My life settled into a rhythm: early morning torture—uh, I mean physical training with Rias—then school, then club activities, then finally collapsing at home.
Rinse and repeat.
And just like that, a whole month slipped by.
Now, if you're expecting some kind of dramatic development—plot twists, ambushes, mysterious powers awakening—sorry to disappoint.
Nothing happened.
Yes. Really. Nothing. At. All.
If I were the protagonist of some anime, I wouldn't be allowed a whole month of "filler arc" with absolutely zero events.
Even slice-of-life guys get festivals, beach trips, or at least a cultural festival to pretend they're doing something.
Me? Just sweat, school, and sleep.
At this point, I don't even know what genre I'm living in anymore.
Slice of life? Fantasy? Action? …No, definitely supernatural.
But supernatural is supposed to be exciting, right?
Somebody please inform my life of this.
Still, it's not all bleak.
My relationship with the girls has been improving lately.
Koneko actually talks to me more, Asia's smile shines brighter whenever I show up, and Rias—well, she still drags me into training, but at least she pats my head like I'm a good dog when I collapse like a corpse.
Progress, I guess.
Then there's Akeno.
I'm basically in a cold war with her.
Sometimes she smiles at me and I swear my soul freezes.
Out of sheer survival instinct, I complain to her about everything—down to the tiniest speck of dust.
Even imaginary dust.
If she's secretly a yandere, maybe this strategy will at least make her annoyed enough not to love me to death. Literally.
And let's not forget: I'm keeping my guard up around that blond playboy.
If hentai manga has taught me anything, it's this—never trust blond guys.
They're either playboys, villains, or both. Usually both.
On a brighter note, my website's been blowing up.
All those novels I published before?
Selling like hotcakes. Money, baby!
But of course, where there's internet, there's trolls.
Enter Levia-tan.
This guy isn't just your average hate-commenter.
No, no. He's on a whole new level of dedication.
He doesn't just leave a comment.
He spams the same post with hundreds.
I'll upload a chapter, and boom—suddenly there are over a hundred hate comments.
From him alone.
And the scary part?
They're all different.
Not copy-paste.
Not bot spam.
Each insult is handcrafted, like some deranged artisan of hatred.
Do you have any idea how much effort it takes to come up with a hundred unique ways to say "your novel sucks" on the same page?
I didn't—until this guy showed me.
I'd almost applaud his creativity if it wasn't directed at me.
I'm convinced he's a fat shut-in NEET who eats nothing but convenience store fried chicken, surrounded by magical girl figurines.
His username—Levia-tan—screams "hardcore magical girl fan," and to top it off, his profile picture is, of course, a super cute magical girl.
The sheer audacity.
I swear, one day I'll track him down.
But for now? Block and move on.
Not that blocking helps.
I've already blocked him ten times.
TEN.
He just keeps making new accounts to flood me again with another hundred unique hate comments.
At this point, I'm not even mad anymore.
I'm scared.
Well, whatever.
The guy still buys all my novels, so… maybe he's a tsundere?
…Okay, fine, he's not a tsundere.
More like he's carefully studying every line just so he can invent new ways to roast me.
Sigh. What did I even do to deserve this?
I'm just a poor writer who happens to enjoy stories where magical girls die tragically or get emotionally (sometimes literally) tortured.
That's it. That's all. Totally normal hobby.
Anyway… silver lining?
My investments are looking solid.
All those shares I snatched up in tiny little startups are now climbing steadily, and I know for a fact they'll soon blow up into global giants—platforms like Reddit, Netflix, Discord, Amazon, and more.
It'll take another three to four years, but when the dust settles, I'll be standing at the top, one of the richest people in the world.
…So yeah.
For now, I endure the hate comments.
But soon? I'll be able to wipe my tears with hundred-dollar bills while sipping imported juice boxes.
Now, onto my training regime.
Not many words are needed.
It's hell. Pure, unfiltered hell.
Rias isn't a president, she isn't a mentor—she's a drill sergeant from the ninth circle of boot camp!
If not for Asia healing me every morning, I'd be crawling into school like a zombie—or more realistically, not making it to school at all.
And then, last week… she said something that almost made me lose it.
Apparently, I'm "not talented body-wise."
What does that even mean!?
According to her, my instincts are slow, my reflexes are clumsy, my movements lack fluidity—in short, if I ever end up in a real fight, I'd be worse than a dead weight.
Worse than useless.
Oh, and bonus newsflash: humans can't get as strong as devils anyway, so there's a hard limit to how high my "base stats" can rise.
Thanks for the motivational speech, coach.
Sure, my P.E. grades have gone up—from barely passing to the stunning rank of average.
…But come on!
It's been a whole month already!
Shouldn't I be ripped by now?
A secret genius fighter?
At least a little more badass?
I mean, sure—it's only been a month, so it's actually amazing how far I've come already, no need to shove reality in my face but... but... But!
This is a fantasy world!
Shouldn't just a little training unlock some hidden power?
Anime law clearly states that after a few sweaty montages, I should be blowing up mountains by accident or discovering my dormant god-slayer bloodline!
Instead, I'm just… average.
With sore muscles.
I don't need this reality check, dammit!
Sigh. This still isn't that bad.
I didn't expect to be good physically anyway.
My body and I have an understanding: I push it, it complains, we both suffer, end of story.
But the real problem?
That happened last week.
Rias, in her infinite kindness, brought me a magic book specifically for humans.
A guide. A chance.
I was over the moon.
Finally, something I was sure I'd shine at!
Magic! This was it—my golden ticket!
…Spoiler: the golden ticket was fake.
Yes, I do have magic.
But not to the point where you'd call me amazing.
In fact… It's lower than the average normal human.
Again with the reality checks! Why do I keep failing the universe's exams!?
If I had zero magic, that would've been fine.
Zero is at least special.
With zero, I could say, "I'll master anti-magic!" or "I'm unique because I have none at all!"
But no.
I don't get cool-zero.
I get… less-than-basic edition.
The kind of stats that don't even get mentioned on the wiki page.
Still, I wasn't ready to give up.
Lots of characters start with low magic and grow strong by sheer skill, right?
So I trained.
I practiced.
I poured every ounce of focus into it.
I spend my whole week on casting just a simple candle size small flame.
And the result?
Not even a spark.
Not even a flicker of light.
I made… a warm spot.
That's it.
The size of where the spark was supposed to be—except instead of a spark, it's just lukewarm air.
Imagine expecting fireworks and getting… slightly heated breath.
Behold, my ultimate spell: "Warmth, but Invisible."
Even that warm spot was so tiny, it would've gone cold the very next second.
…
I want a restart. A fresh reincarnation. A whole new life!!!
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Patreon link: patreon.com/zevionasgorath