath fed the forming core, every heartbeat sealed it further. It was no longer something separate from him—it was him. A reflection of his soul, forged from raw will and borrowed strength.
The air pulsed once.
Then again.
A final inhale—one last, deliberate breath—and it happened.
The mana at the center of his being collapsed inward, folding into a perfect sphere of energy no larger than a marble. And in that instant, it locked into place.
His chest burned—not with pain, but with radiance.
The room shuddered softly. The shimmer of light surrounding his body flared, then snapped inward and vanished.
Trafalgar's eyes flew open, wide with disbelief.
He felt it.
Alive.
Warm.
Permanent.
The mana core pulsed faintly inside him, like a second heart beating beneath his ribs. Energy flowed through his limbs in gentle waves, natural and steady, like blood finally allowed to circulate freely after a lifetime of suffocation.
He gasped, staggered to his feet—
—and laughed.
Loud, unrestrained, breathless laughter echoed off the stone walls. Tears sprang to his eyes as he tilted his head back and shouted to no one:
"YES!!"
He spun once, nearly stumbling, arms stretched wide.
He couldn't stop smiling. Couldn't stop breathing. Couldn't stop feeling.
After everything—after all the silence, the pain, the failure—he had done it.
He raised both fists into the air and screamed at the top of his lungs:
"IT'S REAL!!! FOR THE FIRST TIME IN BOTH LIVES I HAVE A CORE—YES! FINALLY! EVEN IF IT'S JUST NOVUS—IT'S MINE!!!"