The room was almost too perfect, like something out of an illustrated storybook. Velvet curtains of deep crimson hung heavy over tall windows, their folds swallowing the cold night air. Through the gaps between them, streaks of silver moonlight spilled across polished marble floors, painting the chamber in alternating stripes of red and white.
Above, a chandelier of crystal flames swayed faintly, each gem glowing with captured fire-essence, casting warm light across the sprawling room. A great bed dominated the center—silken sheets black as ink, pillows stuffed with down from wyverns. The air smelled faintly of incense and steel. Everything about this chamber spoke of royalty, of power, of wealth.
And yet Asura sat cross-legged atop the bed, golden eyes staring at nothing.
It had been days since his fourth birthday. Days since the Demon King's court had celebrated his growth with banquets and gifts. Days since nobles had bowed to him, soldiers saluted him, servants whispered his name in awe.
And still, he waited.
If this really is like the stories I watched back in my old life… then where's my system?
The thought gnawed at him. In every anime, manga, or game he had devoured back on Earth, the protagonist always received a status window, a blessing, some hidden power that proved they were different. Yet here he was—horns on his head, born the grandson of the Demon King—and still nothing.
He flexed his fingers, staring at his palms as though something might appear if he just willed it hard enough. Nothing. No glow. No screen. Just skin.
He sighed, flopping onto the bed, hair fanning around his face like silver frost. "Don't tell me," he muttered under his breath, "I reincarnated into another world just to… live normally again?"
The thought tasted bitter. In his first life, normalcy had been a cage. Here, he had horns, magic, power, destiny—and yet it was starting to feel like a gilded cage of its own.
He rolled onto his back, staring at the high ceiling painted with constellations of the Demon Realm.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this is just life again. Maybe—
And then—
A faint ding.
The sound was like glass chimes striking inside his skull, clear and delicate.
Asura blinked. "What…?"
A translucent screen shimmered before his eyes, faintly blue and edged in runes he did not recognize yet somehow understood. Symbols scrolled across it in glowing script, shifting into words.
Lines of text assembled, waiting for him to read.
His heart hammered in his chest, a slow, rising thrill blooming in his veins.
"…Finally," he whispered.
The screen pulsed once, as if in answer.
✦ The Status Window
The glowing screen stabilized, its runes aligning into neat rows of text. Asura leaned closer, golden eyes reflecting the light.
Name: Asura Satomi
Age: 4
Race: True Demon Lord
Level: 1
He blinked. Once. Twice.
"…Wait. True Demon Lord!?"
His voice cracked. He nearly fell off the bed, silken sheets tangling around his legs as he scrambled to sit upright again.
True Demon Lord.
Not Lesser Demon. Not High Demon. Not even Arc Demon.
But True Demon Lord.
A race spoken of only in whispers—said to be an evolution that surpassed even the greatest Demons in history. The kind of being that appeared once in millennia, feared even by angels and gods. Legends claimed True Demon Lords could bend the laws of magic itself, walking calamities who made nations tremble.
And here it was. His race. At only four years old.
"...You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, hands trembling as he reached toward the glowing window. His fingers brushed against the light, and the screen obediently scrolled downward.
His eyes darted across the next section.
HP: 30,000
MP: 48,000
STR: 20,000
VIT: 13,000
AGI: 12,000
INT: 15,000
LUK: 43,000
He froze. His brain blanked, refusing to process what he was seeing.
Then his legs gave out completely, and he landed squarely on his backside with a dull thump.
"…Ow."
Except—there was no pain.
He blinked, rubbing at his rear in disbelief. "Wait… I just fell on marble and didn't feel a thing…?" A grin tugged at his lips. "Guess high stats really do make you OP."
His eyes snapped back to the glowing numbers. With every line he read, his disbelief only deepened.
Strength and vitality already beyond seasoned knights.
Agility so absurd it rivaled legends of assassins who moved faster than arrows.
Intelligence that eclipsed scholars, sages, even archmages.
And luck… luck thirty times higher than anything humanly possible.
"…Forty-three thousand?" His voice cracked again. "I'm not lucky—I am luck!"
He pressed a hand to his forehead, laughter bubbling up in his chest, half-hysterical, half-thrilled. This wasn't just power. This was insanity.
I asked for a system… and the world actually delivered.
✦ The Elements
His gaze fell lower.
Elements: Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, Lightning, Ice, Dark, Light, Space, Spirit, Void, Time, and Poison
He fell back on his butt again.
"All of them… I have all of them!?"
He rubbed his horns, laughing nervously. "Wait, wait—don't panic. Don't panic. In anime, this usually means I'm either destined for greatness or about to be hunted down by literally everyone…"
His heart raced. He knew the history of this world—people were lucky to have one or two elements. The record was five. And here he was, sitting on all thirteen.
"…I'm so screwed," he muttered.
✦ Skills
A final tab blinked faintly at the edge of the translucent screen, pulsing as if daring him to open it.
Asura swallowed, his small hand reaching forward. His fingertip brushed the rune, and the window shifted once more.
Skills:
AppraisalUnlimited StorageInfinite Growth PotentialElemental AffinityMaster CrafterAll-KnowingTeleportationLuck of the GodsAuraFlight
Asura's breath caught. His eyes flicked from line to line, silver irises glowing faintly in the moonlight.
"…Ten skills," he whispered. "At level one. Ten."
He bit his lip, trying to contain the thrill rushing through his chest. Most protagonists start with one OP skill. Two if they're lucky. I get ten?
He forced himself to focus.
"Appraisal… okay, yeah, classic cheat skill. Perfect for checking stats, enemies, treasures, even lies, depending on how far it goes. That's going to be fun." His grin widened. "Unlimited Storage—yes! Bag of holding, but infinite. Forget backpacks, I can carry whole castles if I want."
He scrolled down, his breath quickening.
"Infinite Growth Potential… wait. Infinite?" His jaw dropped. "Does that mean… no limit? No ceiling? As long as I train, I'll just keep getting stronger forever?" He rubbed his face with both hands, laughter bubbling up. "That's not a skill—that's a nightmare for balance!"
He shook his head quickly, moving on.
"Elemental Affinity…" His pulse raced. "So I get to use every element? Fire, water, earth, wind… and probably the advanced ones too. Lightning, ice, void, time…" His golden eyes gleamed dangerously. "Okay, that's—yeah, that's terrifying."
"Master Crafter…" He tilted his head. "So blacksmithing, alchemy, enchanting, tailoring… everything? Does that mean I can make weapons better than any blacksmith alive? Oh man, I could literally become my own legendary weapon shop."
He leaned closer to the screen, muttering fast now, excitement spilling out of him.
"All-Knowing… wait, seriously? That's not even subtle! What, am I going to have an answer pop up every time I ask a question? Like some cheat wiki installed in my brain?" He chuckled nervously. "If this thing talks, I'm in trouble. Please don't talk."
The next two lines made him freeze.
"…Teleportation. Okay, okay, that's just broken. Dungeons? Traps? Travel time? Gone. I could pop into the human kingdoms and back before anyone even notices." He snickered. "I'm basically Nightcrawler now."
Then his gaze landed on the next one.
"Luck of the Gods…"
He blinked. His mind wandered back to the absurd number flashing in his status earlier. Forty-three thousand LUK. He rubbed his temple, groaning. "Yeah, I guess this explains it. I'm not lucky—I am luck. Forget rolling dice, I'm the guy writing the dice."
His eyes moved on.
"Aura. Huh. That's vague." He tilted his head. "Probably intimidation, killing intent, maybe pressure like Grandfather's. Imagine a four-year-old kid making grown demons faint just by glaring. That's going to be fun."
And finally—
"…Flight."
The word alone made his heart pound.
He stared at it for a long moment, golden eyes wide, his lips curling slowly into a smile that was far too sharp for a child's face.
"…Actual flying. Not gliding, not wings, not a mount. Real flying." He pressed both fists against his knees, trembling with excitement. "Like a superhero. Like an anime protagonist. Like—like freedom itself."
He flopped backward onto his bed, silken sheets tangling around his small frame as he laughed into the dark ceiling.
"No combat skills yet," he admitted between breaths, "but these utility skills… these are insane. They're worth ten combat skills. No—better."
The translucent screen hovered silently above him, pulsing faintly as though acknowledging his thoughts.
"This is it," he whispered, golden eyes burning as he sat upright again. "This is what I've been waiting for. Not just strength. Not just power. But the chance to decide how I use it."
His tiny fists clenched, determination settling into his chest like molten iron cooling into steel.
The screen flickered once more, the runes rearranging themselves into neat rows as if in answer to his resolve.
Asura grinned.
"Let's see how far I can go."
✦ The Test
One skill in particular caught his attention—Appraisal.
If his status window was real, if his numbers weren't just some elaborate joke, then he needed proof. Something to measure against. Someone who could give context to the absurdity glowing in his stats.
So, in the quiet of the night, Asura slipped from his chambers.
The corridor outside was silent, lined with torches that burned crimson instead of gold. Their flames hissed faintly, shadows dancing along the black stone walls. The air was heavy, saturated with mana that pressed down like the weight of a storm. His bare feet padded across the thick carpet, each step deliberate.
Standing guard outside his chamber door was one of his appointed protectors—an elite knight chosen by the Demon King himself.
The man was tall, his frame encased in blackened steel etched with crimson runes. His crimson eyes glowed faintly beneath his helm, scanning the hall with a predator's vigilance. He radiated the kind of quiet power that came from centuries of battle—a mountain of discipline and strength, unshakable as the throne itself.
Perfect.
"Keith," Asura said, his childlike voice cutting through the stillness.
The knight stiffened instantly. In one smooth motion, he turned and dropped to one knee, head bowed. His gauntleted fist struck his chest with a clang that reverberated down the corridor.
"My lord."
Even after months, Asura still wasn't used to it—the way warriors twice the size of his grandfather's throne knelt at his feet. He almost wanted to laugh, but instead, he tilted his head, golden eyes glinting.
Let's see just how strong you really are.
He raised his hand, small fingers trembling slightly as he focused inward. The word pulsed in his mind, carved into his being by the system itself.
Appraisal.
The world shimmered. The torchlight bent. For an instant, everything slowed—then snapped back, a glowing screen opening before his eyes.
Name: Keith Von Talon
Age: 200
Race: Demon
Level: 250
HP: 10000
MP: 12000
STR: 14000
VIT: 10000
AGI: 26000
INT: 500
LUK: 2
Elements: Fire
Asura's breath caught.
"…No way."
Keith's stats were monstrous. In fact, they were awe-inspiring. A level 250 knight—two centuries of training, fighting, bleeding—his numbers spoke of battles won and enemies slain. His strength was immense, his agility razor sharp, his vitality honed through scars and survival.
A living weapon.
And yet…
Asura's mind replayed his own numbers.
Level 1.
Level 1—and already greater.
His lips parted, voice trembling.
"HP… triple his. MP… four times higher. Strength… stronger. Agility… one hundred twenty thousand? Compared to his twenty-six thousand?"
He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his own rapid heartbeat.
"…And intelligence. One hundred fifty thousand… compared to his five hundred. That's not just an advantage—that's a different universe entirely."
His gaze fell on the last line, and he nearly choked.
Luck: 43,000.
Compared to Keith's… 2.
The numbers mocked reality itself.
His knees buckled, and he landed squarely on his backside with a dull thump.
"…Ow."
Except—there was no pain. None at all. He rubbed at his rear in disbelief, a nervous laugh slipping from his lips. "Oh—yeah, high stats. Forgot I'm OP now…"
The glowing screen hovered before him, Keith's numbers burning in his mind. The man before him had two centuries of experience and stood at a level most adventurers would never dream of reaching. He was strong, terrifyingly so.
And yet Asura, a four-year-old child, outclassed him without effort.
Then what does that make me?
"Wait," he whispered, voice shaking, "then just how powerful am I supposed to become?"
The chill that ran down his spine was like ice water poured into his veins. For the first time since the system had appeared, his excitement faltered. Fear crept in. Fear of himself, of the power that had been thrust upon him.
Excitement. Fear. Responsibility. They tangled together in his chest, clashing violently.
He glanced at Keith—still kneeling, still waiting for orders, his head bowed in loyalty.
The knight who would die for him. The knight who believed he was only a child of promise, not a monster in the making.
Asura clenched his small fists, golden eyes narrowing.
Whatever fate awaited him in this world…
…his system had just declared him its anomaly.