The time passed like running water as the season of monsoon began to rinse the Earth with its endless downpour. It had been more than two months since Ryu's awakening, and during that time, many things had changed within him.
One of the greatest changes was his knowledge. What had once been the mind of a kindergartener had now grown beyond that of a college professor in most branches of science.
He had devoured every book in his father's study, and with the [Book of Everything] as his silent guide, he corrected, expanded, and completed the knowledge until it formed a flawless whole.
Now, he was no longer the clueless boy who didn't know what to search for in the [Book of Everything]—he knew exactly which threads of truth to pull, which questions to ask.
Takeshi had watched all of this with quiet astonishment. One evening, seeing the shelves fully reorganized, he asked,
"Ryu, since you've finished all the books here, would you like to come with me to the university? There's a library there with much more than what I have."
Ryu, however, shook his head. His voice was calm, almost matter-of-fact. "Even if I go, I won't be allowed to touch the advanced science books. Because of my age."
Takeshi blinked, surprised. "Really? How do you know that?"
"I checked on the internet," Ryu replied, his voice carrying a child's certainty—serious yet unintentionally cute. "It's a national rule for every institute. Staff members can't bring their children into the library for unrestricted access. And even if they do, kids are only allowed to read children's books. Advanced texts are never permitted."
Takeshi was caught off guard. "I… I never checked that myself." He let out a soft laugh and shook his head. Looking at his son with warmth, he said, "You've really become knowledgeable, haven't you?"
Ryu didn't smile. Instead, his expression turned serious. His gaze shifted first to his father, then to his mother, who was listening silently from the side. "It would be best," he said slowly, "if you—and Mom—didn't tell anyone about me. Not about my studies, not about the Book, and especially not to the government or any officials."
The heaviness in his voice left no room for doubt.
For a moment, Takeshi was quiet. Then a faint smile touched his lips as he reached out and pinched his son's cheek, the gesture both playful and reassuring. "Don't worry. We haven't told anyone, and we never will. You're our son. That's enough."
Ryu nodded slightly, saying nothing more. The seriousness faded from the room, replaced once more by the warmth of family. They drifted back into their small talk, the television flickering in the background, rain pattering against the windows as if sealing their little world in safety.
That evening, after coming back to his room, Ryu sat on the bed as he thought about his future.
Acquiring the foundation of knowledge was complete—that had been his first priority after receiving the [Book of Everything]. Now came the harder question: how to process it, and more importantly, what to do with it.
After all, even if he held all the knowledge of the world, he still lacked one crucial thing: a goal. Without purpose, knowledge was nothing more than weight.
He sighed, lying back on the mattress, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above. Before all this, his dreams had never been complicated. At most, he thought about silly things—shooting fireballs from his palms, calling down lightning like a hero, playing pretend with his friends until dusk painted the streets.
But now those thoughts seemed almost too small for the weight he carried.
Yet, life hadn't stopped being normal. He still went to elementary school every morning, laughing and chasing with his classmates, sometimes playing outside the house until Misaki's voice called him in for dinner.
It wasn't that he wanted to continue playing the role of an ordinary child—but he did, for the sake of his parents, especially his mother. She already worried too much about him; if he were to suddenly distance himself from his peers, it would break her heart.
His father, on the other hand, had taken his brilliance in stride. Sometimes, after long days at the university, he would bring home questions or topics from his own lectures, sitting at the table and discussing them with him.
Ryu would sometimes speak with his father seriously, other times with the lightness of a child, and at times with a calm maturity far beyond his years—his tone shifting depending on the topic Takeshi brought up. Yet he never strayed beyond the realm of textbooks.
When his father mentioned subjects not covered in their home library, Ryu listened intently, storing them away as "knowledge food" to later search for in the [Book of Everything].
Because of this, he never grew bored of their conversations. The same was true for Takeshi: he found himself both fascinated and unsettled, watching his son grow into more of a peer with every discussion. Worry mingled with pride, and beneath it all was the quiet awe of being the father of such a child.
Ryu never spoke of the [Book of Everything] or his mutant abilities to his parents. To them, it simply appeared as though he had awakened some latent potential, perhaps even developed Acquired Savant Syndrome.
Of course, that wasn't the truth, but it served as a convenient explanation—one that spared him from having to reveal the reality of his mind. And so, he remained silent.
Now he lay on his bed, eyes closed, the thought circling endlessly in his mind. If he possessed all this knowledge, wasn't he supposed to do something with it? Something greater? The [Book of Everything] had given him the tools—yet what was he meant to build?
For the first time since his awakening, Ryu realized that knowledge alone was not enough. He needed a purpose.
That evening, he told himself, "Let's find a purpose." With that thought, Ryu summoned the [Book of Everything] from his consciousness. The tome materialized in the air above him, floating with a faint hum, its cover closed but glowing faintly with words that shifted into the question:
[What knowledge do you seek?]
Ryu lay quietly for a moment, staring at it. 'What should my purpose be?' Now he lay on his bed, eyes closed, the thought circling endlessly in his mind. If he possessed all this knowledge, wasn't he supposed to do something with it? Something greater? The [Book of Everything] had given him the tools—yet what was he meant to build?
He thought about his nature. His ability wasn't like the flashy powers he used to imagine when playing with his friends—no fireballs, no lightning bolts. Instead, his gift was rooted in stability, in clarity.
If that was the case, then perhaps his purpose lay not in destruction or spectacle, but in the opposite of chaos: to seek out and confront the forces that threatened to unbalance the world.
With that reasoning, he spoke clearly to the Book:
"Show me the things that can greatly disrupt the world's current stability. Both artificial and natural disrupters."
The Book of Everything simmered as the text on its cover shifted, reorganizing itself.
[Current and probable future disasters.]
With a low thrum, the cover cracked open. The pages fanned outward, releasing a faint green-blue radiance that washed across his face. The words rose from the paper, becoming images that hovered before his eyes.
The first chapters revealed natural disasters, beginning with the past.
The pages shimmered and began to reveal moving images, as though the world's pain was being projected into his eyes. Words of light scrolled across the parchment, recounting the year's calamities.
First came the Great Hanshin Earthquake in Japan, January 1995, its magnitude 7.3 shaking the heart of Kobe. Over 6,000 lives were lost in a single dawn, and hundreds of thousands were left homeless in the bitter winter. The page glowed red as collapsed buildings flickered across the parchment.
Next, the monsoon rains of India and Bangladesh filled the paper with waves of ink-blue water. Entire villages were swallowed by floods. Over 1,500 people died that season, and millions more were displaced, watching their homes dissolve into the rivers.
The Soufrière Hills volcano in Montserrat appeared next, the page bleeding ash. The eruption buried villages beneath pyroclastic flows, forcing thousands to flee. Though the death toll was smaller, the chaos of a homeland lost weighed heavily in the air.
A turn of the page showed the Chilean quake in Antofagasta, July, magnitude 7.3, where though few perished compared to Kobe—dozens dead, hundreds injured—chaos still rippled as cities cracked apart.
Finally, the paper darkened with swirling winds: Hurricanes in the Caribbean and typhoons across East Asia, ripping coasts to shreds, capsizing ships, and leaving hundreds dead and thousands injured, their bodies lost to the roaring seas.
The book's voice seemed to echo in Ryu's skull: "The world is never still. Even in a single year, chaos takes many forms. Flood, fire, earth, wind—none spare the fragile lives of men."
***
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