"Then are you just a navigation system?! A GPS?!" I blurted out. My brain was still trying to catch up with... well, everything. A system? Me? This was way out of my league, even for a guy who used to debug code for a living. The sheer absurdity of it all hit me like a rogue compile error, a fatal crash in the operating system of my perfectly ordered life. My existence, which I thought I had somewhat figured out, was now a tangled mess of conflicting data, contradictory logs, and this disembodied voice was apparently my only tech support. A wave of nervous laughter bubbled up, quickly followed by a tight knot of genuine fear, cold and sharp in my gut. What if this wasn't a good thing? What if the "life optimization" involved, like, forced labor in some magical sweatshop, or becoming a magical guinea pig for some cosmic experiment? Yet, beneath the fear, a strange, undeniable flicker of excitement, of opportunity, stirred. Like finding a hidden Easter egg in a notoriously buggy game.
[Negative, User,] the voice responded, and honestly, it sounded a little bit tired. Not physically exhausted, but digitally weary, like it had processed this exact, probably very common, user inquiry countless times before, and was already anticipating my next dozen questions. Its tone was precise, almost clinical, yet laced with a subtle, dry amusement I couldn't quite place. [While I can provide directional guidance, my core function is to serve as a Life Optimization System. Think of me as a Narrative Pathfinding Assistant. Or, perhaps, a comprehensive life API, providing optimal calls for various scenarios.]
"A... Narrative Pathfinding Assistant?" I mumbled, pinching the bridge of my nose hard enough to leave a red mark. The sheer corporate-speak of it was almost as jarring as the 'System' itself, a bizarre mix of fantasy and IT jargon. "So, you're not going to make me fight demons or conquer kingdoms? No 'daily quests' to save a princess from a dragon's hoard, or 'forced tasks' to collect rare monster parts from some creepy, glowing forest?" I actually held my breath for a second, half-expecting it to suddenly give me a mission to defeat the 'Lord of Glitch' from some dark web dungeon or perhaps retrieve the 'Elder Scroll of Broadband.' Part of me, the old otaku part, secretly yearned for such epicness, imagining myself wielding a sword, or at least a highly optimized keyboard. But my more rational programmer self screamed for logical parameters, for a clean, understandable interface. This entire situation felt like a badly written beta release, and I was the unwilling tester.
[Your understanding is... limited, User. My purpose is to assist you in navigating your current existence, particularly given the recent synchronization and integration of disparate memory sets. This process requires a stable baseline.] The System paused, a faint, synthesized sigh, almost palpable in the quiet room. [For optimal integration and to facilitate your chosen path, your first immediate objective is: Optimize your morning routine for maximum mana absorption efficiency.]
I blinked. "My what now? Mana absorption efficiency? Dude, I told you, I don't have any mana! My body's totally mana-less, remember? Like a server without an internet connection!" I felt a strong urge to bang my head against the wall, to perform a hard reset on my brain. Was this thing broken already? Was it bugged right out of the gate? Or was it just messing with me, a new, sophisticated form of divine trolling designed specifically to infuriate a former programmer? This was so not what the light novels prepared me for. They usually started with me getting some crazy overpowered ability, not a homework assignment for a plant! A sharp sting of disappointment, mixed with lingering confusion and a touch of indignation, pricked at me. Where was the epic power-up? Where was the immediate threat? Just... optimizing a routine? It felt incredibly anticlimactic.
[Correction, User,] the System replied, perfectly calm, its voice as smooth and unyielding as a compiled program. It sounded as if it were patiently lecturing a particularly dense subroutine that kept throwing the same error. [While your current mana reserves are indeed at zero, consistent application of optimized routines will prime your corporeal form for potential future mana generation. This is a foundational step, a necessary protocol for system initialization and user capability expansion.]
"Potential future mana generation?" I repeated, a new, exciting thought sparking despite my lingering annoyance. Future generation. That meant it wasn't a hard limit, but a current state. This could be HUGE. This wasn't a bug; it was a feature waiting to be unlocked! "So, you're saying I could get mana? But I've been like this my whole Natsuiro Rekka life! Doctors, even temple visits for my weird dad, confirmed it! They all said 'no mana detected, abnormality confirmed,' like I was some kind of magical null pointer!" My programmer brain, finally presented with a complex, solvable problem, a system with a hidden path, started whirring. The fear began to recede, replaced by a familiar surge of analytical drive, a puzzle-solving eagerness I hadn't felt since my last major coding sprint. This was a challenge. "Okay, so what's the algorithm for this 'optimization'? Give me the parameters. What's the input? What's the desired output? What constitutes 'efficiency' in this context? Is there a debug log I can access? Can I fork this process?" I was practically bouncing with questions, my mind already mapping out flowcharts, visualizing data packets. This wasn't about fighting monsters, but it was a problem to solve, a system to understand, and that I understood perfectly. It was almost... a comfort, a familiar territory amidst the bizarre.
[Error: User Attempting Unauthorized Algorithm Query. Access Denied.] The System's voice was flat, devoid of any emotional tone now. Just a cold, hard rejection, like a firewall blocking an unauthorized port. [Direct algorithmic data is restricted. Guidance will be provided through specific instructions as per protocol 7B-Alpha.]
"Restricted?! Come on, I'm just trying to understand the backend here!" I groaned, my brief moment of excitement dissolving into pure, unadulterated frustration. "You can't just give me a black box and expect me to optimize something I can't even quantify! What's the point of optimization without metrics, without transparency, without any control?!" This was beyond frustrating, like being handed a buggy piece of code without any documentation, and then being told I couldn't even ask for help from the development team! It was bad design, plain and simple. Was this a test? Or was the 'Administrator' the System mentioned earlier just a terrible manager, building an inscrutable, needlessly complex system? A faint, unsettling feeling surfaced, like a forgotten error message from a past life: a sense of something important missing, a chunk of core data that was crucial but inaccessible, possibly deliberately locked away by some higher entity. The thought sent a ripple of unease through me. Who was this Administrator? And why were they playing with my life like a sandbox simulation?
[Current Objective: Locate the most mana-rich vegetation within the Natsuiro residence. Consumption of said vegetation is optional, but highly recommended for initial corporeal priming.]
"Mana-rich vegetation... in my house?" I looked around my room, which was mostly anime figures and game consoles. Not exactly a thriving botanical garden, unless you counted the dust bunnies. "Are we talking about houseplants? Mom's prize-winning orchids that she somehow keeps alive despite their general lack of light? Or did you mean the broccoli she tried to make me eat last night, which she swore tasted 'like sunshine and vital energy'?" This was just getting weirder. I vaguely remembered her trying to force some suspiciously vibrant green stuff on me. Wait, mana-rich? Could she know something? Is my mother secretly a magic-wielding gardener, using her kitchen as a magical laboratory? The idea was ludicrous, yet... my memory filter wasn't working anymore, and suddenly, anything seemed possible.
Just yesterday, for example, I'd tried to get hot water for my instant coffee. I'd walked over to the electric kettle on my desk, hit the button, and... nothing. It just blinked a single red light at me, stubbornly silent. "Ugh, another bug," I'd mumbled, figuring the old kettle was finally giving up the ghost after years of loyal service. So I just used the cold tap instead, shivering slightly as I sipped my lukewarm coffee. But now, a jolt of new memory hit me – the kettle wasn't electric. It was a Magic Tool, running on mana, and I couldn't use it because my mana reserves were at zero. My old self had just skipped that information, processing it as "kettle broken," a simple hardware malfunction. Yeah, that filter was strong, alright. It had been operating for seventeen years, seamlessly rewriting reality into something palatable, something normal.
A faint shimmer seemed to flicker at the edge of my vision, near a potted plant on my desk. It was just a small, ordinary-looking leafy green thing that Matsuri had shoved there ages ago when she briefly decided she was going to become a "nature idol" and fill my room with "natural energy." It was a common "Glimmerleaf Vine". I'd always thought it was just a dusty old houseplant, perpetually on the verge of death despite my sister's occasional half-hearted attempts to water it. But now... as I stared at it, the fuzzy, almost imperceptible haze around it seemed to slowly, almost too slowly, solidify, deepening in hue. It wasn't just dust motes in the air, catching the light from my window. A faint, soft glow, like moonlight on a spiderweb, pulsed almost imperceptibly around its leaves. It hummed, a low, almost inaudible thrumming that resonated in my chest. It was barely there, a subtle visual and auditory artifact, but now, with my new brain, it was impossible to un-see. My mind, no longer stubbornly filtering out the absurd, suddenly saw it, heard it, felt it. It was like a visual bug had been fixed in my perception, revealing a hidden layer of reality that had always been there, just ignored. A weird thrill, a genuine sense of scientific discovery mixed with childlike wonder, shot through me. This was a real-world glitch, and I was finally seeing it, experiencing it firsthand.
[Target acquired: Glimmerleaf Vine. Mana efficiency: Low. Potential for increase with optimized care.]
"Glimmerleaf Vine?" I mumbled, leaning closer, my eyes scanning the leaves for any obvious runes, mana circuits, or interfaces. I reached out, cautiously poking one of its leaves. It felt… just like a leaf. No strange vibrations, no code glowing under my touch, no hidden buttons to press. Just… plant. My programmer brain was buzzing, trying to find the missing drivers, the hidden API calls, frustrated by the lack of direct input. So, not just a dusty plant. "Optimized care, huh? What does that even mean? Is it like, special fertilizer, or... do I sing to it, like those crazy plant ladies on YouTube?" I half-joked, then remembered the System's earlier firmness about "specific instructions." My cynical programmer side was fighting a losing battle against the sheer fantastical weirdness of it all, and honestly, the weirdness was winning.
[Optimized care procedure for Glimmerleaf Vine (Phase 1: Initial Potentiation):]
Substance: 50ml Natsuiro Family Spring Water (sourced from the household well).
Catalyst: 3 drops morning dew, collected before sunrise.
Application: Administer via root absorption, once daily for seven cycles.
Environment: Maintain ambient mana flow at optimal levels (Natsuiro residence naturally provides consistent environmental mana. No user intervention required).
My jaw dropped. "Natsuiro Family Spring Water? We have a well? And morning dew?!" My family had a well?! An actual, honest-to-god, mana-producing well, right under our normal-looking house? And "ambient mana flow"? Okay, so my family wasn't just 'weird,' they were... magically involved weird. A flood of fragmented memories, previously filed under 'quirky family traditions' or 'eccentric parental habits,' suddenly re-categorized themselves with alarming speed and clarity. I suddenly flashed back to last New Year's. Mom had insisted we all drink from a "special family spring," a crystal goblet filled with suspiciously clear water that tasted oddly invigorating, and Dad had muttered something about it being "blessed by the spirits," giving Matsuri a knowing wink. At the time, I'd rolled my eyes and assumed it was some quirky traditional thing, maybe a strange family health fad, but now... was it mana-infused water? It wasn't just blessed; it was powered.
And Matsuri! I remembered her famous line, the one she'd shout when she was being particularly dramatic or when she somehow managed to pull off something impossible, like perfectly timing her entrance to "steal" the last piece of cake from right under my nose, or acing a test she hadn't studied for. Her eyes would sometimes gleam with an almost unnatural light, a flicker I'd just thought was her getting really into her role, and she'd puff out her chest, declare: "I AM GOD!" I'd always just laughed it off as Matsuri being Matsuri, my overly dramatic sister, but now the memory of that unnatural gleam lingered, sending chills down my spine. What if... what if it wasn't just an act? What if she literally was a god, or something close to it, and my old brain just blocked out the reality of her power? She did always win those ridiculous competitions with Mina, even when it seemed impossible, with uncanny luck that now felt less like luck and more like... manipulation of probability. I even remembered one time, when I was little, Matsuri and Mom got into this huge argument about something silly. Matsuri got frustrated, and then, in a blink, her favorite snack was just gone from Mom's hand and suddenly in Matsuri's own! It happened so fast I genuinely thought it was some kind of magic trick, a sleight of hand I just couldn't figure out, no matter how many YouTube magician tutorials I watched. Mom just sighed and said, "She's in her rebellious phase again," like it was totally normal for snacks to vanish and reappear from thin air!
And Mom herself... there was that time she opened the house backdoor in the kitchen which looked somewhat hazy and foggy, leading straight to what looked suspiciously like a grocery store aisle. She just popped through it to grab some extra soy sauce for dinner. I remembered thinking I was definitely hallucinating at that moment, or maybe I was just that tired from staying up late watching streams. And Dad just blinked and said, "Honey, use the usual method next time," as if what Mom did was just something slightly more efficient than, say, actually walking to the store, not a reality-bending feat that defied physics. They were all weird! My old brain had always just filed these incidents away as "Natsuiro Family Quirks" – strange, yes, but definitely mundane. Now, with the filter off, they screamed: MAGIC. SUPERNATURAL. NOT NORMAL AT ALL. The realization settled in my gut, heavy and cold, yet strangely exciting. My mundane past was a lie.
My whole childhood, filtered through a lens of 'normalcy,' was starting to crack, splintering into a thousand impossible truths. The System's sudden reveal of "ambient mana flow" and "Natsuiro Family Spring Water" was hitting me hard. Every oddity, every unexplainable coincidence, was suddenly making terrifying, magical sense. It was a bewildering blend of terror and exhilaration, a terrifying new game world I was suddenly forced into, with no tutorial, no character sheet, and a possibly buggy AI companion.
"Holy cow," I muttered, staring at the Glimmerleaf Vine, then glancing around my suspiciously normal-looking room. This was going to be a lot more complicated than just fixing a few lines of code. And my family? They were definitely not as 'normal' as my old self had made them out to be. My new reality was a bug-ridden, fantastically weird nightmare, and I was stuck in the middle of it, a reluctant protagonist in a story that was just getting started. I just hoped the 'Administrator' was on my side.