Alexis Prince woke up to the sound of his own phone hitting the floor.
The ringtone had started somewhere between a dream of collapsing towers and a memory of ramen noodles, and now it was just vibrating in place like a cockroach possessed.
He groaned, blindly groping for it while still tangled in a blanket. He finally found the corner of the screen, flipped it over, and squinted at the time.
10:14 AM.
He blinked again.
"…Class started at eight."
A dull ache pressed against his skull — the kind you get not from drinking, but from realizing that you might be a global shadow figure now… and still forgot to charge your toothbrush.
The dorm ceiling above him looked the same: stained with a long, grey streak from a leak nobody ever fixed. His desk was covered in half-used notebooks, instant coffee packets, and a cracked monitor he swore he'd fix someday.
Nothing had changed.
Except everything.
On the corner of the desk sat a single item that didn't belong — a slim, matte-black case.
Inside it? A custom-built gold pistol with fingerprint ID lock, military-grade internals, and the name Seraphim etched along the grip.
He'd received it in a gift pack from a system that now whispered into his life like an assistant too competent to fire.
Alexis sat up, rubbing his face.
"System," he muttered, voice hoarse, "you there?"
"Always. You slept for five hours and forty-two minutes. Snored for three."
He grabbed a hoodie off the floor and tried to find one sock that matched anything.
"You could've woken me."
"You overrode all alert priorities except fire and assassination. I assumed class didn't qualify."
He snorted. "Fair."
Toothbrush. Sink. Tap water that was always slightly warm even on cold. He stared into the mirror.
His reflection still looked like a broke college student — dark circles, hoodie stretched at the collar, hair refusing gravity.
But behind that glass, Adam stared back.
The invisible head of God's Axis — an organization with no nameplates, no social media, no news articles… and yet, with billions in silent control under his command.
He spat foam into the sink.
"Still don't look like a king."
"Then perhaps we improve the castle."
He paused, wiping his mouth with a towel.
"…Go on."
---
**—
Thirty minutes later, he stood in front of a new apartment.
Not a palace. Not a penthouse.
Just a quiet, clean, well-furnished space on the edge of the city's east sector. Neutral walls. Encrypted entry system. No neighbors within ten meters.
Leased under the identity Lucien Ward — age 24, systems analyst, currently on remote sabbatical.
"Registered as a low-risk civilian with limited tax history," the system explained.
"Utilities prepaid. Surveillance: none. Legality: absolute."
"Feels like cheating."
"Feels like winning."
The fridge was stocked. The Wi-Fi worked. The water came out cold. The bed didn't squeak.
Compared to his dorm, this was five-star heaven.
He dropped his backpack on the couch, wandered through the space, and opened the wall panel hidden behind a bookshelf.
A curved terminal hummed to life.
The Axis interface unfolded like a digital cathedral — serene, silent, and waiting for command.
He didn't say anything. Just stood there.
Then closed it.
Not yet.
---
He still had class.
---
Campus was still boring.
The sun was sharp, the courtyard crowded, and someone was already trying to get him to sign a petition about cafeteria improvements. Alexis mumbled something and moved on.
He slipped into the back of the economics lecture.
Professor Dayal glanced over but said nothing. Alexis took a seat behind a guy using an old flip phone as a calculator and tried to pay attention.
He couldn't.
Not when he knew, with absolute certainty, that somewhere out there, three hidden relay bases, twelve information zones, and more than seventy agents followed command chains he'd written in a strategy game.
"Today we'll explore capital flows through layered trust structures," the professor droned.
Alexis nearly laughed aloud.
I literally own a synthetic economy.
Still, he wrote something on his notepad. Just to look normal.
The guy next to him passed a note:
"You transferring soon? Thought I heard you got an internship."
Alexis scribbled back:
"Sort of. Kinda freelance."
---
That evening, back in the apartment, he opened the drawer again.
There it was — Seraphim, resting against the velvet-lined foam. Gleaming gold. Dead silent.
He didn't pick it up.
He didn't need to.
Instead, he stood in front of the bathroom mirror again. Same face. Same slouched posture.
But something was different.
Behind his eyes now lived a presence — like gravity, like silence with shape.
He didn't need a crown. Didn't need the world to bow.
Because it didn't even know it was kneeling yet.
"System."
"Yes, Administrator?"
"…This apartment. This life. It's good. Let's keep it small. Let me blend in."
"Confirmed. Your anonymity remains your greatest defense. And your most elegant weapon."
He paused.
"Anyone check the dorm?"
"Your roommate received an acceptance letter to a foreign language program and left the country this morning."
He blinked. "Wait—what?"
"Standard cover procedure. We needed him gone."
"…That's messed up."
"He's happy. And now owns a cat. He named it 'Alex.'"
"…I don't know how to feel about that."
"Feel superior. He thinks you're a memory. You're an empire."
---
Alexis brushed his teeth again.
Same mirror.
Same reflection.
But this time, he smiled.
Just a little.