Book 1
Chapter 7: Room 404: The Aura of Overconfidence
The persistent whispers in Room404 had finally pushed KenHanzori past his considerable threshold for annoyance. No voice came from the walls—at least, not in the usual way. Instead, a nagging, intangible presence seemed to ooze from the very grime, echoing directly inside his head. It wasn't just a sound; it was a low, insistent vibration of magical disapproval that sank into his bones like an icy draft.
"Your credit score is tanking, Hanzori-dono!" a thought pricked at the edges of his consciousness.
"Late fees apply to your very existence!" another hissed from the corners of the damp room.
Ken's fists clenched until the knuckles gleamed white. His face was a mask of furious, pure anger. This was no ordinary annoyance; this was a cosmic insult to his infinite Mone, a slap to his very being.
"I will not tolerate this!" he declared, voice reverberating in the grimy room.
Narutama, wisely attempting to barricade his half of the shared space with a precarious stack of textbooks, sighed. He had learned the warning signs. That tone from Ken usually foreshadowed either property damage, minor natural disasters, or the sudden appearance of perfectly folded cash in random locations. He eyed the mold-dripping ceiling warily. "I'll start packing."
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The Golden Cascade of Confidence
Ken inhaled deeply, chest swelling with what he called righteous wrath but what his internal ATM recognized as a concentrated surge of "Aura of Overconfidence." His infinite Mone, ever eager to comply, shimmered in anticipation. The air began to vibrate, shifting from the sickly green of mildew to a vibrant, pulsing gold.
It started small, almost ethereal, then escalated into a blinding wave radiating outward from Ken. The whispers in the walls squealed in terror, abandoning their petty financial commentary.
Even the suspiciously plump rat that had served as Room 404's unofficial sage scampered out from under the cot, leaving behind a tiny puff of dust like a defeated accountant fleeing a board meeting.
The golden wave hit the walls with a sound like a thousand coins dropping onto crystal. It didn't just clean—it liquefied everything in its path. Plaster, ancient wood, rust stains, even the stubbornest patches of mold dissolved into molten gold, cascading to the floor in a glittering flood.
Room 404 itself groaned and creaked, as if the building were taking a deep, reluctant breath. Then, in a display of almost ceremonial relief, it collapsed inward in a controlled, golden implosion. Dust and gold particles hung in the air, briefly turning the hallway into a sparkling storm of Mone residue. When the light dimmed, the room was gone, replaced by a gaping crater edged with gold, humming softly with the weight of sudden, profound silence.
Narutama, miraculously untouched thanks to his textbook barricade, peered over the top with dry amusement.
"Well," he said, calm as ever, "at least it's clean now."
Ken, standing triumphantly in the center of the golden crater, shimmered like a walking treasure chest. "See? I just needed to focus my confidence! Mold never had a chance!"
He flexed, admiring his own glow, then paused as a wrinkle formed between his brows.
"Huh… I feel like I just had a very important thought. About something delicious… like frozen milk with bits… a specific flavor… but it's gone now."
He snapped his fingers frantically in the new silence. "Gone! Poof! Oh well. Probably wasn't important. Now, about finding a new room that isn't a literal hole in the ground."
The memory loss was comically tragic. It was the exact, nuanced flavor of his favorite Sky-Berry Swirl enchanted ice cream, which he had mentally cataloged to perfection—serving temperature, spoon size, and all. Now, it was just "frozen milk with bits," a minor but symbolic casualty in the life of a boy who otherwise had everything.
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The Janitor's Unwitting Enhancement
Just as Ken admired his accidental demolition, a grizzled janitor stopped by. OldManHiroshi's broom clattered against the shimmering hallway. He paused, chin in hand, gazing at the crater where Room 404 had been.
"Always knew that room was cursed," he muttered, scattering dried herbs along the edges of the golden pit. "Good for warding restless spirits. And rats. Pesky little accountants."
Unbeknownst to Hiroshi, the herbs were absorbing residual Mone energy from Ken's Aura of Overconfidence like tiny, enchanted sponges. Almost immediately, anyone passing by experienced hilarious side effects.
A stoic professor found his nose glowing faint green whenever he lectured.
A notorious liar suddenly couldn't fib; every attempt came out painfully truthful.
Three gossiping maids were compelled into spontaneous, synchronized dance routines.
The more people walked past, the more absurd the chaos. Meanwhile, Hiroshi continued sweeping, oblivious, his own scraggly beard sparkling faintly like a tiny galaxy.
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A Bureaucratic Mone-Penalty
Ken, still radiating confidence despite his memory lapse and dancing maids, marched to the main administration office, ready to deploy his Mone influence for a new room. He imagined instant compliance and perhaps a new wing named after him.
Instead, a wall of stone-faced administrators greeted him. Chief Accountant Kageyama stood at the front, glasses gleaming and posture rigid enough to chip marble.
"Hanzori-dono," she intoned dryly, "we have received reports of… unscheduled structural adjustments to Room 404." She gestured to a glowing ledger on her desk, numbers climbing incessantly.
"Property damage incurs a Mone-penalty, per Academy regulation 7B, subsection Gamma. Effective immediately."
Ken blinked. "Mone-penalty? I have infinite Mone! I'll pay! Make it a gold one, with little diamonds!" He waved his ATM card like a magic wand.
Kageyama's lips thinned imperceptibly.
"A Mone-penalty isn't a simple transfer of Quid, Hanzori-dono. It's a direct levy on your internal Mone flow, designed to redirect disruptive tendencies. For the integrity of this institution—and the sanity of its staff."
The ledger pulsed, displaying a new, even more astronomical figure. It glared up at Ken, daring him to argue.
"Cost to rebuild Room 404: approximately a small continent's annual energy output. Plus surcharges for demolition method and hazard pay for cleanup crew."
Ken's ATM card, still humming faintly, now displayed a subtle red icon:
[PROPERTY DAMAGE DEBIT: ACTIVE].
A shimmering, unavoidable tether from the Academy accounting system to his infinite Mone.
He tried arguing, charming, even manifesting distractions—nothing worked. The bureaucracy of Kokoro Mone Academy was a force as unyielding as his own fortune. It had found a way to tax the untaxable.
Defeated, with a nagging sensation that perhaps a particular ice cream flavor had perished forever, Ken was escorted back to the golden crater. It gleamed like a monument to his overconfidence.
He still didn't understand the nuance of Mone, or why rules mattered, or why people didn't appreciate spontaneous golden goldfish in soup. Slowly, though, he was learning that infinite power did not make him immune to regulations—or very, very expensive invoices.