Chapter 5: The Art of Looking Totally Normal

I sat in the library, staring at my palm where the faintest flicker of mana had just moved. It wasn't much. In fact, if someone else saw it, they'd probably simply assume I was flexing my fingers abnormally. 

 But to me? 

 This was the start of my villain origin story. 

 … Okay, maybe not. But nevertheless, enormous progress. 

 I had spent what felt like weeks within frozen time just attempting to make my mana move. And now? I could barely, just barely, shift it. Which meant I was officially a mage-in-training. 

 If I were a conventional six-year-old aristocrat, this would be where I raced eagerly to my father and revealed my skill. 

 But I was not a typical six-year-old noble. 

 I had a really delicate balance to maintain. 

 Too weak? I'd get ignored, and my efforts to make House Roy secretly powerful would backfire. 

 Too strong? I'd get drawn into all sorts of mischief. The emperor, the military, the academies—everyone would suddenly be very interested in the random third son of a failing noble family who could transfer mana at six years old. 

 I needed to be just powerful enough to be "promising" but not so strong that people started writing predictions about me. 

 So, I did what any smart reincarnator with tremendous time-cheating talents would do. 

 I painstakingly constructed my genius character. 

 Step one: Subtle Growth. 

 At breakfast, my father—Lord Varun Roy—watched as I sliced my food with somewhat more precision than a normal six-year-old. 

 His eyebrow twitched. "Your hands are steadier lately." 

 "Oh?" I said, appearing to be astonished. "I've just been practicing." 

 He squinted at me, but said nothing. 

 Success. 

 Step two: Accidental Displays of Talent. 

 A few days later, Sarin was in the training yard, nonchalantly swinging his sword while I feigned to observe with admiration. 

 "You should try it," he added, giving me a wooden practice blade. 

 I caught it. "Really? I don't know if I—" 

 I "accidentally" altered my grip in the perfect stance. 

 Sarin frowned. "Wait, how did you—?" 

 I instantly fumbled, appearing to handle the blade wrong. "Oh, uh… like this?" 

 He relaxed, rolling his eyes. "Ugh. No, not like that. Here, let me show you." 

 I let him "correct" me, all while mentally chuckling at how wonderfully this was working. 

 Step three: Dumb Luck. 

 One evening, my father was going through some old war logs in his study. I "accidentally" walked in and peered at the papers. 

 "What's that?" I asked innocently. 

 "A record of the Battle of Tarsis," he said, not really paying attention. "Complicated tactics, you wouldn't understand." 

 I "randomly" pointed to an area of the map. "Oh, so if they had attacked from here instead of here, they would've won, right?" 

 My father stared at the map. Then at me. Then back at the map. 

 "…Go to bed," he whispered, scratching his temples. 

 I barely made it out of the room before I started snickering. 

 Everything was going according to plan. 

 Just a few more years of this, and I'd be recognized as a "gifted but not too gifted" aristocratic heir, perfectly positioned for greatness without drawing dangerous amounts of attention. 

 And with time on my side? 

 I'd be unstoppable