Small steps toward a big change.

Damian let himself fall onto his bed, sinking into the softness of the mattress as he exhaled slowly. Silence reigned in the house, broken only by the faint murmur of the city beyond the window. After such a long day, he could finally relax. But his mind refused to stop.

"Too much for one day..." he thought, closing his eyes for a moment. However, there was still something left to do.

"System," he murmured, barely audible, as if afraid to disturb the quiet of the night.

In an instant, a floating screen appeared before him. Its design was minimalist, with a black background and smooth edges that obscured anything beyond it. Damian instinctively extended a hand, noticing how the screen seemed to respond to his will, moving in sync with his gestures.

"It hasn't changed; it's the same as the one I saw in the virtual world. It looks a lot like the computer I wear on my wrist..." he muttered, scanning the interface with his eyes.

A search bar, filters, and sections dedicated to various types of entertainment filled the screen, tempting him with an endless array of content. Yet, he had a more pressing question on his mind.

Without moving his lips, he spoke from his thoughts.

"What are you, really? And why am I here?"

The system responded immediately, its words appearing clearly on the screen.

[My purpose is to assist you in this new life. The host has complete freedom to use my functions or ignore them. I have no hidden intentions or personal objectives.]

Damian raised an eyebrow.

"And how did I end up here? Did you bring me?"

[The host was transported to this world due to a space-time error. A supervising entity, which you might call 'God,' assigned me to help you as an apology. My design is based on what you could best utilize in this environment.]

Damian remained silent, processing the response.

"So... it wasn't planned."

"How ironic," he whispered with a faint laugh. "My life here boils down to a 'sorry' from an almighty being."

On the other hand, the idea of having complete freedom was... appealing. There were no expectations. No invisible chains binding him to a predetermined fate.

Now calmer, knowing he wasn't a puppet to some higher being, Damian focused on the system's features.

"How do I unlock the projects in your database?" he asked, his voice low but firm.

The system responded instantly, its text glowing softly on the screen.

[To unlock projects, the host must exchange creative currency for system points.]

Damian fell silent for a moment, sifting through the memories of this body.

"Creative currency... right, that's what they call the only currency used in this world," he thought, piecing things together. Everything revolved around this economy driven by art, entertainment, and creativity. It wasn't just a symbol of value; it was the metric by which all goods and services were exchanged.

With a mental command, he began browsing the listed projects in the system. The screen scrolled rapidly as he examined the titles and prices.

"These prices aren't ridiculous, but..."

Most of the projects were out of his reach. The figures required to unlock even the simplest projects weren't exorbitant, but given his current economic situation, he had no way to buy anything. Sighing deeply, he searched through the free projects, hoping to find something worthwhile.

But what he found only soured his mood further. Most of the free projects were mediocre, clearly works that hadn't even managed to stand out in his original world. While there were a few hidden gems among them, he knew that with his current resources and skills, he wouldn't be able to replicate them adequately.

"I don't have many options, so I need to play my cards right."

He leaned his head back against the bedframe, closing his eyes for a moment. The memory of his father surfaced, and despite having the mentality of a 25-year-old adult, he felt no detachment from his family. If anything, he was genuinely concerned about their situation.

Like a persistent shadow, the thought wouldn't leave him. That afternoon, although his father had played with his sister and appeared cheerful, Damian had noticed the signs of exhaustion—the dark circles under his eyes, the heaviness in his movements. He couldn't hide them.

"It's all because of the academy," Damian thought bitterly. His family had spent a significant portion of their savings to secure him a place at Solis. His mother was keeping the family afloat with her job, but most of the burden fell on his father. Damian knew it, even if no one told him directly.

It was even harder to recall how many times Lucas Grant had tried to replicate the success of his first project, only to face repeated failures that left him with a lingering sense of guilt. And yet, the man always found the strength to smile in front of his family, to avoid worrying them.

Damian clenched his fists.

"I can't let this continue. I need to do something, and fast."

He closed the system screen with a thought, letting the room return to darkness. There was much to plan, but for now, he needed rest. For now, he'd have to trust that he could find a way forward, both for his family and himself.

---

Sunlight streamed through the curtains, softly illuminating Damian's face. He stirred in bed lazily, and after a few seconds, he opened his eyes, letting out a long sigh.

The sounds of the house began to reach his ears, drawing his attention. There was movement downstairs—the clatter of dishes and faint murmurs. Still somewhat drowsy, he got up and headed to the bathroom to freshen up.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, he noted that he had an hour before classes began.

"Perfect," he muttered to himself as he descended the stairs.

Upon reaching the first floor, Damian saw his sister, Lia, sitting in front of the television. She was watching a comedy sketch but was nodding off slightly, struggling against sleep. Damian smiled at the sight.

"Didn't sleep well, little one?" he asked. Lia merely waved her hand vaguely, her eyes still glued to the screen.

From the kitchen, Nora, their mother, greeted him while stirring something in a pan.

"Good morning, sweetheart. Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes."

Damian walked over and grabbed a glass of water from the table.

"And Dad?" he asked, noticing his father wasn't there with them.

His mother's expression shifted slightly. It wasn't exactly worry, but there was a faint hint of discomfort.

"He's in his study. He woke up early to work on his new book," she replied.

Damian downed the water in one gulp and nodded.

"I'll go check on him, then."

"Don't take too long; breakfast will be ready soon."

Damian made his way down the hallway to his father's study. The door was slightly ajar, allowing a faint ray of light to spill into the corridor. Peeking in, he saw his father standing in front of a large whiteboard, marker in hand, wearing an expression that blended deep concentration with visible exhaustion. The notes on the board were a maze of diagrams, words, and arrows, most of them revolving around war conflicts or post-war scenarios. Lucas Grant seemed lost in thought, oblivious to the world around him.

"Dad?" Damian called softly as he pushed the door open.

Lucas looked up, and upon seeing his son, a smile spread across his face, one that tried to mask his obvious fatigue.

"Good morning, Damian. Are you ready for classes?"

"Almost. I wanted to stop by before breakfast. How's the new book coming along?" Damian asked, stepping closer to the whiteboard.

Lucas set the marker down on a nearby table and sighed, a heavy sound.

"It's complicated. I feel stuck, like my ideas aren't fresh enough. Every time I try something different, I end up circling back to the same themes."

Damian examined the whiteboard carefully. "It's like the literature here is caught in an endless cycle of wars and tragedies," he thought. Yet something caught his eye. Among the ideas, there were glimmers of a different approach: concepts that leaned toward the mystery genre, though still heavily influenced by the tradition of war conflicts.

"This isn't a lack of creativity," he reflected. "It's the weight of a deeply ingrained literary tradition. This world needs to explore new directions."

Without revealing his thoughts, Damian activated his system mentally. He quickly scanned the literature category, searching for something that could serve as inspiration. Then, the title he sought appeared: Murder on the Orient Express. The book's information flowed into his mind instantly: a mystery plot set on a train, intriguing characters, and a shocking final twist.

Closing the system, he turned his attention back to his father, who was watching him with a mix of curiosity and expectation.

"Got something on your mind?" Lucas asked.

Damian gave a calm smile, carefully choosing his words.

"Not much… just thinking about how you could change things up a bit." He gestured to the notes on the board. "What if you tried something different this time? Something less centered on war."

Lucas frowned slightly.

"Like what?"

Damian paused, needing to approach this delicately. His father had his pride as both a parent and a creative.

"Well… a lot of your ideas seem to lean toward smaller conflicts, like a crime. Maybe you could explore something like that instead of focusing on large-scale wars."

Lucas tilted his head, intrigued.

"A crime…" he murmured, as though tasting the word. "Certainly, if I remove the war context, the conflict would feel more personal. But stepping away from this theme is risky."

Damian observed him in silence for a moment, sensing the tension in his father's voice. It was clear the idea intrigued him, but abandoning the conventions of his world made Lucas uneasy. For someone who had grown and thrived within the literary traditions of this parallel world, moving away from such a well-trodden theme felt like a leap into the unknown.

"Well, it's a risk, yes," Damian said finally, keeping a thoughtful tone, "but sometimes that's exactly what makes a story stand out. If you follow the same path as everyone else, it's easy to get lost in the crowd."

"Son, those are wise words," Lucas said, surprised, before smiling. He hadn't expected such insights from his son. "Do you have any other ideas?"

"What about something that tests the protagonist's mental abilities?" Damian said casually.

"Like a detective?" Lucas suggested, already jotting down new ideas on the board.

"And where would it take place? Maybe a hotel or during a party, somewhere no one can leave," Damian added, subtly guiding his father toward a specific idea.

"It needs to be a closed setting where no one else can interfere," Lucas said, considering various options.

"What about a train? Stuck in the middle of the tracks," Damian suggested nonchalantly.

Lucas raised an eyebrow.

"A train? Of course! Imagine a group of people on a train in the middle of nowhere, and suddenly, a murder happens. No one can escape, and only the protagonist, a renowned detective, has to figure out who the culprit is."

"That sounds intriguing. You could play with the passengers' personalities, giving them motives to be suspects while still making it seem like they couldn't be the killer," Damian added as his father continued jotting down ideas.

"I like how you think. The ideas are flowing now, but I'm still missing the ending," his father said.

"You could add a twist at the end. Something that makes the reader question their own assumptions."

"A twist? If I develop the story well, that could work," Lucas said. "But what kind of twist would it be?"

"Well, there's only one culprit in the end, and the reader has to guess who it is. I wonder which character could make such an impact. There are plenty of options," Damian said, as if he had no clear idea and was just commenting vaguely.

"One culprit...? What if it's all..." Lucas Grant stopped murmuring, his gaze fixed on the whiteboard as if everything suddenly clicked into place.

"Son, I think inspiration just struck me."

Damian smiled.

"Well, I'm glad I could help. But it's time for breakfast; Mom must be done cooking."

Lucas barely heard him. He had already grabbed a marker and started jotting down new notes on the board, immersed in his idea.

Damian quietly left the study, leaving his father absorbed in his work. Hopefully, this will be the spark he needed, he thought as he returned to the kitchen.

As he walked down the hallway, he noticed his mother standing there, watching him with curiosity.

"Something wrong?" Damian asked, confused.

"Nothing, it's just... Solis Academy seems to be boosting your creativity. The ideas you gave your father were very original," his mother said, sighing as she marveled at the creative talent of today's youth.

Damian was momentarily taken aback, realizing she had overheard his conversation with his father. He could only smile humbly, letting her interpret the situation as she pleased.

Enjoying breakfast with Lía and his mother, Nora, Damian watched as Lía, with boundless energy, attacked her plate of food as if it were a mission.

He smiled at her, feeling fully awake at last.

"Lía, how long until your birthday?"

The girl looked up, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Two weeks!" she exclaimed, almost jumping out of her chair. "I want all my friends to come, and I want to have a big party! And of course, I'm expecting a gift from my big brother."

Damian chuckled softly, his calm demeanor contrasting with Lía's enthusiasm.

"I promise you'll be surprised by what I have planned," he said, leaving a hint of mystery as he sipped his drink.

Lía tilted her head, curious but still brimming with energy.

"Really? Is it something big?"

"That depends on you," Damian replied with a knowing smile. "Tell me, what do you like more? Love stories, action, horror...?"

The little girl paused, thinking as if it were a crucial decision.

"I like adventures... and animals."

Damian raised an eyebrow, surprised but maintaining his composure. "Well, not as girly as I thought. Not bad," he thought, amused.

"Wow, I wasn't expecting that. But you've made it clear. Wait for something awesome—you'll love it."

Lía beamed with satisfaction at her brother's promise, while Nora observed the scene with a serene expression.

After a few minutes, Damian got up, quickly checking his backpack.

"I'm heading to the Academy. See you later."

His mother and Lía waved goodbye as he left.

The fresh morning air greeted him as he stepped outside. Walking down the sidewalk, his eyes briefly caught Aileen's house, but he quickly moved on.

The residential streets were quiet, with well-kept houses and low fences that revealed manicured gardens. Trees were planted at regular intervals, and the soft chirping of birds broke the silence.

After a few minutes, he reached a crosswalk. On the other side, Clara was waiting, staring distractedly at the road. When their eyes met, she gave him a small smile.

"Good morning, Damian."

"Good morning, Clara," he replied as he approached her. "Shall we walk together?"

She nodded, and they began walking side by side.

"It's easy to talk to her. Despite my mental age, there's no pressure or formalities," Damian thought, noting how relaxed he felt around her.

"Have you decided what you want to specialize in?" he asked, his tone curious but not intrusive.

Clara hesitated for a moment before answering, somewhat shyly.

"I'd like to create movies. But… a lot of people say my style is too childish. Unrealistic, they say."

Damian raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Childish? Now I'm curious. What kind of movies do you make?"

Clara smiled shyly but opened her Panel and sent him some clips of her projects.

Damian accepted the file and began playing the clips on his device.

In the first video, a girl with long, bright blue hair ran across a field of flowers that looked like they were made of crystal. Her movements were like those of a dancer, almost as if she were floating instead of running. In the background, the sky was filled with stars, shifting colors with each step she took.

The second clip showed a battle scene, but the characters' movements were unusual: every blow seemed to follow a rhythm and cadence, as if they were part of a dance choreography. The facial expressions were overly intense, as if every emotion was amplified to the extreme.

Finally, the third clip featured a young man talking to an anthropomorphic cat wearing a long scarf and sunglasses. They were in what appeared to be a café floating in space. The conversation revolved around an absurd topic: how coffee could change people's memories depending on the sugar used.

Damian paused the videos and remained silent for a moment. Clara watched him nervously, fidgeting with her hands as she awaited his reaction.

"It's... different," he murmured, searching for the right words without sounding offensive.

Clara looked away, as if expecting criticism.

"I know. It's weird, right?" she said with an awkward laugh. "Everyone says it's too childish, that the emotions are exaggerated, and the settings feel unnatural."

Damian narrowed his eyes, studying her.

"It's true that it feels strange in live action… but that doesn't mean it's bad. Actually, I think it's the live-action method that doesn't do justice to your style."

Clara looked at him, puzzled.

"The method?"

Damian nodded as he thought.

"This would be perfect for something like anime. The vibrant colors, exaggerated movements, even the amplified emotions… It all feels like a bad live-action adaptation of an anime—a very particular style. But here, where realism dominates, of course it seems out of place."

"Your style… has something special. I think if there were another visual format, something more expressive and flexible, your ideas would stand out much more."

"Another format?" Clara asked, frowning with curiosity.

Damian smirked slightly, avoiding specifics.

"It's just an idea I have. But trust me, your style has potential. You just need to find the right place for it to shine, and I'll help you with that."

Clara looked at him with a mix of surprise and relief.

"Really? I thought I might have to change my style to fit in."

Damian shook his head.

"Changing it would be a mistake. If you have something unique, the worst thing you can do is try to be like everyone else."

Clara smiled shyly, though her eyes held something more.

"Thank you. I think I needed to hear that."

Damian saved the clips on his device as they continued walking toward the Academy.

"I could definitely help her. If I manage to develop animation here, her style would have the impact it deserves. Besides, that's part of my plan anyway."

---

Damian walked alongside Clara toward the grand entrance of Solis Academy. The building, with its futuristic design and glass towers reflecting the sunlight, stood as a constant reminder of the institution's prestige and competitiveness. Around them, students streamed into the courtyard in groups, chatting animatedly about their projects and classes.

Near the entrance, a familiar figure caught his attention: Professor Meredith. With her usual air of professionalism and hair pulled into a tight bun, she stood surveying the students, as if searching for someone specific.

"Is she looking for someone?" Clara murmured, leaning slightly toward Damian.

"Maybe." Damian responded calmly, though something in his gut told him he might be the reason for her search.

Just as they crossed the threshold, Meredith's eyes met Damian's. She held the gaze for a moment longer than usual before striding toward them with her characteristic firm and purposeful steps.

"Good morning, Damian, Clara," she said. Her tone was neutral, but her eyes were fixed on Damian.

"Good morning, Professor Meredith," they replied in unison.

Meredith turned to Clara.

"Clara, please head to your class. I need to speak with Damian in private."

Clara blinked, slightly confused, but nodded.

"Ah, sure. See you later, Damian."

"See you." Damian gave her a casual wave as she walked away, casting him a curious glance before disappearing into the crowd of students.

Meredith waited until Clara was out of earshot before turning back to Damian.

"Follow me, please."

Damian raised an eyebrow but didn't question her. He nodded and began following her. They walked through the academy's expansive hallways, where their footsteps echoed in the silence left by the dispersing students. The bell rang, signaling the start of classes, but neither Meredith nor Damian seemed to notice.

"This must be about the short films," Damian thought, glancing at the walls adorned with holograms displaying past events and achievements of Solis Academy. "Although I have no idea if this is good or bad news. Did I pass the evaluation? Or are they about to criticize me for something?"

Meredith stopped in front of a pair of large, dark wooden doors with a minimalist yet imposing design. The plaque beside them made it clear where they were: Director's Office.

"Go ahead, Damian. The director is expecting you." Meredith gave him one last look, as though silently appraising him, before turning on her heel and walking away.

Damian stared at the doors for a moment, then sighed and raised his hand to knock.

"Come in," came the firm yet calm voice of Director Bera Callister from inside.

He pushed open the doors and stepped in. The office was exactly what he had expected: modern and minimalist, with glass walls offering a panoramic view of the academy's gardens. The director's desk, made of some sleek, dark material, was almost bare, save for a tablet and a small floral arrangement.

Bera Callister sat behind the desk, her posture relaxed yet exuding authority. Her dark hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and her intense gaze made Damian feel as though she could see beyond his composed exterior. She wore an impeccable suit with clean, elegant lines that accentuated her commanding presence and beauty.

Damian couldn't help but study her briefly. "She's quite the presence. Elegant, charismatic… definitely more my type considering my real age."

"Damian Grant." Bera addressed him by name, a faint smile playing on her lips.

"Director Callister." He gave a slight nod, keeping his voice calm as he approached the desk.

"Please, take a seat."

Damian complied, sitting across from her. For a moment, they both remained silent, quietly assessing each other.

"She's analyzing me, that's obvious," Damian thought. "But I won't be the first to speak. Let's see what she wants."

Bera rested her elbows on the desk, intertwining her fingers as she kept her gaze fixed on him.

"You're an interesting young man, Damian."

Her smile widened slightly, while he tilted his head, curious about where this conversation would lead.