Chapter 8: The First Pulse of Magic

Vivian's personal garden, bathed in that eternal, soft light mimicking a perpetual sunset, had become an arena of effort and concentration. Michael stood in the middle of the emerald grass valley, eyes closed, face lined with sweat dripping slowly from his jaw. Hours had passed like this, motionless, while the world around continued its course: flowers glowing, stream murmuring, breeze caressing tropical leaves.

Inside Michael, however, chaos reigned.

Gradually, magic began to circulate.

At first, the sensation was strange, almost imperceptible: a faint tingling in his fingertips, a diffuse warmth in his chest. But soon it intensified. Magic—that energy dormant in his core since the contract's signing—started to stir. It flowed through his veins like thick, warm liquid, following the bloodstream, expanding through every fiber of his being.

And with it came awareness.

Michael felt his blood circulate. Not metaphorically. He could perceive the vital fluid advancing through his arteries, slightly widening them with each pulse. And those pulses—once discreet and rhythmic—now pounded like war drums in his chest. Every heartbeat sent shockwaves through his body, tremors shaking muscles and bones. But beyond vibration, there was sharp, continuous pain, as if each pulse reminded him of his own fragility—that his body, designed for mundane life, was being forced to harbor something far greater.

Magic advanced drop by drop, centimeter by centimeter. Not a torrent—a slow, relentless seepage. Michael clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to open his eyes, surrender, scream. But something deeper—that cockroach tenacity Xix had seen—kept him standing.

Hours passed. The garden's light never shifted, but Michael felt time's weight in trembling muscles, in rigid jaw. And then, when he believed he couldn't endure another second...

A faint light, golden and delicate, began emanating from his skin.

Not bright. Not blinding. Like candlelight through frosted glass—a warm glow seeming to rise from his deepest core. The light seeped through his pores, dancing across his surface like a shy, newborn aura.

Vivian, observing from a comfortable beach chair magically materialized near the stream, smiled with genuine pride. They sipped their cocoa soda—a foamy, dark drink learned to love on Earth—and glanced toward the empty space beside them, where Xix floated in his metaphysical plane.

"Hey, Xix," they murmured, careful not to break Michael's concentration. "What do you think he'll get? What power, I mean?"

"I don't know, Vivian," Xix replied, his voice a thoughtful whisper in both their minds. "The nature of abilities is inherently random. Depends on sponsor-champion interaction, contract nuances, soul's hidden corners. Could be power off the scale—something to make lesser gods tremble… or something as mundane as ant transformation. Or even…"

"Gender swap?" Vivian completed with a mischievous smile.

"Certainly," Xix agreed, amusement coloring his tone. "That's also documented. Awkward, yet strategically applicable." He paused. "Hey, Vivian. Are you happy? With your life here, I mean."

Vivian rested their head against the chair, violet eyes gazing at their garden's perfect sky. The smile faded, replaced by quiet reflection.

"Sometimes not," they admitted. "Those first months were… hard. Missed everything. My world. My people. That sense of power I once had. Adapting to this…" They gestured at their body. "…this limited form. This noisy, strange world. Cost me. A lot. Until I found my love."

"But worth it?" Xix asked, genuine curiosity in his voice—like trying to comprehend an alien concept. "Honestly, I don't understand what draws you to this distant world. It's… noisy. Chaotic. Humans spend their lives chasing things they'll forget upon death."

Vivian laughed—soft, melancholy. "Hahaha. Guess we value different things, Xix. For you, power, authority, eternal glory… that's what matters. For me, now…" They sighed. "Morning coffee. My boyfriend's laugh. Rain on asphalt. Small things, I know. But they're mine. And after centuries of battle and death… small things become luxury."

Complicit silence settled between them, broken only by the stream's murmur.

"Thoughts on his progress?" Vivian asked, nodding toward Michael, still radiating that faint golden light.

"Rather slow, honestly," Xix answered without mercy. "Any child from any race with minimal magical affinity would manifest their essence within the first hour. He's taken nearly four." He sighed, tone softening. "But he's foundationless—untrained, with no one to teach even proper breathing. That he's manifested even this ridiculous light… I consider it achievement. He's stubborn. Doesn't quit. That's what matters."

---

In the valley's center, Michael felt the world tilt. Sweat soaked his clothes, his skin. A new burning—different from exertion—spread from chest to extremities. Not fatigued muscle fire, but something deeper—internal flame threatening consumption. He'd thought the light meant success, accomplishment. But now his body screamed.

Knees buckled.

He collapsed, catching himself on hands—cool grass against burning palms. Breath came in ragged gasps—deep, noisy.

"Ah…! Ah…!" he panted. "Can't—can't anymore… ah…! Felt fine moments ago, now… everything hurts!"

Vivian rose feline-agrave and approached, cocoa soda still in hand. They knelt beside him, offering the drink. The glass was cold, condensation-covered.

"Well, yes," they said calmly. "Side effect, as warned. Body saturates with magic first time—reaction. Like never exercising then suddenly marathon-running. Muscles complain. Your magical channels, meridians—same. Stretching. Adapting. Hurts. But necessary pain."

They helped him sit, and Michael accepted the drink with trembling hands. Cold, sweet liquid soothed his parched throat.

"Listen," Vivian said, settling beside him in the grass. "Today we continue circulating your magic. Your body needs to accept this new current—stop seeing it as invader, embrace it as self. Tomorrow, if we stabilize this, I'll teach defense. But foundation comes first." They looked at him directly. "Tell me: during that state, did you feel anything different? Your senses?"

Michael reflected, the experience still vivid. "Yes…" he said slowly. "Strange. Felt… fully aware of my entire body simultaneously. Not just parts—everything at once. Could feel pulse in my feet. Air entering lungs. Blood circulating. All simultaneously. Overwhelming."

"That's because you achieved bodily harmony for the first time," Xix explained, pride coloring his tone. "A monk would dedicate decades of meditation to reach that full-awareness state—you've brushed against it after hours of effort. No small feat, Michael. Congratulations. Now… the difficult part begins."

Michael released a bitter laugh. "Haha… so that was the easy part?" Nervously, he rubbed his still-trembling hands. "What's next? Lightning from the eyes?"

Vivian smiled, but before responding, Xix interjected with serious tone.

"By the way… any news, Vivian? From the higher planes, I mean."

Vivian frowned. "No. Been somewhat disconnected lately. What do you mean?"

"There are… problems," Xix admitted, voice cautious. "Simmering conflict between Munkai continuation supporters and those from the… other side."

Michael, still recovering, straightened—alert instincts triggered. "What do you mean? What other side?"

Vivian, equally intrigued, added: "Why are they opposing? Who are 'the other side'?"

"Because some of us wish to continue the Munkai Tournaments—tradition, spectacle, power trials. But others… argue we should follow the Asian constellations' example."

Silence fell over the garden. Even the stream's murmur seemed to hush.

Vivian sat bolt upright, expression astonished. "The Asian constellations? Weren't they considered… heretical? A deviation from traditional paths?"

"They are, true," Xix confirmed. "But apparently, supporting Primordials have boasted about guiding realms to glory. Elevating common mortals to unimaginable heights. Some champions have written their names into world histories—not through brute violence, but through… other methods. They're gaining followers."

Michael looked between them, conversation soaring to cosmic levels he barely comprehended. He frowned, processing words—and suddenly, recognition sparked in his eyes.

"Wait," he said, raising a hand. "You're telling me there's a faction of gods or constellations or whatever that dedicate themselves to… snatching mortals from normal worlds and dropping them into others with powers and quests?"

Xix sighed—a sound of profound cosmic exhaustion. "Yes, Michael. Exactly that. It's called…"

"An isekai," Michael completed, mixing incredulity and amusement.

"…Yes. An isekai," Xix repeated, defeated.

The following silence deepened further. Michael stared into space, processing that the anime and light novel genre he'd consumed during adolescence was actually a distorted reflection of cosmic power struggles. Vivian covered their mouth, suppressing nervous laughter. Xix, in his metaphysical plane, rubbed his temples as if existence itself ached.

The atmosphere, heavy with revelations and absurd coincidences, literally collapsed. For a moment, no one knew what to say. Michael broke the silence with a question floating like a soap bubble:

"So… is this an isekai? Am I an isekai protagonist?"

"No," Xix responded firmly. "You remain in your world. We haven't transported you elsewhere. This is… a reverse isekai. Problems come to you—not you to them."

"A reverse isekai?" Michael asked.

"If that helps you sleep nights, by all means. Call it that."

Vivian couldn't contain themselves—burst into laughter, genuine and liberating, shattering the tension. "By the gods! Decades since I've laughed like this! A reverse isekai! Michael, I like you!"

Michael smiled—weakly, but smiled. Fear remained. Pain too. And awareness that the universe was far stranger than ever imagined. Yet amidst it all—surrounded by an impossible garden, with a former champion laughing freely and a child-god sighing with resignation—he felt, for the first time, perhaps, just perhaps, he wasn't entirely alone in this madness.

"Well," he said, struggling to his feet, muscles protesting. "If this is a reverse isekai, guess all that's left is… keep training. Let the problems come. I'll be the antihero who never asked to be one."

Vivian stood and clapped his back—almost sending him down again. "That's the spirit. But first—rest. Tomorrow, when your meridians stop burning, we start self-defense. And believe me—that will hurt far more."

Michael groaned. Xix laughed. And the garden, witness to this absurd, transcendent moment, continued glowing with eternal light—while somewhere in the cosmos, godly factions debated mortal futures, unaware that a cockroach, on a forgotten world, had just taken its first staggering step toward greatness.