Chapter 2: Golden Finger

**Golden Finger**

[Beneath the Hammer of Fate]

"So, it's really effective? No wonder the system imposed limitations on my power," I muttered, my gaze drifting across the vast expanse of the emerald forest. But it wasn't the trees I was observing; it was him. That one figure in the distance—a man whose presence seemed to ripple through the very air, as if reality itself bent to his will. I could feel it in my bones. My cheat was working.

"How amusing..." I chuckled to myself, a quiet laugh filled with a peculiar satisfaction. Despite the heavy restrictions placed upon me, despite the artificial boundaries meant to stifle my potential, the truth was undeniable: I was growing in strength, and it was intoxicating. It was the type of power that swelled within you like a storm ready to burst, the kind that made you question what you'd been before, what you'd become now, and what you might eventually be.

Why was I laughing, you ask? Simple. Because the cheat that had been bestowed upon me was no mere whimsy. It was a key to unimaginable potential—a key that could unlock the gates of power. I had glimpsed its boundaries, and they were vast. The power I was destined to wield could easily surpass 10 stars. I could feel it in my very bones.

*'Gildarts is at least 8 stars,'* I thought to myself, pondering the grand figures of Fairy Tail. *'And Makarov Dreyar, the venerable president, stands on that same pedestal, alongside other saints of remarkable strength. The Four Heavenly Kings? 9 stars, without a doubt. The Twelve Holy Shields of Alvarez? Similar, though Irene and August... their power pushes the very limits of human capability.'*

These were merely estimates based on my present capabilities—calculations sketched out in my mind like a map, charting the distances between the greats. But did this make me superior to them? *Not quite.*

The answer was both yes and no. Yes, I could boast greater magical power than Makarov, yet power alone doesn't decide the victor. If this were a game of numbers, then perhaps I had the advantage. But real battles? Real confrontations? They were a different story entirely.

Take Gildarts, for instance. He wields the devastating Crush magic, a force capable of pulverizing anything in its path. If he landed a single blow, *wouldn't that be the end of me?* My body would be shattered, scattered across the world like mere dust, reduced to the atomic level—my form evaporating into nothingness. And yet, even if I possessed limitless magic power, if I were isolated in some desolate place, stranded without a soul around to aid me... what would it matter? Power couldn't save me from starvation. It couldn't protect me from the emptiness of isolation.

People always misunderstood things. Magic power does not determine the outcome of a battle. It's only the foolish who believe it does. *Yes, it plays a role in a battle of attrition, but why would you fight someone whose power dwarfs your own?* Engaging in such a contest would be the height of stupidity.

At the tender age of five, I already possessed the power of an S-Rank mage—five stars, the equivalent of a seasoned veteran. But no matter how hard I pushed, no matter how much I strived, I knew I would never surpass ten stars. That ceiling was my curse, a golden finger designed to prevent me from reaching the heights of true power.

*But that was fine.*

Yes, I was a traveler, a being from another world, reincarnated into the world of *Fairy Tail*. The plot was mostly lost to me, a blur of forgotten memories, pieced together from fragments of fanfiction and vague recollections of events I had witnessed as a child. I wasn't an expert on the world, but I knew its rhythms, its key players—Zeref, the Black Dragon, the dragons hidden within the eclipse gate... I had learned much through those fragmented glimpses.

But one thing I knew for certain: *I was Gildarts' son.*

In the canon, only Cana was his flesh and blood, but with my arrival, that canon had become a mere sketch, a reference. I had no illusions. The moment I stepped into this world, everything had begun to change. The story was no longer fixed—it would twist and bend with every step I took. The future was in motion. And I was more than prepared to write my own chapter.

**Five years ago...**

I won't bore you with the details of my birth. Suffice it to say, it wasn't anything worth remembering. But the moment I took my first breath, *that* was the moment I received my golden finger. A one-time system, a single gift that would shape the course of my life, but vanish as quickly as it came. A fleeting blessing, never to return.

Some might complain. Some might yearn for endless quests and constant upgrades, the same formulaic grind that powers up characters in other worlds, only to have them obliterated by the Black Dragon Acnologia in a single strike.

But not me.

I wasn't about to be one of those pitiful characters, grinding away for power only to have it shattered in an instant. I didn't want to live in a story that forced me to choose between reckless power and inevitable failure. I didn't want to be that idiot who trained endlessly, only to let disaster slip through their fingers. No, I wouldn't live like them. Not in a million years.

When that dragon came, or whatever other disaster reared its ugly head, I refused to stand by helplessly, blaming myself for not being strong enough. It was infuriating to watch, knowing that these so-called heroes had the power to change their fate, but chose to squander it on complacency.

*How dare they?*

They had the opportunity to grow stronger, to prepare, but chose instead to procrastinate. They were arrogant, thinking that their power would come to them in the moment of crisis. And when it didn't, they cried out, blaming themselves for their weakness.

Not me.

I wasn't going to be a fool. I wasn't going to wait for someone else to protect me. I didn't need to save the world. I needed only to protect myself.

And so, I accepted the restriction imposed by my golden finger with grace. Life was uncertain. It was chaotic. Control was an illusion.

The system had given me a gift: a single opportunity to choose three magical powers and a template. There were restrictions, of course. I didn't know the full extent of them yet, but I already knew what I would choose.

*Time and space.*

Why? Because I was a traveler. My affinity for those attributes was unparalleled. For most, their affinities were set. They had one path. But for me? I had two. Time, the realm of the past, present, and future. Space, the fabric of reality itself. Together, they were a privilege granted to me alone.

I had chosen wisely. Time, with its endless possibilities, had fascinated me. Not because of Dimaria's connection to Chronos, but because of *Dio Brando*. His mastery over time was... intoxicating. The very idea of stopping time—of bending the world to my will—was exhilarating.

And then, space. I thought of Marin Hollow. His ability to trap and manipulate space... to turn the very dimensions against his enemies. That was power. That was true mastery.

But when it came time to choose my final template, I pondered long and hard. *Diavolo? Giorno? Wonder of U?*

In the end, I settled on Sosuke Aizen. The mind behind the chaos, the master of illusion and perception. His ability to control and manipulate the fabric of reality itself was exactly what I needed. Not raw power, but subtlety. Not brute force, but intellect.

I had considered other choices—Goku, Anos, Rimuru, Yogiri—but none of them felt right. Goku was too powerful, too unbalanced. Rimuru would turn me into a slime, but without the Great Sage, I'd be helpless. And Yogiri? I had no interest in becoming the pinnacle of death. That kind of power would leave me hollow.

No, Aizen was the choice. His ability to manipulate perception, to bend others to his will, was exactly the kind of power I needed. And with it, I would make my own path.

It would only take a minute, I thought... *but that minute would change everything.*