The panel did nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Adrian lay on his back staring at the wooden ceiling of the orphanage dormitory, frustration simmering quietly beneath his calm expression.
He closed his eyes.
The ocean formed.
Two panels floated.
One empty.
One OP.
He glared at the second.
"Are you just decoration?"
No response.
He reached toward the panel.
Pain.
Immediate.
Sharp.
He flinched and pulled back.
"Right. Locked."
He floated there in silence.
Was the panel just a memory imprint from dying inside a neural interface?
Was it useless until awakening?
Did it even function in this world?
He exhaled slowly.
Fine.
If the system required awakening—
Then awakening it would be.
Until then?
He would rely on what he had.
A functioning adult brain.
⸻
He began with his body.
He couldn't cultivate.
But he could train.
He remembered his old gym routine.
Push-ups.
Squats.
Core stability.
Breathing control.
Isometric holds.
At first, it was humiliating.
His seven-year-old arms trembled after five push-ups.
His legs burned after basic squats.
But he continued.
Morning before chores.
Night after meals.
Slow.
Steady.
Silent.
Within weeks, his posture improved.
Within months, his stamina outpaced other children.
He didn't show off.
He didn't compete.
He conserved energy.
Strength here wasn't about dominance.
It was about survival.
⸻
Food at the orphanage was minimal.
Thin porridge.
Occasional bread.
Rare meat scraps.
He began exploring the outskirts.
Carefully.
Never too far from the walls.
He studied plant life.
Berries.
Roots.
Edible leaves.
Trial and error.
Cautious sampling.
He relied on memory from Earth botany databases and online survival forums he used to read casually.
One afternoon, deep near a shaded grove, he froze.
Broad leaves.
Oval pods.
Ridged surface.
He stepped closer.
Broke one open.
Inside—
Pale seeds coated in pulp.
His heart skipped.
Cacao.
Or something incredibly similar.
He stared at it for a long time.
Eskarnia had never mentioned chocolate.
The novel had described fruits, grains, wine.
But never this.
He grinned faintly.
For the first time since rebirth—
Opportunity.
⸻
He harvested cautiously.
Small quantities at first.
He fermented the seeds in cloth bundles buried shallowly.
Dried them in sunlight.
Roasted them over controlled low heat using salvaged metal sheets.
Crushed them between stones.
The first attempt tasted bitter.
The second was better.
The third—
He smiled.
He mixed it with honey.
Added a little crushed nut paste.
Let it solidify in small wooden molds.
It wasn't modern chocolate.
But it was sweet.
Rich.
Different.
He wrapped small pieces in clean cloth scraps.
And walked to the street.
⸻
He chose a modest location near a market stall.
A middle-aged woman selling fruit eyed him skeptically.
"What are you selling, boy?"
He held up a small wrapped square.
"A sweet. New kind."
She snorted.
"Looks like mud."
"Try it."
She hesitated.
Then took a small bite.
Her eyebrows rose slowly.
She chewed.
Paused.
Chewed again.
"…What is this?"
"A dessert."
"It melts."
"Yes."
"It's sweet."
"Yes."
She took another bite.
Then stared at him.
"How much?"
He named a modest price.
She paid immediately.
Word spread.
Children came first.
Then a merchant.
Then two guards.
⸻
A guard frowned at the piece in his hand.
"You made this?"
"Yes."
"With what?"
"Fruit seeds and honey."
The guard bit into it.
His expression changed.
"Boy… this is dangerous."
Adrian tilted his head.
"Dangerous?"
"If my wife tastes this, she'll demand more."
Laughter erupted nearby.
The fruit seller leaned over.
"You better not set up right in front of me every day, little businessman."
Adrian smiled faintly.
"I'll pay stall rent."
She blinked.
Then laughed.
"Look at him. Already negotiating."
⸻
He reinvested carefully.
Bought better honey.
Improved fermentation.
Adjusted roasting time.
Within weeks, his chocolate became known in the village.
Not famous.
But desirable.
He didn't oversell.
Scarcity maintained value.
He saved everything.
Coin by coin.
Month by month.
He didn't grow greedy.
He grew patient.
⸻
One afternoon, a caravan arrived.
Wagons lined with trade goods.
Cloth.
Salt.
Iron tools.
Destination:
Osmanthus City.
Adrian listened carefully.
The convoy would depart in five days.
He approached the lead merchant cautiously.
A thick-bearded man with calculating eyes.
"You're the chocolate boy," the merchant said.
Adrian nodded.
"I hear you're headed to Osmanthus."
The merchant raised an eyebrow.
"And you?"
"I want to go."
The merchant laughed.
"You're seven."
"I have coin."
That made him pause.
"How much?"
Adrian named the amount.
Enough to matter.
The merchant studied him.
"Why Osmanthus?"
"Better markets."
The man smirked.
"Ambitious."
Silence stretched.
Finally—
"You ride in the back wagon.It takes a month,give 50 bronze coins as deposit."
Adrian nodded Slightly.
"Understood."
⸻
The orphanage caretaker was surprised but did not oppose.
"One less mouth to feed," she muttered.
He left before sunrise.
The wagons creaked forward.
Dust rose behind them.
Adrian sat quietly among sacks of grain.
Hands steady.
Eyes forward.
One hundred and fifty miles.
Days passed.
He kept his head down.
Listened to conversations.
Learned trade routes.
Watched how merchants negotiated.
More education.
More data.
Finally—
The gates of Osmanthus City came into view.
Stone walls.
Crowded streets.
Larger markets.
More noise.
More opportunity.
He stepped down from the wagon.
The merchant clapped his shoulder.
"Don't get robbed, chocolate boy."
Adrian gave a small nod.
"I won't."
He turned toward the city.
Somewhere within these streets—
The future protagonist lived.
Starting from this city—
His rise will start.
He exhaled slowly.
The panel had done nothing.
But he had.
And that was enough for now.